Mistresses: Blackmailed With Diamonds / Shackled With Rubies

by Lucy Gordon;Sarah Morgan;Robyn Donald;Lucy Monroe;Lee Wilkinson;Kate Walker

  At the far end of the rose garden a door in the wall gave on to the kitchen garden, with its carefully laid out vegetable plots and fruit bushes.

  Beyond the greenhouses was a kind of small covered courtyard at the side of the house, and from there a metalstudded door led into what Fran judged to be the servants’ hall.

  Several heavy oak dressers were ranged against the walls, a refectory table stood on the stone-flagged floor and the huge fire-grate was filled with logs and pine cones.

  They were scarcely inside before Mortimer advanced to meet them purposefully.

  ‘I take it Miss Ross is here?’ Blaze asked.

  ‘No, sir. However, there is a gentleman waiting in your study.’

  Her heart leaping, Fran gave her companion a swift glance of triumph.

  Lifting a dark brow, Blaze enquired satirically, ‘A blond, blue-eyed Adonis with oodles of charm?’

  ‘No, sir,’ the butler replied, his face impassive, ‘A military-looking gentleman. He gave his name as Bellamy and said he’d spoken to you earlier, and you’d asked him to call.’

  Blaze nodded his satisfaction. ‘Then Mr Varley hasn’t arrived?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Any messages?’

  ‘No, sir, none.’

  As Fran’s heart sank like a stone, Blaze said, ‘Thank you, Mortimer. Will you tell Cook we’ll have dinner at eight-thirty?’

  The butler bowed his head and retreated soundlessly.

  Blaze led Fran through to the main hall and opened the door into the living room. An edge of steel to his voice, he told her, ‘I’d like to talk to you. It won’t take me long to deal with Bellamy, if you’d care to wait in here.’

  Though politely phrased, it was undoubtedly an order.

  Her soft mouth firming, she objected, ‘I was hoping to have a shower and get changed before dinner.’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of time for that after we’ve talked.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said tightly.

  Simple and spacious, the living room was a harmonious blend of old and new. It had linenfold panelling, a beamed ceiling and deep window recesses; the doors on to the terrace, which still stood open, though designed with some care, had obviously been added at a much later date.

  The carpet was old and venerable, and the delicate antique furniture bore the patina of age, but a modern, comfortable-looking suite stood in front of the huge stone fireplace, and the television and stereo units were state-of-the-art.

  Sinking into a low chair, gazing blindly at the huge pottery jug of mixed flowers that filled the hearth, Fran wondered what could possibly have happened to delay Kirk for this length of time.

  It seemed so peculiar that he hadn’t at least phoned to explain his absence and make his excuses.

  Suppose he’d had an accident?

  No, she mustn’t start thinking like that…

  Agitated, too restless to sit still, she jumped to her feet and went out on to the terrace.

  The little breeze had died, and the air was warm and still. Already the brightness of the day was being eclipsed, shrouded in blue-grey diaphanous veils.

  As she stood watching the September dusk creep stealthily out of hiding, a black London taxi, headlights on and moving slowly, swung round the corner of the house.

  Melinda Ross had her own car, so it must be Kirk!

  In her eagerness, hurrying down the steps to meet him, Fran missed her footing and landed awkwardly, turning her ankle. Ignoring the stab of pain, she struggled down the remaining steps.

  As she reached the bottom, the taxi, which was picking up speed, drew level, and she realised two things simultaneously. Rather than just arriving, it was in fact just leaving, and the occupant definitely wasn’t Kirk, but a much older man with smooth silver hair and a neat moustache.

  No doubt it was Mr Bellamy departing.

  Staring after the vehicle, watching its red rear-lights disappear down the back drive, she frowned. Though she’d glimpsed the passenger’s face only fleetingly, it had been strangely familiar.

  It took her a little while to place it. When she did she felt a shock of surprise. Blaze’s visitor had been her ‘colonel’, the military-looking man who had helped her to her feet and picked up her case.

