brought him briefly back into her life and today it would be crated and dispatched. End of story.
The morning was just pleasantly hectic, leaving no room for brooding over those erotic dreams and she made time to accept Michael’s invitation to lunch. The new, much publicised restaurant lived up to expectations as far as the food went but the service was slow.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’d better be getting back,’ she declined when he suggested coffee to round off the meal. She was on the point of rising but he reached out and clasped her wrist.
‘We’re already late, a few more minutes won’t make much difference. Besides, there’s something I want to say to you.’
From the look in his eyes, the softening of his mouth, she knew what it was. And she didn’t want to hear it. She wasn’t ready.
His hand slid down to capture her fingers. ‘You must know I’m attracted to you,’ he said quickly. ‘We already have a good relationship and I want to take it further. I don’t know what you think about me, and I won’t put you on the spot by asking, but you’re all I admire in a woman. I’m pretty sure we could build something good and lasting together. You might not think so right now, but will you give it a try?’
Carefully, she slid her fingers away from his. What to say? Only yesterday she’d caught herself listening to the ticking of her biological clock again, knowing her pleasant working relationship with her employer’s son was on the point of developing into something deeper, balancing the prospect of a lonely old age against the warm, emotional security of having a husband and family.
Yesterday she would have been comfortable with what he’d just said, agreed to go with the flow, find out if they would make a compatible couple.
So why the hesitation? What had changed?
Something had.
‘You don’t fancy me at all?’ he muttered into the suddenly spiky silence.
She smiled at him. He looked like a sulky child.
‘I’ve never thought about it,’ she said soothingly, lying smoothly to cover the lack of enthusiasm that was obviously upsetting him.
‘But you will?’ He made it sound like an order. ‘Why not have dinner with me tonight? Since Justine left me I’ve learned to cook a mean steak. But, if you prefer, I could rise to beans on toast. Take your pick.’
His sudden, boyish grin gave her pause. She didn’t know why his marriage had broken down after only a couple of years. Edward had voiced the general opinion that it was a blessing there were no children but apart from that he’d said nothing about the cause.
Whatever, Michael didn’t deserve to be hurt again. She said with rare impulsiveness, ‘I’m allergic to beans! Make it Monday, shall we, after the viewing!’ She stood up, hitching the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘One condition, though,’ she warned. ‘Friends. Nothing more, not yet. Nothing personal, Mike. I’m simply not ready for commitment.’
Not ready? When for weeks she’d often caught herself brooding about her long-term future. Children. Happy, family life. Not that she knew much about that…
‘Condition accepted.’ He stood up too, leaving folded notes to cover the bill. ‘But don’t blame me if I try to change your mind. Eventually.’
She knew she’d made a mistake when she caught his satisfied smirk. Lunch was fine, but supper at his flat near the Barbican?
Misgivings shuddered through her. A week ago she would have seen the invitation as a natural progression of their deepening comradeship, would have pleasantly anticipated getting to know him on his home ground. Now she’d accepted his invitation because he was her friend, a nice guy, and she hadn’t wanted to upset him with an outright refusal.
Back at the gallery there was a message for her at the front desk. Edward wanted to see her. Now.
Enclosed in the silver capsule that whisked her directly into Edward’s office she filed the problem with Michael away at the back of her mind. She’d handle it as smoothly as she’d learned to handle everything else since she’d left the parental home at eighteen.
Handled everything except—
‘Ben Dexter,’ Edward said as the lift doors closed behind her. ‘He needs you to appraise the contents of a property his company—or one of them—acquired relatively recently. About eighteen months ago, if I remember correctly.’
He arranged a few papers into a neat pile and then tapped it with the ends of his long, thin fingers, tilting his silver-grey head he asked, ‘Are you unwell? You look a bit green around the gills—lunch upset you? Do please sit down.’
The shock of hearing that name slotted into her uncomfortable thoughts had driven what colour she did have out of her skin. It had nothing to do with what she’d eaten at lunch or her unfathomable change of attitude over her relationship with his son.
Besides, what company was Edward talking about? From what she knew of Dexter it was probably dodgy. Should she warn her boss, confess she knew Dexter to be a cheat and a liar? It was something to think about.
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she claimed, gathering herself, slipping into the chair on the opposite side of his desk. ‘You were saying?’
She wouldn’t do it. If he wanted bits and pieces of antiques, paintings, whatever, appraised then someone else would have to do it. Her stomach churned over at the very thought of having to have anything at all to do with him.
Edward gave her a long look and then, as if satisfied, told her, ‘His company, Country Estates, bought up this run-down house and land in Shropshire. They’ve sorted out the business end—planning permission for a golf course, clubhouse and leisure centre and a small heritage farm, and now they’re turning their attention to the house itself.’
Caroline felt the shock of that like a physical blow. There could be few people who hadn’t heard of the ultra-successful Country Estates, admired by big business and the environmental lobby alike. She must have misjudged him, having believed him to have obtained his wealth by nefarious means. The thought wasn’t comforting. The idea of Ben Dexter as a liar, cheat and betrayer had been with her for so long that having to rethink it was like an amputation.
But what place were they talking about here? Suddenly she was sure she knew. Had Dexter’s company acquired more than one run-down estate in Shropshire around eighteen months ago? It was possible, of course, but not very likely.
‘Are we talking about Langley Hayes?’ The smile she manufactured was just right. Borderline interested. Only she knew how heavily her heart was pounding.
‘You know it?”
The slightest nod would do. She’d been born there, had lived there—apart from when she’d been away at boarding school—until she’d been driven out by misery and one dictate too many from her authoritarian father.
Of her mother she had no memory. Laura Harvey had died shortly after giving birth to Caroline. Only the occasional photograph in a barely opened album had shown her just how beautiful her mother had been.
She had never been back. She’d been warned not to show her face again. Attending her father’s funeral out of duty,
