The Price of Retribution

by Sara Craven

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was muffled. She was thankful she didn’t have to look into his eyes. ‘Yes—one day.’

  When Tarn got back to the flat, she found Della curled up on the living room sofa in her dressing gown.

  ‘Oh, hi.’ Tarn checked in surprise. ‘I thought you’d be asleep.’

  ‘No.’ Della rose to her feet. ‘I had things on my mind, and I wanted to talk to you.’ She took a breath. ‘Tarn, are you engaged to Caspar Brandon?’

  Tarn’s lips parted in a gasp of shock. But she can’t know that, she thought. Not possibly.

  She said with perfect truth, ‘I—I don’t understand.’

  ‘Nor do I—but I found this.’ Della produced Evie’s ring box from her pocket. ‘It was on the sideboard and—well, I’m afraid I had a look inside. I had no right to do that, and you’ve every reason to be angry with me.

  ‘But I want you to know that whatever you’ve said about him—everything you’ve believed is absolutely true. He is a love rat and a cheat, and this proves it. So please tell me that if you are engaged to him, it’s for you own purposes and not because you’ve also been taken in by his charm and his lies.’

  ‘Dell, slow down.’ Tarn’s head was whirling. ‘What on earth are you talking about? That’s Evie’s engagement ring. Her diamonds, not mine.’

  Della snorted. ‘Diamonds be damned. They’re cubic zirconia. Pretty to look at but worth a fraction of the real thing.’ She shook her head. ‘I admit I had my doubts about Evie because I’ve always considered her a total flake. But Caz Brandon is far worse. A bigger fake than his so-called diamonds.’

  She sighed before continuing. ‘I know I was against what you were planning, but you were right, and I was wrong. He dazzled that poor silly girl into his bed and dumped her when he was tired of her. And I’ve discovered something else. That place she’s been locked up in—well, he’s on the board of trustees. That’s why it’s so difficult for you to see her and talk to her. Because he put her there, conveniently out of his way.’

  Tarn stared at her, the beat of her heart slamming slowly and heavily against her ribcage. She said in a whisper, ‘Are you—quite sure?’

  ‘I looked him up on line—not the social stuff—but the directorships and other connections outside his publishing empire, and found it. Then I checked back with The Refuge to make sure. Not just a trustee but listed as a benefactor. With his sort of money, you can get away with anything.’

  Della took a deep breath. ‘But I’m here now to say that he deserves everything that’s coming to him, and if I can help you bring him down, I will.’

  Tarn took the little box from her outstretched hand and opened it slowly, staring down at the icy glitter of the stones. Wondering how she could have been so deceived. Why she too hadn’t recognised at once that they were not real diamonds.

  But nothing about his relationship with Evie had been true, she thought. And he dared ask me to trust him…

  Pain twisted to agony inside her as she re-lived the memory of being in his arms. He chooses his bait according to his victim, she thought. With Evie, it was all glamour and the high life. But with me, it was sex.

  And I so nearly fell for it—for all the well-worn technique he’s practised over the years. How could I have been so weak—so stupid?

  She said, her voice harsh, ‘I disliked this ring from the moment I saw it. It was too big, too showy, but I told myself that at least it seemed to prove that he’d really cared for her once.

  ‘And even though I was wrong about that, I’ll make sure that he cares eventually. That he’ll regret to his dying day what he did to Evie.’

  And for myself, she added silently. How much will I be left to regret—and for how long?

  And knew that, in spite of everything, her regrets could last for the rest of her life.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THINGS, Tarn told herself, were moving altogether too far and too fast, as if she was a novice skier caught heading downwards on a black run.

  Her first shock had been the sale of Caz’s flat less than a week after it had gone on the market.

  ‘There were four offers,’ he told her that evening, with a tinge of ruefulness. ‘Even the agents were surprised.’

  ‘Well—it’s a beautiful flat,’ Tarn returned, glancing around her, and suppressing a slight pang of her own.

  But she couldn’t weaken now, she thought. He deserved to lose it. To know what it was like to be left with nothing.