  Sheer coincidence?

  Surely not.

  Of course coincidences did happen, as much in real life as in fiction, but it was stretching credibility too far to believe that this was one.

  But what else could it be?

  Fran was still puzzling over it when lights flashed on behind her, and she turned to find Blaze standing in the doorway.

  Her ankle distinctly painful now, and threatening to let her down, she went back up the steps with some care.

  ‘Knees still troubling you?’ he queried with mock sympathy as he stood aside to let her enter.

  ‘No,’ she said shortly. Then, unwilling to sound rude, added, ‘I jarred my ankle when I slipped off one of the steps.’

  He indicated an armchair. ‘Then you’d better sit down.’

  She obeyed thankfully.

  Taking a seat opposite, he queried, ‘How did you come to do that?’

  ‘I saw the taxi and I—’ She stopped speaking abruptly.

  ‘Thought it was Varley?’ he finished for her.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted.

  ‘Are you really expecting him to come?’

  ‘Of course I’m expecting him to come.’

  ‘Either you’re a fool or you believe I am.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, a shade impatiently, ‘isn’t it time to forget this charade and tell me the truth?’

  Reaching the end of her tether, she retorted sharply, ‘If I knew what charade you were talking about, I might well. I’m fed up with all this…this…mystery…this double-talk. I wish you’d come straight out and say what you mean. What makes you think Kirk won’t keep to the arrangements?’

  Blaze sighed. ‘Very well, as you pretend not to know, I’ll lay it on the line. Varley is on the verge of bankruptcy. It would take a miracle to save him—’

  ‘So you say.’

  Ignoring the interruption, he went on calmly, ‘Your fiancé has in his possession a necklace that, with eighteen perfectly matched rubies, is worth a king’s ransom. Even sold individually, the stones would raise enough to provide a fresh start in—’ he shrugged ‘—say South America, and, with care, keep him in relative comfort for the rest of his life.’

  ‘You must be joking!’ she burst out.

  Blaze shook his head. ‘In his position anyone might be tempted.’

  ‘You surely don’t…’ She tried again. ‘You can’t be serious!’

  ‘I’m quite serious.’

  ‘Oh, this is absurd! You can’t really think that Kirk might be on his way to Buenos Aires or somewhere with the Balantyne rubies in his pocket?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I think. I also strongly suspect that he sent you here as a cover, to stall for as long as possible.’

  ‘And I suppose you imagine that when the hue and cry has died down I’ll be sneaking off to join him?’

  ‘Why not? You’re in it together, aren’t you?’

  Fran laughed incredulously. ‘I think you must have been reading too many cheap novels…’

  Seeing his face darken with anger, she insisted, ‘Honestly, your suspicions are so far off the mark as to be ludicrous.’

  For the first time he looked uncertain. ‘I could almost believe you mean that.’

  ‘I do mean it.’

  ‘Then suppose you give me some straight answers to some straight questions. Why didn’t Varley use Rayburn Security, as arranged?’

  Knowing quite well what it would sound like, she found herself flushing as she answered. ‘He said something about special security costing a great deal of money.’

  ‘How was that a problem when I was paying?’

  ‘P-perhaps he didn’t know you were paying.
’

  ‘He knew full well that I was meeting all the security costs. It was part of the agreement.’

  Seeing she was disconcerted, Blaze pressed home his advantage. ‘So, if no security firm was to be involved, what was the plan?’

  She moistened dry lips. ‘That as we were coming to Balantyne Hall…’

  When she hesitated, he urged, ‘Do go on.’ His voice was smooth as polished glass.

  ‘We should bring it ourselves.’

  Watching her like a cat watching a mouse, he said softly, ‘I see. It’s pretty much what I suspected from the start.’

  ‘In a way it made sense.’ She tried to justify the decision. ‘As Kirk said, everything had been done with such secrecy that apart from the craftsman who actually reset the stones—’

  ‘That was William Bailey, I understand?’ Blaze broke in.

