Table of Contents
Cover Page
About the Author
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Copyright
Bom in London, Sophie Weston is a traveler by nature who started writing when she was five. She wrote her first romance recovering from illness, thinking her traveling was over. She was wrong, but she enjoyed it so much that she has carried on. These days she lives in the heart of the city with two demanding cats and a cherry tree—and travels the world looking for settings for her stories.
The Latin Affair
Sophie Weston
PROLOGUE
‘YOU’RE a fraud, Nicky.’
Andrew Bolton thrust himself away from her and stood up.
In the half-dark of her sitting room, Nicky Piper clutched her elderly dressing gown round her. Andrew had arrived at midnight, bearing flowers and champagne. High on the success of a new contract and several hours celebrating it, he had woken her up, danced her sexily round her sitting room and then, laughing, carried her to the sofa.
Where they’d both come face to face with a truth they had been avoiding for months.
‘Face it, Nicky. You don’t want me.’ The honesty was brutal. ‘In your heart of hearts, you never have.’
Nicky ran her fingers through her loosened hair. In the light reflected from the street lamp outside her window stray fronds gleamed like diamonds. Even with all the gold leached out of it, the soft, curly mass was spectacular. Andrew eyed it broodingly.
‘Oh, boy, did I want you,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Gorgeous blonde. Legs to your eyebrows. Figure like a paradise houri.’
Nicky said nothing but her jaw ached with tension. Although she said nothing Andrew picked up on it at once. The look he sent her was wry.
‘I know. I know. I’m not supposed to mention it.’ His sigh sounded as if it was wrenched out of him. ‘You’re a lovely girl, Nicky. Why don’t you want anyone to notice? Even when they’re making love to you?’
Nicky shaded her eyes. This was truth indeed.
‘I—tried.’
Andrew swung round on her. ‘That’s the point,’ he said, suddenly fierce. ‘You’re not supposed to have to try.’
Nicky knew he was right. She hugged her knees to her chest, feeling guilty. She had so wanted to be in love with him. Until tonight she would have said she was. But all he had to do was to come to her when she was not expecting him and the façade cracked to pieces.
And suddenly there was the real Nicky—tense as a drum and armed to the teeth against invasion. And that was Andrew’s problem—for all their shared laughter, when he took her by surprise, Nicky turned and saw an invader.
She said, half to herself, ‘I didn’t realise.’
He sat down on the bamboo chair under the window and looked at her. In the sodium light from the street lamp his expression was sombre.
‘Someone has given you a real pasting, hasn’t he?’
‘No,’ said Nicky, horrified.
It couldn’t still hurt. It couldn’t. Not after all these years. She had been a child then. Now she was a woman, independent and in control of her life. She couldn’t still be in the power of something so stupid.
She knelt down in front of his chair and looked up into his face. ‘Andrew, I’m so sorry.’
He touched her cheek, quite without his usual passion, his eyes searching her shadowed face.
‘Have you ever been in love, Nicky?’
Nicky shrugged evasively. ‘I don’t know what you mean by love.’
‘I mean,’ said Andrew drily, ‘has there ever been a man you wanted to make love with? Without pretending.’
And, fast as a lightning strike, Nicky thought, He knows about Steve. Her whole body juddered with the shock of it. And in that moment she gave herself away.
‘I see,’ said Andrew at length.
Nicky pulled herself together. She stood up.
‘One adolescent crush,’ she said drily. She was glad to hear she sounded more like herself at last. ‘Very adolescent and very short-lived.’
Andrew watched her. ‘Returned?’
Nicky gave an unamused laugh. ‘He despised me,’ she said flatly. ‘Very understandable. Looking back, I despise myself.’ Her voice rasped.
Andrew was taken aback. ‘Isn’t that a bit extreme? For a teenage mistake?’
Nicky had told herself the same thing a million times. It made no difference. Every time she thought about Steve and what she had so nearly done with him, she wanted to hide.
