by Emma Darcy
‘I’ll bring up some figures on the computer.’
Natalie watched Sharon’s fingers fly over the keyboard. Information flashed up on the monitor screen. It was amazing how much could be stored and so easily retrieved on a computer.
The thought struck her that computers had been Brett’s business. Computers were everywhere these days. A publishing company might have very specific needs that were not answered by general purpose software.
‘Did this company ever hire anyone to do a computer conversion?’ she asked.
Sharon looked surprised. ‘Yes, they did. Everything runs beautifully now.’
Natalie’s mouth went dry. ‘How long ago?’
‘It was being completed when I first started here. A couple of years ago.’
‘Do you remember the people who did the conversion?’
Sharon’s bright hazel eyes sparkled. ‘Do I? Two of the most gorgeous hunks I’ve ever seen. Not that I got an introduction. They dealt strictly at the executive level.’
‘What was the company name?’
‘CCS.’
Damien and Brett. And Anne Smith was executive level. There was a connection.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, there’s nothing wrong.’ Natalie tried to smile, but the floodgates on her last missing recollections were swinging open.
The woman in black.
Black.
The memory slammed into Natalie’s mind with heart-stopping force.
The funeral!
Anne Smith was the woman who hadn’t stopped weeping, the woman Damien had had no time for, although he should have if their story had been true.
Natalie remembered now. All of it. Ryan and Brett and Anne Smith at the top of the cliff, Damien abseiling down the face of it. Anne Smith...the only witness to what had happened...how Ryan had come to fall...how Brett had failed to stop him from going too close to the edge.
She had said Ryan had chased after a ball. But what had she and Brett been doing in those few critical moments it took for Ryan to run out of reach?
The explanation had never rung true to Natalie. She had brought Ryan up to be careful. He had not been the kind of child who would run heedlessly into mortal danger. Despite his love of playing with balls, he wouldn’t follow one over a cliff. He would call out to Daddy to get it back for him.
‘Natalie? Are you all right?’
The question roused her out of the dark introspection. She refocused her eyes on Sharon.
‘You’ve gone as pale as a ghost,’ Sharon observed in concern.
The ghosts were gathering with a vengeance.
‘Just a bit faint,’ Natalie excused. ‘I was so busy rushing around this morning I didn’t have time for breakfast.’
‘Sorry. I should have offered you a coffee. How do you like it? Milk and sugar?’
‘Yes, please. One sugar.’
‘I’ll get one for you now. And bring some biscuits, as well.’
‘Thank you.’
Sharon quickly rose from her chair and left the office to fetch the offered sustenance. Natalie was relieved to be left to her thoughts. They were too painful and private to share with anyone, and too pressingly urgent to put aside.
Anne Smith. Sharon’s boss, who had ordered Sharon to handle Natalie Hayes by herself. It was sheer accident that Natalie had seen her here. Otherwise they would never have met in this building.
It amazed Natalie that the woman had risked giving her a job at all, regardless of talent. Apart from any unpleasantness that might rise out of the situation, surely the woman wouldn’t want to have any reminder of a tragedy in which she had been involved? Particularly if she was guilty of negligence. Or worse.
On the other hand, guilt could lead to remorse, to the urge to compensate. Natalie remembered Sharon saying that Anne Smith had taken one look at the work Natalie had submitted—or the name attached to that work—and ordered that she be put under contract to the company. Ryan was gone forever, but perhaps a job might help the bereaved mother—was that how her mind had reasoned?
Or did pride in her position as project manager take first place? Perhaps her executive status demanded the attitude that talent was talent, no matter who, what or where. Certainly Sharon was impressed with Natalie’s work.
Natalie felt a burning need to know the truth of what had happened. But would it serve any good purpose to pursue the past when she had so much to look forward to in the future? Did she really want to stir up again all the pain surrounding Ryan’s death? She couldn’t bring her beloved son back. She was going to have another child.
