His jaw clenched as he feverishly travelled down memory lane and he felt the familiar, sickening rush of rage that had always accompanied these particular memories.
‘On second thoughts, Simon. Take the motorway. There’s a call I want to make…’
Or rather, a call he would instruct his head accountant to make. But Andy, his head accountant, didn’t get to the office until eight-thirty, and waiting until then nearly drove Gabriel to the edge of his patience.
It was not yet nine when Laura raced into the kitchen and grabbed the telephone, breathing quickly because she had just finished doing the horses and had opened the front door to the frantic trilling of the phone. Of course, the minute she picked up the receiver, she could have kicked herself. Why bother? She knew what was going to greet her from the other end. Someone else asking about unpaid bills. Lord, they were crawling out of the woodwork now! Her father had managed to keep the hounds at bay whilst he had been alive, spinning them stories, no doubt, and using his upper-crust charm to squeeze more time in which to forestall the inevitable, but the minute he had died and she had realised the horrifying extent of the debt, every man Jack had been down her throat, demanding their money. The house had been mortgaged to the hilt, the banks were clamouring for blood and that was only the tip of the iceberg.
How she had managed to swan along in total ignorance of their plight was now beyond her comprehension. How could she not have managed to realise? The house slowly going to rack and ruin? The racehorses being sold one by one? The horses in their care gradually being removed by concerned owners? She had merrily gone her way, doing her little job in the town, coming back to the security of her home and her horses, protected as she had always been from the glaring truth of the situation. God!
Her voice, when she spoke, was wary. ‘Hello? Yes?’
‘This is Andrew Grant here. Am I speaking to Miss Jackson? The owner of the Jackson Equestrian Centre?’
Laura ran her slender fingers through her shoulder-length blonde hair and stifled a little groan of despair.
‘Yes, you are, and if you’re calling about an unpaid bill, then I’m afraid you’ll have to put it in writing. My accountant will be dealing with…with all unpaid bills in due course.’ Like hell he would be. There was simply no money to deal with anything.
‘I have in front of me an article in the Financial Times about your company, Miss Jackson. It doesn’t make pretty reading.’
‘I…I admit that there are a few financial concerns at the moment, Mr Grant, but I assure you that—’
‘I gather you’re broke.’
The bluntness of the statement took the wind out of her and Laura shakily sat on the old wooden chair by the telephone table. With the phone in one hand, she stared down at her scuffed brown boots and the frayed hem of her jeans. In the past four months she felt as if she had gone from being a carefree twenty-six-year-old girl to an old woman of eighty.
‘Money is a problem at the moment, yes, Mr Grant, but I assure you—’
‘That you will miraculously be able to lay your hands on enough of it to clear your debts, Miss Jackson? When, Miss Jackson? Tomorrow? The day after? Next month? Next year?’
‘My accountant is—’
‘I have already had a word with your accountant. He’s managing your company’s death rites, from what I gather.’
Laura gave a sharp intake of breath and felt her body tremble. ‘Look, who are you? You have no right to make phone calls to my accountant behind my back! How did you get hold of his number? I could take you to court for that!’
‘I think not. And I have every right to contact your accountant. The demise of your company is now public knowledge.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I am proposing a rescue package, Miss Jackson…’
‘What do you mean by a “rescue package”? Look, I really don’t know a great deal about finances. Perhaps it would be better if you contact Phillip again and then he can explain to me…’
‘On behalf of a very wealthy client, who wants to meet with you personally to discuss what he has in mind.’
‘M-meet with me?’ Laura stammered in confusion. ‘Phillip has all the books. It would be extremely unorthodox to—’
‘The sooner you are able to arrange a meeting with my…ah…client, the quicker your problems will be resolved, Miss Jackson, so could I propose…’ he paused and down the end of the line she could hear the soft rustle of paper ‘…tomorrow? Lunchtime?’