‘I made a fool of myself,’ she said between her teeth. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you and me.’
‘Hasn’t it?’
He got up and touched her shoulder. Nicky’s shoulders went rigid. His hand fell.
‘You see?’ said Andrew tiredly. ‘It’s got everything to do with you and me. And any other man who tries to get near you.’
‘Don’t say that’, protested Nicky involuntarily.
He said in a low voice, ‘Nicky, I love you to bits but this is getting us nowhere.’
‘But—’
‘No!’ he said forcefully. ‘I don’t want a girlfriend who braces herself every time I touch her.’
‘I don’t!’
He turned her round to face him. For a long moment, he looked searchingly into her eyes. Even in the half-dark his expression said as clearly as words that he could still hear what she could. High on his triumph, Andrew had been too excited to give her time, thought Nicky. And in that fatal instant when he had carried her to the sofa all the ancient horrors had crowded in. She did not know which of them had been more shocked by her animal cry of rejection.
Now, as she remembered, Nicky’s hands flew to her burning cheeks.
Andrew said quietly, ‘I deserve better than that, Nicky.’
There was a long, agonised pause. Nicky’s hands fell.
‘I know,’ she said almost inaudibly.
‘And, frankly, so do you.’
He looked round for his jacket. It was where he had thrown it, on the floor. The bottle of champagne he had brought lay on its side, half crushing the bright chrysanthemums he had found at the late-night store. Nicky blinked back sudden tears.
‘I’m sorry.’
Andrew had behaved well but he was still smarting. ‘So am I.’
He went to the door, then turned and kissed her cheek, quickly, with a new and awkward formality. Nicky leaned against him, burying her face in his chest so she did not have to see the pain in his eyes. He touched her hair fleetingly.
‘If you want my advice, you’ll find the guy. Get him out of your system. Or you’ll never be free.’
He went.
Nicky put the chain on the door and leaned her back against it. She was too shaken for tears.
She had thought she loved Andrew. Well—she was too shaken for dishonesty as well—she had thought that Andrew would take her as close to love as she was ever likely to get. She had thought it would be enough. It had never occurred to her that she was cheating Andrew.
‘Now what?’ said Nicky aloud.
She had no idea of the answer.
CHAPTER ONE
IN THE morning, of course, things looked different. They always did, thought Nicky. There was a job to do, her brother to meet for lunch, the last sunshine of autumn to savour. The small things, as always, would carry her through.
‘I will survive,’ Nicky told her mirror.
The gorgeous reflectio
n stared back, only partially convinced.
Why on earth do I look like this? she thought. Andrew was right when he said she was a fraud. Even in her sober business suit she looked the original party blonde. What was more, she always had. Nicky winced at the thought.
Of course, there had been changes over the years. When she was sixteen her skin had been golden with a Caribbean tan; her untamed hair used to be a sun-streaked lion’s mane. These days she was city-pale and her daffodil hair shone. But, in spite of her best efforts, it was never quite immaculate. Soft tendrils always escaped to lie enticingly against her long neck. Add to that a kissable mouth and wide, longlashed blue-grey eyes and it was not surprising that men looked at her and thought they had found their dream babe. Nicky bared her teeth at her reflection.
‘Some babe,’ she said bitterly.
She was still brooding when she got to work.
‘Hey, what did I do?’ said Martin de Vries in mock alarm.
Nicky jumped, conscience stricken. Martin was the boss of Springdown Kitchens and she was late for work. Now she’d compounded her sins by glaring at him. She shook her head ruefully.
‘Nothing. It’s just one of those Monday mornings, that’s all.’
Martin nodded briskly. ‘That’s a relief. I need to get off to the exhibition hall soon.’ But he hesitated. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
Damn, thought Nicky. Martin was an old friend of the family. Of course he could see right through the last twenty years to the six-year-old with scabby knees and pigtails. It gave him an unfair advantage.
