a word she handed the box back to him. ‘You really ought to be more careful when you’re pulling things from your bag.’
He shoved the box back into the depths of the satchel. ‘Tell me about this job you’d like me to do for you.’
He didn’t owe her for her signature on their divorce papers, but if by doing this he could end things between them on a more pleasant note, then perhaps he’d find the closure he so desperately needed.
‘And, yes, you have my word that I will never reveal to another soul what you’re about to tell me—unless you give me leave to.’
She stared at him, as if trying to sum him up. With a start he realised she was trying to decide whether to trust him or not.
‘You don’t trust my word of honour?’
‘If you’re after any kind of revenge on me, what I’m about to tell you will provide you with both the means and the method.’
He didn’t want revenge. He’d never wanted revenge. He just wanted to move on with his life.
And to kiss her.
He stiffened. Ridiculous! He pushed that thought—and the associated images—firmly from his mind.
‘I have no desire to hurt you, Caro. I hope your life is long and happy. Would it ease your mind if I didn’t ask you to sign the divorce papers until after I’ve completed this job of yours?’
She leaned back, folding her arms. ‘Why is this divorce so important to you now?’
‘I want to remarry.’
She went deathly still. ‘I see.’
She didn’t. It wasn’t as though he had a particular woman in mind, waiting in the wings, but he didn’t correct the assumption she’d obviously made. It was beyond time that he severed this last tie with Caro. He should have done it before now, but he’d been busy establishing his company. Now it was thriving, he was a self-made success, and it was time to put the past to rest.
If Caro thought he’d fallen in love again, then all well and good. It would provide another layer of distance between them. And while he shouldn’t need it—not after five years—he found himself clinging to every scrap of defence he could find.
‘Well...’ She crossed her legs. ‘I wish you well, Jack.’
She even sounded as if she meant it. That shouldn’t chafe at him.
‘Tell me about this job you want to hire me for.’
He bit into the cake in an effort to ignore the turmoil rolling through him and looked across at her when she didn’t speak. She glanced at the cake and then at him. It made him slow down and savour the taste of the sweet sponge, the smooth cream and the tiny crunch of sugar.
He frowned. ‘This is really good.’
Finally she smiled. ‘I know.’
He’d have laughed at her smugness, but his gut had clenched up too tightly at her smile.
She leaned forward, suddenly all business. ‘I’m now a director at Vertu, the silver and decorative arts division at Richardson’s.’
‘Right.’ He didn’t let on that he knew that. When they’d married she’d been only a junior administrator at the auction house.
‘Yesterday I placed into my father’s safe a very beautiful and rather valuable snuffbox to show to a client this morning.’
‘Is that usual?’
She raised one elegant shoulder. ‘When selected customers request a private viewing, Richardson’s is always happy to oblige.’
‘Right.’
‘When I went to retrieve the snuffbox this morning it wasn’t there.’
He set down his now clean plate, his every sense sharpening. ‘You have my attention.’
‘I put it in the safe myself, prior to the reading of my father’s will.’
‘Which took place where?’
‘In my father’s study—the same room as the safe.’
He remembered that study. He nodded. ‘Go on.’
Her expression was composed, but she was twisting the thin gold bangle on her arm round and round—a sure sign of agitation.
‘The fact that I am sole beneficiary came as a very great shock to both Barbara and I.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Your father and Barbara have remained married all this time?’
‘Yes. I believe she loved him.’
Jack wasn’t so charitable, but he kept his mouth shut.
‘When Barbara retired to her room, the lawyer gave me this letter from my father.’ She rose, removed a letter from her purse and handed it to him. ‘More cake?’
He shook his head and read the letter. Then he folded it up again, tapping it against his knee. ‘He thought she was stealing from him.’
Knowing Roland Fielding, he’d have kept a very tight rein on the purse strings. What kind of debts could his lovely young wife have accrued that would have her risking being caught red-handed with stolen goods?
‘He was wrong. It wasn’t Barbara who was pilfering those bits and pieces. It was Paul.’
‘Paul is still working...?’ He blew out a breath. ‘Shouldn’t he have retired by now?’
She pressed her hands together. ‘My father wasn’t a man who liked change.’
That was the understatement of the year.
‘And, to be fair, I don’t think Paul is either. I suspect the thought of retirement horrifies him.’
The bangle was pushed up her arm and twisted with such force he thought she’d hurt herself.
‘He and Barbara have never warmed to each other.’
‘And you’re telling me this because...?’
‘Because Paul was putting all those things he’d taken—’
‘Stolen,’ he corrected.
‘He was putting them away for me.’
Jack pressed his fingers to his eyes.
‘He was as convinced as I that I’d be totally written out of the will. He thought that I might need them.’
He pulled his hand away. ‘Caro, I—’
She held up a hand and he found himself pulling to a halt.
‘If
