by Jessica Hart
She soon wished she hadn’t accepted his offer of a lift. Charles kept putting his hand on her thigh no matter how far she edged away and when he stopped the car outside the flat he pounced on her before she had time to get out.
‘Come on, Skye,’ he sneered when she struggled. ‘There’s no need to play games any more! Did you think I didn’t notice how hard you worked to get my attention in London? You wouldn’t have objected then!’
‘I’ve changed,’ said Skye frigidly, pushing his hand away.
‘Yes, you have, and I like you a lot better this way.’ Charles leant closer, his breath hot against her face. ‘After all, you deserve some reward for following me all the way up to Edinburgh!’ He jerked her face round and kissed her clumsily.
A cold voice at the back of Skye’s mind told her that she had asked for this before anger came to her aid and she wrenched herself away. Scrambling out of the car, she slammed the door shut behind her and practically ran across the road to the other pavement where she stopped as suddenly as if she had run into a brick wall.
Lorimer was waiting on the other side, his face twisted with contempt. ‘What’s the matter? Isn’t Charles gentleman enough to see you safely up the dark stairs—or didn’t he fall for that line?’
‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Skye, breathless from the shock of seeing him so unexpectedly.
‘My car’s parked down here. I was on my way back from visiting friends when I came across that scene of unbridled passion in Charles’s car.’ The jeering note in his voice cracked her heart and set the seal on her misery. ‘You seem to be making some progress with him at last.’
‘It must have been all the practice I got in Kielven,’ she flashed, furious with him for being so obtuse, furious with herself for still caring so desperately what he thought. This, after all, was what she had wanted him to think, but victory seemed suddenly desolate.
A muscle hammered in Lorimer’s cheek. ‘I’m glad to know I’ve been of use,’ he said bitterly, and, turning on his heel, he walked off into the night.
There were times that week when Skye wondered if putting herself through the purgatory of every day in the office was worth it. Lorimer only spoke to her when it was absolutely necessary. She knew that it would probably be easier on both of them if she just left, but she couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye. In spite of the ghastly atmosphere and the hard, contemptuous look on his face, she still loved him. She still wanted to put her arms around him and breathe in the clean smell of his skin. She wanted to press her lips to his throat and lean into him and hear him say that he would never let her go.
On Friday, Lorimer announced that Angus Buchanan had been on the phone with a minor query and that they had both been invited down to Glendorie for lunch the following Monday. ‘I pointed out that there was no need for you to go, but they were very insistent that they wanted to see you so I said I’d take you with me.’
Memories of that last drive over the Devil’s Beef Tub were bittersweet for Skye. That trip had brought her both joy and pain, and nothing had been the same since. Now it was bliss to sit in the car mere inches from Lorimer; agony to know that he didn’t want her there.
The Buchanans were waiting for them, but whatever their original query had been it had been driven entirely from their heads by a new and much more serious worry.
‘We had a visit from a young man called Charles Ferrars on Saturday,’ said Angus as soon as they were settled in the sitting-room and the dogs had subsided contentedly at Skye’s feet. ‘He told us that he represented your investors and that they were withdrawing their backing from you. He didn’t say why, only that it wouldn’t affect us as they would buy the house directly from us.’ Angus looked much older today. ‘He offered us a much lower figure than the one we agreed with you, Lorimer, but he said it was the best we’d get. According to him, you wouldn’t be in a position to buy anyway once his firm had withdrawn their investment, and he seemed to know all about how anxious we are to move.’
‘He also said there was no way a hotel in this area could be profitable,’ Isobel Buchanan put in. ‘He thought there would be more money in a sort of theme park.’ She looked at Lorimer with bewildered eyes. ‘We didn’t really understand. We thought everything had been agreed. What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lorimer, very white about the mouth. ‘But I’m going to find out.’ He stood up. ‘We won’t wait for lunch, Isobel. I think I should get back to Edinburgh as soon as possible to sort this out.’
