The Sister Secret (Family Ties)

by Jessica Steele

  Though what about him? Josy was the one he was after, not her. Belvia admitted that her physical and sexual knowledge of the opposite sex was limited but, even so, she was not so green that she could not tell when a man wanted her, even if he did have such control over his sexual urges that he could suppress his wanting—and reject her.

  Was she greener than she had thought, anyhow? Had he not wanted her after all, but been more intent on proving that her ‘I don’t sleep around’ claim was the rot he believed it was? Swine. She started to grow angry again. She was glad she had belted him. Then she remembered her father, and how he was desperate to do business with Latham, and she gave a groan of despair. Then she heard a light tap on her door, and Josy came in.

  ‘Hello, Jo,’ Belvia greeted her brightly. ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘So are you,’ Josy commented, and, as Belvia knew she would, ‘How did it go?’ she asked worriedly.

  And that was where Belvia knew that, even if she had to lie her head off, she was going to make sure that Josy had one day in which she was not going to be plagued with anxiety. ‘Fine,’ she smiled.

  ‘You were able to convince him that he’s wasting his time with me?’ Josy pressed, and Belvia knew that her twin would not just be unable to cope but would be terrified if ever Latham took her in his arms as he had her last night.

  ‘As you noticed, he has a very kind streak in him.’ Like hell he did! ‘He gave me dinner, and was very understanding—about you being shy, I mean. He asked me to give you his best wishes.’ Belvia thought that should do it—any more and it might be over the top.

  ‘And—he won’t be phoning here any more?’

  If she prevaricated, Josy would worry. ‘No,’ she replied positively, and determined to stand guard by the phone all week.

  Fortunately their father seemed to have other matters on his mind and forgot to ask how Josy had got on with the financier at dinner the previous evening. Belvia later heard him on the phone arranging to spend the day with a lady-friend, and Sunday passed without anything happening to ruffle the calmer waters Belvia thought her sister was sailing in.

  For the rest of the week that followed Belvia managed to make all the right responses whenever her father mentioned Latham Tavenner, which, as chance had it, seemed to be only when Josy was not around. For that week too, Belvia stayed close to the phone whenever she could. Because Josy might wonder why she was not exercising Hetty, if she followed through her fleeting idea to pay the stables to exercise her, Belvia went each afternoon to attend the horse. Each time she dashed home, though, it was to see that, given that everything was wrong with Josy’s world, she was starting to look more and more relaxed as the week went by.

  When Sunday rolled around again and not a word had Josy heard from Latham Tavenner, Belvia began to wonder if he had given up his pursuit of her sister.

  Evidence, however, that he had by no means given up that pursuit came only a few hours later. Their father had not come home the previous night, and she and Josy were having a cup of coffee in the sitting-room when the phone rang. How she could have allowed herself to become so complacent Belvia could not explain. Though perhaps it was because she had been so keyed up all week, expecting Latham to ring, that, when he had not, she had started to believe that he would not—not now. Which was why, Josy being the nearer to the phone, she let her answer it.

  ‘Hello?’ said Josy, and went ashen.

  In a flash, instinct screaming at her who was on the phone, Belvia was out of her chair and grabbing the phone out of her sister’s hand. ‘Hello!’ she gasped.

  Silence. Then, ‘I was talking to Josy!’ Latham Tavenner stated harshly. Oh, grief, he hadn’t forgiven her for attempting to break his jaw, then—not that she had expected him to.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured politely, unsure if she was being polite for his sake, for Josy’s sake—whom she would have believe she had nothing to worry about—or for her father’s sake, not to mention his employees’. ‘Josy had to dash off. She’s got something burning in the oven.’ She saw a look of relief wash over Josy’s face, and smiled encouragingly and nodded when she saw her sister stack the coffee-tray and indicate that she was going to take their used coffee-cups to the kitchen.

  ‘We can’t have your Sunday roast cindered,’ Latham offered sarcastically, and Belvia knew that he hadn’t believed her excuse for a minute.

