by Lucy Gordon;Sarah Morgan;Robyn Donald;Lucy Monroe;Lee Wilkinson;Kate Walker
But now, standing in front of the mirror, she made up with care, partly to disguise her paleness and partly to boost her morale, before starting to take her hair into its usual neat coil.
While her hands mechanically performed the routine tasks, she wondered for the umpteenth time where on earth Kirk could be.
Once again the thought returned to haunt her that he might have had an accident of some kind. It would explain why there had been no message…
No! She mustn’t start imagining the worst.
But if he was all right why hadn’t he at least called to make sure she had got the necklace there safely, and explain his own absence?
It was strange and disturbing.
And there was another thing that was equally strange and disturbing. If Kirk had known full well that Blaze was meeting all the security costs, why hadn’t he used Rayburns rather than take the slightest risk?
If she’d left the necklace in her handbag…
But thank the Lord she hadn’t.
It was a great relief to have finally handed it over and know it was no longer her responsibility. And at least by producing it she’d managed to allay some of Blaze’s wilder suspicions.
Realising her twenty minutes were almost up, she hurriedly finished pinning her hair and, praying that at least one of the missing two had turned up, set off down the stairs.
Grimacing at each step, she battled on, using the polished banister to take as much of her weight as possible.
So intent was she that she had almost reached the hall before she realised that Blaze was standing at the foot of the stairs watching her.
He was wearing a well-cut dinner jacket, a white evening shirt and a black bow tie; he looked handsome, charismatic, and distinctly vexed.
Grimly, he observed, ‘I see you’d rather suffer than ask for help.’
‘Thank you, but I don’t need any help.’ She was better at standing on her dignity than her feet.
He gave her a look of exasperation, ‘Well, at least take my arm.’
Reluctantly she obeyed, and found herself glad of its support until she was able to hobble on to the terrace and sink into one of the reclining chairs.
Overhead the sky was a clear blue grazed with purple, the sprinkling of stars looking close enough to touch.
Anxiety making Fran blind to the beauty of the evening, she voiced the question uppermost in her mind. ‘Have either of the others arrived?’
Hearing the forlorn hope, he said sardonically, ‘No, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. However, I’ll do my best to make sure you’re not bored.’
To Fran’s anxious ears the words sounded more like a threat than a promise.
Playing the role of polite host, he crossed to the drinks trolley and asked, ‘Now, what will you have?’
Playing the role of polite guest, she answered, ‘A dry sherry, please.’
‘How very proper of you.’
His teasing smile made her heart lurch. ‘I happen to like dry sherry.’ She was aware she sounded defensive.
‘If I remember rightly, you used to prefer a cocktail—something more laid-back and exotic.’
Refusing to let his mockery throw her, she said coolly, ‘My tastes have altered since then. Of course, if you haven’t got any dry sherry…’
‘Don’t worry, I’m quite sure I can provide anything you want.’
Trying to ignore the mocking gleam in his eye, she asked, ‘I don’t suppose there were any messages?’
Lifting the decanter, he filled two sherry glasses with the pale amber liquid and handed her one, before answering, ‘None. Which isn’t like Melinda. Though she’s seldom, if ever, on time, she usually manages to keep in touch. If for some reason she’s changed her mind and decided not to come until tomorrow, I’m surprised she hasn’t let me know.’
‘Can’t you phone her?’ Fran asked practically.
‘Before I went up to shower I tried calling her hotel, but she wasn’t in her room. The receptionist on the desk told me she’d gone out, after a phone call from a man.’
Drily, he added, ‘If I didn’t know how attached she is to the good life, I might be worried.’
‘But you’re not?’
Blaze shook his head. ‘Money can buy pretty well anything. Including a faithful wife.’
His chiselled lips twisted into a smile. ‘Now you’re going to say money can’t buy love, but if you remember I did qualify it by saying pretty well anything. I’m under no illusions that Melinda loves me. I don’t want her to.
