by Anne Mather
'Isabel! I know you're there. Don't you have the guts to open the door? Or does hanging up on someone constitute the whole gamut of your resolution?'
Isabel's jaw clenched. This was ridiculous. She was standing here, cringing, and letting the man she despised most in the world threaten her from the other side of a door. He was wrong. She did have guts. And if she hadn't rushed to speak to him, it wasn't because she was scared to do so.
Turning, she hurriedly lifted the latch, and knew a sense of irritation when she fumbled with it. She didn't want him to think he had disconcerted her, though she still kept the safety chain in place.
The door opened to the width of the chain, and steeling herself, she faced the man outside for the first time since her divorce from his cousin. 'Well, Alex! How nice,' she greeted him tauntingly. 'I didn't know you stooped to breaking and entering. But then, nothing the Setons did would ever really surprise me.'
Alex propped his shoulder against the door. 'I don't propose to stand here all night, Isabel,' he said, almost pleasantly. 'Either you open the door properly and let me in, or I break it. It's up to you. Make up your mind.'
Isabel's tongue circled her lips. 'You wouldn't dare.'
'Wouldn't I? Try me. And I'd hazard a guess that you'd have more to lose than I would. Your neighbours wouldn't like it. They might even call the police. Think how embarrassing that would be in a conservative building like this.'
'You bastard!'
'That's more like the Isabel I remember.' He straightened up. 'Open the door.'
Isabel slammed it shut, but only to dislodge the chain and secure the catch. 'It's open,' she muttered, backing away into the living-room, and then turned her back on him as he came into the flat.
He hadn't changed, she thought bitterly. She might have gone through a personal trauma, but Alex Seton looked just as enigmatic as ever. She didn't even have to look at him to recall the dark, almost black, eyes, set between thick, stubby lashes, in a face that was too hard to be called handsome. He was the only man whose height had topped hers by some four inches, and whose lean muscular body owed its fitness to a high metabolism, rather than to a grim devotion to athleticism. So far as she remembered, he had always avoided sports, though he used to swim regularly at a health club in London. He was rich and successful, and immensely attractive to women. But he was also ruthless, as Isabel had learned to her cost.
He came into the living-room of the apartment now, his hands pushed carelessly into the pockets of his jacket. His suit was dark blue, and expensive, she surmised and, like all the clothes she had seen him wear, it fitted his lithe frame with loving indulgence. As he moved, the width of his shoulders was clearly outlined beneath the fine fabric, while the narrow cut of the trousers exposed the powerful muscles of his thighs. She didn't want to look at him, but she couldn't avoid it, particularly as any show of reticence was likely to work to his advantage, not hers.
Alex, meanwhile, was looking intently about the room, and she wondered what he thought of her modest domain. Certainly it could be nothing like the apartments he was used to, and compared to the spacious elegance of Nazeby it must appear cluttered and restricted. After all, much of the furniture had come from the saleroom, the actual purchase price of the flat straining her resources to the limit.
'What do you want?' she demanded now, deciding it was safer to take the initiative than wait for him to do so, and he turned his appraising gaze in her direction.
'You don't change, do you, Isabel?' he remarked obliquely, and she knew an angry sense of frustration. 'I don't think you've ever felt anything deeply in your whole life. That's what makes it so unbelievable that Vinnie should have been taken in by you.'
Isabel drew a breath. 'Is that why you've come here? To talk about your grandmother?' She shrugged. 'She was a dear old lady, and I loved her very much. What more is there to say?'
'Loved?' Alex's thin-lipped mouth curled. 'Oh, spare me that, please! You've never loved anyone, but yourself. Not Chris, not my uncle------'
'You're wrong. I did love Vinnie,' broke in Isabel indignantly, and then, realising that once again she was letting him put her on the defensive, she forced a mocking smile. 'What's the matter, Alex?' she countered lazily. 'Are you jealous?'
The faint trace of colour that entered his narrow face at her words was worth the effort. So, she thought ruefully, that was the only way to deal with him. More difficult, perhaps, but oh, so rewarding!
