The Marriage Takeover

‘It’s quite obvious.’

‘Really, you’re mistaken,’ she protested.

‘Don’t lie to me,’ he said shortly, and wondered, Had she any idea who he was? ‘Why didn’t you want to come?’

She racked her brains to find some diplomatic excuse that would sound feasible, but her mind stayed a blank, and finally she admitted, ‘I—I don’t know. There was no real reason.’

Aware that what he saw as her refusal to answer had vexed him, she added helplessly, ‘I just had a strange feeling that things weren’t going to go smoothly, and…’ The words tailed off.

Careful not to look in his direction, she heard the rhythmic shush of the cocktail shaker, then the sound of its contents being poured.

A moment or two later he put a tall, chilled glass into her hand and, taking his seat beside her, prompted, ‘And?’

‘And they didn’t… You and I got off on the wrong foot.’

‘Correction,’ he said softly. ‘You got off on the wrong foot.’

She forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘Yes, I suppose so. I’m sorry about that.’

He made no comment, and after a moment she looked away uncomfortably.

While they sipped their drinks, she was aware that his gaze never left her face. Flustered by that relentless scrutiny, she tried to think of something to say, while the silence stretched unbearably.

At length, in desperation, she blurted out, ‘I can’t imagine where Alan’s got to.’

‘If I’d wanted Brent here, I would have sent for him,’ Lang informed her crisply. ‘It was you I wanted to talk to. You have a lovely voice, so use it. Tell me about yourself.’

Strangely unwilling, as though telling this man about herself would somehow make her vulnerable, she began, ‘Well, I came to work for Dalton International when—’

‘I’m not asking about the business side,’ he broke in with a touch of impatience. ‘It’s you I want to know about. How old are you?’

Reminding herself that he was her boss as well as Alan’s, she replied stiffly, ‘Twenty-two.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘In Bayswater.’

‘Alone?’

‘I share a flat.’

‘With Brent?’

‘With a girlfriend.’

‘Where were you born?’

‘Oxford.’

‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’

‘No, I was an only child.’ She was answering each question with studied politeness, but making very little effort to elaborate.

His annoyance barely masked, he said peremptorily, ‘I would prefer you to tell me in your own words rather than make it into an interrogation.’

Allowing a few seconds for that to sink in, he added, ‘Suppose you start with your home background—parents, schooling, that kind of thing.’

‘My father was a historian, an academic who lived in Chaucer’s time rather than in the real world. My mother was a career woman, and ran a successful secretarial agency. They were both in their late thirties and set in their ways before I was born.’

Making no comment, his eyes on her face, he waited.

Flatly, dispassionately, she went on, ‘Because neither of them wanted, or had any time for, a child, they hired a nanny until I was old enough to be sent away to boarding-school.’

An expression she couldn’t decipher crossed his face, before he asked, ‘Were you happy there?’

‘Most of the time.’ Except when holidays came round. Then, because it wasn’t ‘convenient’ to have her home, her parents had farmed her out to various distant relatives, until she’d been old enough to make her own plans.

‘And when you left school?’

‘I went to college.’

In response to his little frown of irritation, she continued, ‘When I graduated last year, I was offered a job at Dalton International, and I’ve been Alan’s secretary and personal assistant for the past five months.’

Her left hand was lightly gripping the arm of her chair, and, noticing Lang Dalton’s glance linger on her engagement ring, she found herself wondering whether he questioned Alan’s motives for giving her the job.

Lifting her chin, she asked, ‘But perhaps you think I wasn’t experienced enough to have been offered such a post?’

‘I don’t think anything of the kind. When Brent made you his PA, he was acting on my instructions.’

Cassandra’s green eyes widened. She’d had absolutely no idea. Alan hadn’t breathed a word.

‘Surprised?’ Lang Dalton didn’t miss a thing.

‘Yes,’ she admitted. Then, with an odd little shiver, she began, ‘Why did you—?’

He cut her short. ‘I knew you had all the necessary qualifications.’

So had several other people who had been with Dalton’s a great deal longer.

Cassandra had presumed at the time that it was Alan’s decision. He’d been taking her out for several weeks, and, afraid there might be strings attached, she had thought long and hard before accepting.

Watching her transparent face, Lang asked, ‘What’s Brent like to work for?’

