icily controlled, ‘By the way, this is Bella. Bella’s a jeweller.’
‘How absolutely fascinating,’ murmured Caroline, sounding as if she thought it was quite the opposite, but darting a quick smile in Bella’s direction nevertheless.
‘It has been. She’s been valuing the collection … ‘ He tilted his head but didn’t take his eyes off her. ‘She’s been carrying out checks and tests and all kinds of other things.’
In the long seconds of silence that followed, during which horrified realisation gradually dawned in Caroline’s eyes and the blood drained from her face, Bella couldn’t help feeling another flash of sympathy.
‘Ah,’ the blonde murmured eventually. ‘I see.’ There was another tension-laden pause. ‘Good at her job, is she?’
‘The best.’ Will unfolded his arms and took a step forwards. ‘Caroline,’ he said in a voice that brooked no argument and made Bella tingle in a highly disconcerting fashion, ‘I think we need to have a chat.’
Caroline blinked. Probably would have frowned had her forehead allowed. ‘Do we?’
Will stopped nodded. ‘We do.’
‘Well, if you absolutely insist, Will,’ she said, lifting her chin and flashing him a tight smile. ‘But perhaps later.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m in a terrible hurry.’
‘Now.’ The word cracked through the air like a whip, and Bella jumped. Oh, this showdown was going to be explosive, she thought with a shuddery little thrill.
‘Ah,’ said Caroline, glancing over her shoulder and edging back towards the entrance to the vault. ‘Well, now really isn’t all that convenient.’
‘Too bad,’ he snapped.
And barely before Bella could figure out what was going on, Will was springing forwards, gripping Caroline’s elbow and marching her out of the vault, leaving Bella standing there, open-mouthed in astonishment as she watched them disappear down the corridor.
CHAPTER FOUR
WELL, that had to be one of the oddest conversations he’d ever had, thought Will, climbing into his car twenty minutes later and slamming the door.
Once he’d got her alone, Caroline had had no option but to tell him everything he wanted to know. He hadn’t even had to push all that hard; she might have started reluctantly, but once she’d got into her stride she hadn’t been able to stop. In fact, the more she’d talked, the more Will had had the impression she’d actually found it something of a relief to be able to unburden herself.
Nevertheless, the ease with which she poured it all out didn’t make what she’d had to say any less startling, or any less forgivable.
Will sank back against the leather and rubbed a hand over his face as his mind ran over his aunt’s confession.
Apparently she’d been sneaking into the bank every week for the past six months, switching the jewellery one piece at a time.
Apparently she’d been bored.
And lonely.
Which, to be honest, had astounded him. As far as he’d been able to gather in the two months he’d been back, Caroline drifted from one social engagement to another, more often than not with a quick visit to her plastic surgeon in between.
If he’d taken the trouble to think about it he wouldn’t have imagined she’d have had the time to be bored or lonely.
Or, for that matter, to become addicted to online bridge.
But she had. With a vengeance and a complete absence of talent.
At first she’d more or less broken even. But as the addiction had taken hold, her bank balance simply hadn’t been able to keep up. Once her own funds had run out, she’d gone to the bank for a loan, and then, when her debts had begun to mount up, she’d hit upon the idea of selling the stones in the collection to both pay them off and facilitate her ongoing habit.
Stunned—because he hadn’t known his aunt had even heard of the internet, let alone knew how to log on and embroil herself in the world of online gaming—Will had muttered that it was a good thing he’d flown back before she’d managed to get her hands on the Caravaggios. At which point Caroline had flashed her eyes at him and pointed out that caring for his cantankerous father hadn’t exactly been a picnic, and he ought be grateful she hadn’t sought refuge in alcohol or drugs or unsuitable men.
Swamped by an unwelcome and unexpected deluge of guilt at the realisation that by dashing off to the other side of the world he had left her to deal with his father’s moodiness pretty much non-stop for the past thirteen years, Will had promised to clear her debts as soon as he got home, on the condition that she never logged on again.
With relief shining in her eyes, she’d thanked him, told him he was a good man, and scarpered.
The car pulled out into a gap in the traffic and Will closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose, his stomach churning as memories and guilt assailed him from all directions.
A good man?
Yeah, right.
He wasn’t a good man. If he were a good man, he wouldn’t have left his aunt to deal with his father by herself. He’d have stuck around instead of escaping everything by emigrating to the Cayman Islands.
If he were a good man he’d have swallowed back his bitterness and been on a plane the minute he’d heard his father was ill. He’d have come back for the funeral at least, instead of telling himself it wasn’t a convenient time.
If he really were a good man he’d never have weakened and given in to a moment’s temptation all those years ago.
At the very least he wouldn’t have abandoned his manners for an entire afternoon.
The unfamiliar sense of shame that had spun through him when, moments before disappearing, his aunt had suggested he might want to go and see if Bella was all right jabbed him in the chest all over again.
Because as much as it annoyed him, actually Caroline had had a point. He really shouldn’t have stormed out and left her standing there, undoubtedly thinking him arrogant and cursing him to heaven and back.
And she’d be perfectly justified to do exactly that on both fronts, because come to think of it, he reflected as he rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, none of his behaviour had been exactly exemplary this afternoon. After demanding she accompany him to the bank he’d then spent the journey there ignoring her. And then she’d asked him about his possible contributions to the collection and he’d sat there brooding and tight-jawed as he charged off down a traumatic memory lane while all she’d been doing was expressing an interest.
Yes, he’d been disconcerted by the effect she had on him, and yes, he’d then been poleaxed by the appearance of his aunt at the bank, and what it had to mean, but that was no excuse for abandoning civility. He hadn’t even thanked her for helping him out this afternoon.
No wonder by the time he’d made it back to the vault to apologise for dashing off quite so unthinkingly she’d