'As I said, you don't change,' he retorted, spearing her with a crippling gaze. 'Beautiful, but immoral. And selfish to the core. Thank God, Chris had the sense to walk away from you. He may not have found anyone else yet, but at least he's happy.'
Isabel stiffened, but she refused to let him see his words could still hurt her. After all, she had heard them before. She ought to be used by now to that particular offensive. But it was some time since she had come under attack, and she hadn't yet marshalled her defences.
'Anyway, I didn't come here to get involved in old hostilities,' Alex went on presently, and Isabel shrugged.
'To create new ones instead?' she suggested provok-ingly, and had the temporary satisfaction of another minor victory.
'To talk about your change of heart,' he corrected her grimly. 'Although, as you don't appear to have a heart, perhaps that was an unfortunate choice of phrase. Your change of—mind, shall we say? The reasons behind your communicating with my uncle, which seem at variance with your present attitude.'
Isabel blinked. 'I beg your pardon?'
Alex gave her a weary look. 'Let's cut the chaff, shall we? Just tell me what you want, and I'll try to accommodate you. Uncle Robert will pay whatever it takes to get those shares back. Name your own price. You have the advantage.'
Isabel stared at him. 'Would you believe me if I told you I didn't know what the hell you were talking about?'
'No.' Alex rocked back on to his heels and then forward on to the balls of his feet. 'Isabel, there only is one subject on which we can still communicate. Don't play me for a fool. You know what I'm talking about.'
Isabel shook her head. 'All right. I accept that you've come here to try and persuade me to sell the shares, but I don't see where your uncle comes in. Any communication I've had with him has always been through my solicitors.'
'Has it?' Alex absorbed this in silence for a moment. And then he pulled one hand out of his pocket and pushed long brown fingers into the thick dark hair at his nape. 'So, Uncle Robert didn't tell me that, but no matter. Evidently, your solicitors intimated your desire to discuss it further. As I say, tell me what you want. I'll speak to my uncle and get back to you tomorrow—or next week, if you are going away for the weekend.'
'If I am?' Isabel controlled her resentment with an effort. 'Look, I'm sorry, Alex, but I still don't know anything about this.'
'You're lying.'
'No, I'm not!' She was incensed by his intransigence, 'I think you'd better go back to your uncle and find out exactly what he's playing at. I didn't contact him. My solicitors didn't contact him. And what's more, I don't believe your story any more than you do mine.'
Alex stared at her angrily now. 'You're saying you've never thought about selling the shares?'
Isabel nodded. 'Yes.'
'Then why would my------?'
Alex broke off in the middle of his question, and she saw the flash of illumination that crossed his face. As if a veil had lifted, she glimpsed the sudden comprehension in his expression, but then the mask descended, and she could no longer guess his thoughts.
'I think I'd better go,' he said abruptly, pulling his other hand out of his pocket and fastening a single button on his jacket. 'It seems I was mistaken. I've evidently misunderstood my uncle's message. He must have hoped you'd come to your senses. Vinnie may have left you the shares, but she never expected you to keep them.'
'What you mean is, your uncle hoped you'd have more success than he did,' exclaimed Isabel contemptuously, disgusted by the realisation that Ale
x would support his uncle, whatever the circumstances. For a moment, just for a moment, she had thought she had seen disillusionment in his face, and she had actually felt sympathy for him. But whatever she had seen, it was firmly controlled now, and it was galling to hear him defend a man who was totally unscrupulous.
'I have no intention of debating my uncle's intentions with you,' Alex stated, walking towards the door and, watching him, Isabel wondered if he was really as indifferent as he seemed. In his place, she would have been as mad as hell, but Alex, as always, revealed none of his feelings.
'You've had a wasted journey then,' she ventured softly, curiously unwilling to let it lie. 'Uncle Robert must be laughing up his sleeve at the prospect of you and me being at cross purposes. I mean, he couldn't actually have hoped that you would influence me. Doesn't he know that you hate my guts?'
Alex's expression hardened. 'You put it too strongly, Isabel,' he retorted, pausing in the act of reaching for the Yale lock. 'To hate someone, one must first have feelings towards them. Thankfully, that was not the case so far as I was concerned. I admired you, as one does any unusual object. But I didn't desire you, Isabel. That's where you made your mistake.'