Alan had turned out to be a very good boss, and working for him had proved a pleasure.

She said as much, and watched Lang Dalton smile sardonically.

‘You think I’m prejudiced?’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘No,’ she denied hardly. ‘I’m sure anyone else would tell you the same.’

‘Your loyalty does you credit.’

Refusing to protest further, she bit her lip and said nothing.

‘When did you two get engaged?’

‘About three months ago.’

‘And you’re planning to get married…when?’

‘In just over a week.’

‘I had the impression it was next spring.’

‘We brought the date forward.’

‘Any particular reason?’ he asked idly.

Flushing furiously, she said in a half-strangled voice, ‘I’m not pregnant, Mr Dalton, if that’s what you mean,’ and watched the build-up of tension in his big frame relax.

‘Forgive me,’ he said smoothly, ‘but there’s always a possibility, and it might have affected my future plans for the pair of you.’

Taken aback, she asked, ‘What kind of future plans?’

Ignoring the question, he asked abruptly, ‘Do you love Brent?’

Her private feelings had nothing whatsoever to do with this arrogant man, and for a moment she was sorely tempted to jump up and walk away. But, knowing any open discourtesy on her part might rebound on Alan, she hesitated.

The dark blue eyes pinned her. ‘You obviously feel that I’ve no right to be asking such personal questions.’

Meeting his gaze steadily, she said, ‘I really can’t see that they’re relevant.’

‘Brent is poised to go to the top in my organization, and a top executive’s working life is invariably affected by his or her private life.

‘I’ve found from past experience that it’s almost impossible to separate the two. So before I promote anyone I feel justified in asking enough questions to size up the situation…’

So that was why they had both been invited. What he’d meant by future plans.

‘It’s up to you, of course. You don’t have to answer.’

But if she didn’t it would no doubt adversely affect Alan’s prospects.

Biting back her resentment, she said, ‘I love him very much. I wouldn’t be marrying him if I didn’t.’

His blue eyes cynical, Lang observed, ‘In my experience, women marry men for a variety of reasons, and love isn’t necessarily one of them.’

‘You seem to have been…’ She stopped speaking abruptly.

‘Do go on,’ he said silkily. ‘What do I seem to have been?’

‘Unfortunate in your experience of women.’

The instant the fatal sentence was spoken, she could have bitten her tongue. He looked absolutely livid.

As though the words echoed inside her head, she could hear Alan saying, ‘All you have to do is take care not to get on the wrong side of him.’

Her heart like lead, she realized that though they had only been here a matter of hours she’d managed to do just that.

After a moment or two, his anger under control, his hard face devoid of expression, he asked brusquely, ‘So what exactly have you heard?’

‘I—I don’t know what you mean.’ She was genuinely at a loss.

His eyes holding hers, he said slowly, ‘I could almost believe that.’

‘You can believe it, Mr Dalton. It’s the truth.’

‘Do you mean there isn’t any gossip going the rounds? Or you don’t listen to it?’

‘If you mean gossip about you, so far as I know there isn’t any.’

‘That’s surprising. Though at this end every effort was made to curb it, it’s almost impossible to stamp it out altogether. You’d heard the old rumour that my PA was afraid of me…’

Not knowing what to say, Cassandra stayed silent.

‘And your remark just now suggested you’d heard…other things.’

Shaking her head, she chose her words with care. ‘I said what I did because I thought you sounded…somewhat disillusioned… Obviously I got the wrong impression.’

Then, in a rush, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re angry with me, but please don’t hold it against Alan.’

Lang’s dark blue gaze narrowed on her face. Mockingly, he said, ‘I could almost believe you do love him.’

Watching her bite her lip, he smiled thinly.

Afraid to speak in case she put her foot in it again, she twisted her hands together in her lap and prayed that someone would come and break up this most uncomfortable tête-à-tête.

CHAPTER TWO

HER prayer was answered.

‘So there you are, Cass…’

The familiar voice sent a flood of relief surging through her, and she looked up eagerly to see Alan crossing the terrace.

Freshly showered and shaved, his evening jacket immaculate, his dark hair expertly styled, he looked every inch the rising young executive.

Sounding more than a little put out, he added, ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

‘Come and join us,’ Lang Dalton invited blandly, his air now that of a civil host. ‘What will you have to drink?’

