His Delicious Revenge: The Price of Retribution / Count Valieri's Prisoner / The Highest Stakes of All

‘Then you certainly succeeded,’ Caz told her. He frowned. ‘Yet I still wonder why he steered you towards us. I’m not complaining you understand, just—slightly puzzled.’ He paused. ‘You haven’t tried to track him down since?’

She shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start. I suppose I really do have to treat it as a stupid, unkind joke.’

‘If so, it was one that signally misfired,’ Caz returned drily. ‘We should both be grateful to him.’

‘Both of us?’ Her brows lifted. ‘I rather think all the gratitude’s on my side. Because I must also thank the girl who’s having a baby, and created a vacancy for me, however temporary.’

‘This is beginning to sound like an Oscars ceremony,’ he said. ‘In a minute, you’ll be blessing your parents for having you.’

Perhaps, she thought. If I’d ever known them. If they hadn’t left me alone in the world, dependant on strangers.

Aloud, she said, ‘And what’s so wrong about that?’

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Except it’s a task you should really leave to me.’

Tarn looked away. She said, ‘If all this is another joke, can we end it here and now, please. I think it’s gone quite far enough.’

‘This is a beginning,’ Caz told her quietly. ‘Not a closing. But I can see I’m going to have to work damned hard to prove to you that I’m serious.’

And with that, the waiters appeared to clear their plates, and produce dessert menus, giving Tarn a much-needed breathing space as she contemplated what to say next. How to react.

Tricky, when all she really wanted to do was empty the remains of that expensive wine over his head, call him a treacherous, unfeeling bastard and storm out.

But that would only provide her with a momentary satisfaction. While he could laugh off his brief humiliation as a lovers’ tiff, and every man in the restaurant would be on his side.

And what she wanted—required—was for him to experience the kind of pain that he’d inflicted on Evie.

And it will happen, she vowed inwardly. I’ll make it happen.

‘Tell me something,’ he said, when the panna cotta with its red berry coulis had been ordered for them both. ‘Is there someone in New York? Someone you plan to go back to?’

‘Why do you ask?’ She drank some more wine.

‘Because I need to know what I’m up against. If it’s just the office hierarchy thing that’s making you so elusive, or if there’s something or someone else.’

Or maybe I’m just trying to demonstrate that you’re not Mr Irresistible, she told him silently. On the other hand, it would be stupid to let you think I’m totally uninterested and alienate you completely. So it’s time to tug on the thread a little.

She met his gaze squarely. ‘There’s no-one,’ she said. ‘Not any more.’

This time it was the whole truth. Howard had reacted badly to the news that she would not be accompanying him to the Keys. And her subsequent explanation had left him not merely unmoved, but getting angrier by the moment.

‘Everything you’ve ever told me about this Evie says she’s a total flake,’ he’d finally thrown at her. ‘You’re crazy to get involved in her problems. I had a lot riding on this trip, Tarn, and you’ve just—blown it out of the water. And why?’ His voice had risen and people at adjoining tables had glanced at them curiously. ‘Because your sister’s boyfriend’s dumped her? Big deal. What about you—dumping on me? And what the hell do I say to Jim and Rosemary?’

He’d finished his drink and left, leaving her to pick up the check. Nor, she thought, could she really blame him.

She’d gauged when he’d be back from the Keys and rung him. It was almost certainly over between them, such as it had been, but, all the same, she didn’t want to part bad friends. However, her call had gone straight to voicemail, and not been returned. So that episode in her life was definitely in the past, and she only wished she could feel more regret. Especially as he was probably the closest she’d ever been to commitment.

But there was no point in thinking like that. One day, when all this was over, she’d find someone. Or maybe they’d find her. Wasn’t that how it was meant to be?

But before that could happen, she had a part to play. Retribution to exact.

Caz said quite gently, ‘I hope the parting wasn’t too painful.’

She shrugged. ‘Not very—especially when compared with other people’s experiences.’ She gave him a half-smile. ‘I think I probably had a lucky escape.’

‘Then I’ll have to make sure that you’ll continue to think so.’