‘So you know who this Charles Ferrars is?’ said Angus hopefully.
‘Oh, yes, I know him.’ Skye shivered at the menace in Lorimer’s voice. ‘And so does Skye.’
He practically dragged Skye outside and shoved her into the car. ‘Well?’ he demanded furiously as he drove off in a squeal of tyres. ‘Would you like to explain what little plan you and Charles have cooked up between you?’
‘I don’t know anything about it!’ said Skye, near to tears.
‘Don’t come the innocent with me, Skye! You’ve been very clever at playing the girl who everybody loves, such fun, so pretty, so charming—and so treacherous! Have you had this planned right from the start? Or was giving Charles confidential information the only way you could get him to take any notice of you?’
‘No!’
‘How did he know to come straight to the Buchanans? Who told him that they were anxious to sell? I didn’t tell Fleming that. I’m not reduced to preying on an elderly couple’s anxieties yet, but obviously Charles is!’
Skye twisted her hands in her lap, guiltily remembering how she had told Charles all about the Buchanans. ‘I told him the deal was going through without problems,’ she said in a small voice. ‘And, yes, I mentioned that the Buchanans were keen to get everything sorted out, but I didn’t know that he was planning this!’
‘You might have realised if you’d stopped to think about it, but you didn’t, did you?’ Lorimer was rigid with fury, his hands gripping the steering-wheel so hard that his knuckles showed white. ‘No, all you cared about was the kiss you got as a reward at the end of a profitable evening passing on confidential information!’
‘I didn’t know it was confidential!’ Skye shouted suddenly. ‘Charles works for Carmichael and Co. He must have access to all that information anyway.’
‘Except that I’ve been very careful about the information I pass on. I’ve never trusted Charles Ferrars. I told Fleming I’d only work with him, and I’ve deliberately kept any information that Charles might get his hands on to a minimum.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me that?’ she demanded. She was tired and angry and miserably confused. ‘I’m supposed to be your PA. If you hadn’t kept me in the dark, I might have known what I could and couldn’t say to him.’
‘Why should I trust you any more than him?’ Lorimer countered scathingly. ‘You told me you were in love with him, and I’ve had more than enough reason to know just how far you’re prepared to go to get him.’
Skye slumped back in her seat. ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ she said desperately.
‘Oh, I dare say you didn’t mean to ruin my deal.’ Lorimer’s contempt was worse than his anger. ‘But you’ve done it anyway. It’s always like that with you, isn’t it, Skye? You’re so spoilt and selfish and superficial, you never give a thought to anybody else caught up in your stupid, childish schemes. You don’t care that the Buchanans are sick with worry, that Duncan is going to be disillusioned yet again, that those lovely grounds are going to be ripped up and turned into some plastic theme park. All you care about is Charles!’
Skye turned her head away, too sick at heart to argue. He wasn’t going to listen anyway.
They drove all the way back to Edinburgh in glacial silence. Lorimer stopped the car outside her flat. His eyes stared straight ahead over the steering-wheel. ‘Get out,’ he said with a chilling lack of emotion. ‘You’ve been trouble right from the start. I don’t want to hear from you or see you or have a
nything at all to do with you ever again.’
Skye said nothing. She opened the door and got out, shutting it carefully behind her. Then she stood on the pavement and watched Lorimer drive out of her life while the dammed-up misery burst at last and the tears streamed down her cheeks.
‘I’m sure he’ll change his mind when he cools down,’ said Vanessa several hours later. She had come home from work to find Skye sitting in the middle of the floor with a cold mug of tea beside her and an expression of such despair on her face that Vanessa’s heart had failed her. Gradually she had dragged the whole story out of Skye. ‘He’s just livid about the way that creep Charles has scuppered his deal, but when he’s had time to think about it he’ll realise how unfair he’s been to you. Why don’t you go and see him tomorrow and explain exactly what happened?’
‘No,’ said Skye bleakly. ‘I’m not going to try and see him again. I can’t bear it. I’m going back to London.’