‘Sweet vermouth, please, with ice and lemon.’

Rising to his feet, Lang queried, ‘Would you like a refill, Cassandra?’

Catching Alan’s flicker of surprise at the use of her Christian name, she answered awkwardly, ‘No, thank you. As a rule I don’t drink at all.’

When the tall figure had crossed to the bar, Alan came and sat down opposite her. His good-looking face aggrieved, he complained, ‘I hung about for what seemed an age… In the end I was forced to ask the houseboy where your room was.’

Seeing his dignity had been wounded, she began, ‘I’m sorry, I—’

But he was going on, ‘When I found it was empty, and there was no sign of you, I began to wonder where the devil you’d got to.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, ‘but I—’

She broke off as, having passed Alan his vermouth, Lang Dalton came and sat down again beside her.

‘There’s no need for Cassandra to apologize,’ he said coolly, obviously having overheard the low-toned conversation. ‘The fault was mine. I asked her to have a private drink with me…’

Alan looked startled.

‘I wanted to sound her out about something before I spoke to you. In the event I didn’t get round to it.’

His brown eyes holding a hint of anxiety, Alan asked, ‘What did you want to speak to me about?’

‘As we’ll be dining shortly, I’d prefer to leave any business discussions until later,’ Lang Dalton told him. He continued decidedly, ‘I make it a rule never to talk shop at the table—whether or not there are other guests present.’

As though picking up a cue, Alan remarked, ‘I haven’t seen any of the other guests around… But perhaps they’re not arriving until tomorrow?’

‘On this occasion there are no other guests. I decided to dispense with the social side and concentrate on the business in hand.’

As he finished speaking, Manuel appeared and announced that dinner was served.

‘Shall we go in?’ Lang got to his feet and waited courteously for Cassandra to lead the way.

The long, polished dining table looked a picture, with fine napkins, cut glass, and a centre-piece of fresh flowers.

It was set for three.

As their host moved to the head of the table and seated Cassandra on his right, Alan queried politely, ‘Your wife isn’t dining with us?’

Lang glanced at him and, the muscles in his jaw tightening, made no reply.

Obviously nonplussed by the other man’s silence, Alan pursued, ‘Perhaps we’ll have the pleasure of meeting her tomorrow?’

‘That isn’t likely.’ His expression a mixture of cold fury and naked pain, Lang added curtly, ‘My wife died nearly six months ago. Surely you knew that?’

Thrown into confusion, Alan stammered, ‘N-no… I— I’m sorry… I had no idea.’

Sitting still and silent, Cassandra could only feel bitterly sorry for him, and angry that Lang Dalton had allowed him to make such a blunder.

A black-coated butler appeared and began to serve melon boats with a compote of chilled summer fruits.

In a strained silence, and never having felt less like eating, she picked up her spoon and began to eat. After a while, glancing up unwarily, she encountered her host’s intent gaze.

Cassandra’s eyes instantly dropped, but not before he’d read in them anger and resentment and an unspoken accusation.

Speaking expressly to her, as though Alan weren’t even present, he said with a hint of steel, ‘You appear to blame me for the…er…faux pas?’

Refusing to be intimidated, she answered quietly, ‘I do.’

‘Well, that’s honest, if not particularly prudent. May I enquire why?’

Knowing she had nothing to lose, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. ‘While we were on our way here I asked Alan what you were like…’

Without looking at him she was aware that Alan was sitting transfixed, while, one blond brow raised, Lang waited.

‘He said you were known to have principles, and to be scrupulously fair… If that’s true, I think you’ll admit it would have been rather more ethical on your part, and prevented any such mistake, if you’d mentioned your wife’s death earlier.’

There was dead silence for perhaps ten seconds, before Lang Dalton admitted soberly, ‘You’re quite right, of course.’

Turning to Alan, he added, ‘Please accept my apologies. At first I presumed that it wasn’t a genuine blunder, merely a rather clumsy attempt to conceal the fact that you knew about Nina’s death and the circumstances.’

Then to Cassandra he said, ‘In my own defence I must say that in spite of strenuous efforts to keep things hushed up I could hardly believe the story hadn’t leaked out…’

He stopped speaking as a maid appeared and began to clear away the dishes, while the butler produced the next course.