There was a note in his voice which was almost a caress, and Tarn felt her skin shiver again in unwelcome response.

‘And what about you? How have you managed to avoid serious involvement?’ She spoke lightly, but she was stepping on to dangerous ground and she knew it, as her clasped fingers tightened painfully in her lap.

‘It’s never been a deliberate thing,’ he said, after a pause. ‘Until a year or so ago, hauling the company back from the brink occupied most of my time and energy. When the money men finally stopped scowling, I decided I could take life a little more easily. But that was all.

‘Because I never pretended to the girls I dated that I was looking for any kind of permanent relationship. And most of them were looking for fun rather than commitment too, so we generally managed to reach a consensus that suited us both.’

She said, ‘But there must have been some who hoped you would offer more.’

His mouth tightened, and he looked past her, his eyes suddenly remote. ‘If so,’ he said. ‘That would be their problem, not mine.’

And one of those problems is locked away in a private hospital that’s more like a prison, you unutterable bastard…

She said quietly, ‘I shall consider myself warned.’

‘That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.’ His tone was almost fierce. ‘Give me the chance and I’ll prove it to you. And whatever happened in the past is over—for both of us.’

The desserts appeared, and Tarn forced herself to eat the rich, creamy concoction with its sharp fruit counterpart with every sign of appreciation.

So where did the expensive diamond ring he’d given Evie feature in this no-commitment scenario? she asked herself. Or was that how he paid his women for services rendered?

She remembered a story she’d heard when she was a child about a girl finding the man she was to marry was another Bluebeard and exposing his guilt by flinging the severed and bejewelled ring finger of one of his victims on the table in front of him at their betrothal banquet.

If she could find Evie’s ring, she thought, throwing it at him in some public place would make a splendid denouement for the moment when he finally learned the truth about her. When he discovered it was his turn to be deceived and callously dumped.

And now, she thought, steeling herself, it’s time to proceed to the next stage.

So when coffee was offered, she declined, with an anxious glance at her watch.

‘My flatmate will be wondering where I am.’

‘You’re not living at your cousin’s place?’

‘It’s minute,’ she said. ‘My stuff would fill it, and I don’t want her to come home and feel squeezed out, so I’ve moved in temporarily with a friend.’

‘While you look for a place of your own?’ Caz asked as he dealt with the bill.

‘Perhaps. I haven’t decided yet.’ She picked up her bag. ‘However—thank you for a wonderful meal. You’ve been—’ she hesitated ‘—very kind.’

‘And it’s equally kind of you to say so.’ There was a touch of wryness in his tone. ‘My driver will be coming to pick me up in a few minutes. May I add to my good works and offer you a lift?’

‘I think you’ve done enough,’ she said. ‘At least for one evening.’

The hazel eyes danced. ‘Is that a hint that there may be another in the offing?’

‘It’s a promise to think about it,’ Tarn said sedately. ‘Nothing more.’

‘Then I shall simply have to hope for the best.’

They were outside now, and he hailed a cruising taxi for her.

She gave the driver the address, burningly conscious that Caz was standing right beside her. Would he try to kiss her? She couldn’t be sure.

But he merely opened the cab door and held it for her to climb in.

‘That’s dangerous thinking.’ As she prepared to do so, she managed an impish smile. ‘I might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.’

He said softly, ‘I’ll take that risk.’

He handed the driver some money and stood back. As the cab sped off, Tarn wondered if he was watching, but nothing in the world could have persuaded her to turn and look.

You think the past is over? she whispered under her breath. Oh, no, Mr Brandon, it’s right here waiting for you. And I’m your unexpected nightmare.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘YOU had dinner with him?’ Della stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘With the Demon King? How—and why?’

Tarn shrugged. ‘I was working late, he came back for his briefcase and we met. It was just—happenstance.’

‘If one can believe in such a thing,’ Della said with a touch of grimness. ‘So tell me about it.’

‘He took me to a wonderful restaurant, great food, fabulous wine—and he came on to me.’

