‘Have you met the Llewellyns before?’ she asked softly.
‘The groom’s family?’ he replied, like a politician, skilfully evading the question, and leaned forward, trying to pretend he hadn’t evaded it. ‘Their Welsh connection just reminded me that I was missing the rugby match, that’s all.’
He switched on the radio while Clara watched him with very thoughtful eyes. He had yet to answer yes or no.
‘And England have won!’ The commentator’s voice burst out excitedly over a roaring, cheering crowd. ‘5-4 to England, knocking Wales out of the running and wiping the floor with—’
‘Great.’ Jared punched it off again but was clearly glad to have an excuse to continue in this badtempered mood. ‘Now Wales have lost. That just about makes my day.’
‘Never mind, darling. It’s only a rugby match. There’ll be others. And besides—we can go and see them play in Wales.’
He tensed and his dark lashes flickered. Clara knew in that moment that all this had something to do with Wales, although she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why meeting a Welsh family should send him into such a strange and inexplicable mood.
‘Wales…?’ he said thickly, staring at her as though she’d just grown two heads.
‘Wouldn’t it be better to see them play on their own home ground? We could drive down to Wales for the weekend and have a deliciously private holiday together, as well as supporting the team.’
‘Sounds like just what I need,’ he drawled unsteadily, avoiding her eyes and breathing a little easier.
Clara could hardly allow them both to turn up at the wedding reception of her oldest friend without first attempting to defuse his intense and explosive feelings.
‘Yes, we could go to Wales, watch the rugby, see the sights—’
‘What sights?’
‘And even visit your mother.’
His mouth tightened. ‘Oh, yes…’
Clara frowned, studying him. Three times a year his mother, Lily Blackheath, made the train trip to London alone, staying in five-star luxury at the Dorchester.
A tall, slender and striking woman, Lily had kept her hair dyed jet-black and looked much younger than her fifty-seven years. But she never visited Clara and Jared at their Regent’s Park home. Jared didn’t want her there and Lily seemed to agree with that. They had a strange relationship, mother and son. Tied to each other by ropes of steel, yet so distant with each other it was as if they were bound by some dark secret. And when Clara tried to probe, they united against her. That was when they really did seem like mother and son. When they joined hands to ward off danger and keep their secret. Of course, Clara could not be sure that that was the case. She could only suspect.
‘Well,’ said Jared after he’d had a moment to think, ‘Lily wouldn’t really want us there. She’s got her own life. She’s a busy lady. She wouldn’t want us barging in on her uninvited.’
‘Have you ever asked her?’
‘Besides,’ he continued, as though she had not spoken, ‘I’m much too busy with work at the moment. I can’t take any time off. Don’t forget I’m going to Texas on Monday, then San Francisco. I’ll be away for at least a fortnight. And after that there’s the usual round of board meetings and London business, and then I’m off to Hong Kong, Tokyo…’
Clara suspected he was dodging the issue, but couldn’t prove it any more than she could have done when he avoided answering her question about the Llewellyns. It could be true that he was too busy. He was, after all, a very busy man, with an action-packed schedule. But he was the kind of man who moved mountains when he wanted something. If he wanted to go to Wales and visit old haunts, watch the rugby, see his mother—he would go. But, of course, Wales was a no-go area…
Jared flew to every country of the world except the country of his birth. And Clara’s career did sometimes permit her to go with him, to leave London for weeks at a time, travelling the world in stretch limousines and private jets with the man she loved. It was just as exciting as working in television, although Clara couldn’t help needing the security that only a career could bring. So she always made sure she kept on working. And her agent, Mitch, was very good at keeping Clara in work as often as possible.
Once or twice a job had come up for her while she was away with Jared, and Mitch had called her with the news, no matter where Jared had taken her—whether Mombasa or Dubai or Venezuela. She had flown straight back for the auditions and got them. But, no matter where Jared had taken her, he had never so much as suggested they set foot in Wales together. Not since the day she met him. Jared’s company had offices in almost every capital of the world. Even such far-flung places as Cuba, Taiwan and Latvia were on his annual visiting list. But never Wales. Never Rhossana Bay. Not even to visit his mother.
