'When I came over here on business last month, Anna came with me. She was determined to make it up with Morris. Unbeknown to me, she called his apartment and found out from his housekeeper where he was dining one night. Of course Anna persuaded me to take her out to dinner at the same restaurant. I never did get to eat that night. As soon as we arrived, Anna espied Morris with another woman, a younger woman than her. Knowing Anna's temper, you can guess what happened next. My first thought was to go after Morris, but Anna made me promise I wouldn't interfere, not so much as speak to the man.'
Beth's stomach churned. She felt sick; she had to get out. But she could not make herself move; the masculine-voiced conversation held her in masochistic fascination.
'So, how did you meet the girl if she was with Morris?' Bob asked.
'Pure coincidence—fate, if you like. You know Brice—we've done business with him before—he's after a new contract. A week or so after the restaurant fiasco, I had a meeting with him the same day his firm was throwing a party. A young couple arrived and did an impromptu dance—not very well, I might add—and the girl ended up flat on the floor.'
Beth heard the chuckles and the clink of glasses. They were drinking and laughing at her. What more evidence did she need of her own stupidity?
'At first I thought, Idiots! But when the girl gazed up at me, with great big green soulful eyes, I recognised her as Morris's dinner date. Beth is not the type I usually go for. She's young, and quite small, but there's something about her. I could see why Morris fancied her. And it gave me the perfect opportunity to help Anna without breaking my promise to her. The rest, as they say, is history. I decided to take her from Morris and give Anna a chance to get him back. It wasn't difficult; I let her know I was disgustingly rich, and, like all women, she was hooked.'
'But why on earth would you consider another gold- digger after Caroline? And, more importantly, why get engaged to the girl if you have no intention of marrying her?'
'I never actually said that, Bob. After all, I'm not getting any younger, and I would like a son and heir. I think Beth is young enough, and eager enough, to become quite an obedient wife.'
Beth had heard enough. More than enough. She stood up and swayed slightly. She put her hand down on the communication console to steady herself and ironically succeeded in doing what she should have done in the beginning: the voices stopped.
She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. So, she was 'young enough, and eager enough, to be an obedient wife'. Now she knew what Dex really thought of her. A travesty of a smile contorted her lovely face. And it certainly had nothing to do with love! He had taken her out to stop her dating Paul Morris. But why? Why lie? Why go to such an extent for his sister?
She glanced down at her hand, still on the console. The diamond ring on her finger winked back. A token of love and commitment, she had thought; straightening, she wrenched the ring off her finger and stuffed it in her purse—she couldn't bear to look at it.
She needed to think, but not here, not now. Later she would feel the pain, the heartache, but her first priority was to get away without meeting Dex.
Silently she walked across the room, and, grasping the door handle, she hesitated and looked around the office. Streamlined, high-tech functional—a suitably sterile environment in which to lose one's dreams, her artistic mind thought bitterly. Opening the door, she left.
She ran down the stairs, oblivious to the casino's customers and out on to the street without being challenged. When she finally stopped running she collapsed against the railings of a smart townhouse, and with her arms wrapped around her waist she doubled over in pain.
'Are you all right, miss?' A voice broke into her anguished thoughts, and she looked up into the concerned face of a policeman.
'Yes, yes, I'm fine.' She forced herself to straighten up, and glanced around. A bus stop caught her eye.
'Are you sure?'
'Just out of breath. I was running for a bus,' she lied. But the policeman seemed to accept her statement.
Which was why, five minutes later, she was actually seated on a bus, staring vacantly out of the window as it chugged very slowly through the rush hour traffic. She had no idea where it was going and didn't care; she had simply shown the bus pass she used for work to the conductor and he had accepted it.
Wearily she laid her head against the window, the enormity of what had happened finally hitting her. Her so-called fiancé, the man of her dreams, didn't even like her, let alone love her. With her new-found knowledge of his real reason for taking her out, suddenly a lot of little things Dex had said and done made sense.
