by Toria Lyons
‘No,’ he whispered in anguish. ‘You love me. I love you. It’s all wrong but I’ll put it right. Where have you gone, Sarah? Where’s my Sarah gone?’ He raised a shaking hand to cup her face.
‘Don’t you remember it was just a fling, just an attraction which was going to burn out? That was our agreement. Tom, it’s burnt out.’ She recited the words perfectly calmly, the chill in her voice originating from that frozen lump within her chest. ‘It’s time to move on. Get on with our lives. It’s been a nice diversion, but it’s time to return to reality.’
‘No, I won’t accept that. I thought you knew I was serious – I wouldn’t have been talking about marriage and having children if I still thought it would be a fling. Please, let me hold you. I won’t hurt you, I just need … reassurance you’re still alive.’
At her nod, he enfolded her in his arms, pressing kisses to her hair.
She relaxed against him, the familiarity and warmth of him comforting her cold and lonely body. His hold was only loose; his hands didn’t move, didn’t trespass as they usually would.
She snuggled closer, her body accepting him as her mind stayed detached. She felt his interest grow but he moved his hips away. She sought the further contact, a part of her frustrated when he wouldn’t oblige.
He lifted her chin up, forced her to look at him. ‘Until you return to me of your own accord, it wouldn’t be right for us to make love. As much as I’ve missed you and I’d like to hug you all night, I’m going to find a hotel room. We can sort this out once I’ve had some sleep.’
Falteringly, missing his warmth already, she offered an alternative. ‘You – you can stay here, with me, if you don’t mind sharing a bed.’
Hope leapt in his eyes at this olive branch. ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded, with the ghost of a smile. ‘Please.’
They used the bathroom, Tom having a quick shower to wash away the dust of travel. There was an awkward familiarity to their routine. Sarah tried not to stare at the precariously small towel he wrapped around his hips, which he pulled off as he climbed wearily into the four-poster bed with the mosquito nets swaying around it. She followed him, but stayed dressed, and they lay separately under the covers until they both nodded off.
Hours later, still half asleep, she rolled over and came up against a furnace-like body. Feeling too warm, she shrugged out of her pyjamas. When their bare skin met, she murmured in contentment and burrowed closer to him. He wrapped his arms and legs around her.
She came awake in the pre-dawn light, lying across her aroused visitor. He felt safe and sexy, his manhood more than ready to please her. She was wet and ready to take him. Sarah began kissing him, as his eyes fluttered open. He groaned in pleasure at the sight of her, his hands lifted to cup her breasts.
‘No!’
She wasn’t expecting to be thrust away. He rolled out of the bed, fighting the covers away, and stood looking down at her.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do this!’ Tom panted. ‘This would be wrong – I’d feel like I was taking advantage of you.’ He pulled his jeans on, and sat heavily on the side of the bed.
‘It was my fault. Come back to bed.’ Turning her back to him, she shrugged her pyjama top back on.
He opened his mouth to refuse but yawned instead. Carefully, he climbed back under the covers and they lay stiffly side by side, before dozing off again.
Again, when she woke, she had found her way back into his arms. He held her close, murmuring that it would be all right, she would recover, that she had to; he couldn’t live without her love.
She didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge his pleas. Half an hour later, she yawned and stretched, gently moving away from him. They looked at each other, wordlessly getting out of bed and dressing for the new day.
Sarah provided breakfast and coffee for them and they sat at the table to eat, making small talk until Tom put down his drink.
‘You will come back with me, to London?’ Tom knew if he was going to get through to her, he would need to be on his own turf, on home ground where she was comfortable and had good memories.
‘This contract finishes in two weeks’ time. I’m back for a couple of weeks, then I’ve been offered another contract in Dubai.’
‘Please don’t sign anything yet. Give us a chance. When you get back, give me a month, give us a month. Please,’ Tom implored her.
‘It’s not going to change anything; it’ll just delay the inevitable.’ At his beseeching eyes, she relented. ‘A month – that’s all.’