Now she saw the connection between Wales and Susie’s wedding for the first time.
Funny the things you miss, she thought, when your own feelings are so deeply involved, as mine are with Susie. I never gave it a second thought that she was marrying a Welshman. I just thought, What a coincidence that she should love a Welshman, too! And that was that.
But, after Jared’s complex and unfathomable reaction to the Welsh presence at the wedding, she knew she must find out what his real reasons were, or there was trouble ahead for both of them. If Jared continued to feel this way about the marriage, she could see arguments looming—most notably at the reception.
For that reason, she pushed on with her pursuit of the subject. It was the only sensible thing to do.
‘We ought to go to Wales anyway, even if it’s not until next year.’
He rapped long fingers on his thigh. ‘What’s the big deal about Wales all of a sudden?’
‘I still haven’t seen the place where you were born. Rhossana Bay, wasn’t it?’
‘Rhossana is a dead-end seaside town with absolutely nothing to recommend it.’
‘That’s not what my guidebook says.’
He turned slowly to stare at her. ‘You’ve got a guidebook? On Wales?’
‘I bought it as part of a set on the UK when I was trying for that job as a presenter. I had to have a wide knowledge of the country because it was a travel programme on—’
‘You didn’t need a wide knowledge of Rhossana Bay!’ He gave her an arrogant look. ‘I could have told you all you needed to know. For instance—it would only take you half an hour to walk from one end of town to the other! It’s not exactly the big metropolis.’
‘Yes, but as I had the book I took a quick look to—’
‘Don’t give me that! The truth is, you’ve been checking up on me out of sheer female nosiness.’
‘I admit I was curious, but—’
‘Nosy,’ he accused, glaring at her. ‘Like all women, you assume that there’s something wrong with me. That I need fixing and that you’re the girl to do it. Well, let me tell you, Little Miss Fix-It, there’s nothing wrong with me that another stiff brandy wouldn’t cure!’
Clara released his hand as he leant forward to angrily open the cabinet again.
‘No. This isn’t what I need.’ Slamming the cabinet shut, he turned round and reached for Clara, eyes burning with a rush of angry desire. ‘This is what I need most.’
He pulled her into his arms and she gasped in surprise. His mouth closed over hers. She felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt. It was a delicious way to be silenced.
As Jared pressed the electric button which operated the dark screen window between chauffeur and passengers, she realised what he was planning. She gave herself up to it, eyes closed and head tilted back, the kiss stirring pulses in her body. He was stirred too.
His hands moved passionately over her. Her hat fell softly backwards, tipped onto the seat.
Clara moaned, pulses quickening rapidly. He was so gorgeous when he was in a temper. Try as she did to soothe him, she really did find him irresistible when he grabbed her like this for a quick, fierce kiss. He pulled her closer. He deepened the kiss and
his breathing quickened. Clara’s heart was pounding madly. Everything grew dark and sensual. Images flashed through her mind of the four-poster bed at home…
‘Oh, Jared…’ she whispered thickly.
‘Just turning your body on and your brain off, baby!’ he muttered passionately against her mouth, and his hand moved up to close over her breast, making her moan as he kissed her deeper, his long fingers stroking her erect nipple through her clothes. ‘Like that?’
‘Yes… I’m on fire…’
‘So am I.’ His voice was hoarse and his face darkly flushed with excitement. ‘In fact, I want to make love to you—right here and now…’
Moaning, she kissed him sensually. ‘Oh, yes, please…’
He gave a rough groan and plundered her mouth. The car was slowing down now, inching through traffic while Jared obliterated Clara with the sheer power of his kiss. His hand was on her thigh, stroking the pale flesh above the lace top of her stocking.
‘I want you so much,’ he ground out as his hand slid slowly higher up her stockinged thigh. ‘Let me take you home. Let me make love to you.’