On their first date he had insisted on telling her how wealthy he was, something she had found uncomfortable. Now she knew why: he considered her, and apparently every other woman in the world, a gold-digger. Their first passionate kiss at the casino had simply been Dex's reaction to her talking to Paul Morris. Dex had been staking his claim, nothing more. His cynical comments about young women with old men suddenly made perfect sense. They had all been directed at Beth personally; it was how Dex actually saw her. She recalled the picnic, when he had said she was just like. . .and had stopped; he hadn't been comparing her to his sister, but to his ex-wife and the games she'd played.
He obviously considered his precious sister perfect. He would do anything for the woman—even get engaged to a girl he cared nothing about if he thought it would help his sister get her man.
Engaged. That was a laugh! The cost of a ring was nothing to a man of Dex's wealth. Mary had been right to warn Beth. Dex really was a bastard in every sense of the word. And Beth, fool that she was, had spent all day anticipating falling into his arms and into his bed tonight.
The tragedy of it all, Beth thought with a bone-deep anguish, was that it had all been so unnecessary. If Dex had just once been honest, had asked her a simple question, she would not now be sitting on a bus with a black void where her heart used to be. . . She could see it all so clearly now, could pinpoint the exact two days, when the farce that had led her to this point had begun. Gazing with sightless eyes at the darkness beyond the bus window, she relived the whole episode in her mind. . .
Beth looked around her with delight, then sent a beaming smile to her dinner companion. 'Paul, this is fabulous! I can't thank you enough.' Her green eyes sparkled in the small oval of her lovely face. 'Dining on Park Lane makes me feel quite deliciously decadent.'
'Unlike your mother, Beth, you couldn't be decadent if you tried.' Her strikingly handsome silver-haired companion responded with an indulgent smile.
He was so right, Beth mused. Her mother had married for the fifth time the year Beth turned eighteen. Beth hadn't seen her since, but she didn't care. She had long since given up any hope of a mother-daughter relationship.
But Paul Morris had been the one constant adult throughout her twenty-one years. He had been a friend of her father, and was her godfather. He had managed the small trust fund her father had settled on her for her education, and had supported her ambition to become a graphic artist, encouraging her to go to the local college in Torquay.
She'd quickly discovered, after graduating last May, that the scope for a budding graphic artist in her home county of Devon was limited. But Paul had stepped in and used his not inconsiderable clout to find her a job in the London advertising firm his own company used. He'd also helped her find a small apartment to rent in Docklands. She had been in London for over two months, and was so far loving every minute of it—and dining at one of the poshest restaurants in the city certainly helped!
Grinning back, she dismissed her musing and said jokingly, 'Oh, I don't know.' Eyeing the plate of exquisitely arranged noisettes of lamb, with accompanying vegetables, that the waiter was placing in front of her, she continued, 'I think I could very easily get used to this lifestyle.'
Paul raised his glass and Beth reciprocated. 'To you, Beth, and your future success as the greatest graphic artist ever. I might have pulled a few strings to get you i
n to Canary Characters, but according to Cecil, the art director, you're a natural—and nice with it. Which I always knew, anyway," he said with great satisfaction.
He was the father she had never really known, and probably the kindest person she had ever met. Emotion clogged her throat but, swallowing hard, she replied, 'To you, Paul; your help and understanding over the years have made me what I am today.'
They both sipped their champagne, a look of pure love and understanding passing between them. Then, all hell broke loose. . .
Out of the corner of her eye Beth saw a very attractive dark-haired woman approach the table. To her amazement, the woman picked up Paul's dinner plate and tipped his meal over his head.
'You bastard! You said I was too young. . .' With a vitriolic look in Beth's direction, the woman changed from English into a language that Beth recognised as Italian but which she did not understand—and that was maybe just as well, as she doubted the woman's words were complimentary.