Chapter Twelve
Sarah arrived back at Heathrow on a frosty February morning. Tom had emailed to ask her exactly when she would be arriving and she’d told him Friday, but no flight times or numbers. Despite this, on walking out of Arrivals, the first thing she saw was her name on a large sign. Holding it up was a smartly dressed young chauffeur, complete with a peaked hat covering his dark hair. She briefly contemplated ignoring him and carrying on home via train to the peace of her flat, but a flash of guilt made her stop and identify herself.
‘The car is outside. I’ll take your bags. Follow me.’
Before she could object, he had efficiently whisked her case away and was trotting towards the exit. A sleek black Mercedes waited outside and the chauffeur carefully laid her case in the boot and opened a rear door for her.
‘Make yourself comfortable. There are roadworks on the way so this may take some time, due to the diversions.’
Sarah settled back in the soft leather seat, glad that she didn’t have to battle the rail system but vaguely annoyed that Tom had assumed so much. After weeks in an emotional void, it was strange to be feeling so much again, although her deeper feelings were still tangled up in ice. She realised she was secretly disappointed he hadn’t been there to meet her.
‘Have you worked for Tom long?’ she asked the driver, as he took his place behind the wheel.
‘A couple of years, miss.’
‘Please don’t call me miss – I’m Sarah.’
‘I’m Stan. Mr Murray took me on after I finished school. He lets me work the hours I can manage as long as I continue playing rugby.’ He named one of the clubs that often fed good players into Harford Park’s set-up and began to wax lyrical about its development squad.
Sarah was so interested in discussing rugby with the young lad that she didn’t pay attention to their route, so she was surprised when they drew up outside Tom’s block.
‘Is this where he asked you to bring me?’
‘Yes, miss – Sarah. He gave me the keys for you; I should have given them to you earlier but here they are.’ He passed over a sealed envelope. ‘I brought the rest of your things over yesterday.’
‘The rest of my things?’
‘Yes. Someone called Clare had packed up a couple of suitcases for me to collect.’
Sarah started to bristle, confused about what was going on. She strode to the main doorway, ripping open the envelope and roughly pulling out the keys. A large paper label was attached to the key ring.
Sarah, you promised me a month, which starts now. I will leave you to settle in and/or rest this afternoon. We have guests tonight. Marian will help you where needed. Don’t be mad at Clare.
Love, Tom xxx
‘Here you go.’ Stan ushered her into the lift and pushed the button. On arrival in the penthouse, a smiling, middle-aged, grey-haired lady dressed in a smart navy suit greeted her.
‘So, you’re Sarah. I’m sorry I’ve never met you before; I was looking after my daughter and her newborn when you visited our offices. Thanks, Stanley – now you get away to your next job.’ She bustled into the kitchen as Sarah also thanked Stan. ‘What happened would never have happened if I’d been there. Come through; let me know what you need. I’m at your command. If you want a dress for later – it will be quite formal – or I can leave you completely in peace. The dining room is all set up; the caterers arrive at six.’
She took a deep breath and continued, ‘I’m M
arian, by the way, Tom’s PA. I’m so glad you’ve come back; Tom’s been so irritable in the last few weeks, a cat on hot bricks. Listen to me prattling on! I’m so nervous; I don’t want to upset things for him. I haven’t even offered you a tea or coffee.’
‘Coffee, please,’ replied Sarah faintly.
‘You must be exhausted after all that travel. Would you like a nap?’ Marian competently set the coffee machine working.
‘I should, really. I will do. I probably won’t need the coffee – sorry.’
Marian flicked some buttons and the machine switched off. ‘No worries. I’ll leave you in peace, then, let you gather your thoughts.’ She patted Sarah on the arm and stared deeply into her eyes. ‘Please try not to hurt him; he’s been such a rock for everyone and sacrificed a lot of himself in the meantime. He would never, ever knowingly hurt you; just the thought that he could’ve stopped all that from happening has had him racked with guilt. And I should’ve had the measure of it too.’ Her broad shoulders slumped and she turned to leave, picking up a capacious handbag.