Her thoughts shifted to Damien. She had given him her trust. It would be wrong to start doubting him now. He had sworn that Anne Smith had been with him that weekend, not Brett, and Natalie believed him. Nevertheless, Anne Smith had known both men. She might have accompanied Damien on the trip, but was it Damien she had wanted?
Had Damien believed Anne Smith’s account of events on the clifftop? Did he have any doubts himself? He had said to her that accidents like that happened so quickly. What made him so sure, particularly when he hadn’t been right there to see with his own eyes?
And Anne Smith...what of her? Could she be believed?
Sharon returned with the coffee and a plate of shortbread biscuits. Natalie made the effort to eat one between sips of coffee. Sharon discussed what terms she was prepared to offer on the contract. The thought of Anne Smith simmered in the back of Natalie’s mind. She came to an agreement with Sharon but had no idea what it was. She simply accepted the proposals put to her. Sharon promised to have the typed contract in the mail to Natalie by tomorrow.
‘That’s it, then,’ Sharon said with satisfaction.
‘I guess it is,’ Natalie said heavily.
‘Let me show you out.’
‘No. I’ll be all right,’ Natalie assured her. She knew what she was going to do and she didn’t want Sharon at her side.
Her meeting with Anne Smith would not touch on editorial responsibilities.
She smiled as she stood up to take her leave. ‘Thank you for looking after me. I’ll deliver the best work I can.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
They parted on that mutual note of goodwill, and Natalie walked back along the corridor to the receptionist’s desk.
She expected to be fobbed off. Anne Smith clearly didn’t want any contact with her. Natalie was determined to force it, one way or another. She had a right to know how and why Ryan had died.
‘I wish to see Miss Smith,’ she said with steely resolution.
The receptionist gave an aplogetic smile. ‘Miss Smith has a very busy schedule. You would need to make an appointment to see her. Would you like me to call her secretary?’
‘I want Miss Smith informed directly, right now, immediately, that Mrs Hayes is here to see her. The matter will not wait. It concerns her dead child.’
The receptionist’s eyes widened in surprise and shock. ‘Very well,’ she assented.
Regardless of how busy Anne Smith’s schedule was, the reaction was swift and decisive. A secretary came to collect Natalie. A few minutes later she was ushered into the project manager’s office.
Anne Smith was standing behind her desk. She made no move to come forward to greet Natalie. The two women eyed each other as antagonists with much of personal value lying between them. Natalie took grim satisfaction from the little signs of strain showing on the other woman’s beautiful face: the tightness around her mouth, the wariness in her eyes, the sharp tilt of her chin.
She was wearing a vibrant green suit today, a bright lime-green that accentuated her dark colouring. But Natalie remembered her in black far too well to be impressed or influenced by the other woman’s power dressing.
‘How can I help you, Mrs Hayes?’ The polite question was accompanied by a gestured invitation for Natalie to take a chair.
‘I want to know the truth about my son’s death,’ Natalie stated bluntly, not prepared to sit while the o
ther woman remained standing.
‘I said all I had to say at the inquest. I have nothing to add. I’m sorry...’
‘You lied.’
Anne Smith raised her finely arched eyebrows. ‘That is a very serious allegation.’
‘Who retrieved the ball that was supposed to have rolled over the cliff?’
Two hot spots appeared high on her cheeks. ‘I didn’t know it was retrieved.’
‘Don’t you consider it strange that it was in Ryan’s bag when the police returned it to me?’
‘I don’t understand...’
‘I know you’re lying.’
‘Perhaps we should leave the conversation there, Mrs Hayes. Knowing and proving are two different things.’
‘You could face perjury charges, Miss Smith,’ Natalie fired at her, hoping to crack her defences.
The beautiful dark eyes flashed defiance. ‘Then I’ll face them if I have to, and pay what penalties need to be paid...if I have to.’
‘You could go to gaol.’
Her eyes narrowed, calculating the risk. ‘And you might never realise how lucky you are,’ she said with slow deliberation. ‘You have Damien Chandler as a...friend. You might lose him...forever.’
