The Tycoon's Takeover

by Liz Fielding

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would take so long to find Kitty, and after that we had to go south—’

  ‘Kitty?’ she said. ‘Kitty Farraday?’ He half turned, so that she could see into the room behind. Standing beside the desk of a book-lined study was a tall, elegant woman who had to be in her mid-fifties but looked younger, despite the silver wings that threw her dark hair into striking contrast. And then she glanced back at Jordan.

  His jaw tightened momentarily, then, catching her hand, he crossed to his mother, taking her with him, and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Hello, Kitty,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘So I can see. We called at your office first. And the store.’ She indicated a pile of press cuttings on the desk beside her. ‘Then, reading between the lines…’ India was grateful that she left exactly what she’d read between them to their imagination.

  ‘Kitty, may I introduce India Claibourne?’

  ‘Miss Claibourne—’

  India stepped forward, offered her hand. ‘India, please, Ms Farraday. I understand we have a lot in common.’

  ‘A misplaced passion for a department store,’ she agreed. ‘And the same fatal attraction for the wrong man.’

  India swallowed. Two minutes ago her world had been near perfect. She had given away an empire and gained something greater, finer… ‘Wrong man?’ she said.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Kitty—’ Jordan began.

  ‘Enough!’ She turned on him, holding up the sheaf of cuttings. ‘I haven’t seen a newspaper for months, but Christine showed me these.’ Jordan’s grip on her hand tightened. ‘Niall, Bram, and now you. What did you think you were doing, Jordan?’

  ‘Setting up a marriage bureau?’ Peter Claibourne offered. Jordan turned and glared at him.

  Kitty said, ‘Don’t be flippant, Peter.’ Then she turned on Jordan. ‘Well?’

  ‘You know what I was doing.’

  ‘I’m afraid I do. I had to surrender Claibourne & Farraday—’

  ‘He took it from you. You begged him. I saw you…’

  India turned to her father; his face was impassive.

  ‘He stayed all night and he still took everything. Broke your heart, caused your breakdown…’

  ‘Even if that were true, and it’s not, do you think it gives you the right to take your revenge on Peter’s daughter?’

  India heard the words but for a moment they didn’t register. She had to run it through her head on a loop, over and over, until the truth suddenly hit her like an express train, pushing the air out of her, leaving her gasping… Only his hand, fast about hers, preventing her from falling.

  She had asked the question. Why hadn’t he walked in the day her father had retired and taken over? Now she knew the true answer. He wanted revenge for something that her father had done thirty years ago, when Jordan was just a little boy. Something he’d seen or heard. He wanted to make her beg, just as his mother had begged…

  And how he’d made her beg last night…

  She swallowed hard as she thought of the night they’d spent together. A night in which they’d given…no, she’d given everything. And he’d taken. With nothing in his heart but a desire to hurt her.

  ‘India…’ She snatched her hand away. His silence had gone on for too long. ‘Please…listen to me.’ She took a step back and he turned on his mother. ‘Kitty, go away—and take him with you. This is between India and me.’

  ‘No, wait. Stay,’ India insisted. No more secrets. No more lies. She had to know everything, no matter what the pain, and, turning to her father, she said, ‘What did you do? Tell me what you did to make him hate you so much.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s not my place to tell anyone what happened between us that night.’ He looked at Kitty.

  ‘Nothing happened, India,’ she said gently. ‘Not because I didn’t want it to. But because Peter Claibourne is a gentleman.’ Jordan opened his mouth, about to interrupt, but was silenced by a sharp look from his mother. ‘My breakdown had nothing to do with your father. It took him to recognise it, though. To see through the brittle shell and realise that I was falling apart inside. I’d been living a lie for a long time. Pretending I hadn’t ever loved Jordan’s father. Pretending that I’d been happy to see the back of him.’

  India sat down as her legs suddenly gave way. ‘That’s why you gave him his name.’

