Missing that scene—missing them—she went into her flat and straight to her phone, only to find the message light blinking.
“Destiny, it’s William,” the first message began. “I’ll try to catch you later.”
And then, “Destiny, it’s me again. Perhaps you’re out for the evening, so I’ll wish you a happy Christmas and speak to you tomorrow.”
Hearing his voice, she sat down, her knees suddenly weak. Blast it all, how could the mere sound of his voice still get to her all these years later? She couldn’t possibly still be in love with him, could she?
No, she told herself emphatically. Absolutely not. It was impossible. He was the sworn enemy now. Even if her heart wavered, there was Richard to think of and the company. She couldn’t betray either one by getting entangled with a man who was a threat to them.
And yet, rather than calling home as she’d intended, she played the messages one more time, then went and crawled into her bed and fell asleep, knowing that tonight she would dream of the way they’d once been when life had been far simpler and love was all that mattered.
8
William had his solitary cup of strong tea, a boiled egg and toast on Christmas morning. There was a stack of unopened presents under a tree in his living room, but he had no particular interest in determining their contents. The only gift he truly cared about was being delivered right about now. The piece of jewelry hadn’t been outrageously expensive, but he’d known that anything more would be rejected out of hand. This, however, Destiny might accept, might wear and think of him.
It was a small artist’s palette made of gold. The colors on it were chips of jewels—a patch of emerald, a tiny ruby, a bit of sapphire, and a slash of rare yellow diamond. The moment he’d seen it, he’d known it was meant for Destiny. He’d been anxiously awaiting the right moment to give it to her.
Now that he’d sent it over by courier, though, he was having second thoughts. What if she’d really meant it when she’d said her painting no longer mattered to her? What if he was trying to remind her of a time she truly did prefer to forget? After all, she was here as a prominent businesswoman now. Clearly times had changed.
Even so, he found it difficult to accept that she could have tossed aside something that had once been so intrinsic to her being. He’d been counting on that when he’d chosen the pin. To him their past would be forever linked to her paintings, to the aroma of oils on her palette and the scent of turpentine cleaning her brushes. It saddened him to think that she’d given it all up, had begun to think of it as an indulgence rather than a life-affirming passion. He wanted her to see it that way again.
In fact, in some odd way, he was hoping that if he could coax her back to art, he could also persuade her to come back into his life. He’d even managed to convince himself it wasn’t a fool’s errand. He’d seen a spark in her eyes at her party and again at their breakfast a few days later that hinted that she was still the same lively, adventurous woman he had known. Of course, there was always the chance that the spark in her eyes had to do with their business competition and had nothing to do with him. She’d felt victorious over that tea business, no question about it.
Whichever it was, he hadn’t been deceived by her generally cool demeanor into believing that the old Destiny was gone forever. He wanted her back and he intended to get her, making use of fair means or foul to do it. The present was just the beginning of the campaign.
He calculated the time it would take for the courier to reach her flat, then watched the clock nervously as the minutes ticked by. Was she opening it now? Was her face alight with pleasure? Or had she merely opened the card, seen his name and tossed the gift aside unopened?
Dammit, why hadn’t he taken it to her himself and avoided all this damnable waiting? He was no good at waiting. He certainly hadn’t demonstrated any patience when they’d met. He’d followed her to Provence after that first night and had never left. Now he was leaving things to chance. He’d made that mistake once before and look at the years it had cost him.
He was about to dress and head on over to her flat when his phone rang. His voice was gruff, filled with irritation when he grabbed the receiver. “Yes?”
“Merry Christmas, William, and thank you.”
At the sound of Destiny’s soft, musical voice, his impatience died. “You like the brooch?”
“You knew I would. You always gave the most thoughtful gifts.”
“Did I? I was afraid I might have lost the knack for it where you’re concerned. You said the other night that you rarely paint these days.”
“I do when I have the time and only for myself. My nephew, Ben, is the painter in the family. He’s better than I ever was. He’s become quite a critical success.”
“I always thought your paintings were wonderful.”
She laughed. “Who’s revising history now? You thought they were too saccharine and had no hesitation at all about saying so.”
William groaned. “You’ll never forget how I insulted you on the night we met, will you?”
“Obviously it didn’t crush me. I fell in love with you, anyway.”
His heart stumbled. “Yes, you did. And I with you.”
Destiny cleared her throat. “Yes, well, that was a long time ago. We’re older and more sensible now.”
“Older certainly,” he agreed. “But more sensible? I hope not. I’d like to think there are a few madcap adventures ahead of us yet.”
Silence fell. Destiny, never without words, seemed to be speechless at the suggestion he was looking ahead into the future.
“Will you have Christmas dinner with me?” he asked, pressing this tiny advantage. “Or have you been deluged with invitations?”
“There’s a pile of them on the hall table,” she said, then added, “but I turned them down.”
“Oh?”
“I wanted a quiet day to myself.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I’ve changed, William. Settled a bit. We all do.”