Isabel caught her breath. 'That's not true.'
'I'm afraid it is.' With a jerk, he had the door open, and had stepped outside. 'Keep your shares, Isabel. Take them to bed with you. As you judge everyone in terms of their bank balance, you should find them very reassuring.'
The door slammed on her angry retort, and although she longed to charge after him and rake her nails across his smug, complacent face, she didn't. Instead, she dropped the latch, slid the bolt and put the chain back into position, as if by shutting out his material presence she could eliminate him from her thoughts. But, of course, she couldn't. Apart from anything else, the faint aroma of some tangy soap or shaving lotion he used still lingered in the apartment, and even though she opened the windows she could still smell it when she went to bed.
CHAPTER THREE
'Your cousin is here to see you, Alex . Shall I send him in?'
Diana Laurence's enquiry was voiced from the intercom at his elbow, and Alex gave an impatient sigh. 'Why?'
'Why is he here, or why send him in?' queried Diana drily, and, as her boss revealed his irritation, 'I don't know. Do you want me to ask him?'
Alex hesitated. 'What time is my next appointment?'
'You don't have one.'
'I do now.' Alex's response was clipped. 'Give us—oh, fifteen minutes, and then break it up, hmm?'
'If you say so.' Diana sounded reluctant. 'So—shall I send him in? He can hear this conversation, you know.'
'Only your side of it,' declared Alex curtly. 'OK, Diana. If you must. But don't forget; fifteen minutes only.'
Alex was putting aside the file he had been studying when his cousin, Christopher, entered his office. Sliding the calculator he had been using into a drawer, he rose to meet the man who had once been Isabel Ashley's husband, and he was annoyed by the realisation that he should think of Chris in that way.
'Sit down,' he said, after their initial greeting. 'To what do I owe the pleasure; or is this a social call?'
Christopher Seton laughed and lounged into the chair opposite. Crossing his legs, he rested his hands loosely on his knees. Like his cousin, he was wearing a three-piece suit, but whereas Alex's choice was dark and conservative, Christopher's outfit was much more flamboyant. He was wearing a cream tweed jacket with a matching waistcoat and pants, and instead of a tie, a cream and yellow cravat filled the neck of his shirt. They were clothes more suited to the race-track than the office, and Alex guessed this visit had been an afterthought. He and Chris seldom saw one another these days. It wasn't that he avoided his cousin; if they met at Nazeby, they were always civil to one another. But since they had both become adults, they had found they had nothing in common, and the affair of Isabel had only served to widen the breach.
'How are you, Alex?' Chris asked now, and his cousin knew a sense of irritation out of all proportion to the inconvenience Chris's arrival had created.
However, he hid his feelings admirably, as he responded, 'I'm fine. How about you?'
'Fine, fine.' Chris's lips twitched. 'Losing more than I'm winning, but what's new? It helps to pass the time. You should try it.'
Alex's expression was controlled. 'Not my scene, Chris. You should know that. I prefer a surer way of earning a living.'
'Oh, yes.' Chris's fuller features took on a familiar expression. 'Good old Alex! The example to us all. Well, you ought to lighten up, old man, or Dad will mould you in his image. You know you're his favourite. I never stood a chance.'
Alex sighed. 'That's not true, Chris.'
'Isn't it?' His cousin regarded him shrewdly. 'You wouldn't say that if you could see him. This business over Isabel is tearing him apart.'
'So that's it.' With an exclamation of disgust, Alex pushed back his chair and got abruptly to his feet. 'Your father sent you here, didn't he? To try and justify what he did. You don't really believe I'm your father's favourite. That was just a ruse to try and get my sympathy.'
Chris expelled his breath on a weary sigh. 'Would I do that?'
'If he made it worth your while, yes.' Alex had no illusions about his cousin.
'That's not fair!'
Alex regarded him resignedly for a moment, then he shook his head. 'What did he say?'
'Who? Dad?'
'Who else?'
Chris flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his cuff, and then said carefully, 'He's very upset, Alex. You hurt his feelings. He's not used to anyone treating him like that.'