‘As I’ve said before, what I do want is a beautiful, passionate lover, a good-tempered, stimulating companion, and a mother for my children. She’s willing to be all of those in return for a life of luxury…’
His eyes narrowed on Fran’s transparent face. ‘You seem to have some grave misgivings?’
She bit her lip, and, fighting down the impulse to tell him what Melinda had said about children, sidestepped the issue. ‘It’s really none of my business. The only thing that concerns me is that you and Miss Ross should be satisfied with my work.’
‘I’m sure she will be…’
As he finished speaking, the young maid appeared to announce that dinner was ready.
Blaze nodded. ‘We’ll be in directly. Oh, and Hannah, please see that the doors to the living room and the dining room are left open.’
She gave a little bob of acknowledgement, and departed.
Turning to Fran, Blaze relieved her of her glass, and, before she could attempt to argue, stooped and lifted her with what seemed to be effortless ease.
‘I’m sure you could make it on foot, but we don’t want the soup to get cold, do we?’
Her heart seemed to miss a beat, and, made breathless by the strength of his arms and the contact with his muscular body, she made no attempt to answer.
As he carried her through the hall Mortimer appeared. Just for an instant the butler’s face registered surprise.
‘Miss Holt has ricked her ankle,’ Blaze paused to explain blandly.
Something about the way he spoke, a hint of amusement in that deep, attractive voice rattled her even further. A quick glance at her tormentor convinced Fran he was enjoying himself. Hot and angry, she clenched her teeth.
‘Indeed, sir? Most regrettable.’ Mortimer shook his head gravely.
Carrying her through to the beautiful oak-panelled dining room, lit only by candles, Blaze set her on her feet with care, supporting her with one arm while he pulled out her chair.
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.
‘My pleasure.’ He smiled at her, a smile that despite its mockery held an irresistible charm.
Distracted, she sat down incautiously and winced.
He raised a questioning brow.
‘A bruised hip,’ she admitted.
‘I see your arm’s badly bruised too. A result of the bagsnatching incident?’
‘Yes.’
When she was settled comfortably, he took his own place at the head of the long table. It was set with superb porcelain, fine crystal, fresh flowers and candelabra, and could easily have seated twenty.
The meal that followed was excellent, but, in spite of having had nothing but a sandwich at lunchtime, with so much on her mind Fran found herself unable to enjoy it.
On edge and anxious, aware that Blaze watched her like a hawk, she sipped the light white wine, which was pleasantly cool and refreshing, and made a pretence of eating.
Her companion wasn’t fooled for an instant. ‘Why don’t you stop worrying about Varley?’
Grey-green eyes met charcoal-grey with a mixture of distress and defiance. ‘How can I help but worry when I don’t know what’s happened to him…?’
‘He doesn’t seem to be worried about you. In spite of the fact that you were doing his dirty work…’
Fran set down her fork with a sharp click.
Blaze shrugged. ‘Okay, I’ll rephrase that. Though you were taking all the responsibility, he hasn’t even rung to mak
e sure you got here safely.’
‘That’s one of the reasons that makes me think he may have had an accident. He could be badly injured, lying unconscious in some hospital.’
Candlelight reflected in his dark eyes, Blaze said dismissively, ‘He could be, but I think it unlikely. In fact I’d wager that you’re the one who’s come off worst, being attacked like that.’
Since seeing her bruised arm he seemed to be taking the whole thing a great deal more seriously.
Truthfully, she said, ‘My main concern was always the necklace.’
The butler approached and cleared his throat discreetly.
Blaze glanced up. ‘Yes, what is it, Mortimer?’
‘A telephone call, sir. I wouldn’t have interrupted your meal, but the gentleman, who failed to give his name, insisted that it was urgent.’
Judging by the butler’s offended air, Blaze felt sure that ‘failed’ was a euphemism for ‘refused’.
Tossing down his napkin, he rose to his feet and, turning to Fran, said, ‘If you’ll excuse me?’
Her heart beating faster with a combination of alarm, hope and excitement, she watched him follow the butler from the room.