  ‘But sadly not beautiful enough to tempt you to forget my bachelor sins and stay here.’ Caz lifted her on to his knee and held her close, his lips against her hair. ‘Now we have to find somewhere for ourselves alone.’

  The next shock had been to find herself being escorted round a whole series of the kind of properties she’d only ever imagined in her dreams and having constantly to remind herself that dreams were all they could remain.

  She’d envisaged Caz becoming bored and possibly irritated at being involved in an endless quest which he must regard as unnecessary, but, however contrary her behaviour, and she remained consistently hard to please, his patience and good humour remained constant.

  And their shared sense of the ridiculous provided her with some awkward moments when his sardonic sideways glance when the agent was happily eulogising some terrible interior design excess almost reduced her to helpless giggles.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Tarn admitted, after they’d left yet another glamorous penthouse and returned to Caz’s flat. ‘But it’s just a showcase. I bet no-one’s so much as chopped an onion in that kitchen. And do we really need a hot tub in the roof garden?’

  Caz took her in his arms and kissed her slowly and thoroughly. ‘A shower big enough to share is quite enough for me,’ he whispered. ‘Maybe we should ruin the Realtor’s day and ask to see rather simpler properties from now on.’ He gave her a long look. ‘And the sooner the better. You’re beginning to look a little tense, my sweet. Is the pre-wedding pressure getting to you?’

  If he only knew, thought Tarn, remembering the nights when she’d walked the floor unable to sleep, her mind trying feverishly to detach itself from recent memories of sitting curled up beside him on the sofa, watching television or listening to music together.

  Reminding herself that none of it was real, except, perhaps, her involuntary response to the tender restraint of his lovemaking, the gentle arousal of his hands and mouth on her body which was all he would allow himself just before he took her home.

  And that, to her shame, was where pretence stopped.

  She forced a smile. ‘Hardly. After all, we haven’t actually set a date yet.’

  ‘Something else we need to remedy.’ He paused. ‘Do you still want to keep our engagement a deadly secret, or shall we say “To hell with it” and surprise the world with an announcement in The Times?’

  Tarn hesitated. She’d been wondering how to introduce the subject, and now he’d done it for her. Her chance had come, and she had to take it.

  Now, she thought, or never.

  She said, trying to sound casual. ‘Actually, the garden party’s next week. I was thinking we might go public then. That is—if you agree.’

  Caz’s brows lifted. ‘I’d be delighted.’ His tone was faintly quizzical. ‘But are you sure?’

  She shrugged lightly. ‘Let’s just say I’m becoming used to the idea.’ She paused. ‘Of course, I’ll have to hand in my notice at work. I don’t want to be regarded as a boardroom spy.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ he said quietly. ‘When you’re so good at your job. Won’t you miss it?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ll have plenty of other things to occupy me.’ Meaning, she thought edgily, the growing list of potential projects from her British and American agents, about which she would soon have to make some definite decisions.

  Her Chameleon camouflage was right there, waiting for her to slip back into it as if nothing had happened and she’d never been away. And she should be feeling grateful for that, she told hers
elf fiercely, instead of suddenly cold and bleak.

  ‘So,’ Della said when Tarn got home. ‘Have you put a down payment yet on your future love nest? Or are you still prevaricating over these multimillion pads he keeps trotting out for your inspection?’

  ‘Still managing to keep the whole issue at bay.’ Tarn accepted the cup of coffee Della handed her.

  ‘But for how much longer? Or are you planning for him to become homeless and be forced to occupy a cardboard box in some alleyway?’

  ‘There’s no chance of that.’ Tarn sat down on the sofa as if her legs were too weary to support her any longer. ‘Besides, the sale hasn’t been completed on his present flat. He can always pull out.’

  ‘True.’ Della nodded. ‘On the other hand, honey, if you’re too choosy, he might begin to smell a rat.’

  ‘He won’t have time,’ Tarn said harshly. ‘He’s going to announce our engagement in front of everyone at the company garden party next week, and that will be closely followed by my own special announcement. End of story.’

