before the wish had been expressed. It wasn’t a healthy situation, and Celia had grown up believing that the world was hers for the taking.
And generally, the world went along with Celia’s belief, Laura was forced to admit. Her name had been linked, at one time or another, with all the wealthiest young men in the locality, but never very seriously, or for very long.
But now Celia had seen a man she wanted at last, and she intended to go after him with that incredible single-mindedness which had always characterised her devotion to her own interests.
And she really thinks, Laura thought with growing anger, that I’m going to sit back and watch her.
She slipped off her robe and began to dress, struggling with normally simple hooks and fasteners.
For the past three years, she’d looked on this house as a refuge, and ignored Celia’s vagaries out of gratitude to Uncle Martin. But in view of Celia’s expressed intentions, this could not go on.
She thought, ‘I’ve got to get out of here, and soon.’
There was a rap on the door, and she jumped nervously, laddering the tights she was smoothing on to her slender legs.
Mrs Fraser appeared. ‘Mr Caswell has come home, and is asking for you,’ she announced magisterially. ‘He’s in the study, and he doesn’t seem best pleased, so I wouldn’t keep him waiting.’
When Laura entered the study a little while later, she decided the housekeeper had not exaggerated her uncle’s peevishness. His usually ruddy colour had deepened alarmingly, and his mouth was set in sour lines.
‘This is a damned mess,’ he greeted Laura fretfully, his tone faintly accusing, as if in some way it was all her fault. ‘Had you any idea this was likely to happen?’
Laura sighed. ‘Uncle Martin, you know quite well I haven’t seen or heard from Jason since before the divorce. The only communication we had after I left was through our solicitors.’
‘Yes, yes, I suppose so.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk, frowning heavily. He said half to himself. ‘And I thought we were rid of him.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Well, it seems we must make the best of it. There’s no room for personalities in business, after all. What’s past is past, and the Tristan contract could be a lifesaver for us. So I hope I can depend on you, Laura, not to make waves.’
Laura’s hands clenched together. ‘Behave in a civilised manner, do you mean?’ she enquired ironically. ‘Now, where have I heard that before?’
Her uncle shrugged irritably. ‘What the hell does it matter? And it’s exactly what I mean. We can’t let our personal feelings get in the way, Laura. Our first loyalty has to be to the firm.’ He paused. ‘Even Celia is going to make every effort …’
‘So I understand.’ Laura looked at him drily. ‘Starting off with a cocktail party this very evening. How will you feel, entertaining Jason under this roof again?’
‘I’ll do what I need to do.’ Martin Caswell walked over to the tray of decanters situated on a side table and poured himself a generous measure of whisky. ‘And so will you, my child, if you know what’s good for you.’
‘I see.’ Laura ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. ‘Uncle Martin—don’t you think it might be better if I went right away from here? This is a very embarrassing situation for all of us and …’
‘Nonsense.’ Martin Caswell slammed his glass down on the desk, slopping some of the contents on to the polished surface. ‘Good God, girl, divorce is no novelty these days. You’re not unique. Besides where would you go? What could you do?’
She looked at him. ‘I’m a good cook. I can keep house. Even these days there are jobs …’
‘You already have a job—here.’ He glared at her. ‘My God, Laura, I thought you had some gratitude in you. I take you in when you’re on your knees, and just when I most need your help, your support, you threaten to walk out.’
‘Am I supposed to have no feelings at all?’ she asked hoarsely.
‘Feelings? Don’t talk to me about feelings when the whole future of Caswells could be at stake.’ He threw himself back in his chair. ‘They want to use the new Fibrona in both these projects they’re committed to locally. If they do, and they like it, it could be worth a fortune in advertising for us. My God, Laura, the stuff isn’t even properly in production yet—the lab still want to do more tests on the fireproofing element—yet somehow Tristan Construction have heard about it, and they’ve beaten a path to our door. I’ve always said Fibrona was revolutionary, and this proves it. It will the saving of Caswells, I tell you.’
Laura said urgently, ‘But it isn’t the only fibre we produce—and we have other customers besides Tristans. Aren’t we putting all our eggs into one rather chancy basket? Supposing we invest heavily in the production of Fibrona, and then Tristan Construction decide they don’t want it after all. What then?’
‘Of course they want it,’ he said. ‘Why else would they have come to us?’
He made it sound unanswerable, but Laura had an uneasy feeling that it was not.
She said quietly, ‘Uncle Martin—I only wish I knew,’ and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
From the windowseat in her room, she watched the cars begin to arrive for the party. She had no choice. She’d rung Alan’s cottage twice in the intervening period, but had received no answer. So—she would wait up here until she saw his car, and persuade him to slip away quietly, without getting involved.
She’d done a lot of hard thinking while she was waiting, but none of the conclusions she’d reached were very happy ones. Uncle Martin was a worried man, and had been for sometime, and like other worried men he was prone to clutch at straws. But that didn’t mean that Jason had walked back into their lives with a lifeline.
He, she thought soberly, had no reason to love Caswells, or wish to do them any favours.
She had tried many times to blot out of her mind the agonising bitterness of that last scene between them. No-one should pay too much credence to things said or done in savage anger, she told herself. But that didn’t alter the fact that one of the last things Jason had said to her was that he would make Martin Caswell pay for his role in the breach between them.
She tried to reassure herself that it had simply been said in the heat of the moment. Tried to tell herself that however cynically immoral his behaviour, Jason was not a vengeful man.
Or was he? What did she know of him, after all? What had she ever known? she asked herself despairingly.
In the early days of their relationship, she’d probed, trying to establish details about his childhood, upbringing, education, family—all the things which had contributed to make the man she’d fallen in love with. But he’d always blocked her questions abruptly, telling her the past didn’t matter—that it was only the present and the future which counted.
In fact, she’d assumed he had no family—that his reluctance to discuss his former life stemmed from the fact that he’d been brought up in a children’s home, or similar institution.
The discovery that his parents were both living had only been the first