Eyes like saucers, open-mouthed, Beth stared at Paul. Mint sauce was trickling down his forehead, a lamb noisette sat on his head, another on his shoulder, the rest of his food—small new potatoes and assorted vegetables—lay all over the table and in his lap. Stunned, she looked down at the glass still in her hand and eyed the single petit pois floating in it. Replacing the glass on the table, she carefully picked the tiny pea out of her champagne.
She had read books where the hero got spaghetti tipped over him by some irate woman, but somehow lamb and potatoes did not have the same effect, Beth thought inconsequentially, glancing back at Paul. He had risen to his feet and was saying something low and hard to the woman that obviously did not please her, if the fury in her dark eyes was anything to go by.
Suddenly a man appeared and encircled the lady's waist with a strong arm. He was tall, about six-two, and built like a barn door—or a double door, Beth amended in her mind. She couldn't see the man's face, only his very broad back, black hair and long, long legs, but it was enough to send a shiver of fear down her spine. She didn't fancy Paul's chances with this burly hunk, obviously bristling with male aggression.
But she need not have worried. In a matter of seconds the stranger was ushering the woman straight on, and out of the restaurant.
Her face reflecting her astonishment, Beth glanced up at Paul, and he, with the sophistication of the true gentleman, first asked Beth if she was all right and apologised for the interruption, then calmly instructed the maître d' to have the table reset and their order replaced.
Beth grabbed Paul's sleeve. 'Surely you don't want to stay here now?' she whispered urgently, suddenly aware of the amused looks of the rest of the diners, and blushing scarlet with embarrassment.
'Beth, darling,' he soothed, removing her hand from his sleeve and nonchalantly brushing himself down with his napkin before resuming his seat, 'remember the stiff upper lip and all that. The mark of a true Englishman is to remain cool, whatever the circumstances. Besides which, I'm hungry, and I have no intention of forgoing my meal for some over-excitable Latin female.'
'But who was she? And why did she—?'
Paul held up a hand. 'Forget her, Beth. I already have.'
'But she was furious. . .'
'I know—her type always are. I think it's one of nature's little tricks on the male of the species. While one prefers a fiery, passionate woman in bed, one avoids them like the plague out of it. Which is probably why I have never married,'
'You're incredible.' Beth grinned, with a rueful shake of her long auburn hair, the humour of the situation finally getting through to her. 'And you have sauce on your brow and cheek.'
Paul allowed the slightest trace of a smile to lighten his face before saying, 'Then will you excuse me a moment while I slip to the restroom?'
Of course Beth did, and when he returned, and their dinner was once again set before them, Beth said admiringly, 'You really are amazing, Paul. So suave. Most men would have died of embarrassment and rushed out of the restaurant after such an outrageous scene.'
'Put it down to years at prep school and Eton, and forget about it, Beth, darling. Enjoy your food before it gets cold.' Amazingly she did. . .
By the time Paul stopped his sleek black car outside the entrance to her apartment they were both in fits of laughter over the whole unfortunate episode. But later, curled up in bed, for an instant Beth wondered just exactly what kind of relationship Paul had with the unfortunate woman, and for a second felt a fleeting compassion for the lady.
Although Paul was like a father figure to her, she was woman enough to realise that he was a very attractive man. Tall, elegant and wealthy, he had inherited an estate in Devon and a vineyard in southern Italy from his parents, plus he didn't look his fifty-three years. In fact he was a very eligible bachelor, dividing his time between his two estates throughout the year, with frequent visits to his penthouse in London, behaving as a typical man about town. Perhaps he had been playing around with the woman. . . But, then again, she thought, just before sleep claimed her, the woman hadn't been alone at the restaurant. Beth had only seen the rear of her companion, but he had been quite a man. . .
At six o'clock the next afternoon, as Beth walked out of the elevator on the ground floor of the office block that housed Canary Characters, she looked up to see Paul walking in the door. They looked at each other and grinned.
'I won't mention last night if you don't,' Beth offered.