She summoned up a bright smile. ‘I’m fine.’
Martin knew how to interpret that. He had daughters of his own. He nodded. ‘Boyfriend trouble,’ he diagnosed.
Nicky winced theatrically. ‘You sound like my mother.’
‘No, I don’t. I sound like a caring employer.’
‘My next job is going to be with a hard-hearted tycoon who doesn’t know a thing about his employees. And cares less,’ Nicky muttered.
Martin ignored that. ‘What’s happened, Nick? Did he do something unforgivable, like want to marry you?’
Nicky smacked her conscience back in its box and glared at him for real.
‘That’s my business. Get down to the Lifestyle Fair and sell some kitchens,’ she retorted.
Martin was torn. He was fond of Nicky. On the other hand he ran a vulnerable small business and the fair was the showcase of the year.
‘As long as it isn’t a crisis,’ he said, patently anxious to be reassured.
Nicky gave a small huff of fury. But then genuine affection took over.
‘No crisis,’ she said more gently. ‘Just something that’s been building up a long time. All under control.’
‘OK,’ said Martin, relieved. He went
Squaring up to the work on her desk, Nicky found that he had left her plenty to do. It was a relief. It took her mind off the uncomfortable truths Andrew had exposed last night.
Besides, she knew that what she was doing was worthwhile. Martin was an inspired salesman, whereas Nicky liked practical organisation. She had her head down over the specifications of a small hotel kitchen when a cup appeared in front of her.
‘Coffee,’ said Caroline Leith, Martin’s newest and most sophisticated assistant. ‘You’re going to need it.’
Nicky looked up. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Martin refused to take any phone calls before he left.’
Nicky’s heart sank. That meant clients who would already be annoyed when she called them back.
‘Who?’
Caroline consulted her notebook. ‘Two from Mr Tremain’s secretary. One from Weber Hotels. Three from Mrs Van Linden. All of them only wanted to talk to Martin.’ She grinned. ‘Mrs Van Linden positively refused to talk to you under any circumstances. What happened? You told her what you thought of her horrible kitchen? Or she’s seen how you look?’
Nicky raised her eyes to heaven. ‘What’s wrong with how I look?’ she said dangerously.
‘Nothing as long as you aren’t a trophy wife worried about the competition.’
Nicky frowned. Caroline chuckled, unabashed.
‘What do you expect, with a figure like yours?’ she said frankly. ‘It may be unfashionable to have all those curves but it sure as hell presses all the right male buttons.’
Nicky tensed. That was more or less exactly what Andrew had said last night. To say nothing of a man called Steve under a Caribbean moon… But the phone rang and broke that particular unwelcome train of thought.
Caroline answered it, listened, then put her hand over the receiver. ‘SOS. Sally’s in trouble. Sounds like she’s going to cry.’
Nicky frowned blackly. Sally was the ideal receptionist, unfailingly sunny even with the most difficult clients. Anyone who reduced her to tears needed to be put in their place without delay. She held out an imperative hand.
‘It’s Tremain,’ Caroline warned.
It gave Nicky pause for a moment. ‘Who?’
‘Tremain. Martin knows him personally. From the yacht club.’
Nicky scanned her memory. Nothing. She said so. ‘But he’s not going to bully Sally.’
‘Kid-gloves time,’ advised Caroline, surrendering the phone.
Nicky knew the warning tone was justified. She squared her shoulders and tried to remember the bit in her management course about dealing with difficult clients.
‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting—’ she began, uncharacteristically soothing.
‘Then don’t.’ It was impatient and very male. At once she knew why Sally had not been able to calm him down. Mr Tremain did not want to be calmed down. Mr Tremain wanted blood.
And, true to form, it made Nicky want to fight right back. She curbed her combative instinct but it was a close-run thing.
‘How can I—’
He did not let her finish. ‘Where’s de Vries?’
