by Liz Fielding
‘There’s an island I always imagined would be perfect…’
‘That’s a start. And if we’re doing islands, I’ve always thought I’d like to visit Tahiti.’
‘To see the dusky maidens in their grass skirts? Forget it,’ she said. ‘Japan. I’ve always wanted to go to Japan. And Bali.’
‘India? The Taj Mahal by moonlight. And what about Petra?’
‘Oh, yes, Petra! The rose red city half as old as time… How can we choose?’
‘We don’t have to. Luke said you were planning to take a year off and that gives us plenty of time to go wherever we want. Of course we don’t have to spend it all travelling.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Her forehead puckered up in a tiny frown. ‘There must be something else we could do.’
‘Give me a minute, I’ll think of something.’ He stood up, suddenly. ‘Come on.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve thought of something.’ He bent and swept her up into his arms and began to carry her below deck. Then he stopped. ‘That’s if you can remember the word.’
She laughed and let her head fall against his shoulder. ‘Just one word? I seem to recall that there were two. Yes. And please.’
Above them, on the bridge, the girl who’d brought Melanie her breakfast tray, handed a cup of coffee to the yacht’s captain and nodded down at the two deserted sun loungers. ‘It looks as if the wedding’s on. I guess we’ll be heading back to The Ark.’
He turned and smiled down at her. ‘Those were my orders, but the ceremony isn’t until sunset, so I wouldn’t say there’s any rush, would you?’
*****
Heather leaned back into the dark shadows of the branches as the sky began to pale in the stillness of pre-dawn. She felt safer in the darkness, but she knew it was only an illusion of safety, a brief reprieve. An hour, two at the most and this would all be over. Yesterday they had come with their loud hailers and warned her, giving her the chance to climb down, admit defeat and walk away.
The others had all gone, disappearing in ones and twos as the futility of their protest had become obvious.
The Barbour and green-welly brigade, who had flocked to the road site when the television cameras had been in evidence at the beginning, had long since drifted away to join some new cause.
But at dawn the cameras would be back eager to get pictures of the last protester being dragged away by the police, knowing that she would put up a struggle, give them a hard time, although if her mother hadn’t been married to Edward Beaumont, they probably wouldn’t even stay for that.
She felt in her pocket, hoping that she might find an overlooked sweet, something. Her food had run out two days ago, she had half a bottle of water. Even without the police coming today she would have been forced to surrender.
She knew that it was stupid to have stayed so long. She wished now that she had slipped away with the others so that she wouldn’t have to see the machines rip through the trees. She let her head fall against the trunk of the great oak that had been her home for the last few weeks, feeling the rough bark beneath her cheek growing wet with her tears.
It was so stupid. She hadn’t meant it to be like this. She’d only come along to the demonstration because she’d wanted to infuriate her mother, get her name in the papers and embarrass everyone. She’d never expected to actually care.
And the stupid thing was, she knew her mother would understand, would care too.
‘Oh, Dad,’ she said. ‘I miss you so much. And I miss Mum too. I wish she’d come home.’ Maybe that was the real reason she’d stayed in the tree so long. There was nothing and no one to come down for.
She stiffened as a soft noise reached her from the ground.
Nights and days watching and waiting had honed her senses, but since she had been alone they had become so highly attuned that she was alert to the slightest movement, the softest footfall.
She peered down through the branches but could see nothing.
Was the construction company planning a pre-dawn raid before the newsmen gathered for the final act?
It was the publicity they hated most. There was nothing worse for a company’s image that to see four of its burly henchmen manhandling a young woman.
She just wished she could have washed her hair and been wearing a clean dress, if only to make herself look more vulnerable.
Below her she heard the crack of a twig, the almost imperceptible vibration through the trunk and branches as someone began to climb. Her mouth dried as fear clutched at her and she sank further into the shadows, uncertain which way the attack would come.
‘Mum!’ she whispered, feeling more alone and afraid than she had in all the last few days since everyone else had deserted the protest.