  ‘Wow.’ Della whistled. ‘Short and extremely sharp. In other circumstances, I could almost feel sorry for him.’ She paused. ‘Have you told Evie what you’re planning?’

  Tarn shook her head. ‘I haven’t had the chance. She’s strictly incommunicado again for some unknown reason. No doubt on my fiancé’s orders,’ she added jerkily. ‘But I’ll tell her when it’s done, and before I leave. At least that beastly professor can hardly stop me from saying goodbye to her.’

  ‘The whole place needs exposing,’ said Della. ‘One of the PAs at work has a cousin who’s an investigative journalist. He might be interested.’

  ‘A good idea, but I’d like to be out of the way first.’ Her coffee tasted unusually bitter and Tarn put her cup down, unfinished, knowing it was not down to the brew but rather the fault of the nerves twisting in her stomach.

  Nerves which Caz, of course, had noticed…

  But I mustn’t arouse his suspicions, she thought. Not at this late stage. Because nothing can go wrong now. I won’t let it.

  Tarn opened her eyes on the Saturday of the garden party to find bright sunlight streaming through the curtains. Clearly her waking dream that the whole event had been washed out by flash floods would not be coming true, she thought as she pushed the coverlet away and got reluctantly out of bed.

  The dress she’d bought a few days earlier was hanging on the front of her wardrobe, cool and simple in white lawn with self-embroidery at the scoop-neck and around the hem of the full skirt.

  ‘Bridal white, eh?’ Della had asked, lifting her eyebrows when she saw it. ‘Just to rub more salt into the wound, I suppose.’

  ‘Actually no,’ Tarn returned, a mite defensively. ‘I just thought it looked pretty and summery.’

  Looking at it now, however, she had to acknowledge that it could easily have been chosen as a dress for a very quiet wedding, perhaps with a small bouquet of pink roses. And stopped there, jolted by the path her thoughts had taken.

  Out of the realms of fancy and down to earth, she scolded herself as she showered. She could have done with a pep talk from Della right now, but the other girl had been called away by her boss on a sales trip, standing in for a sick colleague.

  So Tarn had been forced to make do with her erstwhile flatmate’s warm hug and a fierce ‘Good luck—and I’ll be seeing you.’

  Although it was not certain when that would be, she mused. Probably not for a considerable while, as she had tracks to cover. But Della fully understood that.

  She towelled herself briskly and put on her underwear, then used a hand dryer to encourage her hair into its usual gleaming waves before donning mundane jeans and a T-shirt.

  The rest of her clothes were already packed, and when the afternoon was over, and she’d paid her final visit to Evie, she would book in to some anonymous airport hotel until she could get a flight to the States.

  She grilled bacon, scrambled a couple of eggs to go with it plus three slices of wholemeal toast. After all, there’d be no champagne buffet after she’d delivered her bombshell, so she probably wouldn’t get another full meal until sometime in the evening, and she needed to keep her energy levels up for the task ahead of her.

  Besides, once it was over, she wasn’t sure when she would feel like eating ever again. Even now, she was having to force the food down into her churning stomach.

  When she’d finished and cleared away, she went to her laptop to see what late deals there might be in hotel rooms, and found to her surprise that there was an item of mail waiting for her. From Caz.

  She hadn’t expected to hear from him. Unless, she thought, he was making a last attempt to persuade her to travel down to Winsleigh Place with him, instead of taking the coach with her colleagues.

  She clicked on to his message, then sat, stunned, staring blankly at the few, hasty lines on the screen sent from his iPhone.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ he wrote. ‘Something’s come up and sadly I can’t make it to the party. Have a great time yourself and I’ll call you as soon as I get back.’

  She said, ‘No.’ Then repeated it, ‘No, no, no,’ more violently each time, banging her fist on the table as she saw her great plan shatter into fragments around her.

  The sleepless nights, she thought dazedly. The days of tension, always struggling against self-betrayal. The constant rehearsing of what she intended to say until she was word-perfect. And, more than anything, the pain of steeling herself against the moment when she would turn her back and walk away from him forever.