‘Tell me the truth, Miss Smith.’
‘I can’t.’
‘What happened on the top of that cliff?’
‘Only one person can tell you that.’
‘And you’re the one.’
‘No.’
‘Who then?’
‘Damien Chandler.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT HAD proved impossible to draw anything further from Anne Smith on the subject. Natalie was deeply disturbed by her insistence that only Damien could tell her the truth about Ryan’s death. It left her with the inference that Damien had hidden from her the truth of where he was at the time of the accident.
It might not be a case of covering up for Brett. Perhaps Damien had been at fault in some way. Perhaps it was Anne Smith’s fault. Perhaps they were all at fault, and the agreement had been made that the memories of the dead should wait upon the realities of the living.
Natalie recoiled from that idea. She didn’t want Damien to be involved in any circumstances that had led directly to her son’s death. Besides, it couldn’t be true. Anne Smith had expressed the opinion that Natalie was lucky to have Damien as a friend. It was a very supportive statement on his behalf. She must have had good reason to give it.
Not that Natalie needed to be told by Anne Smith how good a friend Damien had been to her. She was well aware of that herself. He was the most wonderful lover she could ever have. No way was she going to jeopardise her future with Damien. There had to be a reasonable explanation for the course of action he’d decided upon concerning that fateful weekend.
Despite telling herself this, over and over again, Natalie still couldn’t let the matter go. She wanted it cleared up, once and for all. Then she could let it rest in peace and concentrate entirely on the future.
The thought of bringing the subject up at dinner was less than appealing. She no longer felt in the mood to dress up and celebrate the end of all that had kept her apart from Damien. She needed to talk to him about Ryan.
Since Damien was to be at her house at seven-thirty, Natalie decided he would probably be home from work by six o’clock. It was no longer of any concern to her if they went out to dinner at all. She felt too unsettled to wait until seven-thirty to see him.
It was six-fifteen when she pressed the bell-button at his apartment. Natalie was not kept in suspense. The door was opened within a few moments. Damien looked startled to see her, naturally enough considering the arrangement they had made. He was clearly in the midst of changing his clothes since he wore the wrap-around robe he had greeted her in this morning.
‘I had to come, Damien,’ Natalie rushed out apologetically.
‘Is there a problem?’ he asked, a frown of concern creasing his brows together.
She was momentarily distracted by a waft of the same scent she’d smelled this morning. It struck her as odd because his jaw wasn’t freshly shaven. She pushed the irrelevant thought aside and concentrated on what was important.
‘May I come in?’
He hesitated, his frown deepening.
A voice floated from his living-room.
‘Shall I fix you a drink, darling?’
Lyn’s voice!
Another recognition speared into Natalie’s mind, shattering in its implications. It was Lyn’s perfume she could smell on Damien. It had come from him this morning while he kept her out of his apartment. And now...after he had been with her!
Natalie’s heart froze. Her skin chilled. She looked at Damien with wounded eyes. ‘Couldn’t you wait a month for me?’ she cried, stricken to her soul that she had given herself to him so completely while he...what had he been doing? Satisfying a long-frustrated lust for her?
His face tightened. His hand lifted towards her.
Natalie backed away, turned, and ran to the elevator, slamming her hand on the down button. The doors slid open, the compartment not having moved since she’d stepped out of it.
‘Natalie...’
Damien’s call rang in her ears, harsh and commanding. She whirled forward and hit the button for the ground floor, desperate to escape the situation. She couldn’t bear to expose her feelings under Lyn’s gloating eyes. She didn’t want to hear Damien’s justification for his duplicity. Perhaps it was her fault he had turned to Lyn, but that couldn’t excuse tonight. Not after their lovemaking this morning.
Damien beat the closing of the doors. He slammed his hand on the button to keep them held open, then confronted her, chest heaving, eyes blazing with anger.
‘Be damned if I’ll stand still for any more of your false assumptions about me, Natalie!’ he thundered at her. ‘I am not Brett. The woman in my apartment is my ex-wife. She calls all men darling. It’s typical of the crowd she mixes with.’
