evening.’ The cool, crisp voice was like ice on her skin. ‘Is there some problem?’
A game, Cally thought numbly. He was playing a game, with rules that he’d invented. But no one knew it but herself.
‘A few troublemakers have got in, Sir Nicholas,’ Neville Hartley said swiftly. ‘But we’re dealing with them. So if you’d like to go back to your guests…’
‘Presently,’ the newcomer said quietly. He looked at Kit. ‘May I know who you are?’
Kit cleared his throat. ‘I’m Christopher Matlock, and I run the Children’s Centre, and the Residents’ Association down at Gunners Wharf. We face eviction because of your development, but I’m still hoping some compromise can be reached, and that you might spare me some time to discuss the matter.’
‘Ah, yes.’ The other man nodded. ‘This has been mentioned to me.’ He turned to Tracy, whose face had been blotched with nerves ever since their arrival. ‘And this is?’ His smile held a swift charm that softened the hardness of his face.
‘Tracy—Tracy Andrews,’ Kit said quickly, seeing that she was beyond speech. ‘One of the residents.’ He turned to Cally. ‘And this is my administrative assistant.’
‘Oh, but we need no introduction,’ the new arrival said with cold mockery. ‘Do we, Caroline, my love?’
Before she could move he took one long step towards her, capturing her chin in his long fingers. He bent his head, and for a brief, hideous second Cally felt the sear of his mouth on hers.
He straightened, his lips twisting. ‘They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I wonder if that’s true. Because you don’t seem very pleased to see me.’
‘Cally?’ Kit was staring at her, lips parted in shock. ‘You know this man?’
‘Yes.’ She forced her lips to move to make the necessary sounds. ‘His name is Nicholas Tempest.’
‘I’m the chairman of Eastern Crest.’ His smile did not reach his eyes. The gaze that held hers was a challenge, and a warning. ‘Now, tell him the rest, darling.’
And from some far, terrible distance, she heard herself say, with a kind of empty helplessness, ‘He’s my husband.’
CHAPTER TWO
THERE was a moment when she thought she might faint. When she would have welcomed the temporary surcease to this intolerable moment that unconsciousness would provide.
But she wasn’t that lucky.
Instead she heard Nick drawl, ‘Will someone fetch a chair for my wife? She’s had a shock.’
It was exactly the challenge she needed. I am not—not—going to fall apart, she told herself, her body stiffening. At least not now.
She made her tone crisp. ‘Thank you, but I’m perfectly all right.’
She turned to Kit, who was looking poleaxed, while Tracy was standing with her mouth open and her eyes out on stalks.
‘But please get Tracy a drink,’ she added. ‘She really needs one.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I think it’s best if I leave.’
‘Not yet, darling.’ Nick’s voice was silky, but the fingers that closed on her wrist felt like iron. ‘After all, you went to the trouble of seeking me out tonight. So why don’t you say what you came to say?’
Cally bit her lip. It was her left hand that he’d imprisoned. The hand that had once, for a few hours, worn his ring but was now bare—a fact, she could tell, that wasn’t lost on him.
She wanted to pull free, but feared an undignified struggle which she might lose. She said brusquely, ‘Kit’s our spokesman. Perhaps he could make an appointment to see you tomorrow.’
‘Unfortunately I shall be leaving after breakfast.’ He paused. ‘But I could spare you all some time later, when tonight’s presentation is over.’
‘But we’re going out for a meal.’ The champagne she was sipping seemed to have loosened Tracy’s tongue. ‘An Italian meal. My neighbour’s looking after the baby,’ she added, beaming.
‘Then why don’t I join you?’ Nick suggested, smoothly and unanswerably. ‘You can put forward your point of view over veal Marsala.’
Tracy stared at him. ‘But I was going to have lasagne.’
‘Then of course you shall.’ He was smiling again, using that charm of his like a weapon. Controlling the tense silence that had descended. ‘While you tell me all about Gunners Terrace.’
‘It was an idea of our late mother’s,’ Gordon Hartley butted in, almost desperately. ‘Sadly, she died while the scheme was in its infancy, so most of the houses are still untouched. They’re dangerous and insanitary, and they should be pulled down.’
In spite of her mental and emotional turmoil Cally managed to give him a steady look. ‘That isn’t altogether true, and you know it. Half the terrace has been completed, and work has started on the others.’
‘But we won’t talk about it here and now,’ Nick cut in decisively. He’d released Cally’s wrist, but the pressure of his fingers seemed to linger like a bruise. ‘I still have things to do, so we’ll have to postpone the discussion.’
‘There’s really nothing to talk about, Sir Nicholas,’ Neville Hartley blustered. ‘I think we’ve made the position quite clear already.’
‘One side of it, certainly,’ Nick agreed. He looked at Kit. ‘What’s the name of the restaurant you’re using?’
‘The Toscana,’ Kit muttered awkwardly. ‘In the High Street.’
Nick looked at his watch. ‘Then I’ll meet you there in an hour’s time.’ He paused. ‘All of you,’ he added softly, his gaze resting briefly on Cally. ‘I hope that’s clearly understood.’ Another swift, hard smile and he was gone, and the crowd seemed to close round him.
There was a taut silence, and Cally could see the Hartley brothers exchanging wary glances.
She could understand their problem, she thought wryly. Young Lady Tempest, wife of Eastern Crest’s dynamic chairman, would have been an honoured guest, overwhelmed with obsequious attention. Nick Tempest’s clearly estranged wife was a horse of a different colour, and they weren’t sure quite how to deal with her.
To be civil to someone who’d encouraged Genevieve Hartley in her reckless foolishness and battled with them openly after her death would be anathema, but neither could they throw her bodily into the street with her companions, as they obviously wished.
After all, Gunners Terrace was supposed to be down and out, just waiting for the bulldozers to arrive. Now the residents had an unsuspected ace up their sleeve, and for the moment the Hartleys didn’t have a strategy to deal with it.
In the end Neville Hartley said thickly, ‘You haven’t heard the last of this.’ And they stalked furiously away.
‘Perhaps