  ‘Yes…and Mr Bailey’s been with Varleys for more than forty years. Apart from him, there wasn’t another soul who knew anything about the necklace, so Kirk thought it would be safe enough.’

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘I—I wasn’t too happy with the plan, but I decided he was probably right. I mean from the point of view of secrecy…’

  ‘So you went along with it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And now it’s gone wrong, and you’re left holding the baby, so to speak.’

  ‘It hasn’t gone wrong.’

  Grimly, Blaze agreed. ‘I suppose from your point of view it hasn’t. However, I don’t care for the idea of being robbed, especially of a family heirloom.’

  ‘You haven’t been robbed. When Kirk gets here—’

  His exasperation evident, Blaze broke in icily, ‘Even if you’re as innocent as you’re trying to make out, it must be obvious by now that’s he’s not going to come. He has the necklace and—’

  ‘But he hasn’t…!’

  Blaze stared at her, taken aback.

  ‘Kirk wasn’t carrying the necklace.’

  ‘You mean you were?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he had this business trip he couldn’t get out of.’

  Reluctant admiration in his voice, Blaze admitted, ‘Varley’s been a damn sight cleverer than I gave him credit for.’

  Uncertain just how to take that remark, Fran said defensively, ‘He went to a lot of trouble to make sure the necklace was safe.’

  ‘I bet he did.’ His eyes cold and hard as granite, Blaze suggested, ‘Perhaps you’ll tell me exactly what arrangements were made?’

  ‘Before Kirk left for Amsterdam, he packed the necklace up himself and put it in the safe. Then, the following day, just before my taxi arrived to take me to the airport, Mr Bailey opened the safe and gave me the package. Kirk had checked up and found that my plane was due to land about twenty minutes before his, so he asked me to wait for him by the main reception desk—’

  ‘And you were waiting there when you got the message to say he’d been delayed and you were to go on?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘I went to get a taxi.’

  ‘And that’s when your bag was snatched?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He laughed harshly. ‘My dear Francesca, do you really expect me to believe that cock and bull story?’

  ‘It happens to be the truth.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I know your bag was snatched, but wasn’t the whole thing just a put-up job to account for the necklace being missing? So that the most anyone could accuse either of you of was negligence?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t—’

  ‘Oh, come on! You know as well as I do that you never had the necklace in the first place. You were covering up for Varley.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong—’

  ‘But I’m afraid, my sweet, that you made two big mistakes. In the first place you took the whole thing far too calmly. You didn’t even report the theft, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I didn’t want to be held up for ages. You see, I—’

  ‘It would have been a damn sight more convincing if you’d had hysterics and called Airport Security, as anyone who was supposed to have had a priceless necklace stolen would have done.

  ‘In the second place you said nothing to me. When I asked you about the necklace you tried to pretend that everything would be fine when Varley got here. If you’d really had it stolen—’

  ‘But I hadn’t,’ she cried. ‘I said I was carrying the necklace, but I never said it had been stolen. If you’d only stop and listen to me…’

  His grey eyes narrowed on her face. ‘Okay, I’m listening,’ he said curtly. ‘And believe me it had better be good.’

  ‘Though Kirk had assured me there was no risk, I was terribly nervous about carrying something so precious in a handbag. I kept wondering if there wasn’t a safer way…By the time I got to the airport, I’d made up my mind. I went into the Ladies’, took it out of its case and put it on under my dress, which luckily buttons up to the neck. The scarf was useful for hiding any telltale outline…’

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ he said admiringly. Then, sharply, ‘So where is it now? What did you do with it?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure what to do with it,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t want to just leave it lying around in my room, so I decided to let it stay where it was until Kirk got here.’

  ‘You mean you’re still wearing it?’

  ‘Yes. I—I hope you don’t mind.’

  She took off the wisp of scarf, undid the top two buttons of her dress, and reached to unfasten the necklace.