'That's what I love about you, Bethany Lawrence,' said Paul, giving her her full name. 'You have your mother's looks, but you definitely have your father's nature. Such a sensible girl. Now, how about coming out for an early dinner with me tonight? This time I can assure you it will be a totally uneventful evening.'
Of course she agreed, and after a quiet meal in a small bistro, Paul again drove her home.
Standing on the doorstep at the entrance to her apartment block, Beth turned to Paul. 'Would you like to come up for a coffee, or do you have a more pressing date?' she teased; it was only ten in the evening, and she knew his passion for the casinos when he was in town.
'For a young girl you are far too cynical and know me far too well.' Reaching out his hand, he stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. 'You're right, the tables await, and, as I intend spending the next few months stuck in the middle of the Italian countryside, I'd better be off. Look after yourself, and be good. You know how to get in touch if you need me.'
'Yes, and thank you again for everything, Paul.' Flinging her arms around Mm, she gave him a hug and pressed a soft kiss to his smooth cheek. 'And you be good as well.' Stepping back, she grinned. 'If you can, you old reprobate.' And with a last flashing smile she hurried inside.
Striding across the lobby with a spring in her step, Beth wondered when she would see Paul again. Sometimes there were months between their meetings, and, although she knew he was always there for her on the end of the telephone, she missed his company. But then he had his own life to lead, and she had hers. Her new job was going well; she had made friends with Mary, a new trainee like herself, and they often went for a meal or to the cinema, or simply gossiped over a drink. Life looked good. . . What more could a girl want?
Now Beth knew, and the knowledge caused her unimaginable pain. She had wanted Dex to love her, to marry her, but it had all been a game to him. Dex had taken her out to make sure she stayed away from Paul. That Dex actually thought she was the type of young girl who would date a man in his fifties simply because he was wealthy said it all. Dex had no respect for Beth as a person; he probably had no respect for any woman except his sister.
Thinking of Paul, and his comment about a stiff upper lip, she refused to cry, and swiftly brushed the tears from her eyes. Her full lips twisted in a bitter smile; coinci- dentally it was exactly three weeks tonight since her eventful dinner with Paul, and exactly thirteen days since she had fist met Dex. Unlucky thirteen was certainly true in her case. . .
'Hey, miss. Do you know where you're going?' The conduc
tor's question broke into her bitter reverie.
'Sorry, where are we now?' she asked, stumbling to her feet.
'Corner of Leceister Square.'
'That's fine, thank you,' she murmured, brushing past him and stepping off the bus.
Beth looked around at the hordes of people, the flashing neon signs, and had never felt so alone in her life. She dearly wanted to cry, but she knew she couldn't. Not yet. She had nowhere to go except home, and if Dex wasn't waiting he would certainly call her. He was not the sort of man any woman stood up. She needed to have a plan, an excuse, some way to get rid of him without revealing what she knew. Pride alone would not let her behave any other way, and her pride was all she had left.
CHAPTER FIVE
Stepping out of the tube station into the cool night air, Beth stiffened her shoulders and walked the short distance to her apartment building. She looked neither right nor left, her whole attention concentrated on the plan she had formed in her mind on the journey home. Her despair, after the destruction of all her hopes and dreams, had been replaced for the moment with an ice-cold fury.
No way was she going to tell Dex that Paul was her godfather; the swine and his sister could stew in hell for all she cared! They would find out eventually, no doubt, but certainly not from her.
'Where the hell have you been?' She was suddenly stopped in her tracks by a furiously angry Dex. His large hands grabbed her by the shoulders, and for a second she feared he was going to shake the life out of her. 'I have been sitting in the car for over four hours, waiting for you and being worried sick. Black told me you called at the club.'
She looked up into his darkly attractive face. The orange light of the street lamp cast flickering shadows over his chiselled features, and for an instant she actually thought she saw a shimmer of genuine worry in his steely eyes, but she was not fooled by it.
Giorganni's Proposal Page 6