  All of it for nothing.

  She looked at her waiting travel bags. If she’d ever been the superstitious kind, she could tell herself it was a sign, cut her losses and run.

  And paused right there, looking back at the screen. Reading his message again.

  Because, she realised, there was, of course, another explanation. A totally different sign for her to ponder.

  She had to face the fact that Caz had indeed been operating the same kind of pretence with her as he had with Evie, but was now bored with that too, and bringing the interlude to a close.

  After all, Tarn thought, biting her lip until she tasted blood, he didn’t fight too much when I asked to keep our engagement a secret, so perhaps that suited his purposes just as well as mine. And I was too taken up with my own plans to see it.

  Besides, he doesn’t have much to show for the past weeks of intensive courtship. He hasn’t even succeeded in seducing me, unlike poor Evie, and now the deadline for losing his beloved flat is approaching. Maybe that’s what’s prompted him into thinking that the game isn’t worth the candle and made him decide to walk away.

  Because a public announcement in front of his workforce had turned out to be a step too far, even for him.

  She felt deathly cold. She’d known from the start that it was a possibility, even a probability that he chose his women in much the same way as he’d purchase a new silk tie, and would subsequently discard them once their novelty value had dissipated.

  Quite apart from Evie, the example of Ginny Fraser should have taught her that. Because she was in the past. He’d said so quite unequivocally, from the stance of a man who did not look back.

  Oh, God, hadn’t she told herself over and over again that falling in love with him was a weakness she couldn’t afford. While believing, even for a moment, that he loved her in return was sheer madness.

  The wishful thinking of a relatively inexperienced girl, beguiled beyond reason by an all-too-experienced man. Tempted out of her senses by the deceptive tenderness of his lovemaking.

  How could I ever have pitied Evie, she thought, a faint moan rising in her throat, when the only difference between us is that he won’t have to find a place for me in one of The Refuge’s convenient recovery programmes?

  Because I will survive this. I’ll survive him.

  And I shall be the one to walk away first.

  But today, the only place I’m going is to a garden party. As arran
ged.

  Winsleigh Place was just as beautiful as everyone had said. The house itself was Georgian, an elegant jewel in a magnificent setting.

  ‘How on earth do we get to have a party in a place like this?’ Tarn asked, turning to Lisa in disbelief as she surveyed the sculptured lawns, now dotted with colourful marquees, which led down to a small lake.

  ‘As I said, we have Caz to thank,’ Lisa said, shrugging. ‘I gather there could be some distant family connection, or maybe he just has influence in high places, but no-one is really sure.’

  ‘No,’ Tarn said lightly. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Pity he can’t be here himself,’ Lisa went on. ‘Rumour has it that he’s in France. One of the Parisian directors seems to be the world’s most difficult man and Caz is always having to dash over and sort things out, usually to prevent some kind of mass walk-out. I guess history has repeated itself this weekend.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Tarn shrugged. ‘Whatever the reason, he’s missing a treat, even if he did organise it.’

  In one corner, a stage had been erected under a striped awning and here a jazz band was playing. Elsewhere there were old-fashioned sports like skittles, quoits, and even a coconut shy, while in another part of the garden a croquet tournament was taking place.

  ‘There’s a fortune teller too.’ Lisa pointed to a brightly painted bow-topped vardo. ‘Fancy a glimpse into the future?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Tarn’s smile was taut. ‘She’d probably tell me I was going to meet a tall, dark stranger.’

  ‘And that’s bad?’

  ‘It could be. Anyway, I’m not going to risk it.’

  ‘Well, I have to look out for my own tall, dark stranger.’ Lisa patted her arm. ‘He was taking the children for lunch at my mother’s first.’ She paused. ‘I have to say, Tarn, that you look absolutely amazing. I love that dress, and I find it astonishing that you haven’t been snapped by some lucky guy long before this.’

  Her smile was mischievous. ‘On the other hand, maybe you’ll have your encounter with destiny right here—even without the gipsy’s warning.’