Chapter Four
AFTER perhaps a couple of minutes Blaze returned and resumed his seat, his hard-boned, attractive face unreadable.
In answer to Fran’s anxious glance, he shook his head. ‘It was neither Melinda nor Varley, I’m afraid. Merely business.’
‘Oh.’ Disappointment clouded the clear greeny-grey eyes.
He refilled her glass, and, taking up the conversation where they’d left off, remarked, ‘Even though the necklace was safe, the fact that the attack happened at all must have left you pretty badly shaken.’
‘My confidence was,’ she admitted. ‘That’s why I didn’t want to report the incident and risk having to hang about. Though the man who helped me up—’ All at once she remembered the ‘colonel’, and stopped abruptly. ‘Or should I say Mr Bellamy?’
Blaze grimaced ruefully. ‘So you recognised him? When I discovered you’d seen the taxi, I wondered if you might have done.’
‘Then his coming to Balantyne Hall wasn’t a coincidence?’
‘No, it wasn’t a coincidence.’
Light beginning to dawn, she said slowly, ‘He was on the same Manchester to London plane as myself.’
‘He belongs to Ritters. I hired him to keep an eye on you,’ Blaze admitted coolly.
A private detective! Her blood ran cold. The thought of being followed and spied on was an unpleasant one, to say the least.
‘He was most concerned about the attack,’ Blaze went on. ‘He felt that, knowing what he did know, he should have been able to prevent it…But, though he’s an experienced man, an ex-police officer, he admits the suddenness took him by surprise.’
Fran’s well-marked brows drew together in a frown. ‘You said knowing what he did know… What did he know?’
‘That he wasn’t the only person tailing you.’
As she gazed at her companion blankly, Blaze went on, ‘He described the other man as thin and nondescript-looking, with sandy hair and a sharp, ferrety face…’
Like someone in a dream, she added, ‘His suit was creased and he carried a mac over his arm. He was on the same plane too…’
‘So you spotted him?’
‘While I was waiting by the reception desk I looked up and he seemed to be watching me…But then he walked away…’
Feeling as though she was caught up in some crazy Alice in Wonderland situation, Fran asked almost pleadingly, ‘Are you sure he was following me? It doesn’t make sense…’
‘It does if he knew you were carrying the necklace.’
‘No one could possibly have known.’
‘Someone did.’
‘You mean the theft of my handbag? But surely that was just petty crime? The sort of thing that happens every day?’
‘According to Bellamy, most people who commit petty crime are opportunists. On the face of it, this man tailed you all the way from Manchester to do it.’
‘What makes you think it was him?’
‘It seems logical…Could it have been him?’
Doubtfully, she said, ‘It could have, I suppose. Though I certainly couldn’t swear to it. Everything happened so quickly that the whole thing was just a blur…Didn’t Mr Bellamy get a glimpse of whoever it was?’
‘Unfortunately not. He was looking to see if there was another taxi coming—’
‘To enable him to follow me?’
‘Ironic, isn’t it?’
She harked back. ‘But if it was this man, why bother to tail me to London? Why not do the job at Manchester airport?’
‘Too close to home, perhaps…Or simply to throw us off the scent by making it look like petty crime.’
Fran shook her head. ‘It sounds so far-fetched…’
‘You know the old saying about truth being stranger than fiction…’
There was a pause in the conversation while the main course dishes were cleared.
When Fran refused the sweet, Blaze too waved it away, and suggested, ‘Shall we have coffee on the terrace?’
Rising to his feet, he stood by her chair, looking down at her.
Recalling the way he’d carried her here, the effect it had had on her, she went hot all over. ‘I don’t need any help. I can walk perfectly well.’
‘Don’t be a fool,’ Blaze said shortly. ‘You’ll only chance making it worse.’
‘I don’t want you to carry me,’ she insisted, a note of near-panic creeping into her voice.