Even in the daylight, with a dozen cameras trained on them, the rent-a-thugs the contractors had hired to evict them wouldn’t care about the bruises they inflicted. In the dark, there would be no one to see.
‘Heather?’ The voice was low, barely discernible. ‘Heather are you there?’
She flinched back against the trunk, not recognising the voice, fearing a trap. ‘Mac said to tell you he would have come himself but he daren’t risk his knee.’
‘Mac?’ The name was startled from her. ‘You know Mac?’ A man hoisted himself over the branch and grinned at her, only his teeth and the whites of his eyes showing against his blackened face, the dark balaclava.
‘He sent this. So you’d know I was on the level.’ He offered her something small and bright.
‘His medal!’ She looked back at him. ‘Who are you?’
‘Jack. Jack Wolfe. I’m a brother-in-law of sorts.’
‘Of sorts? What does that mean?’
‘If I tell you that I married Melanie last week, does that give you an idea?’
‘Married.’ She had forgotten to whisper. ‘Wasn’t that rather sudden?’
‘Very. We would have sent you an invitation but we didn’t know the number of your tree. Now shall we go before we both end up in jail?’
‘They’ll have to carry me out,’ she declared defiantly.
‘Oh, they will,’ he assured her. ‘Melanie just thought it would be rather more fun if you gave them the slip. While they were gearing up to storm the citadel, you could be giving a press conference somewhere plush in London, nails manicured, wearing a designer suit.’
‘What?’
‘Confound the image of the grubby, professional protester, she thought. It would make people take you more seriously.’
She stared at him. ‘Are you for real?’
‘Believe it, sweetheart. But it’s been a while since I climbed a tree, so if you could make up your mind,’ he prompted.
‘Is Melanie with you?’ she asked.
‘She’s keeping watch down below. We haven’t got much time before the security patrol comes back but if you’d rather stick it out to the bitter end just say.’
‘No. No, I’ll come with you.’
They slithered down the tree and ran for a battered mini-bus with the contractor’s logo on the side. There were half a dozen of them lined up in the compound. She’d seen them arriving day after day bringing workers to the site. She glanced at Melanie.
‘We faked it up,’ she said, sliding back the door. Then as headlights swung across the far side of the site they rolled onto the floor of the van, heads down, out of sight while someone closed the door behind them.
‘Close call,’ Jack said, as the security patrol continued on its way without stopping. Then, as the handbrake was released, the van began to slide quietly out of the parking bay.
‘Did she come, Jack?’ someone said.
Heather blinked and moved in the direction of the voice. ‘Fizz?’
‘Dear God, Heather, you smell awful,’ she said, reeling back.
‘So would you if you’d been living up a tree for a month,’ Heather returned defensively and then, as they reached the main road and the engine started a couple of bulky figures climbed in beside them. ‘Mac!�
�� She flung her arms about him. ‘And Luke,’ she said, with more restraint.
‘Hey, kid, what about me?’
Claudia grinned from the seat behind the door. ‘You all came!’
‘Couldn’t miss out on the fun.’
She looked around. All except her mother and Edward. Still on their honeymoon no doubt. There never had been such a family for getting married she thought. Then, ‘Who’s driving?’
‘I am. They wouldn’t let me climb the tree and they said I was too old to push the van,’ Edward Beaumont said, glancing at this newest and most troublesome addition to his family. ‘And it’s true. I’m too old for this kind of thing. Is there any more coffee in that flask, Diana?’
‘Just a drop. I thought perhaps Heather would appreciate it.’
Diana turned in the front passenger seat and passed the cup back to her daughter. ‘Hi, darling. Been having fun?’
‘Fun!’ Heather wanted to laugh and cry and fling herself at her mother all at the same time. Instead she did what she always did and yelled at her. ‘Fun! Have you any idea what’s been going on while you’ve been swanning about the world? The sheer, wanton destruction-’
‘Save it for the press conference, darling. We’ll all be there. Edward’s booked a room at the Grosvenor. If they’ll let you into the place smelling like that.’
