said grimly, ‘Spare me the coy protests, Miss Bannerman, they don’t go with your clothes. I assure you I’m not in the mood, and even if I were, you overestimate your charms where I’m concerned.’
The breath caught in her throat. She said slowly, ‘I—think I’ve just been—insulted. Will you leave now, or must I have you thrown out?’
‘You have to have me thrown,’ he said at once. ‘And before you do perhaps I should tell you that your grandfather was taken ill this afternoon, and is asking for you. He isn’t expected to live.’
She made a muffled sound and sank down on the bed, pressing her hand against her mouth, her green eyes widening in shocked incredulity.
She exclaimed, ‘This afternoon? But why has no one been in touch—why wasn’t I told before?’
‘You could have been,’ he said, ‘if you entertained less, or left your phone on the hook more. I’ve been trying to make contact for several hours. In the end I decided it would be easier to come in person and fetch you myself.’
‘Breaking the news to me gently en route,’ she said in a shaky breath.
‘You’re tough, Miss Bannerman. You can take it.’ But the grim note in his voice told her it would make little difference to him whether she could or not.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
‘Jake Allard,’ he said. ‘You may or may not have heard of me.’
She’d heard of him all right, but she’d never bargained for meeting him, and the shock of it drove the breath out of her body for a moment. Gerard had confidently insisted that he was no longer a threat, but here, in the confined space of her bedroom, he seemed about as threatening as it was possible to get.
‘You seem lost for words,’ he observed, after a pause. ‘How about “I thought you were in the States"?’
Her lips parted to deny all knowledge of him, or interest in him or his movements, and then closed again.
‘Very wise.’ He sounded faintly amused for the first time. ‘I wouldn’t have believed you. I’m sure that brother of yours has been keeping you well up to date on the whole situation.’
Not, she thought, if you’re here when he thinks you’re in America.
It was over a year since Gerard had first mentioned Jake Allard’s name. At that time, he had been no more than a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand on the Harlow Bannerman horizon, but in the months which followed, he had assumed ever larger and more ominous proportions.
‘He wants the company,’ Gerard had stated flatly. Allard International have a small electronics subsidiary of their own, and he wants to expand it. We have the know-how that he needs, but he doesn’t want to pay for it. He knows that we’ve been badly hit by the recession and he reckons if he waits long enough he can pick us up for peanuts. That’s of course if Grandfather doesn’t invite him to join the Board anyway.’
Lisle had given him a swift anxious glance. ‘You think that’s likely?’
‘I wish I didn’t.’ Gerard lit a cigarette and puffed at it edgily. ‘But when I got back from Rome last week, Oliver Grayson told me they were practically living in each other’s pockets.’ He added furiously, ‘He seemed delighted.’
Oliver Grayson would, of course. He had all the respect in the world for their grandfather Murray Bannerman, who had built the company up from nothing, and he had been close to their father too, but he had never made any secret of the fact that he felt it was time the family control over the firm ran out, and that Gerard would achieve his ambition of becoming managing director, and ultimately, the chairman only over his dead body. A solution which would suit Gerard perfectly well, Lisle thought drily.
Oliver Grayson wouldn’t altogether object if Harlow Bannerman became part of the expanding Allard empire. He must have been desperately disappointed when all the talk in the financial papers of takeovers and mergers quietly died away, and Gerard announced that Jake Allard had gone to the States to open a new research laboratory, adding with satisfaction that there had been a slight rise in the value of Harlow Bannerman shares.
Now Lisle looked at Jake Allard, her face expression-less.
‘I take it that you’ve been at the Priory.’
‘A private visit, at your grandfather’s invitation.’ He gave her a faint smile. ‘So, if you’re trying to pin the blame for this latest attack on to me, forget it. You know as well as I do what a sick man he’s been, and I’d say that your brother’s machinations, and your increasingly public performances haven’t done a great deal to contribute to his well-being.’ He eyed her levelly for a moment. ‘So now perhaps you could get a move on, unless being stubborn and obstructive is a trait you share with your brother.’
Lisle opened one of the fitted cupboards which ran the length of one wall, dragged out a weekend case, and began to hurl things into it, almost at random. She was trying to keep her temper under control, to concentrate on the thought of her grandfather and her concern for him.
Because he had always been the rock in her life. Her mother had died when she was born, and as her father had been a charming lightweight who had preferred travelling the world, selling Harlow Bannerman, rather than providing a stable home background for two growing children, Lisle and Gerard had been brought up instead at the Priory, under Murray Bannerman’s aegis.
But now the rock was crumbling, and she felt the stirrings of a blind panic within her. She retrieved a scent spray from the dressing table and in the mirror she saw Jake Allard reflected, watching her, the grey eyes icily inimical, and the panic grew.
She said, ‘Does Gerard know?’
‘He seems to have disappeared,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve set Grayson on to look for him, but perhaps you can help us trace him. I imagine he’s on one of his expense account forays after someone else’s wife.’
She raised her eyebrows scornfully. ‘A puritan, Mr Allard? How unusual!’
‘In your circle, without a doubt.’ His hard mouth twisted. ‘But I’m no puritan, sweetheart, so don’t push your luck. I’m quite prepared to believe that you share your brother’s alleycat standards.’
Lisle was holding her hairbrush. It was a heavy one, silver-backed, and she threw it at him with all her strength. He dodged without haste, and fielded it neatly to her chagrin.
‘Red hair and a temper to match,’ he said softly. ‘Well, control it when I’m around, Miss Bannerman, or I shall take this brush and apply it hard to a portion-of your spoiled anatomy. Do I make myself clear?’
‘More than clear.’ Her rounded breasts were rising and falling stormily, but most of her anger was directed at herself. She should have stayed cool, not allowed him to get at her, or at least let him know that he had done so. She swallowed, steadying her breathing deliberately. ‘I’m going to change now, so perhaps you’d leave the room.’
He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. ‘If you feel it’s necessary.’ His gaze slid mercilessly down her body. ‘That dress, after all, leaves little to the imagination.’
‘But fortunately,’ she snapped, ‘not everyone has your brand of