‘Tomorrow? Lunchtime? Look, is this some kind of joke? Who exactly is this so-called client of yours?’
‘You will have to travel to London for the preliminary meeting, I’m afraid. My client is an exceptionally busy man. If the deal shows promise, then, naturally, he will want to see the stables for himself. Now, there’s a small French restaurant called the Cache d’Or just off the Gloucester Road in Kensington. Could you be there by one?’
‘I…’
‘And if you have any doubt as to my client’s financial worthiness or, for that matter, the reliability of this proposed deal, then I suggest you call Phillip Carr, your accountant, and he should be able to set your mind at rest.’
At rest was the last place her mind was one hour later, after she had called Phillip and plied him with questions about the identity of the apparent knight in shining armour who wanted to buy one desperately ailing riding stables in the middle of nowhere.
‘He can’t be serious, Phillip. You’ve seen the place! Once glorious, now a destitute shambles. Not even a good reputation left to trade on! Just an empty, sad shell.’ Laura felt the prickle of tears welling up when she said this. She could hardly bear to remember the place when it had been in its heyday, when her mother had still been alive and everything had been all right with the world. When everything had been all right in her world, a lifetime ago it seemed.
‘He’s certainly serious at this point in time, Laura, and, face it, what harm is there in checking it out?’
‘Did you manage to find out who exactly this man is?’
‘I have simply been told that his estimated wealth runs into several million, if not more, and I’ve been given a succinct list of his various companies.’ Phillip sounded unnaturally sheepish and Laura clicked her tongue in frustration. She and Phillip went back a long way. He was now about the only person she could trust and the last thing she felt she needed was his reticence.
‘Why the secrecy?’
‘Because he is considerably powerful and he says that it’s essential that no one knows of this possible deal.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Phillip sighed, and she could imagine him rubbing his eyes behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. ‘Look, meet the man, Laura. He might just save the day and you have nothing to lose. The fact is, without some kind of outside help you’ll lose everything. The lot. House, contents, your precious horses, any land you have left. It’s far worse than I originally thought. You’re standing on quicksand, Laura.’
Laura felt a shiver of fear trickle down her spine. Thank heavens her father had not lived to see this day. However much he had squandered everything, she refused to hate him for it. He had been caught up in one long vortex of grief after her mother had died, and what had followed, the gambling that had been exposed, the addiction to alcohol that he had always been able to hide beneath his impossibly cheerful veneer, all of it had been his own sad response to emotional turmoil.
She became aware that Phillip was talking to her and she just managed to catch the tail-end of his sentence.
‘…and the worse is yet to come.’
‘What do you mean? How could things get any worse?’
‘You could be held liable for some of his debts. The banks could descend on you, Laura, claim your earnings. If this man seems genuine, then be more than open-minded about his offer. Entice him into it. It could be your last chance. I frankly don’t see anyone else taking it on.’
Twenty-four hours later, with those words ring
ing in her ears, Laura dressed carefully and apprehensively for what could turn out to be the biggest meeting of her life. Her wardrobe sparsely consisted of a mixture of working clothes, which she wore to the office where she held down an undemanding but reassuring job three days a week as secretary for an estate agency, and casual clothes, which took the brunt of her work with the horses and showed it. Sensible dark skirts, a few nondescript blouses and then jeans and baggy jumpers. She chose a slim-fitting dark grey skirt, a ribbed grey elbow-length cardigan with tiny pearl buttons down the front and her high black shoes, which escalated her already generously tall height to almost six feet.
Hopefully, this powerful businessman would not be too short. Towering over a diminutive man would do her, she conceded wryly, no favours at all.
Her nerves were in shreds by the time she arrived at the restaurant, after two hours of monotonous travel during which she’d contemplated the gloomy future lurking ahead of her.
As she anxiously scanned the diners, looking for an appropriately overweight, middle-aged man reeking of wealth, Gabriel, removed to the furthest corner of the room and partially out of her sight behind an arrangement of lush potted plants resting on a marble ledge, watched her.