Lang Dalton was a surprising man, Cassandra thought; despite his arbitrary manner and his undoubted arrogance, he’d been big enough not only to admit a fault, but to apologize.

And clearly Alan’s assessment of him as being hard and lacking in emotion was a false one. Judging by that look of stark pain, he’d loved his wife very much, and was still devastated by her death.

Nina—he’d called her Nina—must have been quite young, much too young to die, and in what appeared to have been tragic and singular circumstances.

Circumstances that had obviously caused tongues to wag. From Lang Dalton’s reaction it seemed clear that he’d been the victim of some vicious gossip, which had left him angry and embittered, suspicious of the most innocent remark.

She could only feel sorry for him.

Having served them from a seafood platter and filled the long-stemmed glasses with a fine white wine from the Napa Valley, at a nod from his master, the butler departed.

When they were once more alone, their host remarked a shade drily, ‘Now, as I’ve made light conversation virtually impossible, I think I’ll break my own rule and get down to business, and the reason I invited you both here.

‘George Irvine, who worked for my father before me, is retiring at the end of next month, so I need a new head of West Coast Finances…’

Looking as if he couldn’t believe his ears, Alan echoed, ‘A new head of West Coast Finances?’

‘And before I begin to make a decision I wanted to know how your fiancée would take to the idea of moving to the States. Sometimes there are family commitments…’

Alan said quickly, ‘My parents died last year, so I’ve no family. Neither has Cass…or at least none who are close.’

Lang Dalton gave him a cool glance, and went on, ‘The finance department is based at Seguro House in Los Angeles, where the two main problems are traffic and smog.

‘Some people love LA, others dislike it intensely. Despite its glamorous Hollywood image, my wife hated it. That’s why I transferred my administrative centre to San Francisco…

‘I understand you’re getting married shortly, and how a wife feels about her husband’s job, and its location, can make a great deal of difference to—’

His voice thick and eager, Alan broke in, ‘I’m quite sure Cass would love to live in LA. Wouldn’t you, darling?’

‘I would prefer Cassandra to make up her own mind,’ Lang said repressively. ‘The States Western Seaboard is a long way from England, and it isn’t easy to leave a country one’s always regarded as home.’

Then, addressing her directly, he said, ‘No doubt you’ll need time, a proper chance to think it over.’

In answer to Alan’s appealing glance, and bearing in mind that so far nothing had been said about a job for her, she said carefully, ‘I can tell you now that if Alan is offered a job in the States I would be very happy to come with him.’

His mouth wry, Lang Dalton suggested sardonically, ‘Home is where the heart is?’

‘Trite, but true.’

Though he gave no obvious sign, with an insight that surprised her Cassandra knew her calm answer had nettled him.

Looking at Alan, Lang said briskly, ‘In that case, tomorrow morning, if you’re agreeable, you’ll be flown to LA. It would be advisable to spend a couple of days going through the finance department offices. That way you’ll be able to see at first hand just what the post entails.

‘I’ve asked the executive staff to be prepared to go in this weekend, so you can meet the people who, if the promotion goes through, you’ll be working with. It will give you a good chance to size each other up…’

Watching their faces, Alan’s open and blazing with excitement, the older man’s cool and shuttered, hiding his thoughts, Cassandra felt the first prickle of apprehension.

Lang Dalton had said ‘You’ll be flown to LA…you’ll be able to see at first hand…’ No mention had been made of her going.

But she was just being over-anxious, she assured herself firmly. He had told Alan to make her his PA, he knew they were a good team, and he had invited them both to California.

As though sensing her tension, Alan asked, ‘What about Cass? Will she—?’

‘I’m afraid any deal doesn’t include a job for your future wife, though the rise in salary should more than compensate for that.’

Alan tried again. ‘Only Cass is the best PA I’ve ever had—’

Frowning, Lang broke in, ‘George Irvine already has a very experienced PA who has been with him on a part-time basis for a number of years. Miss Shulster knows all the ins and outs of our West Coast financial dealings, the kind of companies and projects we are willing to lend money to. Though she only comes in for four hours a day she should prove invaluable…’

Seeing that the younger man looked about to argue, Lang added with an air of finality, ‘She has an invalid mother to care for and support, so I have no intention of disturbing the status quo. If you feel you can’t fit in with the present set-up then we’ll forget the whole thing.’