  She smiled a little wryly at that. ‘Not all of it. I didn’t want anyone to know how much I was hurting…’ Above her, Jordan’s face was white. ‘I was acting out this role, you see. I was the modern career woman who needed no one. Fooling everyone that I was happy with my career. Pretending that I could cope. I should have been an actress. I thought if I could keep the store everything would be all right. I thought if I could seduce Peter he’d have to give it to me, because he was always the sweetest of men. So I rang him and asked him to come and see me. Threw myself at him. All to no purpose. He was coming to see me anyway.’

  ‘And he stayed the night. I saw you together—’ Jordan said.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. I had no idea…’ Kitty took a deep breath. ‘He came to give me a letter he’d found. It seems there was never a golden share agreement. It always did seem odd to me, to be honest. One of them would have lost out, and who in their right mind would have signed such a thing when it disinherited his own? The truth is that the agreement was a forgery, cooked up by Charles Claibourne’s son and a crooked lawyer to keep William Farraday’s young son from taking control.’

  ‘He told you that and you believed it?’

  ‘Peter found a letter written by Charles Junior admitting as much in his father’s safe—not exactly something to be proud of, but kept as a kind of insurance policy against the time it might become necessary to break the chain of succession.’ She glanced at Jordan. ‘If, for example, someone decided to sell the store without consulting the entire partnership.’

  India stared at her father. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you just go away?’

  ‘I didn’t know if the letter still existed. I had to find Kitty. Believe me, it wasn’t easy.’

  ‘If I’d been here, if I’d known that your father had been forced to retire, I would have sent it to the lawyers.’

  Jordan stirred. ‘Why did he give it to you? If it wasn’t to ease his own conscience?’

  She glanced at Peter. ‘Do you want to tell them?’

  ‘I wanted Kitty to keep the store. I’d like to say it was because I was noble and good and I knew how much it meant to her. The truth is that Pamela was unhappy. She hadn’t bonded with her baby—’ he looked at India ‘—with you. She was suffering, I suppose, from a kind of postnatal depression, and all she wanted to do was go home to India. With me or without me. Then I found the letter in my father’s papers and I thought I’d found a lifeline, but as soon as I saw Kitty I knew it was never going to happen. She was saying all the right things, but I could see she was on the edge and about to fall over. I stayed all night, talking to her, hoping against hope that I was wrong.’ He shrugged. ‘In the morning I called one of her sisters, stayed with her until the doctor arrived, and went back to London.’

  ‘And let my mother go.’

  ‘Something I’ve never ceased to regret, believe me.’

  ‘Why did she leave me?’ India, in those few words, betrayed all the want, the need she’d bottled up in her heart.

  ‘At the time I assumed it was because she wanted nothing to do with any of us. No reminders. I know now that I was wrong about that. My mother tried to bribe her to leave you. And when that didn’t work she threatened her. Told her she was unstable, that she’d have her sectioned… The poor frightened child had gone by the time I got back from Kitty’s.’

  India heard the words. Heard more than they said. ‘You’ve seen her,’ she said. ‘That’s where you’ve been.’

  ‘Kitty helped me find her. That’s why we’ve been so long. She’s in London, Indie. She wants to see you. If you
can forgive her. Forgive both of us.’

  India could scarcely catch her breath. Her entire life seemed to be turning before her eyes, like a revolving door.

  Jordan reached out, took his mother’s hand, for a moment unable to speak. Then he turned to Peter Claibourne. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ The words were simple but heartfelt.

  He nodded, but said, ‘I don’t think I’m the one you should be apologising to.’ Then, turning to Kitty, ‘I think we’ve done everything we came to do. Can I give you a lift back to London?’

  Kitty picked up a large envelope that was lying on the desk and put it into India’s hands. ‘I’m passing this on to you. I’m trusting you to make the right choice for the store,’ she said, before following Peter out of the room.

  The right thing? What was that?

  ‘I was going to tell you,’ Jordan said, after a silence that seemed to last for ever.

  India stirred. ‘Of course you were. Why would you have gone to so much trouble if I was never to discover what you’d done and why? You didn’t just want the store. You could have had that any time.’

