CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Geoff's words were still ringing in her ears when Bess entered her room, shed her clothes, stripped off the bed's counterpane, and crawled beneath the sheets.
Then crawled out again to don her oversized Goofy nightshirt, stagger into Geoff's office, turn on the computer, and write Mouse a brief email. Before Ida had left, practically at Geoff's heels, she'd offhandedly suggested that “Colorado might want to reassure the bloody rodent.”
Bess didn't even try to guestimate the time difference. However, Mouse's response came within minutes, as if he'd been impatiently waiting by his computer.
“I'm so glad you're safe,” he wrote, “and I like that Ida-Templeton person. But if you stay with Lucifer, you're playing with fire, and I wash my hands of you.”
Paws not hands, Bess thought, swallowing the urge to laugh hysterically.
Instead, nearly blinded by tears, she stumbled into bed, where, physically exhausted, emotionally drained, she fell asleep. She awoke the next morning, dripping with perspiration but unable to remember her dreams, and soon found that Geoff had not bothered to come home. His bedroom was empty, his bed hadn't been slept in, and the ethereal, auburn-haired nude in the painting seemed to mock Bess's anguish.
~~~
Packed up and ready to leave, Bess waited for Geoff's return. She could have been gone much earlier, except her pain had evolved into anger.
Ironically, last night she'd discovered a gift from Geoff under the dinner plate that held the remnants of her baked potato. A jade Tasmanian tiger hung from the end of a slender gold chain, and Bess remembered admiring the exquisite piece of jewelry at the Deloraine Fair. Geoff had probably bought it during her visit to the loo or, more likely, when he purchased his bottles of liqueur.
Why hadn't he given it to her right away? Because of her sunburn? As delicate as the piece of sculpted jade was, he knew it would irritate the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. He was always so thoughtful!
And, this time, so wrong! She needed to explain away his accusations. If he didn't believe her, so be it.
Yearning to showcase the tiny tiger above the peasant blouse she'd tucked into her long patchwork-quilt skirt, Bess merely placed the necklace inside her purse. She was sitting over her umpteenth cup of coffee when she heard the door open and the scuttle of Lady’s paws on the polished floor. The dog slid round the corner, floundered for footing, then lunged toward Bess.
Geoff was only a few heartbeats behind, and arrived as the spaniel was busy sniffing at Bess’s luggage. Walking into the kitchen with the rigid stride of a cautious, angry predator, he halted to survey his domain from halfway across the room.
“Do you think you’re going somewhere?” His voice was low, level, calm and totally menacing, as cold as his eyes and even colder than the block of ice in Bess’s stomach.
“It doesn’t seem very good sense to stay here, under the circumstances,” she replied. “Although, for the record, I want to say a few things before I leave.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to say them.” He marched forward to loom over her. “Because you are going nowhere, Elizabeth Carson Cornwall, until you’ve done what you came to do, which is help me write our book.”
“Elizabeth Carson Bradley, not Cornwall.” She forced herself to stare up at him, forced herself to look as if she wasn’t being intimidated, and she desperately tried to keep her own voice calm and cool. “And you, Mr. Geoffrey Barrett, must be out of your mind if you think for one minute that we can continue to work on our book after—”
“Me being led down the garden path? After me being used? After me being totally, ruthlessly betrayed? Being made to betray my investors... my friends? Is that what you’re trying to say? Save it, darling, because if you eat it, you’ll stain your teeth. All you need to remember is that I paid to get you here and here you will stay until I’ve had my satisfaction. And I will. Mark my words, I will.” His pale eyes bored into her own, then broke away to roam the contours of her body. “One way or another,” he said, and the message was clear as window glass.
Bess shriveled up inside. Couldn’t help it and didn’t care. In those angry eyes she saw traces of Paul. In that angry, controlling voice, she heard her father running her mother’s life, her life, everybody’s life. She took a deep breath and held it, playing for time and winning.