‘We can’t,’ she murmured through passion-bruised lips. ‘We must attend the reception. But I’ll make it up to you when we get home, I promise.’
‘I’d much rather you made it up to me now.’
‘So would I.’ She lay back, dazed and flushed and over-excited, her hands in his thick dark hair. ‘But we can’t…’
‘Yes, we can. You can come home with me now and not attend this blasted reception.’
The car stopped outside the Ritz. Jared was watching her intently. His face was dark with sexual excitement, yet the black pupils of his eyes were surrounded by a glittering kaleidoscope of blue which told her he was trying to hide something, trying to get his own way and trying to cope with an emotional chaos she could only guess at.
He was determined to avoid the reception.
Clara tried to get her breath back. He’d always known how difficult she found it to resist him. That was why he’d pulled this stunt just before they reached the hotel. He knew it would put the greatest pressure on her to do as he asked.
‘Jared, we’re sitting on the top table with the bride and groom. We’re here as Susie’s only family. We have to attend. There simply isn’t any choice. Not for me, at any rate.’
His fists clenched. ‘Clara…I want to go home.’
She tried to sit up, breathless. ‘Look—Harrison’s getting out to open the door.’
‘He can just damned well get back in.’
‘No, he can’t.’
‘I want to leave.’
‘Jared, Susie is my—’
‘I am not attending—’
Harrison opened the door.
Dishevelled and loveswept, Clara hesitated. But only for a moment. Jared was on the brink of ordering Harrison to drive them straight home and she couldn’t let him do it. Not at this wedding. Susie wouldn’t just be disappointed. She’d be heartbroken. And in that moment of hesitation all Clara could think of was the little red-haired girl in the playground of St Winifred’s, who had hurled herself fiercely at the boy who’d just broken Clara’s doll. Susie had leapt to Clara’s defence on the day they met. The very least Clara could do now was return the favour—twentyone years later.
Fumbling for her hat and bag, she stepped out onto the hot pavement while Jared watched her with brooding temper. She avoided his gaze. He could glare at her all he liked. She wasn’t getting back into the car.
‘Clara.’ Jared’s voice was almost drowned out by the sound of traffic. ‘Get back in the car.’
She pretended not to have heard him, and stepped back to let the traffic drown his voice to nothing. Staring resolutely at the curly green writing on the Lebanese restaurant across the road, she continued to avoid his eyes. He was trying to will her back into the car.
Eventually, he got out. Women walking past stared at him with admiring recognition. He stood smouldering with bad temper as he shrugged his grey jacket back on.
Clara turned on her high heels before he could start another argument and walked up the gilded steps to the swing doors of the Ritz.
Inside, the hushed pink and marble shimmered and the soft carpeted reception area glowed under crystal chandeliers. Handsome young men in smart frockcoats swished around attending to wealthy guests.
‘Very well.’ Jared strode in behind her with a face like thunder. ‘You get your way. So where is it? This wedding reception? The Marie Antoinette Suite?’
‘No, the restaurant.’
‘Then let’s get it over with.’ He took her hand in a firm grip and strode off down the pink carpet past the Palm Court. People stared. It was at moments like this, when they were in the middle of a blazing row, that Clara wished they weren’t so famous.
But as they entered the restaurant her tense face relaxed into a radiant smile. A wedding breakfast fit for a princess, she thought, staring at the top table which ran along the French doors. White lace and satin decorated it; sapphire taffeta bows gleamed along the edges. Silver flatware, an assortment of crystal glasses and bouquets of the most exquisite pale pink orchids completed the look of luxurious celebration.
For a little ragamuffin from St Winifred’s—with no parents, family or real chance in life—Susan O’Malley had done well. Susie had not realised when she first met Gareth that his grandfather, Owain Llewellyn, was rich. Gareth’s family was so used to money that they were almost aristocratic in their habits: unpretentious, homely and down to earth. Imagine Susie’s shock when she’d realised she’d been courting for a year with a Llewellyn of Llewellyn and Sons, Builders—a firm currently valued at over fourteen million pounds and entirely in private hands.