‘Marian?’ Sarah went to stop her. ‘Could you just tell me a bit more about that? About what happened? Please?’
‘I don’t think it’s up to me to tell. But maybe you need to hear it before tonight. And Tom’s too proud to explain the intricate details. I’ll put the coffee back on, although we may need something stronger. You go and change into something more comfortable.’
Sarah had a brief shower and changed into the first things she grabbed from her case: a silky top and trousers. She returned to the living area to find Marian had prepared Irish coffees and pastries.
‘Just a snack – you may need it. And the coffee’s decaffeinated but has a bite.’
They sat down on the sofas, or rather Marian perched and Sarah collapsed as she felt the jet lag kick in.
‘It started years ago. Tom had known Natasha since he was at school, and the MacLeans were a local family. The shock of losing his mother put a strain on his relationship with his half-brother, who kept getting into trouble. His businesses were doing well but they still needed his hands-on attention. When he discovered that his real father was the Laird, it put a further strain on the family ties. The Laird had no direct heir beforehand and Tom is his only son. They became very close within a short time, and when the Laird had a heart attack last year, he was wishing, in his hospital bed, that Tom would get married. Now, Natasha had a nurse friend at the hospital who overheard this. Somehow, with the help of her friends and family, she inveigled her way into the position of his fiancée. She claimed at the time she loved him and hoped he would grow to love her.
‘And he believed her?’ Sarah was surprised: Tom had always seemed a good judge of character.
‘I think he wanted to – to make his father happy.’ Marian’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘Her behaviour, of course, was different towards us; we saw a different side to her, way before Tom and his father did. When the Laird recovered, Tom broke it to her that he didn’t feel able to marry her. She threatened all sorts, threw hysterical wobblies, accused him of ruining her life, and even spread rumours that she was pregnant. It would have been an immaculate conception: he hadn’t even slept with her!’
‘Not slept with her?’ Now Sarah was shocked; with Tom’s voracious sex drive she would have been surprised if he’d been celibate.
‘He’s always been very careful that way and I think his intuition told him something was up. Now, Natasha has a sister, Anna, who is even sneakier than her. She persuaded Natasha to ease off and pretended it was all down to her. Tom was exceedingly grateful for her help, and when I had to take some time off, he took her on as cover. She had excellent overseas recommendations from years abroad but claimed she needed UK references. And that’s when you came on the scene.’
‘Me? What did I do?’
Marian laughed at Sarah’s incredulity. ‘He was like a nervous schoolboy when he met you again last year; I saw a side of him I never had before, warm and caring. Well, he was always polite and treated me fairly, but he was sometimes so ruthless with others. When you re-entered his life he – you could tell he thought you were someone special. But it really set the cat among the pigeons in the office. Anna MacLean and her new best friend, Celia, who I believe you’ve met?’
‘Oh, the receptionist?’ Sarah certainly recalled her.
‘Yes, they became as thick as thieves. When you came on the scene, Anna knew she wouldn’t have a chance with you around. She was very patient, made herself practically indispensable. Now, did you ever receive chocolates, wine, or flowers sent by Tom?’
Sarah frowned in bewilderment. ‘He’s never sent me anything.’
Marian reached in her handbag and brought out several invoices. ‘Take a look.’
Sarah rifled through the sheets of paper, her confusion growing. They were dated from shortly after she had met Tom again to after Lisbon, and were from various shops delivering gifts to her address. Except it wasn’t her address: it had been subtly changed. Some even had copies of cheerful notes from Tom attached.
‘I never received any of these,’ she confirmed.
Marian nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. Anna changed the delivery details to a nearby friend’s house. Tom was confused you never mentioned receiving anything, and my instincts told me there was something off. Nothing I could go to Tom with, but enough for me to take some precautions.’
‘Such as?’
‘Keeping an eye on her email accounts, her phone usage. I missed this as the invoices had gone to Tom’s personal accounts. She was very patient until she made her move. And that was in Lisbon.’