‘In what way?’ Della leaned against the kitchen worktop. ‘The direct approach? “My place or yours?”’

‘Far from it.’ Tarn poured herself some coffee, and refilled Della’s beaker. ‘A well-practised speech full of love, romance and “the first time I saw you” stuff.’ She gave a contemptuous snort. ‘My God, even if Evie wasn’t involved, I’d want to see him get his comeuppance. It shows how little respect he has for women. He must think I’m a total idiot if he expects me to fall for that old routine.’

Della’s eyes widened. ‘So, your life has been punctuated by men laying their lives at your feet, is that what you’re saying?’

‘No, of course not.’ Tarn frowned. ‘But—oh, hell, you know what I mean.’ She paused, then added casually, ‘Besides, the entire world knows he’s seeing Ginny Fraser from the “Up to the Minute” show.’

‘Seeing each other’s brains out, by all accounts,’ Della agreed cordially. ‘Therefore you haughtily rejected his unwanted advances and swept off into the night. Right?’

Tarn shifted uncomfortably. ‘Not exactly.’

‘What then?’

‘He asked if he could have dinner with me again, and, naturally, I said I’d think about it.’

‘Well, naturally,’ Della echoed ironically. There was a silence, then she sighed. ‘Tell me something, Tarn. If Evie didn’t feature in this scenario, and you’d simply met Caz Brandon at a party and you’d spent time together, and he’d suggested another meeting, would you have said “Yes” to him?’

‘No,’ Tarn said passionately. ‘Never in a million years. Because I don’t go for arrogant, all conquering men.’

‘Hmm,’ said Della. ‘Some might say you’re being a trifle picky, but that’s your choice.’ She paused again. ‘However, I’ve always had a bad feeling about this scheme of yours, and, somehow, it’s getting worse all the time. So—if you do go out with him again—what then?’

‘Nothing,’ said Tarn. ‘Not next time, the time after that, or any time at all. I give him enough encouragement to keep him interested, but he stays strictly at arms’ length until he’s actually desperate. And then I choose the time and place to tell him that he’s an uncaring swine and why I wouldn’t have him if he came gift-wrapped.’

‘But do you really think he’ll care—given that he’s apparently one of the major bastards of the western world? Maybe he’ll just shrug and walk away.’

‘That would depend on how many other people are around at the time. And mud sticks. He’ll find himself being talked about in ways he won’t like. So I hit him twice—firstly in his belief he’s sexually irresistible. Secondly in his self image as the great publishing tycoon. He’ll know I’ve been laughing at him all the time, and he’s going to have to live with that for the rest of his life.’

‘Sweet suffering saints,’ said Della. She shook her head wonderingly. ‘You really intend to go to those lengths? A public denunciation?’

‘Of course,’ Tarn said defiantly. ‘Ever since I re-read Evie’s letters, and saw how much in love she’d been with him. When I realised exactly what he’d done. How appallingly he’d treated her.’

‘And do you also realise how easily you could come unstuck?’ Della demanded roundly. ‘He’s not a boy but an experienced and very attractive man, so you may not find him as easy to distance as you think. And when he finds he’s been made a fool of, things could get even trickier.’

Tarn shrugged. ‘It’s a risk worth taking. Besides, as I’ve told you, he doesn’t appeal to me.’

There was a loaded silence, then Della said quietly, ‘Honey, it’s still not too late to ditch the plan and run.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re concerned for him!’

‘I’m concerned for you. Tarn—this is all so out of character. You’re not the vengeful type.’

‘I’m learning to be.’

‘Then stop now, while you can, before any real damage is done, to you or him. Hand in your notice, head back to the States, or, if you feel like a change, find a place to rent in Europe and resume real life.

‘Evie may have had a rough time, but she might get over it much more easily if you’re not there dispensing sympathy and muttering vengeance.’

‘You didn’t see her.’ Tarn spread her hands. ‘See the terrible state she was in—and all down to that utter bastard.’

‘But you can’t spend your future protecting Evie from unsuitable men,’ Della objected. ‘Or dealing with the consequences if she gets drawn in. She’s got to learn to look after herself—to discriminate between the decent guys and the rats.’