  ‘I’m not going to lie to you. I’d lived with what I thought was my mother’s pain for thirty years. I had no way to hurt your father directly. I thought I could hurt him through you. That he’d know…’ He dragged his hands over his face. ‘How can I make you believe I wasn’t going to go through with it? That two nights ago I looked into a void when I contemplated life without you.’

  ‘That’s what you say now,’ she said, getting to her feet. Her legs were not entirely trustworthy, but it was time to go.

  ‘I should have made you listen to me last night.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself. I did all the work. Made it easy for you. Surrendered the store, surrendered everything. Lock, stock and barrel,’ she said.

  She headed towards the door. She wanted to weep for her lost hopes, lost dreams. She tossed the envelope that Kitty Farraday had given her on the desk as she passed. Regaining a department store couldn’t begin to make up for everything else she’d lost. There was more to life than shopping.

  And in London her mother was waiting for her.

  ‘Goodbye, Jordan.’

  He couldn’t believe it was happening. Half an hour ago he’d been a man with his whole life in front of him. Made new by the loving touch of a woman who had reached down into his heart, his soul. Changed him beyond recognition.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he begged. ‘Please.’

  She stopped with her hand on the doorhandle, but didn’t look back. ‘How can you ask that?’ She turned, pushing her hair behind her ear.

  The gesture, so familiar, filled him with sudden hope, and he swiftly crossed to her. ‘I can ask it because I love you. Because you have changed me, altered my perceptions, opened my eyes to what is truly important. Everything I said last night—’ She flinched at that, and he wanted to fling himself on his knees, plead for her forgiveness. ‘Trust me, India. Everything I said, everything I did last night was true. You’ve bewitched me, redeemed me—’

  India wanted to believe that with all her heart. Last night she’d believed it. Now the words meant nothing…‘I have to go—’

  ‘No!’ He slammed his hand against the door as she turned the handle, stopping her from opening it. ‘I won’t let you leave like this. Do you remember last night how you asked me if I could feel it? I didn’t ask you what you were feeling. I knew because I was feeling it with every fibre of my being. Passion, desire.’ He took her hand. ‘I’ve shown you the passion, the desire I have for you. Now I’m asking you… Can you feel it?’ India did not resist as he placed her hand against his heart. ‘Can you feel how much I love you, Indie?’

  Jordan’s heart beat against her palm, strong and powerful, and she was sure that he believed what he was saying. He would say anything, do anything, to get what he wanted. He was a man used to winning and suddenly his prize was walking away.

  She took her hand away, reached up and touched her knuckles to his cheek. ‘You’ve won, Jordan. I ceded the store to you yesterday. I wanted to take the store out of our relationship. So you see the letter changes nothing. Be content.’

  ‘Won? You think this is winning? From where I’m standing I’m the world’s biggest loser. What can I do? What can I do to make you stay?’ He looked baffled, lost. ‘Just tell me…’

  His heart. That was all she wanted. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t ask for that. It had to be given freely, as she’d given up her claim to the store, no strings attached. And the moment for that was past.

  ‘What will you do?’ he asked.

  ‘Afterwards?’ she asked. It was the question she’d asked him about his mother. And Kitty Farraday was a fine example of a woman who had remade her life. Made some good out of it. ‘I’m going to see my mother, Jordan.’ She tried a wry smile. It felt as if her face was breaking. ‘But first I’d better go home and get dressed in something other than last night’s finery.’

  ‘I’ll take you.’

  ‘No!’ Then, ‘If you’ll phone for a car—’

  ‘No, Indie. I’m taking you home. I’m not leaving your side until you’re prepared to listen to me. However long it takes.’ And he stepped back, allowed her to open the door.

  She picked up her dress, still hooked over the banister with his jacket, where they’d abandoned them last night, before turning to face him. ‘You’re forgetting something, Jordan. You don’t have time for such nonsense. You have a department store to run.’

  ‘No!’ Then, ‘No, wait!’ he shouted. She slung the slender red silk gown over her shoulder and forced herself to keep going. ‘My jacket. Look in my jacket pocket. Inside. You’ll find an envelope. It’s got your name on it.’