  As she fumbled with the safety catch, he said, ‘Let me…No, don’t get up…’

  Suddenly he was standing over her, much too close for comfort. As he released the catch his fingers brushed the warmth of her nape, making her shiver.

  Lifting the glittering necklace free, he held it between his long, well-shaped hands while he studied the new design.

  The setting was light, almost delicate, but Fran had grouped the rubies in threes, giving them maximum impact and making them look like exotic flowers.

  ‘I hope you like it?’ she queried nervously, while, her own hands not quite steady, she refastened her buttons.

  ‘It’s absolutely exquisite,’ Blaze said slowly. ‘You have real talent.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She was absurdly pleased by his praise.

  Turning those brilliant eyes on her, he demanded, ‘Tell me something. Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?’

  She stated the obvious. ‘As owner of the firm, I thought Kirk should be the one to hand it over and complete the business.’

  ‘And wasn’t there another reason?’

  ‘Another reason?’

  ‘Weren’t you…disinclined, shall we say, to let on that you’d been carrying it?’

  It wasn’t safe to think while he was in the same room. ‘Yes,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Having had my bag snatched…’

  ‘Yes, it wasn’t much of a recommendation for Varley’s plan. I take it the snatch was genuine?’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ she said shortly. And could only be grateful for the impulse that had made her decide not to carry the necklace in her bag, as Kirk had suggested.

  ‘You didn’t seem to be too upset, which rather made me wonder.’

  A trifle tartly, she told him, ‘Having my purse, credit cards, chequebook and driving licence stolen wasn’t my idea of fun, but their loss faded into insignificance compared to the necklace…’

  ‘Speaking of which, I’d better put this little bauble away.’

  ‘I’m sorry I don’t have the box.’

  ‘A minor problem.’ Blaze crossed to the fireplace and touched a hidden button, and to the right of the mantelpiece a section of panelling slid aside to reveal a small safe set in the wall.

  Taking out a soft grey leather pouch, he dropped the necklace into it. A moment later the safe door was cl
osed and the panelling in place.

  As he turned back to her the grandfather clock in the hall began to strike eight. Blaze frowned. ‘If the other two don’t get here soon, it looks as though we’ll be having dinner à deux.’

  Shuddering at the thought, she prayed silently, and with great fervour, that the missing pair would turn up without further delay.

  The prospect of a meal and maybe an evening alone with Blaze was daunting, to say the least. He wasn’t a comfortable companion—she was far too aware of him, and the memory of all that lay between them was a traumatic one. For her at any rate…

  ‘You mentioned wanting to shower and change.’ Blaze’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do,’ she said, rising to her feet with more than usual care.

  He never missed a thing. ‘How is your ankle? Can you make it up to your room? Or would you like me to carry you?’

  Just the thought of lying in his arms made her go hot all over. ‘No!’ Then, more moderately, ‘No, thank you, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘In that case I’ll leave you to it. Will twenty minutes be long enough?’

  At her nod, he suggested, ‘Then perhaps you’ll join me for a pre-dinner drink on the terrace…? In this kind of weather I prefer to be outdoors whenever possible.’

  As he moved to touch the bell she turned to escape, afraid he’d change his mind and insist on carrying her.

  Ignoring the stabs of pain, she hobbled across the hall and began to climb the stairs, favouring her injured ankle as much as possible.

  To add to her troubles her right side was starting to stiffen up, and the inevitable bruises were making themselves felt. By the time she reached her room she was bathed in a cold dew of perspiration.

  Standing stork-like whenever practicable, she took off her clothes and showered, ruefully noting the dark bruising on her right hip and arm.

  Dried and scented, Fran donned fresh undies and a simple cocktail dress with shoestring straps. She would have preferred to hide the bruises on her arm, but both the evening dresses she’d brought were sleeveless.

  She never wore bright lipstick, just a touch of pale lipgloss, and with a flawless complexion, and brows and lashes several shades darker than her hair, as a rule she needed little or no other make-up.