‘Oh, please, spare me the violins! And don’t try and pretend that you’re purer than the driven snow. “False pretences” is what springs to mind. In other words, you lied. Liars don’t have the privilege of giving speeches on other people’s priniciples.’
‘You should talk,’ Elizabeth muttered.
‘What do you intend to do now?’ Andreas asked coldly, choosing to ignore her sotto voce remark.
Elizabeth’s eyes skittered away from his shimmering, forbidding gaze. With every passing word, she could feel the doors slamming on the fragile relationship they had had. She had got in too deep and this was the price she was going to have to pay. ‘I wasn’t going to tell him!’ she blurted out, and Andreas frowned, impatient and uncomprehending. ‘I was going to keep my identity secret. I just wanted to get to know my father, and I would have been happy to leave it there.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘No.’
Andreas found himself taken aback by the quietly spoken monosyllable, but he recovered quickly. ‘How well you know me.’ His mouth curled derisively. ‘And you still haven’t answered my question.’
Elizabeth shrugged. ‘I know that James…my father…no longer really needs daily attention. He asked me to stay on here, but I’ve decided that I’m going to look for work locally, maybe rent somewhere in the village.’
‘How noble of you. I wonder how long that ambition will last with the siren of a manor house calling? Rent free.’
Elizabeth lifted her chin and glared. ‘I think I’ve answered enough of your questions!’
‘You’re right.’ He astonished her by smoothly agreeing. ‘But there are just a few little pearls of wisdom that I’m going to put your way, and if you have a single iota of sense you’ll make damn sure you pay heed to them. The first is that, whatever your real motives are for approaching James in this manner, for getting under his skin and then revealing yourself in your true colours, I am not my godfather. I will leave for London in two days’ time, but I have access online to all his financial dealings. I handle his considerable banking affairs, and if I spot one unaccounted for penny going astray I’ll be on your case like a ton of bricks.’
So now she was a common thief? Andreas scowled, stamping down a hitherto unseen side to him that appeared gullible enough to find that notion laughable. He reminded himself that not only was the woman a liar and a fraud but she was also the woman who had turned him down. Narrow escape for him, naturally, but he was still outraged at the rejection.
Elizabeth nodded because she was weary of repeating her intentions. Her brain had latched on to that simple statement that he would be leaving for London in two days, and having latched on was refusing to let it go. She could already feel the emptiness of his imminent departure swirling around her like a wintry breeze, even though she told herself that their relationship had only ever been an interlude that would come to an end, and that as endings went sooner was surely better than later.
‘Needless to say,’ Andreas informed her coolly, ‘your services with me are no longer required.’
Like the hired help, which was what Amanda had called her, she was now being dismissed.
She turned away, tears blurring her vision, though fortunately her long hair, cascading around her face, hid that final humiliation from his piercing eyes.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she left the kitchen. All her energy seemed to have seeped out of her body, and it was only as she was tiredly heading up the stairs that she realised that she would have some contact with him in time to come, as James’s godson. Limited contact, granted, but any contact would require some measure of self-composure. She just couldn’t fall to pieces every time she looked at his face, heard his voice or allowed her eyes to linger on the sinewy lines of his body. She would go mad.
She would have to work hard at getting him out of her system. Now that everything was out in the open, she would be able to really get to know her father, to find out all she could about him, and to indulge him in a way she had not been able to when she had just been his carer. That would go a long way to restoring her sanity and putting the sorry situation with Andreas into perspective. In due course, she told herself, it would likewise help to patch up the wear and tear on her heart—and if the patch-up job was a bit dodgy to start with then over time it would become more solid, and eventually to the casual observer it would look as if it had never been damaged.
Maybe she would step out of her vacuum and actually begin living a little. Maybe she would start taking an interest in guys. Maybe she was just kidding herself when she assumed that Andreas was irreplaceable. How could someone so arrogant, so merciless, so emotionally deep-frozen, be irreplaceable? It didn’t make sense.
She needed to recapture the practical girl she had been all her life and then everything would fall into place.
She wasn’t to know that that was not going to be an option.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WITH the whirring of the helicopter blades making conversation on his mobile impossible, Andreas finally had time to think about what was happening back at the manor house—after a week of plunging himself back into a work routine which even for him had been extreme, and had left his secretary dazed and exhausted. None of it was to his liking.
High on the list of reasons for his ongoing foul temper was the fact that he hadn’t been able to rid his mind of Elizabeth. She kept popping up like the proverbial bad penny at the least opportune moments: in the middle of high-level meetings. On the date he had had with a supermodel of the leggy-blonde format. In the middle of writing a report. Even at the gym, where he had lost concentration and remarkably ceded a pretty easy squash match to his partner.