‘It’s not like you to give up so easily, Skye. Look what lengths you went to to be near Charles. Surely Lorimer’s worth more of an effort than that?’
Skye shook her head. ‘It was just a game with Charles. I can’t blame Lorimer for not taking me seriously, but what I feel for him is…completely different. I don’t want to play games with him. Lorimer deserves better than that. He’s said he doesn’t want to see me, and I’m not going to inflict myself on him again. In the end, it’s going to be easier for both of us if I just go.’
‘Oh, Skye!’ Vanessa regarded her friend sadly. ‘I’ll miss you. What are you going to do?’
Distress quivered over Skye’s face as she contemplated an empty grey future. ‘I don’t know.’ She took a deep breath and tried to get her wavering voice under control. ‘One thing I am going to do is see Fleming and ask him to change his mind about withdrawing his investment. It’s all I can do for Lorimer now, and he’s too proud to beg himself.’
But when she rang Fleming’s office the next day, she was told that he was in London and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday. Skye spent the day wandering around Edinburgh. It was very cold and the sky had a leaden look that threatened snow. Christmas lights were strung along the gardens below the castle, soft and blurry in the purplish-blue light, and the Salvation Army band played carols in Princes Street while the crowds of shoppers hurried past. The Christmas cheer only seemed to underline her despair and she turned away from the gay shops to trudge up the Mound towards the castle. The buildings there were tall and grey, although the lights in the windows made beckoning yellow oblongs in the smudgy atmosphere.
Vanessa’s prediction that Lorimer would forgive her as soon as he calmed down was proved wrong. An embarrassed Sheila climbed the stairs that evening, having been instructed to rid the office of any trace of Skye. ‘What on earth’s happened?’ she asked, handing over a cosmetic bag, a jumper and two potted plants. ‘Lorimer’s been in the most filthy mood all day. He won’t talk to anyone and he just about bit my head off when I asked where you were. The office isn’t the same without you, Skye!’
Skye smiled sadly. ‘You’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid.’ She hugged Sheila before they both broke down and cried. ‘Come and see me if you’re ever in London and… and give my love to everybody.’
She rang Fleming first thing the next morning and asked baldly if she could come and see him. ‘What’s the matter, Skye?’ he asked in concern when she arrived. ‘I’ve never seen you in a state like this before.’
Skye hardly heard him. ‘I know you’ve decided to withdraw the finance from Lorimer’s project, Fleming,’ she launched in at once, ‘but won’t you please, please reconsider?’ Too strung up to sit down, she paced backwards and forwards, twisting her fingers together. ‘The project means such a lot to Lorimer, and so many people are going to be disappointed if it doesn’t go ahead. The Buchanans, Duncan McPherson, everyone down there who’d like another golf course instead of some theme park they can’t use.’
‘I think you’d better sit down.’ Fleming pushed her firmly into a chair. ‘First of all, I haven’t withdrawn the finance. Charles mentioned his plan to me on the phone, but it was obvious that his motivation was not so much to increase our profits as to revenge himself on Lorimer for some slight. I gather he refused to work with Charles on some deals he had lined up. Fortunately for Lorimer, I don’t care for that way of going about business and Charles and I parted company at the end of last week. I had high hopes of him, because he’s a very capable young man, but I’m afraid I’m old-fashioned enough to believe in honouring one’s agreements. I don’t know whether Charles was just trying to sabotage the project to ruin Lorimer’s reputation, or whether he was going to try and raise the finance for his alternative idea elsewhere, but there’s never been any question of Carmichael and Co pulling out of the deal we agreed. I told Lorimer that when he rang me in a blazing temper on Monday afternoon. It took a little time for him to calm down and listen to what I had to say, but I managed to get the message through eventually!’
‘So he knows?’ Skye slumped limply back into her chair and uttered a silent prayer of thanks. ‘Then I didn’t need to come after all,’ she realised after a moment.