  She waited to answer until Josy had closed the sitting-room door behind her. This was dreadful! She had thought... ‘What did you want Josy for?’ she asked abruptly.

  ‘Please,’ he suggested, reminding her of her manners.

  My God, he was doing it again, making her want to thump him! Never had she met a man who could so effortlessly upset her equilibrium. She swallowed hard, and rephrased her question. ‘What can we do for you?’ she enquired, trying to make her voice as pleasant as possible.

  ‘We?’

  Her right hand itched. ‘Me, then,’ she pushed out from between clenched teeth.

  ‘You don’t consider you’ve done—enough?’

  Oh, my... She struggled to stay calm. ‘I consider that, when I b— hit you on Saturday, you had it coming. Which,’ she tacked on swiftly, ‘if you’re half as honourable as they say you are, you’ll admit is—’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me about honour!’ he clipped.

  Oh, hell, he was off again about that affair she had made out she was having with a married man. Now did not seem to be the time to renew her denial. ‘So we’re both in the wrong.’ She swallowed down impetuous words to get him to think better of her—grief, as if she cared! ‘Um, Latham.’ Damn, now why had his name just slipped out? Crazy. ‘The thing is, it looks as if Josy’s having a few problems in the kitchen—she really did go to the kitchen—er—can I take a message for you?’

  Silence. Frantically, if belatedly, Belvia tried desperately for something to say that would retrieve a situation that looked to be rushing headlong into ‘Who needs the Feredays anyway?’ That might be marvellous for Josy, but would be ruinous for her father.

  ‘It was your sister I wanted to speak to,’ he stated at last. ‘I hear she’s pretty good about horse-flesh—I’d value her opinion on a horse I’m thinking of buying.’

  And if I believe that I’ll believe anything, Belvia fumed, knowing full well that if he wanted an opinion on horse-flesh he would go directly to the top expert. But she was feeling sick inside that all too clearly Latham’s pursuit of Josy had never let up. Most probably he had been out of town on business this week—and this was his first chance... She took a shaky breath as she suddenly realised that she was going to have to do what she should have done a week ago, what she had gone to his flat to do, in fact—appeal to his better nature, if he had one.

  ‘Look, Latham,’ she began, her tone conciliatory.

  ‘Oh, you’re still there!’

  Sarcastic swine. Did he think she had rushed off to drag Josy back to the phone? ‘The thing is...’ She hesitated, no more ready now with what she wanted to say than she had been before.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted.

  ‘Well...’ She took a deep breath. ‘Can I see you?’ she plunged.

  A dreadful silence followed her blunt request, during which she felt quite mortified. For herself, she would never ask. For Josy, she had to ask—even if it meant she had put herself on the receiving end of a ton of sarcasm for her trouble.

  ‘You—want a return match?’ he asked finally, and Belvia knew he was referring to the way she had put all her slender weight behind the blow she had struck him.

  ‘No,’ she replied quietly, so that he would know that it was not her usual habit to resort to physical violence—though, come to think of it, no one of her acquaintance earned it the way he did.

  ‘You’re saying—that you want a date?’ he asked incredulously, deliberately misunderstanding her, she was sure. ‘You’re asking me to go out with you?’

  ‘No, I’m not!’ She blew it in no uncertain fashion, her a
ggressiveness out in the open. Who in creation did he think he was? she seethed, not mistaking that tone in his voice which clearly showed he was not one bit enamoured of the idea of a date with her. But she bit down her ire. ‘I need to talk to you—to explain about...’

  ‘Josy,’ he finished for her. ‘You didn’t make a very good job of it last time,’ he did not hesitate to remind her.

  Rodent! she smouldered, wanting only to forget the whole of that ‘last time’. Only, clearly, he was not going to let her. ‘Please,’ she swallowed her pride to utter—and again had to wait while he thought the matter over.

  ‘I could give you lunch, I suppose,’ he thought out loud. Today? What the dickens would she wear? ‘But I don’t see why I should.’ Pig, she fumed, hating him afresh and starting to believe he was playing some cat-and-mouse game with her for his own amusement. There was nothing in any way remotely amused in his tone, however, when after a moment more of consideration he told her decisively, ‘You know where I live—come here tonight.’