‘Oh, no…’ Alan cried hastily, ‘I’m quite sure I can fit in… And Cass won’t mind, I know. She’s never been a dedicated businesswoman.’

His expression unreadable, Lang Dalton lifted his wine glass and took a sip, before saying with a touch of irony, ‘Really? Yet I seem to recall from her career résumé that at university Cassandra studied market-forces and economics and graduated with a first class honours degree…?’

How in heaven’s name had he remembered a thing like that? she wondered dazedly. Surely he couldn’t come up with such detailed information about all his personnel?

Once again she felt disturbed, threatened.

‘Or perhaps I’m mistaken?’

Looking uncomfortable, Alan began, ‘No, that’s quite right, and I don’t mean Cass isn’t excellent at her job, but she’s…’

‘Expendable?’ Lang suggested softly.

‘Certainly not… What I meant was she isn’t career-minded, it isn’t that important to her…’

He floundered to a stop. An only child, spoilt and pampered, he wasn’t used to having to explain himself.

‘You mean that you think she would be willing to sacrifice her career for yours?’

Looking a little put out at such blunt speaking, Alan admitted, ‘Well, yes, but I—’

Lang glanced at her. ‘Perhaps we should allow Cassandra to speak for herself?’

Irked, both by Lang Dalton’s intervention and by being discussed as if she weren’t present, Cassandra murmured sweetly, ‘You’re too kind.’

Ignoring the gleam of amusement that appeared in his dark blue eyes, she went on, ‘Alan’s quite right. I thoroughly enjoy my job, but I’m far from being a dedicated career woman…’

Lang regarded her, a frown drawing his well-marked brows together. He’d expected someone shrewd and calculating, hard and self-centred. This apparent willingness to put Brent’s interests first had come as a surprise.

Crisply, she added, ‘There are other important things in life.’

‘Such as?’

‘Perhaps because of my upbringing, I believe that taking care of a home and a family are of equal importance.’

There was a tense silence, before, his face curiously set and hard, Lang turned to Alan and said abruptly, ‘Very well. I’ll give instructions for the helicopter to be ready first thing in the morning.’

With a grateful glance at Cassandra, Alan asked, ‘It will be okay for Cass to go to LA with me?’

‘I think not.’ Lang’s answer was decisive. ‘This will be business all the way, and I’ve never believed in mixing business and pleasure…

‘Not that there would be much time for pleasure,’ he added drily.

Seeing Cassandra’s stricken face, Alan began, ‘Oh, but couldn’t she—?’

‘I’m sure your fiancée can bear to part with you for just a couple of days.’ Lang’s tone was caustic.

As Alan looked at Cassandra helplessly, the butler returned with the final course, and a tray of coffee. Her stomach churning, Cassandra refused the chocolate and cream confection, while Alan, who had a schoolboy greed for gooey gateaux and trifles, accepted a liberal helping.

Waving away the rich sweet, Lang allowed his cup to be filled with black coffee, before turning to say to the younger man, ‘All the arrangements have been made for you to spend the night at Seguro House, in the executive suite. I just need to finalize them…’

Then, with a bite, he added, ‘That is, unless you’ve changed your mind about going? It’s up to you.’

Alan finished swallowing a mouthful of chocolate and cream, and after a brief hesitation said, ‘I’d prefer to leave it up to Cass.’

Cassandra drew a deep, uneven breath. Usually she was sensible and well-balanced, but there was nothing remotely sensible or well-balanced about her reaction to being left alone here with Lang Dalton.

But wasn’t she exaggerating, getting worked up about nothing? They wouldn’t be alone. There was a houseful of servants.

As if a houseful of servants made one iota of difference! She still dreaded the thought. And Alan must surely know how she felt?

But, in all fairness, no man in his right mind would turn down an opportunity like that. He’d done the best he could in the circumstances. Given her a chance to veto it.

A chance he knew quite well she wouldn’t take.

Just for an instant she felt resentful.

Glancing up, she discovered Lang Dalton was watching her intently.

Leaning towards her, he said softly in her ear, ‘You look like Ariadne must have looked when she was about to be abandoned in Naxos.’