'Tough.'
'And over Isabel, too!' Chris looked up at him incredulously. 'I mean, if there was any way we could get those shares back again, we should try it. I don't know what Vinnie was thinking of to do such a thing. They were my shares, Alex; mine! How could she leave them to her?'
Alex's lips tightened. 'As a consolation, perhaps?' he remarked sardonically, and Chris was considering his words when he looked up and caught his expression.
'Oh, very funny,' he muttered, realising Alex was being sarcastic. 'Well, anyway, I think you're behaving very badly. Dad was only thinking of the company, you know. And you'll expect a share of that, as well as me.'
'I don't expect anything,' retorted Alex flatly. 'Denby Industries is all yours. Now, if that's all you came to say, I do have work to do------'
'What's she like?'
Chris's unexpected intervention caught Alex unawares, and he felt the warmth invade his neck around his collar. 'I beg your pardon?' he said, though he knew perfectly well what Chris had said, and his cousin moistened full red lips before repeating his enquiry. 'Isabel. Has she changed much?'
Alex considered his answer. 'I—not a lot,' he admitted reluctantly. 'She's older, of course, but aren't we all?'
Chris leant forward. 'Is she—is she still as beautiful?'
'If you like that sort of thing.' Alex took a deep breath. 'Look, what is this, Chris? Why do you care what she looks like?'
'I don't. At least, not really.' Chris lay back in his chair again, and Alex's fingers itched to pull him out of it and eject him from his office. 'But you have to admit, I had good taste. I used to get quite a kick out of taking her places. People used to look at her, you know. Men, especially. They used to envy me.' He shook his head. 'What a pity!'
Alex kept his temper with difficulty. 'Chris,' he said warningly and, with a gesture of compliance, the younger man got to his feet.
'All right, all right, I'm going,' he exclaimed defensively. 'Can't a fellow reminisce from time to time? I wasn't to know she'd turn out to be a super-bitch, was I? Thank heavens you weren't attracted to her. It was bad enough finding out she was cheating on me. Imagine how I'd have felt if you'd been involved.'
Alex's mouth compressed. 'She's not my type.'
Chris snorted. 'Oh, thanks. That's some consolation, I suppose.'
'You know what I m
ean.'
Chris got to his feet. He wasn't as tall as his cousin, and he looked at him now from beneath lowered lids. 'I suppose I do,' he conceded. Then, 'But what about this business over Dad? Are you going to let that cow ruin your relationship?'
Alex groaned. 'Chris------'
'Well, as you guessed, it's why I came. The old man's like a bear with a sore head these days. What with Isabel's solicitors refusing to discuss any sale, and you treating him like a leper! Can't you see his motives were honourable, even if the way he went about it wasn't? Go see him, Alex. Make your peace.'
Penny Hollister seconded Chris's request later that day. Penny, who was a stewardess with Middle European Airlines, had arrived back from Kuwait the day before, but Alex had had a dinner engagement that night, and they had been unable to get together until this evening. Now, as they shared a bottle of wine at the small Italian restaurant near Alex's house in Knightsbridge, he had been forced to admit they would not be spending the weekend at Nazeby that he had previously suggested. He had glossed over the more personal details of his encounter with his cousin's ex-wife, but he had had to tell Penny why he had gone to see her.
'Well, I think your grandmother must have been a little dotty, whatever her doctors say,' Penny declared now, her disappointment at being denied her trip to Nazeby colouring her tones. 'What was she trying to prove? I mean, they were divorced, weren't they, your cousin and this woman? Why should she make her a beneficiary when she's no longer a member of the family?'
Alex was non-committal. He didn't like to hear his grandmother described as mildly demented, no matter how upset Penny might be feeling, and he was glad when their bolognese was served, and he could concentrate on that.
'What's she like, anyway?' Penny asked, winding a long string of spaghetti round her fork, and Alex watched her for several seconds before saying dismissingly, 'She's a woman.'
'I know that.' Penny grimaced in mock-reproval. 'But what does she look like? Is she good-looking? She must have something to have attracted your cousin.'