‘Lisbon?’ echoed Sarah. ‘How was she behind that?’
Marian reached into her handbag. ‘Here, a photo.’ She brought out a posed magazine photograph of two glamorous women, both dressed up to the nines and with champagne glasses in their hands. ‘Recognise either of them?’
Sarah studied the shot. ‘That’s Maria, who I met in Lisbon, on the left. And the brunette on the right – she looks familiar too.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘I think I saw her too, in the lift of one of the hotels. She was behaving strangely, which made me remember her. Plus, a strange smell, maybe her perfume, was in Tom’s room.’
‘Correct,’ confirmed Marian. ‘The woman on the right is Anna.’
‘But … what was she doing in Lisbon?’
‘Causing trouble. She was supposed to arrange secretarial support; this conveniently fell through so she had an excuse to fly out. While she was there, she arranged the confrontation with Maria. When that didn’t appear to faze you, and you didn’t jump to conclusions about her coming out of your room, she had to play hardball. Natasha had stayed in touch with Tom’s father and fed him bile about you being a gold-digger behind her split with Tom.
‘Me, a gold-digger?’ Sarah laughed harshly.
‘Tom knows you’re not,’ Marian reassured her. ‘He’s put his father straight on that; I overheard him shouting about you having more integrity in your little finger than anyone he’s ever met. However, it was enough to get his father worried. Natasha called and told Tom that his father’d had a relapse and this is when, from the way you see it, Tom disappeared.’
‘He flew back to the UK for his father? But why didn’t he tell me?’
‘He did. Or tried to. All the messages he left, Anna or Maria intercepted. And before she saw him off at the airport on his flight to Scotland, Anna lifted his mobile. When you called the office, Celia binned your messages. She claims Anna told her you and Tom had broken up and that you had turned into a bit of a bunny boiler – I didn’t believe her. Celia certainly cancelled a couple of flower deliveries ordered by Tom to your correct address.’
Sarah contemplated how well their deception had worked. ‘I overheard something, a conversation between two women, while I was visiting Tom’s office,’ she began haltingly. ‘A woman saying that he had asked her out and that he – he intended on using me then dumping me. That’s why I tried to pull
back. I wanted to protect myself.’
‘They probably saw you going in there, and took the chance to plant seeds of doubt in your mind. I can assure you that splitting up with you was the last thing on his mind. And the only times he’s gone out for meals or drinks with other women have been strictly business or in large groups.’
‘So why was he photographed in that magazine?’
‘Oh, when he arrived back in Scotland, he found his father perfectly OK and expecting him for his birthday party. Natasha had arranged for the photographer to be there and also had a word in the ear of a society columnist.’
‘And the wedding invitations?’ It was all slotting into place.
‘Again, another effort to isolate you. In this event, however, they overegged the pudding. Unbeknownst to Tom, the invites had been printed out last year, while Natasha was counting her chickens. However, Alex Prince was their big mistake. His invite had been forwarded very quickly from his parents’ address in Scotland, and after he’d spoken with you, he managed to get through to Tom to ask what the hell was going on. Tom checked his phone records, discovered he hadn’t been calling you after all, and you know the rest.’
‘But why? There was no chance he’d go back to Natasha, was there?’
‘None whatsoever. But Anna thought she’d get her foot in the door. Or one of her friend’s feet: we don’t know their exact plans. They just needed you to break up, to drive an insurmountable wedge between the two of you. We still don’t know for certain what else they did; it was the private investigator who discovered most of this.’ Marian tidied up the cups and bustled back to the kitchen. ‘So that’s it. Just remember Tom was trying to contact you the whole time.’
Sarah sat on the sofa, absolutely shocked to the core to discover the depths of the plot. Really, it was inevitable that there would be some competition to go out with any millionaire, never mind a young, good-looking one. She’d seen it when she’d worked abroad. She just hadn’t taken that into account this time; she’d only thought of it from the rugby side, the girls who went after the fit players in nightclubs. And Tom wasn’t really a nightclub-goer.