Tears of confusion and bewilderment welled into Natalie’s eyes. ‘But she...you...’
‘Come back and meet her for yourself.’
It finally penetrated the emotional chaos seizing Natalie’s mind that Damien’s anger was the anger of an innocent man who had been placed in a compromising position. When he lost patience with her dumbstruck stare, he took her hand and pulled her with him, determined that this particular contretemps be resolved right here and now.
Natalie followed numbly, her stomach churning, her head sickeningly awhirl with what might eventuate with Lyn. Damien closed the door to his apartment behind them and ushered Natalie into the living-room where her feet faltered to a wary halt.
Lyn was seated on one of the stools at the bar, sipping a martini, looking very much at home. Her only garment appeared to be an oversized T-shirt, probably belonging to Damien. Her hair was ruffled as though she’d just got out of bed. She gave Natalie one of her deeply dimpled smiles. Natalie’s facial muscles were too stiff to return it. Although she wouldn’t have returned that smile even if she could.
Damien moved forward to bridge the gap between the two women. He started an introduction. ‘Natalie, this is Lyn...’
‘We met yesterday,’ Lyn cut in brightly, putting down her glass and sliding off the stool with mesmerising confidence. She stretched with the sinuous grace of a dangerous cat, ensuring the soft fabric of the T-shirt outlined every naked curve beneath it. Her nipples pouted from seemingly perfect breasts and she rolled her hips as though loosening up tired muscles.
Damien frowned at his ex-wife. ‘You didn’t tell me about any meeting.’
Lyn shrugged and undulated towards him, her hands lifted in appeal. ‘It wasn’t good news, darling. I think the only positive thing Natalie said about you was that you weren’t mean with money. Now I, on the other hand...’ she insinuated her arm around Damien’s, cuddling up to him ‘...extolled all your virtues. And I do appreciate them, Damien. I really do.’
The feline purr made Natalie’s hac
kles rise.
Damien coldly extracted himself from her kittenish hold. ‘I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, Lyn, but I don’t appreciate it one bit. Tell Natalie why you’re here.’
Lyn was unperturbed. ‘Natalie knows I’ve broken up with Julian, darling. And I told her I came to you. She’s well aware of the situation. There’s no need to get stuffy about it. She understands.’
Damien’s gaze swung to Natalie, piercingly sharp. ‘What do you understand, Natalie?’
Lyn had lied to her. Damien had lied by omission, not telling her Lyn was staying with him. But perhaps he had good reason for that. One thing was patently clear to Natalie. There was no intimacy here. Absolutely none from Damien. Lyn’s performance was a performance. It didn’t gell with Damien’s reactions.
‘Your ex-wife told me you and she would shortly be announcing your remarriage,’ she answered flatly.
‘Not a chance in hell!’ His response was so peremptory and decisive, there was no doubting it. Damien looked grim. ‘Is that why you asked about her this morning, Natalie?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you didn’t believe me.’ His eyes seethed with resentment.
‘I did believe you, Damien,’ Natalie asserted. ‘I’m sorry for doubting you just now, but when I heard her voice and smelled her perfume on you...’
‘She drowned my robe in it. Spilled the damned stuff all over it. I haven’t had time to get it laundered.’ He turned a look of icy contempt to the woman beside him. ‘You’re a bitch, Lyn. An out-and-out bitch.’
‘Why? Because I’ve got the guts to go after what I want?’ She tossed her head in defiant pride. ‘It was good for us once, Damien. It could be good for us again.’
‘That time is well and truly gone, and you know it, Lyn.’
She flicked a sly look at Natalie. ‘You let me stay here with you.’
‘I felt sorry for you.’ His mouth twisted self-mockingly. ‘Wasted sympathy. You’ll always bite the hand that feeds you.’
‘You’re wrong, Damien. I’ll give you what you want...’
‘I don’t want it from you. I stopped wanting it from you a long time ago.’
‘I’ll give you a baby...’
