he had been up ‘at the house’ for fifteen minutes now, and Jerome Summer still hadn’t put in an appearance. Quinn should have realised that the tea tray waiting for him in the sitting-room was rather ominous!
He would wait for another five minutes, he decided coldly, and then he would ask to be flown back to London. Which wasn’t in any way going to help solve the problem he’d come here to talk over with Jerome Summer, but at the same time Quinn refused to be treated offhandedly.
‘Ah, my dear Mr McBride, so sorry to have kept you waiting!’ greeted a jovial male voice seconds after Quinn had heard the door open behind him.
The man who’d entered the sitting-room was recognisable on sight as his host, Jerome Summer. The man’s photograph as often as not adorned the pages of the newspaper Jerome owned, admittedly usually on the financial pages, about one successful business feat or another. He was tall, blond-haired, with a still boyishly handsome face despite his fifty-odd years—those photographs in no way portrayed the sheer power of the man, both physically and charismatically.
He smiled cheerfully as Quinn slowly stood up, holding out his hand in greeting. ‘Estate business, I’m afraid,’ Rome excused his tardiness dismissively. ‘With a place this size, it’s never-ending.’ He shrugged good-naturedly.
Quinn knew something of the other man; he never liked to meet adversaries without being at least partially briefed. Jerome Summer had bought this estate, comprising the house and extensive grounds, including a deer-park, and half the cottages in the village itself, some twenty years ago. A widower for some years, he now lived here with his three children.
But, as Quinn also knew, those facts only told half the story. Jerome Summer was a self-made man. As the youngest son of a country doctor, he’d built up a financial empire over the last thirty years with various business enterprises, until now, aged fifty-four, he was one of the richest and most powerful men in England. And his complete ease of manner spoke of the confidence that wealth gave him.
It also explained why he’d felt no qualms about keeping Quinn waiting about for hours; if Jerome Summer was half the man of shrewdness Quinn guessed him to be beneath that boyish charm, then he would also have done his homework on him. The McBride family, of which Quinn was now the head, chaired and was the major shareholder of one of the most prestigious banks in London. But it was a bank with which Jerome Summer had no personal or business dealings.
‘Ah, good, you’ve been given tea.’ Jerome Summer indicated the tea tray on the table.
For all of Jerome Summer’s breezy attitude, Quinn was quite sure the other man was well aware of what his movements had been for the whole afternoon, tea being the last thing Jerome was interested in!
‘It’s probably cold by now,’ he told the other man dryly as his host poured tea into the second cup that had been on the tray when he’d arrived—giving Quinn the hope at the time that Jerome Summer himself would appear at any moment!
The other man looked up to grin at him. ‘Believe me, over the years I’ve become used to drinking tea in all sorts of guises.’ As if to prove his point he straightened to take a swallow of the lukewarm brew.
Quinn was becoming impatient again. He’d come here because he had something he needed to talk to this man about, something of great importance to him, and with this man acting as if he’d just called in on the off chance of being offered afternoon tea it was becoming increasingly difficult to bring the conversation round to what he wanted—needed!—to talk to Jerome Summer about.
‘Mr Summer—’
‘Please call me Rome,’ the other man invited lightly, relaxing back in one of the armchairs. ‘And do sit down, dear boy; you’re making me nervous towering over me like that!’ He laughed softly up at Quinn as he still stood.
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. ‘I doubt that very much— Rome,’ he bit out tersely, not fooled for a moment by the other man’s apparent friendliness. And he certainly wasn’t a ‘boy’, dear or otherwise. At thirty-nine, he’d controlled the McBride Bank for the last ten years, and very successfully too.
The other man continued to smile, giving an inclination of his head. ‘Perhaps so,’ he drawled in an amused voice. ‘But humour me anyway.’ He indicated the comfortable chair opposite his own across the coffee-table.
Quinn had an idea that most people humoured this man, for whatever reason. In his own case, he decided as he sat down, it was because the matter he wanted to talk to Jerome Summer about was urgent—and very personal. ‘I really do need to talk with you, Rome.’ He sat forward in his seat. ‘You see—’
‘Could you just wait a few more minutes, Quinn?’ the other man asked. ‘I’m expecting my lawyer to join us at any moment,’ he explained at Quinn’s frowning look.
Quinn stiffened in his chair. Lawyer? What the hell—?
‘I believe I explained to your secretary, when I made this appointment to see you, that this was a private matter?’ he bit out harshly. Damn it, he didn’t want a lawyer involved in this!
Rome gave another gracious inclination of that leonine head. ‘Of course, dear boy, but I’ve invariably found that the presence of a lawyer is always a good idea—in any situation,’ he added hardly, revealing some of the steel Quinn had been sure lay beneath that surface charm.
Quinn’s mouth tightened. This was personal, damn it. He didn’t want a lawyer present.
‘I can assure you that Harrie is the soul of discretion,’ Rome added dismissively, bending confidently forward to help himself to one of the sandwiches Quinn had ignored earlier and which were now starting to curl a little at the edges.
Quinn had no doubt that, over the years, discretion was something this man’s lawyer had been much in need of! Quinn’s expression was grim. He had, he already felt, been jerked around enough by this man for one day. Of course, that had always been the danger when agreeing to meet Rome Summer on his own home ground, but when Quinn had originally been offered this meeting at the Summer estate it had seemed better than no meeting at all. Now he wished he’d tempered his impatience and waited until the other man were free to see him in town. Except, as he inwardly acknowledged, neither he nor Corinne had that time to wait…
Although he’d already learnt enough about this man to know any sign of weakness on his part would quickly be spotted—and as quickly taken advantage of!—by this shrewd adversary.
Quinn drew in a softly controlling breath, deliberately maintaining his own relaxed posture. ‘I believe, in this case, you will find you have wasted your lawyer’s time,’ he drawled dismissively, his own eyes narrowed now, deciding he would hate to play chess with the other man!
Rome Summer shrugged. ‘It’s my time to waste,’ he murmured pleasantly.
‘But—’ Quinn broke off as he heard the door open behind him, noting the pleasure that lit up the other man’s face as he stood up. The shrewdness had gone from Rome Summer’s face now as he grinned boyishly before crossing the room to greet the person who had just entered.
‘Sorry I’m late; I was unavoidably detained,’ murmured a huskily soft voice in apology.
A female voice, Quinn noted with a frown, turning in his chair before slowly standing up to get a better look at the woman who had just entered the room.
Only to find himself looking at the most