“I did not know of your dealings with my father,” she said, choosing her words as carefully as ever she had chosen words. “Not in any way. Nor did my father send me here. It was your idea, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“And how convenient for you. I’m sure you had your father on the phone thirty seconds after my email. You told him you’d play it cool and refuse my offer until I begged you to come to Tasmania. Less suspicion that way, you said. The airfare was a bonus, I expect. Good work, Elizabeth.”
She shuddered. “Don’t you dare call me Elizabeth! Your premise is ridiculous and you know it. No, I take that back... you can’t even imagine how ridiculous it is. I've never done anything to jeopardize your business dealings with my father. Except to get kidnapped, or do you believe that was some sort of scam, too?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied, surprising her. “I think you either began to regret your stool-pigeon role, or you asked for more time. Then your father became impatient and told his pack of bloody crims to speed up the process.”
“He wouldn’t have told them to kidnap me. Damn it, he’s my father! It’s a strange set of circumstances, I’ll admit that much, but I repeat, Geoff. I did not have one damned thing to do with any of it. I didn’t know you were involved with my father. If I had known, I never would have come here.”
“Sure thing, darling. That’s your story and you stick to it. Although how you can, now that everything’s out in the open, I simply can’t imagine. Because that’s maybe the worst part of all. How much of a fool you’ve taken me for and how much of a fool I’ve been. Sort of buggers a man’s faith in himself, a thing like that. Still, I’ll get over it with time. And with a bit of help from your mate Rossiter, I might just show your father that taking on some people with his kind of tactics can be expensive.”
“I hope you do,” Bess said, and although she was speaking more to herself than Geoff, she instinctively knew he’d heard her.
Whether he could begin to understand was a different story, not that it mattered anymore. There was no way she could confide in him now, not about her having accepted his invitation to escape her father, and certainly not about the events that had led up to that decision.
In his present state of mind, Geoff was probably more than prepared to see her in a corporate whore role, she thought, only half aware that he had moved away from her and was pouring fresh coffee. For both of them. Could this be some sort of signal that hostilities were on hold, at least for the moment?
She didn’t have to wonder about that very long. Geoff plunked the coffee down before her, turned, picked up her bags, and headed toward the stairs. He got halfway there, then stopped and shook his head.
“Hell,” he said, “you got them down here, you can get them back up again. Be good exercise for you, because you’re going to be spending a lot of time without any from now on. I expect every possible waking hour to be spent at the computer working on finishing our book.” A sneer was in his voice as he dropped the bags like sacks of rubbish and walked back to sit down in front of his own coffee cup. Lady, attuned to the bad vibes, scrambled round to huddle at his feet, then looked from one human to the other as if waiting for yet another explosion.
“Whatever you say,” Bess said, relieved in a way to have the confrontation over with, praying that it really was over. “I suppose you want me to give you my airline tickets and passport, just so you can be sure,” she added, hating herself for what she considered a purely feminine remark.
“Bloody hell, Bess, don’t talk nonsense.” Geoff looked up at the ceiling, as if unable to believe he had made such a contradictory remark. Bess could hardly
believe it either, and was almost comforted when he grudgingly said, “I’ll take your word that you’ll stay out your term. Whatever else, you’ve been totally professional about the book. I can’t fault you on that.”
“How magnanimous of you.” Although it was the closest thing he’d said yet to an apology, and obviously closer to an apology than he had intended, she felt even angrier than she’d felt before.
She stared into the coffee she no longer wanted, then surged to her feet and tipped it down the sink. Sitting here wasn't going to accomplish anything, and since leaving now seemed out of the equation, she might as well get to work. She didn’t bother wasting even one glance on Geoff as she picked up her luggage and headed for her room.
Then she marched straight back downstairs to the office, somehow managing to ignore the whirling dervish round her feet. As always, Lady sought attention, only this time she was frustrated at not receiving it.