Since when had he ever been the kind of guy who lost sleep over a woman? He had lost sleep over her, and he just didn’t get it. Had she put some kind of crazy spell on him? It felt like it. Except Andreas didn’t believe in crazy spells. God knew, it was a simple enough situation. Guy meets girl; guy distrusts girl; guy sleeps with girl; girl turns out to be liar, cheat and who knew what else? Guy makes his thoughts known and washes his hands of situation because no woman was worth the headache. Easy. Sorted. So why had she succeeded in taking up residence in his head like a squatter with no intention of clearing off? He couldn’t understand it.
And now this.
He scowled and stared out at a countryside that was moving past at dizzying speed and was barely visible under the cloak of darkness. He had instant and unpleasant recall of every word of the conversation he had had with his godfather the day before.
James had been on top of the world ever since Amanda’s startling revelation, and Andreas had endured so many conversations on the subject of his new-found lease of life that anyone would have been forgiven for thinking that his godfather had personally been the witness to a miracle of biblical proportions.
So it should have come as no surprise that trumpeting his happiness to the rest of the world would be on the agenda. Yet Andreas had been dumbfounded at James’s chipper announcement that he was having a bash, a rather substantial bash, to introduce his daughter to the great and the good.
‘I thought you had no time for the great and the good,’ Andreas had remarked, softening the clipped disapproval in his voice by adding, ‘You always maintained that they were a bunch of phonies only to be tolerated because of Portia and her never-ending social climbing.’
But apparently Elizabeth had changed all that.
‘I can’t wait to show off my beautiful girl,’ James had crowed with obvious glee. ‘I’m hoping you will make it to the party, Andreas. You and Elizabeth,’ he had continued slyly, ‘seemed so in tune with one another that I cannot believe that you haven’t been down already.’
‘It’s been a week, James, and I’ve had to hit the ground running here.’
>
Which was why he had excused himself from attending any party. Certainly events of that nature bored the living daylights out of him. So what the hell was he doing now, dressed to the nines like an advertisement for Italian tailoring, in his helicopter? He thought of Elizabeth luxuriating in the spotlight, despite all her protests about just wanting to get to know her father, and his scowl intensified. Of course he had planned on returning to Somerset, and had vaguely assumed that once his visit was announced Elizabeth would conveniently make herself scarce. Yet when he thought of her making herself scarce he was infuriatingly aware of a tightness in his chest that was close to a physical pain. He didn’t get it. He just knew that he had gone from being a man in total control of everything around him to a man driven by needs and cravings, that were making a nonsense of the cool-headed logic that was pivotal to his well-ordered universe.
‘Five minutes, sir.’
Andreas grunted. By the time he made it to the manor, the party would already be in full swing, and he had no doubt that Elizabeth would be living it up as the belle of the ball. For a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, she had suddenly hit the jackpot, and wouldn’t she be enjoying the experience?
Not to mention the thrill of mixing with the sons, nephews and friends of friends of the great and the good, among whom there was certainly a suitor in waiting.
Another little aside which James had confided almost as an afterthought at the end of their conversation.
‘I wouldn’t want her to become bored out here,’ James had said in a wistful voice, which was so unlike him that Andreas had had to bite back the urge to be sarcastic. ‘And what better way of staving off boredom for a girl than to have some suitable lad in the background?’
‘You don’t know any suitable lads,’ Andreas had felt compelled to point out as his mind grappled with the disconcerting vision of Elizabeth in bed with another man. He hadn’t bothered to conceal the sudden chill in his voice as jealousy had taken root, primitive, bone-breaking jealousy that made him clench his jaw in angry rejection.
‘But I know people who do! In fact, you’d be surprised,’ James had added smugly, ‘how many people want to come and see the wealthy hermit and his daughter. Nothing like a good scandal to get people crawling out of the woodwork! Dot’s been handling the whole thing, and never mind that it’s all last minute. Calendars are being cleared faster than you can say Bollinger! Never thought I’d be having so much fun at my ripe old age.’
A driver had been arranged to bring his car down from London and chauffeur him from air field to manor, but even in the back of the silent car—when Andreas could feasibly have used the down time to make a few business calls—he had found his mind too busily engaged in the situation that lay ahead.
It was ludicrous to think that Elizabeth would allow herself to be pushed into going on a series of dates with James’s idea of eligible bachelors. Andreas had met several of those over the years at parties, when Portia had been around, and they were usually neatly split into two categories: the chinless wonders with titles, and the pushy yuppies with money. He couldn’t credit that Elizabeth would find either appealing, but doubtless she would feel obliged to give them house room because she wouldn’t want to disappoint James.
That set his teeth on edge. To distract himself from his unpleasant train of thought, he fiddled with his phone, sliding his finger over the surface and idly scanning his address book—pausing fractionally when he got to Isobel’s name, but he had no inclination to call the newly acquired blonde. He wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed him to go on a date with her in the first place. She made great arm-candy but her conversation had been simpering, the date had been lukewarm and he was already aware that she would regrettably have to be jettisoned. He was finding it hard to remember those peaceful times when work had been everything and great arm-candy had been a revitalising tonic.