“Not everything changes. I’m sure there’s an impetuous streak still buried inside you. Be brave and have dinner with me. I’ll cook here. You can come whenever you’re ready. No need to dress up. We can talk about old times.”
“I think that’s precisely the topic we should avoid,” she said.
“Then we’ll talk about whatever you like—the weather, American football, business.”
She laughed at that. “I think business is another of those topics that ought to remain off-limits.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“With good reason,” she replied tartly.
“Then there will be no talk of business,” he said readily. “You can brag all about your nephews, instead. Bring pictures, whole albums, in fact.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” she warned.
“No need. I promise you won’t bore me.”
“And what will you tell me about?” she inquired. “All the women in your life?”
It was his turn to laugh. “Only if you insist, since I’m afraid it would make a rather boring tale.”
“I doubt that.”
“Then I’ll tell you everything and you can decide for yourself whether or not my life has been dull without you in it. Will you come, Destiny? It’s just two old friends sharing a holiday. No one can make too much of that.”
“And your family?”
“All gone now. You’ve nothing to fear. Not even a ghost.”
Again there was silence, and he thought for sure she was going to turn him down.
Then at last she said, “Will three o’clock be all right?”
He bit back a sigh of relief. “Three will be perfect.”
“Don’t go to any trouble. I’m not expecting a feast. Tea and sandwiches will do.”
“It’s Christmas, Destiny. I think can do better than that. Let me surprise you by demonstrating how domesticated I’ve become.”
In fact, if he had his way, there would be many s
urprises before the day was done.
She didn’t trust him. She couldn’t trust him. Destiny repeated that refrain to herself on the taxi ride to William’s house on Cavendish Square. It had been years since she’d been there, but she remembered it well, remembered the oppressive sense of family history she’d felt walking through the wrought-iron gates and up the wide, impressive steps to the double front doors with their gleaming brass lion’s head knockers. It had made the long history of the Carltons in their lavish town house in Alexandria, Virginia, pale by comparison.
Inside, William’s family home had been filled with dark, forbidding portraits of past generations, as well as heirlooms that were both priceless and ugly, far too massive for the small rooms. She’d hated it on sight and wondered how anyone could survive in such dreary surroundings, much less cultivate any liveliness or sense of humor. That William had thrived and prospered there and turned into a man of wit and intelligence with a zest for life made him seem all the more remarkable.
Destiny lifted the heavy knocker, then let it fall. A doomsday knell? she wondered.
William was there in an instant, as if he had been waiting nearby. When he threw the door open, the first thing she was struck by was the unexpected light pouring through the foyer. The heavy tapestries that had hung on the walls were gone, replaced by paint in a pale shade of blue with white trim. The ugly portraits were gone, as well. In fact, over a delicate antique table hung one of her own paintings…that poppy field in Provence that had always enchanted her in the ever-changing light, the field he’d sought to remind her of with his bouquet a few days earlier.
Inexplicably, Destiny’s eyes stung with tears. She couldn’t be sure if they were for that carefree, magical time in her life, or for the hint of sentimentality the painting’s presence suggested. She quickly busied herself with removing her coat so that William wouldn’t see how shaken she was. She was totally composed by the time she met his gaze.
“You’ve made changes,” she said, understating the obvious.
“I think every home should have a good shaking up every century or two, don’t you?”
She smiled. “At the very least.”
“Are you starving? Would you like to eat right away or would you care for a glass of wine first?”
“Wine would be nice.” It would steady her nerves, which were more jangled than they’d been in years. All the self-confidence she’d gained over the last two decades seemed to have vanished, leaving her feeling like the awkward, shy girl she’d been before she’d learned to mask it with brazenness.
“You know the way to the drawing room,” he said, gesturing down the long hall. “Right through there. I’ll fetch a bottle and be right with you.”
There were more surprises in the drawing room, at one time the dreariest of places. Now another of her paintings hung over the mantel. This one had come from the gallery on the Left Bank, the one where they’d met. Destiny recalled packing it up and sending it to Violetta just before she’d gone back to the States for her brother’s funeral. It had been the last one she’d painted in France.
It wasn’t one of her favorites and she couldn’t imagine that it was to William’s taste. She’d been experimenting with a still life, playing around with the bolder strokes of van Gogh just to see how it felt. The result had been vivid splashes of color, but little more. Oddly enough, it seemed to suit this room, which had been redecorated in the same bold colors. The heavy drapes she remembered had been stripped away and light poured through the tall, mullioned glass windows. With a fire in the grate, it was a welcoming room now, and the small Christmas tree in the corner with its multicolored lights gave it an even more festive air.
When William returned and caught her staring at her own painting, he gave her a vaguely chagrined shrug. “It was a sentimental purchase. I bought it when I began to miss you, when I realized you were never coming back, that our time together was truly over. I bought it to remind myself of all the color that had gone out of my life the day you left.”