  Belvia stared in disbelief at the dead phone in her hand. The misbegotten brute—he’d put the phone down on her!

  A minute later and she was still finding fresh names for him. It had always been her prerogative to say yea or nay, but he, the monster, had just taken that prerogative away from her and, because of Josy, she could do nothing about it.

  Thinking of her sister reminded her that Josy would be nervously waiting to hear what that phone call had been all about. And that was when Belvia accepted that, for quite some while now, because of Josy, because of their father, her yea or nay where Latham Tavenner was concerned had been immaterial. He stated, made his wishes known, and she had to comply.

  Belvia tilted her chin at a defiant angle. So be it. She went in search of Josy facing that, because she had no choice; she would have to put up with being bossed around by Mr Come-here-tonight, End-of-conversation. She would go because she had to, because she would do anything she had to to end this particular torment for Josy—but, oh, how she wished she need never have anything more to do with him.

  ‘What did he want?’ Josy wanted to know the moment she saw her.

  ‘Nothing to get stewed up about,’ Belvia smiled. ‘He’d merely heard, from Father probably, that you knew horse-flesh, and he wanted your opinion on a horse he’s thinking of buying.’

  ‘You told him I no longer have anything to do with horses?’ Josy asked urgently.

  ‘Of course. Don’t be upset. I told you you had nothing to worry about with Latham, didn’t I?’ Belvia went on cheerily. ‘Which you’d have discovered for yourself if I hadn’t been such an idiot and grabbed the phone from you,’ she laughed.

  Belvia was not laughing later when, in the early evening, she began to feel extremely agitated about seeing Latham again. Oh, for goodness’ sake. She tried impatiently to snap herself out of it. What could happen to her that had not happened to her already?

  Because of her inner agitation, though, she dressed with special care, as if hoping her red short-sleeved crêpe dress would give her some confidence.

  ‘You didn’t say you were going out,’ Josy remarked when she popped her head round the sitting-room door.

  ‘I just thought I’d drive over and see Kate, in case she’s feeling a bit lost since her retirement.’ And, playing her ace, ‘Would you like to come?’ Josy had never met Kate; her answer was a foregone conclusion.

  ‘No, thanks,’ Josy smiled.

  ‘See you, then. Shouldn’t be too late—well, not unless Kate’s starved for company and wants to talk late.’

  Belvia did not hurry. While she was anxious for this meeting to be over, she was not so anxious to meet Latham again. She was not hungry and had no mind to share his dinner this time, so deliberately made sure that she did not enter the foyer of his apartments before nine.

  The same commissionaire was on duty as before. ‘Good evening, Miss Fereday,’ he greeted her, and as he went over to the lifts with her and pressed the appropriate button Belvia understood how he had got his job. Commissionaires did not come any more alert, tactful and smart than this man.

  Her thoughts were all on another man, the man she was there to see, well before the lift stopped at his floor. With her insides churning, she walked along to his door and pressed the bell.

  He kept her waiting, and that niggled her, and she was glad to feel niggled. Given that she was there to appeal to his better nature, she felt better able to cope with how she was feeling as she experienced a spurt of annoyance.

  Then she heard him coming to the door, and her insides were aflutter again. The door opened, and he stood there, as she remembered him, dark-haired, grey-eyed, and cool with it. He was casually dressed in shirt and trousers, ‘Come in,’ he invited, his eyes taking in her blonde hair framing her face, her neatly fitting dress. ‘I’m just finishing my meal.’ She pinned a pleasant look on her face and went in. ‘You can make some coffee,’ he stated—it sounded like an order. Her pleasant look started to slip. Oh, for some rat-poison!

  ‘I think I know where the kitchen is,’ she murmured as evenly as she could and, to cover that she would prefer to punch his head, she went kitchenwards.