  With a sigh, she turned, picked up the jacket, looked in his inside pocket. ‘No envelope, Jordan.’

  ‘It’s there. I put it there last night…’ He took the jacket from her, searched all the pockets. ‘It must have fallen out. Come on.’ And he seized her hand, refusing to listen to her objections as he flung open the French windows that led onto the lawn.

  The grass was damp, her feet were soaked, and she was almost running to keep up with his long strides, bumping into him as he stopped without warning. ‘There,’ he said. ‘That’s it.’ On the path in front of her lay a square cream envelope, her name slightly fuzzy where the ink had run, but still clear. ‘Thank God,’ he said.

  ‘Jordan? What is it?’

  ‘It’s for you. Pick it up.’ She bent and picked it up, offered it to him, but he held up his hands, distancing himself from it. ‘I want you to open it. I want you to read it.’

  Inside were two sheets of papers. One was a copy of a letter, dated the previous day, to his solicitor, renouncing any claim to control of Claibourne & Farraday.

  The other was handwritten. There were only two words.

  ‘I surrender.’ Just two words. Beneath them he’d signed his name in full.

  India read them again, then looked up. ‘I don’t understand.’

  He remained an arm’s length distance from her. ‘What exactly don’t you understand? I—that’s me—Jordan David Farraday—surrender. As in capitulate, deliver up, yield, relinquish, renounce.’ He sank to his knees on the soft grass. ‘I am on my knees surrendering to you, Indie.’

  Last night. ‘This was in your pocket last night…before…?’ It was his heart. Freely given. No strings attached.

  ‘I was going to put that in your hand last night, Indie. Tell you everything before you opened it so that you’d know that, whatever I did, I had no motive other than love. It was that incentive thing… My incentive to surrender outweighed a million times my desire for revenge. I made the belated discovery that sometimes losing can make a man a winner.’ He took both her hands in his, crushing the damp paper. ‘You are the only prize I want.’

  India was smiling…grinning from ear to ear…unable to stop. ‘This…um…surrender. Was it just Claibourne & Farraday you were surrendering?’


  His face was grave. ‘You’ve already got everything else. I gave you my heart. My spirit.’ The sexy precursor to his smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. ‘You helped yourself to my body.’

  ‘Then we’re finally, truly, equal partners?’

  ‘Equal in everything.’

  And she, too, sank to her knees. ‘Then the proposal I sent to the lawyers, about using my name to open my own store—’

  ‘Is rejected. Out of hand. The names go together. Yours and mine. Eternally. I’ve got a proposal of my own, India Claibourne, and there’s only one answer I’m prepared to contemplate.’ She waited for him to go on, but he said nothing. Though there was a smile hovering just beneath the surface, waiting to break out.

  ‘Yes?’ she prompted.

  ‘That’s the answer I was looking for,’ he said. And the letters she was holding slipped from her fingers and fluttered away on the morning breeze as he took her in his arms to seal their merger with a kiss.

  EPILOGUE

  CITY DIARY, London Evening Post

  WE’VE had a lot of fun following the flurry of romances between the Claibournes and Farradays in this column during the last few months, but we’re delighted to send Jordan Farraday and his lovely bride-to-be India Claibourne our warmest congratulations and good wishes today, on the occasion of their wedding.

  Our best wishes also go to Niall and Romana Macaulay and Bram and Flora Gifford, whose recent marriages are to be blessed at the same time in a joint ceremony cementing the ties between these two great families.

  This is a bright new era for Claibourne & Farraday. With the new generation now partners in every sense, the uncertainties of recent months are a thing of the past and London’s most stylish store can only go from strength to strength.

  Jordan turned as, at a signal from the door, the organist stopped improvising and launched into the ‘Entry of the Queen of Sheba’. Niall came first, with Romana wearing a high-waisted dress with a red and gold bodice over a softly draped skirt that hid the early evidence of approaching motherhood.