‘—help you?’ Sweet reason was not paying off. Well, then, she would give him a taste of her real reaction to a man who interrupted her twice. ‘What can I do for you?’ she finished, the frost showing.
Caroline did not go. Instead she propped herself up against a drawer of files and waited, prepared to be amused.
Mr Tremain was not impressed by Nicky’s chilly formality. ‘You can get me de Vries,’ he said grimly. ‘Now.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not poss—’
‘Now.’
Nicky could feel her fuse shortening. Caroline grinned. Nicky frowned her down and raised her voice. ‘If you would just let me finish—’
‘I haven’t got time to waste talking to lieutenants.’ Even allowing for the distortion of the telephone, the dismissive tone was an insult. Nicky’s fuse suddenly became very short indeed. And her frost dissolved into simple temper.
‘Then try listening,’ she flashed. ‘Martin de Vries is not here. I can ask him to call you when he gets back or you can talk to me now. Your choice. Frankly I don’t care which—but make up your mind. I haven’t got time to waste either.’
Across the office, Caroline raised her eyebrows. Oh, hell, thought Nicky, remembering the management course too late.
But at least her outburst seemed to give Tremain pause.
He said slowly, ‘Work closely with de Vries, do you?’
Nicky was all dignity. ‘Of course.’
‘So you’re fully briefed on everything that’s gone wrong with the blasted kitchen he sold me?’
‘Well, I would have to look at the file…’
‘And of course you’re empowered to agree on compensation?’ he went on sweetly.
Nicky knew quite well what he was doing. Silently she ground her teeth.
‘I would have to consult Mr de Vries,’ she conceded stiffly.
‘Quite.’ His tone was suddenly a lot less sweet. ‘So let’s stop playing games. We both know de Vries is ducking and weaving. Cut the feeble excuses, dig him out of wherever he’s hiding and put him on the line now.’
If Nicky did not like being dismissed, she positively hated being patronised.
She yelled, ‘I do not play games. I do not tell lies. And Martin isn’t here.’
And banged the phone down.
Caroline gave her a slow, mocking hand-clap. ‘That showed him.’
Nicky was steaming. ‘So it should. Bully,’ she threw at the phone, as if the man were there in person.
‘Esteban Tremain must be shivering in his shoes,’ murmured Caroline.
‘Quite right too,’ Nicky announced, militant. ‘He shouldn’t have tried to bully Sally. And he shouldn’t have talked to me like that I haven’t got the time to take a lot of rubbish from people who don’t listen. It’s too close to lunchtime.’
She glanced at her watch as she spoke. She had a date with her brother and Ben had been known to leave a restaurant if people kept him waiting.
‘Tell that to Martin when you explain how you handled his biggest problem client,’ Caroline said with feeling.
Nicky stared. ‘Biggest problem client? What are you talking about?’
‘You mean you don’t know who Esteban Tremain is?’
‘Never met the man in my life,’ said Nicky, adding darkly, ‘And, on present showing, I’ll be quite happy if that’s the way it stays.’
‘Stately home?’ prompted Caroline. ‘Cornwall? Try, gorgeous.’
‘Oh, please!’
‘You can’t have forgotten him. A Savile Row suit with muscles. When he came in to the showroom every woman in the place wandered by for a look.’
Nicky shook her head. ‘None of us is that sex-starved,’ she protested, trying not to laugh. ‘What is he? A film star?’
Caroline said in a practical tone, ‘No. Just tall, dark and smouldering with sex appeal. And threatening to sue Martin for every penny he’s got’.
‘What?’
She cocked a mocking eyebrow. ‘Come on, Nicky. The kitchen at Hallam Hall must have cost us more grief than any other contract this year.’
‘Hallam Hall!’ gasped Nicky, enlightened at last.
Now she knew exactly who Esteban Tremain was. And how much he could cost Springdown Kitchens if he put his mind to it.
‘Oh, my Lord,’ she said. ‘Get the file into my office now.’
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