He stuck the phone back in his pocket and felt his incipient bad mood go up a notch as his limo began weaving slowly down the familiar country lanes that led to James’s house. Nor did it improve when the car turned the corner and he was rewarded with the sight of blazing lights, a courtyard festooned with outdoor heaters and massive urns of flowers and an array of cars that stretched around the rim of the courtyard and down the long lane that led up to the house. People were milling around outside, smoking. He was visibly reminded of the parties Portia used to give in her heyday, parties to which he had been invited only at James’s insistence: music, dancing, food, champagne, name-dropping and networking on a scale that would make your head spin.
‘Drop me here.’ He leaned forward to tap his driver on the shoulder. ‘And take the car back up to London. I’ll make my own way back.’
‘Are you sure, sir?’
‘The pub in the town does an excellent meal, and there are rooms there if you don’t want to make the trip tonight. Use my name and sign the bill.’ With that he let himself out of the car and seriously began to question the rashness of his decision to disobey his very logical, highly controlled streak which had told him to stay in London and let them both get on with the business of blazing her name in neon lights all over the county.
* * *
Elizabeth, just at that moment passing one of the windows that overlooked the courtyard and the long, straight avenue that led towards the lane at the end, missed the tall figure striding up to the house with his hands shoved into his pockets and a grim expression on his face.
She was busily trying to make herself as background as was humanly possible for someone wearing red. With heels. And hair artfully straightened by the local hairdresser and falling to her waist. She had been dreading this party; she had done her very best to talk her father out of it, had protested on every possible front, but in the end had caved in because he had been so ridiculously excited at the prospect of it. Reading between the lines, she had glimpsed a man who under his gruff, sometimes brutal ‘let’s call a spade a spade’ demeanour had been vulnerable over the years to whispers about his childless state—murmurs that Portia had been denied a child because he hadn’t been able to give her one. Her heart strings had been mightily pulled except now, after only an hour and a half of the ongoing noise, inspection, chit chat and outright curiosity, she was ready to chuck in the towel and find the nearest exit.
This, even though she had been trying hard to find the whole thing exciting. James had ruefully told her that Andreas would not be attending, to which she had shrugged nonchalantly as though it mattered not in the slightest to her whether he attended or not. Then she had blown it by waspishly adding that he was probably way too busy living in the fast lane in London and probably sick to death of the countryside. To which James had countered, mildly, that her tone of bitterness was a little surprising, considering they seemed to have been getting along so brilliantly just before he left.
She began scouting around for her father. For someone who had made it his creed to avoid big parties at all costs, he seemed to be having a riotous time, catching up with old friends while holding court over all the local ones—including Dot, who had kindly sprung into action and arranged the whole affair. Since they had numerous friends and acquaintances in common, most of whom she had diligently kept in touch with over the years, the guest list had been easily compiled and had run into several dozen. Over a hundred, in fact. She snatched at a passing tray, helping herself to another glass of champagne and a canapé, and heaved a small sigh of resignation as Toby Gilbert weaved his way towards her.
Would she ever have met a guy like Toby Gilbert if she hadn’t entered this strange, elite world via the side door, being James Greystone’s prodigal daughter? No. He was one of those men who would have existed on the fringes of her life, one of those successful, eligible lawyer-types who moved in a slightly different stratosphere to the one she had occupied. Suave, charming, well-dressed and undeniably posh.
He w
as just one of several who had come with older friends or relatives to ‘brighten up the evening’, as James had coyly put it. Only at the eleventh hour, when Elizabeth had already nervously donned her party gear and had been looking forward to the party with a deep sense of dread.
‘You don’t look as though you’re having a ball.’ His bright-blue eyes were amused and assessing as he helped himself from a passing tray to one of the intricate delicacies that must have taken some painstaking caterer ages to concoct. ‘Can’t say I blame you,’ he continued drily. ‘Must be hellish being held up for inspection and knowing that you’re obliged to enjoy the experience.’ His thick, blond hair was artfully cut, a little long at the front, but not so long that he wouldn’t be taken seriously in his job. He was, she had to admit, the kind of man who would have no trouble with the women. It was woefully unfair that her head was so cluttered up with the wrong guy that she couldn’t do more than return a wan smile and force herself to make polite small-talk.
She had promised herself not to think about Andreas. It seemed a vital step in weaning herself off him. She was sure she could do it. To aid the process, she swallowed the remainder of her champagne in one gulp, and was discomfited by the sensation of bubbles fizzing down the back of her throat.
Then she proceeded to listen politely, her head cocked to one side to demonstrate interest, even though her rebellious mind had broken free of its rein and was beginning to wander down all those forbidden routes. Which was why the sight of Andreas, leaning against the doorframe of the vast, crowded drawing-room and looking at her, was not at all disconcerting; she knew that it was just her crazy imagination playing tricks on her. She blinked to clear the picture and then gasped softly when she realised that the person now turning to address a few words to the fan club of tittering women who had circled him with interest was no figment of her imagination.
From Prim to Improper Page 13