‘Just let them try and keep me out!’
Diana leaned back and kissed her daughter’s cheek. ‘That’s my girl.’
Claudia said, ‘Go for it, kid.’
Fizz reached out and held her hand briefly.
Melanie slid down beside Jack, took his hand into hers and squeezed it. ‘Interesting family you have,’ he murmured, into her ear.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
‘I’m not sure it was a compliment.’
‘No, I meant...’ She looked up into his face, saw that he was teasing. ‘You know what I meant. Thank you for doing this, organising the van, going up that tree.’
‘There’s a price to pay, darling.’ His voice was low and full of laughter.
‘Oh? And what’s that?’
‘I haven’t decided.’ His teeth appeared as he grinned in the darkness. ‘But I’ll think of something.’ He bent and kissed her. When he looked up again it was to discover that he was the object of six pairs of eyes. Only Edward was intent upon the road. ‘Whatever it is, it will be a long way from your family. ‘
‘We could go to-’
He placed a hand over her mouth. ‘Don’t say another word. Don’t even mention which continent it’s on. Surprise parties and family gatherings in the dead of night are all very well, but I’m not looking for company on our honeymoon.’ And this time when Jack Wolfe kissed his wife, he didn’t care who was looking.
Author note:
Well, that’s it. Almost. I had intended to write Heather’s story for Scarlet but it never happened and due to contractual constraints I couldn’t continue writing the same characters for another publisher. However, with the names changed, you will find Heather’s story in my Harlequin Romance “HIS PERSONAL AGENDA” – which is also available as an eBook.
Here’s a taste:
Bonus Read
HIS PERSONAL AGENDA
by
LIZ FIELDING
Chapter One
MATT CROSBY considered the man sitting behind the vast mahogany desk with a certain detachment. Charles Parker was not an easy man to warm to, but he would pay well and Matt had a lot of expenses.
‘I don’t have to explain the problem to you, Crosby,’ he said, sliding a file across the polished acres of mahogany. ‘This woman is a troublemaker. She’s holding up an important development, something badly needed and she’s got to be stopped.’
Matt wasn’t taken in by protestations of concern for the public interest, Charles Parker’s only concern was for profit. But he picked up the file and contemplated the photograph of a young woman clipped to the inside cover.
Nyssa Blake. The face that launched a thousand planning appeals.
She headed the wish list of every property developer in Britain. And they all wished the same thing. That she would go away.
According to the brief biography attached she was a few months shy of her twenty-third birthday but she was already capable of making Charles Parker reach for the panic button. With good reason. Her track record for forcing develops to ‘think again’ was impressive.
‘She can’t be allowed to get away with it,’ Parker insisted, impatiently.
‘No, I suppose not.’ After all, if she wasn’t stopped soon, she might get the crazy idea that she could do anything. He’d been twenty-two himself once, and just about remembered having ideals and a burning desire to put the world to rights, remembered that youthful sense of invincibility that didn’t know when it was beaten. He’d learned the hard way.
Parker glanced at him sharply. ‘There’s no suppose about it.’ Then, ‘That file contains just about everything that anyone has ever written about her and my secretary will give video tapes ... news coverage of her last campaign
‘An out of town shopping park, wasn’t it?’
Parker shuddered. ‘She brought in a botanist who is supposed to have found some rare species no one had ever heard of and cared even less about.’
‘Out of town shopping is very un-PC. The local authority was probably glad of an excuse to stop it.’ Parker glared at him and he shrugged. ‘What do want me to do?’
‘Don’t tempt me.’ Parker laughed, shortly. He was seriously rattled, seriously worried, Matt decided. Well, he’d heard rumours that Parker was having cash-flow problems. Any delay would hurt him badly. ‘What I’d really like is for someone to shut her up in some deep, dark dungeon and throw away the key.’ When Matt was unresponsive to this suggestion Parker shrugged. ‘No, well, maybe not,’ he said and then added a little laugh, just to show that he hadn’t really meant it.