He had not known what to expect. He had awakened this morning positively bristling with anticipation. Not a sensation he had experienced in quite a while and he had relished it. Money and power, he had long acknowledged, didn’t so much corrupt as they hardened. Having the world at your beck and call produced its own brand of jaded cynicism.
He sat back in his chair, watching her through the thick, rubbery leaves of the plants alongside him, and a slow smile curved his handsome mouth. Seven years and this moment was well worth waiting for. Yes, she had changed. No longer did she have that waist-length hair, which, released, had always been able to turn her from innocent young thing into something altogether more sexy. No, but the blunt, straight, shoulder-length hair suited her. His eyes darkened as they studied the rest of her. The lithe body, the full breasts pushing out the little, prim grey cardigan, the long legs. He felt a surge of violent emotion and deliberately turned away, waiting for her now, with his whisky in one hand.
He sat back in the chair and swallowed a mouthful of his drink, mentally following her progress as she was ushered towards his table.
Their eyes met. Brown eyes widening in disbelief clashing with coal-black, thickly fringed ones. Gabriel smiled coldly as she stood in front of him, casting one desperate glance back over her shoulder and then back to him.
‘Gabriel? My God, how are you?’ The residue of shock was still rippling through her body as Laura looked at the spectacularly handsome man lounging in the chair in front of her. She clutched the back of the chair and managed a small, tentative smile.
‘So, Laura, we meet again.’ His hard black eyes raked over her body with casual insolence before returning to her face, and continued to watch her over the rim of his glass as he took another sip of his drink. ‘You seem a little…disconcerted.’
In fact, she looked as if she might faint at any moment.
‘I wasn’t expecting…I thought…’ Laura stared back at him, transfixed by his face and those mesmerising black eyes that had always made her feel hot and unsteady. Had it been seven years ago? It seemed like just yesterday. She cleared her throat. ‘When this meeting was arranged, I had no idea…’
‘That you would be coming face to face with me? No, you wouldn’t have.’ Gabriel gave an indolent shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘But I am being very rude. Sit down.’ He watched as she hesitated fractionally, knowing what was going through her head. She didn’t want to be here. If she could have, she would have fled the restaurant as fast as she could. But she couldn’t. She was trapped by her own financial circumstances in a cruel twist of fate that not even he, in his most vengeful moments, could have conceived.
‘Sit,’ he ordered silkily, when she continued to hover by her chair like a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights of a fast-moving car. ‘After all, as old friends we have much to talk about.’ She still had that peculiarly enticing air of innocence and sensuality. Her extreme blondeness in combination with those large, almond-shaped chocolate-brown eyes had always been eye-catching because they contrasted so sharply with the contained intelligence on her face. For the first time, Gabriel lowered his eyes as his body treacherously began to respond to her.
‘What do you want, Gabriel?’ A pink tongue flicked out to moisten her dry lips, but she obeyed his order and cautiously slid into the chair.
‘Why, I thought my accountant made it perfectly clear what I wanted…’ Gabriel beckoned a waiter across and ordered a glass of white wine for her, Sancerre, then he smiled lazily. ‘After seven years I am finally able to offer you a drink. A drink in a smart, fashionable and excruciatingly expensive restaurant. As many drinks as you would like, as a matter of fact. Is that not extraordinary…?’
‘I would have preferred mineral water.’
Gabriel ignored her small protest.
Did he know what he was doing to her? Yes, of course he did, Laura thought shakily. It was pay-back time. She felt a shiver of apprehension feather down her spine as she was swamped by memories. God, he had been beautiful. She slid her eyes surreptitiously to him. He still was. Suffocatingly and excitingly masculine. All male. Every pore of him breathed virile sexuality and he hadn’t changed. No, he had changed. Power and wealth had hardened the ferociously handsome features of his face and the eyes staring at her were cold and assessing. A wave of nausea rushed over her.