“Go piddle on someone else’s shoes,” Bess finally said, closing the office door, blocking the dog's attempt to enter. Then she physically kicked Geoff’s chair aside, dragged her own in front of the silent, almost mocking emptiness of the computer screen, and fired the cursed machine into action.
And there she stayed for three solid days, accomplishing, by her own standards, about as much as she could have accomplished by watching television or washing her hair. Words came, words went. Phrases came, phrases went. It seemed after a while that she was merely going through the motions, that she could write whatever she wanted to write, because the next step was to hit the delete key.
Worse, she began to develop headaches, and they were not the relatively minor type she was used to from long hours before the screen. These were, she suspected, severe stress headaches. Or, perhaps worse, migraines. Finally, on the afternoon of the third day, she could stand it no longer. Swallowing a couple of pain-killers, extracted from a vial she'd discovered on a shelf in the loo's medicine chest, she retreated to her room and sprawled out on the bed with a cool cloth across her forehead. Her mind was so dulled by the pain that sleep was impossible. All she could do was drift in and out of the edges of sleep, never quite getting there, but never far away.
Until the argument began downstairs.
The first words to penetrate Bess's fog were: “Tom Rossiter.”
Geoff's tone revealed disbelief, and Bess managed to distinguish yet another “dammit,” then mumble... mumble... mumble... and finally: “Don’t be stupid, Ida.” By which time she had rolled off the bed.
Ignoring the searing pain in her head long enough to tiptoe to the partly-open door, she huddled and unashamedly eavesdropped.
“Bloody oath, Geoffrey darling, I do wish you’d stop being so obtuse. Rossiter saved your girl, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“She's not my girl. She's Warren Cornwall’s girl. Or have you forgotten?”
“Bugger all men! She's Cornwall’s daughter, which she can’t help any more than you can help being your father’s son. Really, Geoffrey, did that little chit of a child bride of yours root your feeble male brain to the point where you can’t see the truth when it’s out there in front of you?”
“Leave her out of this! She’s got nothing to do with it!”
“Nothing to do with it? Your delightful child bride led you down the garden path, dropped you in the shit, took you for half a bloody fortune, and totally destroyed your faith in yourself, not to mention whatever common sense you might have had where women are concerned. And you dare say she has nothing to do with it?”
“Ida, you’re getting very close to the edge here. I won't warn you again!”
Bess would have shut up upon hearing that unmistakable caveat, growled in a voice that, until recently, didn't even remotely belong to the man she thought she loved. She’d have shut up and run a mile. Ida was clearly made of sterner stuff.
“Put a sock in it, darling. You’ve never hit a woman in your life and you sure as hell aren’t going to start now. So stop with the empty threats. All I'm telling you is that Tom Rossiter swears blue that Colorado didn’t know what was going on, couldn’t have known. And if you won’t take my bloody word for it, go talk to him.”
“May I remind you that Tom Rossiter is Cornwall’s man?”
“Tom Rossiter is his own man, just like you are. Only better, because at least he’s man enough to see the truth when it comes up and bites him in the bum. God save me, Geoffrey, but I've never met anyone so stupid and stubborn as you.”
“That’s a load of old cobblers, Ida. You’ve seen the evidence. Once is an accident, twice might be a coincidence, but three times is a conspiracy. There are too many inconsistencies about this whole damned business for me to ignore it. A lot of people got screwed around in this, may I remind you? People who trusted me, friends who trusted me.”
Ida’s snort of derision was like that of a spirited horse getting ready to kick, and Bess had a mental picture of Geoff turning away to protect his family jewels.
“And who still do; depend on it. Okay, Geoffrey Barrett, boy wonder. If you’re so clever, tell me what the hell Colorado is still doing here? Come on, let’s have an explanation. And one that's plausible, please.”
“She’s doing what I brought her here to do, working on my damn book.”