Matt was not entirely convinced. ‘I won’t be involved in anything like that,’ he said.
‘Who would? As well as being the darling of the media, a myth in her own lifetime, she also has some powerful family connections.’ He nodded towards the file. ‘It’s all there, see what you can do with it.’
The file was certainly a hefty one, but Matt Crosby put it back on the desk. ‘I’m sure she’s a serious pain in the backside but I just don’t see what you expect me to do about it. I know some of her hangers-on can get a bit out of hand, but she’s a perfect Miss Goody Toe Shoes from all accounts. Never puts a foot wrong.’
‘Well, if she’s looking for evidence that the Gaumont Cinema at Delvering is worth saving she’ll have to break in to find it.’
‘Maybe you should just give her a guided tour, show her that she’s wasting her time? Maybe you should just bulldoze the place down?’ Parker didn’t respond to any of those suggestions. Matt shrugged. ‘Well, I suppose a court appearance would tarnish her halo…’
‘If you think I’m paying your kind of fees just to see her get a fifty-pound fine and a ticking off at the local magistrates court, you can think again.’
‘Faced with a brick wall,’ Matt pointed out, ‘you have two choices - bang your head against it, or take it down brick by brick.’
Parker snorted. ‘I haven’t got time for games. This is urgent.’ He leaned forward. ‘You come highly recommended as a trouble-shooter, Crosby. This girl is trouble and I want her ...’ He hesitated.
‘Shot?’ Matt offered, helpfully.
Parker glared at him. ‘Out of my hair. You’re supposed to be some kind of genius at digging up those nasty little secrets people would rather keep buried-’
‘You make a lot of enemies that way.’ Matt looked at the solemn-faced young woman in the photograph. He’d rather make a friend…
The man behind the desk wasn’t interested in his problems. ‘If you dig deep enough there’s got to be something and once the fawning masses discover that their heroine has feet of clay she’ll find the world is a very lon
ely place.’
Matt did not find the prospect of digging around in Nyssa Blake’s life looking for dirt in the least bit appealing. ‘This girl is twenty-two years old, Parker and ever since she dropped out of university she’s spent her time stopping people like you riding roughshod over planning regulations. What the devil do you think I’m going to find?’
‘What about drugs? All those hippie types smoke pot, don’t they?’
‘Do they?’ He shrugged. ‘She’s no hippie, Parker. Besides I doubt that she smokes anything.’ He regarded Parker steadily, keeping his features expressionless. ‘I’m sure she’d tell you that smoke is bad for the ozone layer?’
The man scowled back at him. ‘Sex, then.’
‘Sex?’ Matt unclipped Nyssa Blake’s photograph from the file and stared at it for a moment. She gazed back at him with frank, speedwell blue eyes that looked out from a small oval face framed by a tiny page boy bob of bright red hair. Her skin was clear and fresh, her mouth full but without a hint of a smile. She had the earnest look of a crusader about her.
There was nothing conventionally beautiful about Miss Nyssa Blake, but he didn’t doubt that when she entered a room every eye in the place would swivel in her direction.
‘I wouldn’t rely on sex to put people off,’ he said. On the contrary, he was sure that any suggestion that the lady was freely available would have every red-blooded male in the country clamouring to join her action group. ‘I should think money is your best bet. Who’s putting up the money for her campaign. Quality PR doesn’t come cheap. And the kind of coverage she attracts suggests there’s someone behind it who knows what they’re doing.’
‘Donations from well-wishers according to the lady.’
‘That’s a lot of good wishes.’
‘We seem to be working on the same wave length at last, Crosby.’ Parker sat back, a small, satisfied smile momentarily straightening his thin lips. ‘And if you draw a blank on the money side of things maybe you should take a look at her family. Her father was a soldier, killed in the Gulf War and posthumously decorated for bravery. I’m sure his daughter would do anything to protect his good name. And the dead can’t sue for libel.’