‘You look a little pale. Take a sip of your wine.’ His voice snapped her out of her memories and brought her crashing back to reality. ‘Please accept my sympathies on the death of your father,’ he said, observing her coolly, whilst his fingers stroked the side of his glass.
‘Thank you.’ Laura paused to take a sip of wine. ‘I see you…you’ve done very well. I had no idea…’
‘That a poor boy like me working to make ends meet so that he could afford to complete his university course would turn out good in the end?’
‘That’s not what I was going to say. How is your father?’
‘Back in Argentina and doing very well.’
‘And you? How are you? Are you married? Children?’ In her head, he had never married. Laura realised, with shock, that he had been in her head ever since he had stormed out of her life. She had allowed herself to be persuaded by her parents that his disappearance had been for the best, that she had her future, that they had never been suited, that she would forget him in time, but she hadn’t forgotten him. And her memories of him were still of the raw youth who had swept her off her feet. Not of this man sitting in front of her with the world at his fingertips.
Gabriel’s jaw hardened. Married? Children? Those were dreams he had nurtured a long time ago, dreams he had uselessly expended on the woman floundering in the chair opposite him. He had been naïve enough at the time to imagine that she had shared those dreams. Until reality had kicked him in the face and he had been forced to swallow the bitter truth that he had been nothing but an amusing plaything for a rich young girl. Her dreams of happy families had not included wedding a poor Argentinian. Not enough class. His hand tightened around his glass and he quickly swallowed the remainder of his drink.
‘No,’ he said abruptly. He signalled to the waiter for menus and, after they had placed their orders, he sat back in his chair and loosely linked his fingers on his lap. ‘So…our fortunes have changed, have they not? Seven years ago, eating out at a restaurant like this would have been out of my reach.’ His dark eyes gave a quick glance around their expensive surroundings before returning to her face. ‘Who would have ever imagined that here I would one day sit, with you opposite me, in the role of…what shall we call it, Laura? Penitent?’
‘Why are you so bitter?’ Laura’s eyes met his and skittered away in a rush of helpless confusion. ‘It’s been years…’ She sighed. ‘Look, I don’t want to rake over old gro
und. Phillip tells me that you’re interested in buying the riding stables. I might as well warn you that they’re not what they used to be.’ She wished desperately that he would stop staring at her.
‘Why am I so bitter…?’ he mused. His voice was lazy and thoughtful, but his dark eyes were coldly hostile and a shiver of dread slithered down Laura’s spine. ‘Why do you think I’m bitter?’
‘Because your pride was dented when…’ Her voice faltered and she nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
‘Say it, Laura,’ he commanded silkily. ‘After all, it has been a long time since we last set eyes on one another. What could be more natural than to go over old ground?’
‘What’s the point of all of this?’ She whipped her napkin from her lap and flattened it with the palm of her hand on the table. ‘Do you have any intention of buying the stables, Gabriel, or did you decide to get me here so that you could watch me squirm? Humiliate me because I once turned down your proposal of marriage?’ There. It was out and they stared at one another in lengthening silence.
She would not allow him the satisfaction of playing cat and mouse with her. He had no intention of buying any stables. He had simply used that as a pretext to get her here so that he could spend a few hours watching her squirm because she had wounded his volatile, Argentinian pride.
‘I’m going.’ She stood up and scooped up her handbag from the table. ‘I don’t have to stay and suffer this.’
‘You’re not going anywhere!’ His voice cracked against her like a whip and she glared down at the impossibly handsome, ruthless face staring back at her with narrowed eyes.
‘You can’t tell me what I can and cannot do, Gabriel!’ She leaned over, squaring her hands on the table, her body thrust towards him. It was a mistake. It brought her too close to him, too close to that sexy mouth of his and, as if sensing it, he smiled slowly.
Millionaire's Revenge Page 3