Mortimer, who had appeared as if by magic, cleared his throat and addressed his master. ‘If I might be permitted to suggest a solution, sir?’
‘You’ll carry Miss Holt?’ Blaze asked flippantly.
‘That was not what I had in mind, sir.’ The butler’s response to his master’s levity held the merest suggestion of dignified reproof.
‘Then what did you have in mind, Mortimer?’
‘It occurred to me, sir, that the late master’s chair might be pressed into service. Towards the end of his life Sir Edward found it more suitable than an ordinary dining chair.’
The butler signalled to one of the footmen, who pushed forward a compact, leather-covered chair with neat arms: a chair that moved easily on castors.
Turning to Fran, Blaze raised an eyebrow. ‘Well? Which is it to be?’
‘The chair will do fine, thank you.’
‘Then allow me, miss.’ The butler offered her a black-clad arm and, when she had changed seats, made himself personally responsible for pushing the chair through to the living room and out on to the terrace.
‘Thank you, Mortimer.’ She was sincerely grateful. ‘That was an absolute brainwave.’
Looking gratified, the butler bowed, and withdrew.
‘Now, why do I get the feeling that Mortimer, who is a self-confessed misogynist, is on your side?’ Blaze asked ironically.
Remembering his earlier remark about her being too sassy, she bit back the rejoinder on the tip of her tongue and said sweetly, ‘I really can’t imagine.’
He darted her a sharp glance, but let it go.
Beyond the lighted terrace it was quite dark now; the sky was like black velvet and the stars looked even brighter.
An exotic scent compounded of flowers and lemon and spice hung on the still air, and the night had turned so hot and sultry they could have been in the tropics rather than the English countryside.
There was a faint rattle and the maid appeared with a tray of coffee. Putting it carefully on the table, she asked, ‘Shall I pour, sir?’
‘No, thank you, Hannah, we’ll help ourselves.’
When the girl had gone, Blaze offered Fran a hand. ‘If you move to one of the loungers you’ll be able to put your foot up.’
Ignoring the proffered hand, she said shortly, ‘Thank you, but I’m quite comfortable where I am.’
He gave a slight shrug, before asking, ‘
Would you like a brandy or a liqueur?’
‘No, thank you, just coffee.’
He poured, and passed her a cup. ‘A little cream, no sugar.’
‘Thank you.’ She felt a secret frisson of pleasure that after three years he still remembered how she liked her coffee.
Pouring his own, which he always took black and sugarless, he remarked, ‘You don’t look particularly comfortable. Sure you don’t want to move?’
‘I hardly think it’s worth it,’ she refused coolly. ‘I’d like to go to bed as soon as I’ve finished my coffee.’
Lifting a dark brow, Blaze queried, ‘Do I detect a touch of frost in the air?’
Her indignation surfaced in a rush. ‘You surely don’t expect me to like the fact that you had me spied on as though I were some criminal?’
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But I did what I thought was necessary.’
‘How long has he been watching me?’
‘Since I got word of Varley’s financial problems and began to smell a rat.’
‘So that’s how you knew I wasn’t living at Kirk’s apartment…’ A further and equally disagreeable thought struck her. ‘I suppose you were having him followed too?
‘No, wait…That doesn’t make sense…If you had been you would have known where he was and what he was doing.’
Blaze smiled mirthlessly. ‘I should have known. But whether by chance or design—you see, I’m prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt—your fiancé managed to lose the man who was shadowing him.’
‘Before or after he reached Amsterdam?’
‘He didn’t go to Amsterdam.’
‘Of course he went to Amsterdam. I saw him off at the airport myself.’
‘You might have gone as far as Departures with him and kissed him goodbye…in fact I know you did. But he didn’t get on the plane for Amsterdam. As soon as you had disappeared into the crowd he doubled back. He was heading out of the airport when he gave my detective the slip.’
‘I thought you were giving him the benefit of the doubt?’ she observed acidly.
‘Very well. He was heading out of the airport when my detective lost him. Have you any idea why he changed his mind?’