‘Looks wonderful, doesn’t it?’
‘Wonderful.’ He strode without another word to inspect the table. Clara followed him. He was reading the place settings. As he reached the far end of the table he caught his breath, staring. ‘We’re sitting here! Did you organise the place settings? Did you put me—?’
‘Of course I didn’t.’
‘Then who did?’
‘Well, I imagine it was the groom’s mother. She organised the whole thing.’
‘Why was she allowed to?’
Clara’s eyes rounded in amazement and he flushed angrily.
‘I can’t sit here!’
‘Jared, for heaven’s sake stop behaving like this! It’s only a wedding reception. You won’t have to stay longer than an hour or two. Who are you sitting next to, anyway? Let me see the—’
‘Owain Llewellyn Senior,’ he snapped, and turned on his heel, mystifying her as he walked out of the open French doors into the private gardens beyond.
Clara counted to ten. Keep your cool, she told herself, and picked up the place card. Studying it as though convinced she might find some clue on it, she eventually replaced it, baffled. Then she followed Jared out into the gardens.
He stood with his back to her. Sunlight blazed over his dark hair and made it seem to shine blue-black. A balustrade ran along the white steps which led to the lawns. Grecian urns were bathed lazily in the warmth of the summer afternoon.
‘Darling—’ she walked up behind him ‘—why don’t you want to sit next to Owain Llewellyn Senior? Do you know Mr Llewellyn?’
Silence.
She tried again. ‘Is there some kind of business intrigue going on that I don’t know about? Something that’s happened between you and the Llewellyns that makes social interaction difficult?’ Jared bought and sold companies as part of his work. Failing businesses were turned into dynamic successes with a wave of the Blackheath hand. Because of this, he frequently had to build new factories or redesign existing buildings to accommodate the leap in productivity and employment.
‘You know I always use Wright-McArd for all my construction work in the UK. Why would I engage another building firm?’
‘Especially a Welsh firm?’
‘It’s got nothing to do with their W
elshness. You don’t seriously think I’d do business on a basis of personal background or family history?’
‘I didn’t mention family history.’
He tensed, aware he had given himself away.
‘Do you know anything about their family history, Jared?’
‘What is this—the Spanish Inquisition?’ He turned away, his voice thick. ‘I couldn’t be less interested in the Llewellyns or their family history.’
‘Then why don’t you want to sit next to Owain Llewellyn?’ She knew she was pressing on some kind of old wound but she wasn’t going to let him keep his secret hidden for ever. Not when it was so obviously painful for him. To say nothing of the trouble it was causing everyone today. Jared had a tendency to cope alone with difficult emotions. Normally she let him carry on while she waited for the moment he decided to turn to her and share them. But today they simply didn’t have time for that approach. ‘Let’s examine exactly who Owain Llewellyn is, shall we?’
‘Let’s not,’ he muttered, but she carried on regardless.
‘The head of the firm. Gareth’s grandfather. Just an old man in his early sixties with very little about him that could possibly worry—’
‘Stop harping on about him. I’m not interested in the man. Why are you?’
She was obviously getting warmer. ‘The Llewellyn offices are in Cardiff, aren’t they? I’m sure I remember Susie mentioning something about it. Offices in London, Cardiff—’
‘I don’t want to discuss the geographical details of Llewellyn’s damned offices!’
‘And a house in the countryside. A house by the sea, Susie said, somewhere on the south coast, somewhere Gareth always wanted to visit but wasn’t allowed to because…’ She paused with a thoughtful frown. ‘Now why was that? He couldn’t visit the house because his family said—’
‘Look!’ He turned on her without warning. ‘I just don’t want to be here, all right? Is that so hard to understand? Must you hunt for clues that don’t exist? Stop trying to find a logical reason because there isn’t one! I hate weddings! I always have; I always will. End of story. Now leave me alone’.
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