Even to Bess’s pain-wracked ears, there was a distinct note of uncertainty in Geoff’s voice. Followed by what seemed to be an awfully long silence, in which Bess tried, but couldn’t imagine, the expression on both unseen faces.
“Ah... but you’re a trusting soul, aren’t you darling?” Ida finally said.
“What the hell are you on about now?”
“Where is she working on this wondrous epic of a book, Geoffrey darling? I mean, is she up there in her little trundle bed with a laptop computer? Or down on a bench in City Park?”
“She's using the computer in the office. What's your point?”
“Ah...”
There was another of what Bess might have called a pregnant pause, if she’d been able to think straight enough to remember the word pregnant. Or pause, for that matter. She seemed to be hearing the entire conversation through cotton wool, and while the words were clear enough, some of the nuances kept escaping.
“Will you stop with the bloody ahs, Ida? They don’t tell me anything, they don’t ask me anything, and they don’t bloody well accomplish anything. Okay?”
“Okay. But please answer this, darling. If your Yankee is so devious, so cunning, so much her father’s corporate whore, then what in the name of all that’s holy are you doing leaving her alone day after day, hour after hour, in your office, with your computer, with access to all your records? Aren't you afraid she'll call her father and—”
“There's nothing on that computer but the book! I downloaded all the records and took them to the office before I left her in there alone.”
There was a hint of smugness in his voice now that ripped through Bess’s headache like a hot knife.
“Geoffrey darling, you're full of—”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“No, darling, a fool. The same fool you’ve been right along, as far as Colorado is concerned. I would have thought your child bride taught you something, but it seems you've only got to see a pretty face and your brains fall out of your pecker. Come with me.”
Their voices faded as Ida apparently led Geoff toward the office. Bess found herself trying to recall if there was anything on the computer that would make this entire situation even more ridiculous, but her mind wouldn’t work. Mouse’s email address was there, of course, along with a few others. She hadn’t bothered with her laptop since arriving, except to download the few things she thought she might need. During the past three days... in fact, since her arrival in Tasmania... she hadn’t attempted to open any other file but the book itself. Despite her curiosity over what he did for a living, which by now he would have added to his betrayal list, Geoff's business files were none of her business.
“Okay, so I did
n’t wipe the stuff properly. So what does that make me?” Geoff's voice echoed up the staircase again, followed by Ida’s self-satisfied laughter as they moved back to the kitchen, and, Bess presumed, coffee she wished she could share.
“A halfwit, darling. But you’re only a boy, after all.” That was followed by more throaty laughter. “And it probably doesn’t mean anything anyway, because I couldn’t have done what I just did if one of my boffins hadn’t shown me how. I’d bet you London to a brick that Colorado couldn’t find your files either. In fact, she wouldn’t have even tried!”
“Wrong! She's Warren Cornwall’s daughter! She probably has a degree in computer science, along with one in corporate—”
“Corporate what, darling? Corporate whoredom? Or were you going to at least be somewhat charitable and say corporate espionage? Come on, fess up to Ida. But if it’s the first, you’d best move away, because while I know you won’t hit me, there’s nothing that says I won’t hit you.”
“Why are you suddenly so keen to take her side? All you’ve done is tease the daylights out of her since she got here. Colorado this and Colorado that, and... hell, you were nicer to my ex wife the one time you met her.”
Ida’s laughter was shriller than usual, and Bess half-thought she could detect a brittle note in it. But the laugh didn’t last long enough before sliding into a sort of purring snarl.
“Your ex was a slut. And don’t argue with me about that, either. I’m the one who proved it to you in the end, remember? I was nice to her because of you, darling. And... well... okay... she needed somebody, anybody to be nice to her. Colorado doesn’t. She’s learned to live without that sort of crap if it ain’t fair dinkum.”
Lies, Bess thought. All lies. She needed Geoff to be nice to her, even needed Ida to be nice, if it came to that. All she'd learned about being alone was that while she might have to live with it forever, she'd never like it. Especially now.
Finding Bess Page 20