Destiny felt the tears well up again. She hadn’t expected the sentiment, the open display of vulnerability. “William, you shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not? I’m being honest here. I’m baring my soul. Some would say it’s past time I did that.”
Was it belated honesty or was he cleverly trying to manipulate her? She wished she could be sure. For all she knew, he’d acquired the paintings only after learning she was on her way to London, a gesture meant to impress her. But, despite all the anguish he’d caused her years ago, despite the more recent attacks on her family, some traitorous part of her wanted to believe in him.
“If you missed me so dreadfully, why didn’t you get in touch with me?” she challenged. “You knew where I was. You called often enough at the beginning. And then, nothing.”
“It took a while, but I finally understood that you had made a choice, one that didn’t include me.”
She met his gaze, saw with some surprise the hurt in his eyes. She hadn’t intended to be led down this particular path, but she owed him the truth. “You always seemed so content with the way things turned out. I thought our time was simply over for you.”
“It’s never been over, not for me,” he said quietly.
“Oh, William, didn’t you understand that I would have made room for you, if only you’d asked?”
“How could I? I always thought you were so wise. I imagined you were doing what you thought was best.”
“I was, for Richard, Mack and Ben, but not for me.” She looked away because the raw emotion in his eyes made her feel guilty for something that had never been her fault, not entirely, anyway. Half to herself, she added, “And then, in time, it became what was best for me, too. They brought so much into my life, William, things I’d never expected, small joys at first, then unimaginable satisfaction. I was good at motherhood.”
“Of course you were,” he said, as if there had never been a doubt about it.
Destiny laughed and the moment was broken. “If only I had shared your confidence. For such frightened young boys, they scared me to death when I first arrived, especially Richard with his stoic determination to become the man of the family.”
“Tell me about them,” he said with an eagerness that caught her off guard.
“Are you sure you know what you’re asking? I could talk about them all day and into the night. They’re very accomplished young men.”
“I have time. And I meant what I said on the phone, I would love to see pictures.”
“We’ll save those for another time, I think.” Then she told him about how it had been when she’d gone back to Virginia. She told him about the three terrified, lost boys she had found on her return home, about the struggles to adjust to an entirely new way of life for all of them, about the mistakes she’d made trying to do what she thought her brother would have wanted, rather than what her heart told her was in their best interests.
“Eventually we settled for something more in the middle, a path that included duty and responsibilities, as well as quite a lot of spontaneous fun. In the end, we all seem to have survived,” she said with pride and not a small amount of amazement.
“And what now, Destiny? Now that they’re grown, what will you do?”
“Isn’t that obvious? I’m here with the rather huge task of running our European division.”
He gave her a knowing look. “Then you’ve developed a head for business.”
She shrugged off the vaguely insulting remark. Once it had been true, she’d had no inclination toward business at all. “I’m smart enough to know when someone is making a concerted effort to destroy us.”
“And to foil those efforts?”
She leveled a steady look straight into his eyes. “Yes, absolutely. I think you’ve already seen a glimmer of just how determined and competitive I can be.”
He nodded, unsuccessfully trying to hide the grin tugging at his lips. “Good. Then our cards are on the table.”
<
br /> “I’d say so.”
He lifted his glass of wine. “May the better man—”
“Or woman,” she corrected.
“Indeed. May the better man—or woman—win.”
Destiny studied the unnerving glint in his eyes and had a sudden flash of insight. Despite what he’d have her think, despite the very aggressive forays into Carlton Industries’ business, it was entirely possible that she and William weren’t after the same stakes after all. How absolutely fascinating.
“Where the devil can she be?” Richard grumbled after hanging up the phone. It was the fifth time he’d tried to reach Destiny on Christmas Day, only to get her damnable answering machine, instead. He could have sworn she’d told him she intended to spend a quiet day on her own.
“Have you ever known Destiny not to manage some sort of holiday celebration wherever she is?” Ben remarked. “Remember the time we got caught in a blizzard after going off on impulse on Christmas Eve to see the tree at Rockefeller Plaza in New York. Where did we wind up?”
“Somewhere off the New Jersey Turnpike,” Mack said.
Richard groaned. “In what had to be the worst dive with the worst food ever set on a table.”
“But it had a tree,” Ben remembered. “And a packed house. By the time the storm ended the next morning, we had dozens of new friends and had spent the whole night singing Christmas carols. Destiny absolutely refused to let us feel sorry for ourselves that our presents were back home. She’d even charmed that awful owner into letting her make pancakes, so the entire crowd had an edible Christmas breakfast.”
“Any chance that she’s off somewhere making the holiday cheery for the downtrodden this year?” Richard asked without much hope.
“No, I suspect she’s celebrating with friends,” Melanie said.
“Or one friend in particular,” Kathleen chimed in.
“Bite your tongue,” Richard groused. “I wish all of you would stop acting as if she’s off on some romantic lark over there. Am I the only one who considers Harcourt to be the enemy?”
Destiny Unleashed Page 10