‘Why did you?’ Fleming looked at her curiously. ‘I wondered if you might be going to plead for me to take Charles back on.’
‘You thought I’d come for Charles?’ Skye stared at him in astonishment.
‘It appears I misread the situation,’ said Fleming drily. ‘I thought you were interested in Charles.’
‘I was,’ Skye admitted drearily. ‘But everything’s changed since then.’
Fleming put a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘I think you’d better tell me all about it.’
Skye opened her mouth, closed it, and burst into overwrought tears. Fleming mopped her up patiently and listened as the whole tangled story came out. ‘And you haven’t told Lorimer that you’re in love with him?’
‘How can I?’ Skye sobbed into a crumpled tissue. ‘He’s in love with Moira.’
‘Moira? Are you sure?’ She nodded dismally and Fleming frowned. ‘I still think you’d be better off telling him how you feel. Or would you like me to tell him for you?’
‘No!’ Skye sat bolt upright. ‘No, Fleming, you must promise me you won’t say anything to him!’
Fleming sighed. ‘If that’s the way you want it, but I think you’re making a big mistake!’
Everything about the last two months and a half was a mistake, Skye thought as she queued to buy her ticket at Waverley Station. The only way she could make things right was to leave.
Her ticket seemed to burn a hole in her pocket. Unable to face the thought of going back to the flat and packing her suitcase, Skye wandered aimlessly along the streets, up and down narrow steps and through ancient closes. It had snowed last night and the city had a monochrome quality with a thin layer of white spread over the gardens and rooftops and the streets and narrow houses looking blacker than ever in contrast. Skye crossed the High Street and walked up towards The Meadows. People were wrapped in heavy coats, heads down against the stinging flurry of snowflakes that fell every now and then. They looked like dark Lowry figures as they crossed the snow-covered park.
Skye walked more slowly, sniffing the distinctively Edinburgh smell of brewing hops and studying the stark black silhouettes of the trees. She remembered standing at the bus stop looking at the autumn colours and promising herself that by the time the leaves had fallen her life would have changed completely.
Well, it had done. It would never be the same again. Would she have been so excited at the prospect if she had known just how differently she would feel only a matter of weeks later?
Skye was very cold when she finally went back to the flat and there were snowflakes melting on her cheeks and clinging to her lashes. This is the last time I shall climb these stairs, she realised as she trudged upwards, and the thought seemed so unutterably sad that the tears squeezed down her cold cheeks. She had never cried so much before,
she thought almost angrily, and brushed at the tears with the back of her hand as she toiled up the last few steps, fumbling in her bag for her key.
Her fingers were numb, and, preoccupied with trying to fit the key in the door, she didn’t notice the man standing in the shadow of the stairwell until he spoke quietly.
‘Skye?’
Her hand froze at the door and then dropped slowly as she turned. It was Lorimer.
He stepped out of the shadows towards her. ‘You’ve been crying,’ he said.
Skye had schooled herself not to torture herself remembering the line of his mouth and cheek, or the way he seemed to represent all that was safe and secure. She had told herself to accept the fact that she would never see him again and now she could only stare at him, drinking in his presence, unable to believe that, after all, he was really there.
She wiped her cheeks automatically. ‘I was just sad at the thought of leaving Edinburgh,’ she said at last. Her voice was husky with the strain of the last few days.
‘You don’t have to go.’ Lorimer had made no move to touch her. ‘I still need a secretary.’
Skye swallowed. ‘How long for?’
‘Another week. Just until Christmas.’
She hated him then for taunting her like that. At long last an invigorating surge of anger broke through the numb misery that had gripped her since Monday. Did he really expect her to be grateful for the chance of one rotten week working her fingers to the bone for him? And what would happen at the end of it? He wouldn’t be able to put her on the train to London fast enough!
‘Can’t you find anyone else to do your typing and photocopying?’ she demanded bitterly. ‘You must be desperate if you’re reduced to asking me!’
