whispered to herself. ‘He didn’t even recognise my name, although in fairness I only gave half of it.’
‘Who are you?’ he’d demanded with bitter intensity six years before.
And, through a haze of shame and nausea, she’d mumbled, ‘Phoebe.’
Of course, she’d looked very different too. Her nondescript brown bob had been concealed under a curly blonde wig then, and her skin had been plastered with make-up.
I thought I looked so glamorous—so sophisticated, she thought sorrowfully. And, instead, I was just being set up.
She shivered, and stretched out her hands to the fire. The burning logs smelled sweet, and the chair was deep and magically comfortable. It would have been very easy to lean back and give herself up to the luxury of the moment. But she couldn’t afford to relax.
Dominic Ashton might not have recognised her, but she knew him down to the marrow of her bones. And, when she left here tonight, she wanted him out of her system for good.
If Tara had admitted from the first that her name was really Ashton, would she have the guts to come here and face him tonight? she wondered. Probably not.
But why had Tara told such a pointless fib in the first place? And where had the name ‘Vane’ come from ?
I don’t need to know, she reminded herself firmly. I did what I set out to do and made sure Tara was safe. That’s as far as it goes. The state of the relationships in this house is none of my business.
But she couldn’t help reflecting that clearly the last time she’d seen Dominic Ashton he’d been a married man—Tara would already have been born. Now, it seemed, he was a widower. He’d had more to concern him in the past six years than a trivial prank, however cruel. And the damage caused to herself seemed positively inconsequential compared with what he must have suffered.
Oh, pull yourself together, she thought impatiently. You’ve allowed yourself the statutory glimmer of compassion. The fact remains that Dominic Ashton was a sadistic, heartless swine six years ago, and the evidence suggests he hasn’t undergone any material alteration.
It seemed an eternity before he came back. And, she saw, he was carrying a tray with a silver coffee-pot and two cups which he set down on the desk.
He said, ‘I think we should both take a deep breath and start again from scratch.’
Phoebe scrambled awkwardly to her feet, aware that her skirt had ridden up, revealing more of her long black-clad legs than she wished.
She said rather breathlessly, ‘There’s really no need for that, Mr Ashton. I did what I thought was necessary, and now I’d just like to leave. My taxi’s waiting.’
He shook his head. ‘I paid him and sent him away.’
‘You did what?’ Her voice rose. The realisation that she was as good as trapped here with him made her shake inside. ‘You had no right...’
‘Oh, please,’ he said impatiently. ‘Clearly I have every right to establish just what’s being going on. And when we’ve talked I’ll run you home myself. It’s the least I can do.’
My God, she thought. That’s one positively diametric change from our last meeting. You tossed me out then without any regard for what might happen to me. I was little more than a child, and you treated me like a whore.
She said crisply, ‘Another cab will be fine. I don’t want to drag you away from your important business.’ She put ironic emphasis on the last two words.
His brows lifted in swift acknowledgement. ‘You really don’t think a great deal of me, do you, Miss Grant? Would it earn me some Brownie points if I swore to you that I truly believed when I came home tonight that Tara was safely upstairs in the care of her highly paid nanny?’
‘Nevertheless,’ Phoebe said stiffly, ‘she wasn’t your first priority. You didn’t actually check.’
‘Touché,’ he said gravely. ‘Now, would you like to drink this coffee, or throw it over me?’
In spite of herself, she felt her lips twitch. He grinned back at her, and she realised it was the first time she’d ever seen him smile.
Realised, too, with a sense of shock, what a powerful attraction he could put out when he tried.
Thank God I’m immune, she told herself as she accepted the cup with a formal word of thanks and reseated herself.
‘May I recap on a few points?’ Dominic Ashton handed her the cream jug. ‘You actually saw Cindy with this guy—how many times?’
‘Only once—yesterday. I followed Tara into the street to see where she went. To make sure that she was all right.’ Phoebe stirred her coffee.
‘It hasn’t taken Cindy long to get fixed up,’ he said grimly. ‘We only moved down here three weeks ago.’
Phoebe moved a restive shoulder. ‘I suppose she is allowed a social life.’
‘Naturally. She has most weekends off, and usually each evening too. The whole point of moving my business down here was so that I could spend more time with Tara.’
‘But I thought—’ Phoebe stopped abruptly.
‘What did you think?’
She drank some coffee. ‘That you’d have to be away a lot on business.’
‘Well, it does happen, of course. I was away overnight earlier in the week. But Tara understands, I think. At least I hope she does.’
I wouldn’t count on that, Phoebe thought. Aloud, she said slowly, ‘She seems very mature for her age. Very self-possessed.’
‘In some ways, perhaps.’ He looked down at his cup. ‘She’s had to grow up quickly.’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘It must have been hard on her—losing her mother like that.’
‘You make it sound as if she’s been deliberately careless,’ he said lightly.
Her lips parted in a silent gasp of outrage. She said thickly, ‘I hope you don’t refer to your late wife quite so casually in front of Tara.’
‘I try not to refer to her at all,’ he said curtly, his grey eyes scanning her stormy face. ‘And when you talk of my “late” wife, are you referring to Serena’s chronic unpunctuality, or are you under the misapprehension that she’s departed this life?’
Phoebe nearly spilled her coffee. ‘You mean she isn’t dead?’
‘Good God, no,’ he said derisively. ‘Only the good die young, Miss Grant. On that assumption, Serena should outlive all of us.’
‘Oh, Lord.’ Phoebe was scarlet with mortification. ‘It’s just that Tara said she didn’t have a mother, and I assumed...’
Dominic Ashton shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter, and in many ways Tara’s right. Serena and I have been divorced for the past two years, and she’s pursuing her