  In the kitchen she found the makings for his coffee and, to the devil with it, found two cups and set to work making coffee and trying to restore her equilibrium. With him so close, it somehow was not easy, and she loaded a tray, working hard on an entry line. How’s business? No, she couldn’t say that! Latham Tavenner was a shrewd operator. She did not want to give him the smallest cause to associate her visit in any way with business—her father would be furious if she slipped up and gave away the smallest clue that he would not mind doing business with Latham. Her father always had played his cards close to his chest.

  She carried the tray into the dining-room—only to find that Latham had transferred to the sitting-room. He took the tray from her when she went in, and set it down on a small table in front of a well-padded, luxurious couch.

  ‘Have you lived here long?’ She looked about as she offered an everyday question.

  ‘Some while,’ he replied, indicating she should take a seat on the couch. ‘It’s a useful base,’ he commented.

  Belvia did as he indicated and sat herself behind the coffee-pot—and at once felt her equilibrium slip when Latham opted to sit on the couch beside her. ‘You’re not here all the time, then?’ she enquired, her brain picking that up from what he had just said while she tried to get the rest of her act together.

  ‘I’m frequently away,’ he agreed.

  ‘You’ve been away this week?’ She followed through her thought of earlier that day, that he had been out of town on business that week.

  ‘I flew in this morning,’ he confirmed.

  Not merely out of town, but out of the country by the sound of it! It did not bode well for her sister, Belvia considered, that one of the first things he did on his return was to pick up the phone and ring Josy on the pretext of asking her about some horse he was interested in.

  She poured him a cup of coffee, aware that she was skirting around the real issue of why she was there. ‘Cream?’ she enquired.

  ‘Black, thanks,’ he answered, and then, when she was mentally getting her words in order to talk of Josy, he upset her concentration by asking abruptly, ‘Where’s the boyfriend tonight?’

  ‘There isn’t one,’ she replied, and saw his brow darken.

  ‘You never felt it necessary to lie about his existence before!’ he reminded her sharply, and Belvia realised the situation was going rapidly downhill—not at all the way it was supposed to go.

  ‘Oh, that...’ she began but, looking at him, she saw from the cold look in his grey eyes that things had gone too far for her to try now to convince him that there was not any married lover in her life. To try to convince him, she realised, would only make it seem she was protesting too much, and convince him of the opposite. Anyway, she thought, starting to feel niggled again, why should she try to convince him of anythin
g to do with her? It was not why she was here. She placed her coffee-cup back on the table. ‘Do you mind if we talk about something else?’ she asked evenly—and found he would be the one to decide when to change the subject.

  ‘It embarrasses you talking of your lover?’ he grated toughly. ‘The man you’re enjoying behind his wife’s back?’

  ‘There isn’t...’ she flared, but saw, as Latham glowered, ready to disbelieve any denial she made, that she was wasting her breath. ‘I’m not here about me!’ she stated stiffly.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No!’ she replied shortly, and, as he placed his cup down on the table beside hers, felt her right hand itch with wayward tendencies again.

  ‘Then—let me guess—it must have something to do with your sister.’

  ‘You know damn well it is!’ she snapped—he really was asking for it.

  ‘Do I?’ he drawled. ‘The last time you were here, supposedly on the same errand, you—er—forgive me for being indelicate,’ he inserted, not looking in the slightest apologetic, ‘you showed every sign of—wanting my body.’

  That was it! In a flash she was on her feet—only to feel the firm grip of his hand on her arm pulling her down again. Clearly he was of the view that he was the one who would decide when this discussion was over. Fuming, furious, she resisted as long as she was able, but his superior strength won, and she was pulled back to the place she had just jumped up from.

  Only in doing so, in Latham taking his hand from her arm, she fell awkwardly against him—and his hand accidentally brushed across her breast. ‘Oh!’ she gasped, frissons of electricity rocketing through her as her eyes shot to his.

  Latham stared back, his aggression, like hers, dented. She felt powerless to move. His hand was still near to her breast, and she felt that she was not even breathing when, unhurriedly, as if he had liked that brief flirtation with her breast, Latham moved his hand—and cupped it over her breast.