‘She hasn’t anyone else.’ The same words she’d used earlier to Caz Brandon.

‘That is so not true,’ Della said firmly. ‘Actually, if you did but know it, she does have a mother. Who rang up earlier, as it happens, in a state over Evie’s flat. It seems the landlord wants it cleared out if she’s not coming back, and there’s some rent owing too. Apparently La Mère Griffiths is passing up this belated but golden opportunity to take on some of the responsibility for her daughter and wants you to sort it out instead. So no surprises there.’

‘It’s not altogether her fault,’ Tarn said, with a faint sigh. ‘Uncle Frank took care of everything. Until he died, I don’t think she’d ever had to pay a bill or speak to a bank.’

‘And he passed the over-protective mantle on to you.’ Della nodded. ‘Well, that makes a kind of sense.’

‘And Caz Brandon has got to learn that having power and money does not absolve you from all sense of decency,’ Tarn added fiercely. ‘Before he destroys some other poor girl’s life.’

‘Then I just hope you’re not numbering Ginny Fraser among his unfortunate victims.’ Della finished her coffee and rinsed the beaker. ‘In the ruthless ambition stakes, she could probably leave him standing.’ She moved to the door. ‘Sweet dreams, honey, and tomorrow, please wake up cured. Or even slightly more sane would do.’

But if anything Tarn only felt more determined when she opened unwilling eyes in response to the radio alarm next morning. She’d had a restless night, interspersed with brief, uneasy dreams. Things she preferred not to remember in the light of day.

She paused while cleaning her teeth and studied herself in the bathroom mirror. There were shadows under her eyes, and her cheekbones looked stark in their prominence. Not really the kind of look to appeal to a would-be seducer.

I need to relax, she thought. Smile more, or he could change his mind and walk away. And I can’t let that happen, because, whatever Della may think, he’s asked for everything that’s coming to him.

‘Congratulations,’ was Lisa’s greeting as Tarn entered the All Your Own editorial suite. She shook her head. ‘You’re the original dark horse, my girl, just full of surprises and succeeding where others could only fail. I can hardly believe it.’

My God, Tarn thought shakily. Someone must have seen me with him last night, and word’s got round already. This was not what I’d planned at all. The opposite, in fact.

She tried to speak steadily. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, my pet, that you seem to have waved some kind of magic wand and turned dear Annetta into a writer.’ Lisa picked up the draft script and waved it like a flag. ‘This can actually go into the schedules. In fact, I’m debating whether we should build on this and do a whole series of celeb stories, that is if you’re prepared to pick up the slack and spin the straw into gold.’

‘Chameleon’ on a small scale, Tarn thought ironically. This was getting rather too close to reality. And why hadn’t she seen it coming?

She marshalled a smile. ‘That sounds a marvellous idea. But do you think the accountants will wear it?’

‘They will if Caz tells them to.’ Lisa’s expression was catlike. ‘And maybe we can offer him a sweetener by including Ginny Fraser on the list.’

Pain, sudden and astonishing, twisted inside Tarn like a sharpened knife. But somehow she let her smile widen. Become conspiratorial. ‘Then let’s go for it. What have we got to lose?’

Lisa nodded. ‘I’ll send a proposal up to him as soon as he gets back.’

‘Oh.’ Tarn paused on her way back to her desk. She kept her tone casual. ‘Is he away somewhere?’

‘Paris, Madrid, then Rome,’ said Lisa. ‘One of his usual rounds.’

So much for forward planning, thought Tarn wryly. She’d dressed that morning in a brief black skirt that showed off her slim legs, teaming it with a scoop-necked white top that might be deemed by the purists as a fraction too low for office wear, and she’d left her hair loose.

She’d been so sure he’d waste no time in finding an excuse for their paths to cross again, or press for an answer to his invitation in some other way. Had been bracing herself, in fact, for a summons. So, why hadn’t he mentioned his trip the previous evening?

Because he didn’t have to, she told herself, biting her lip as she stared at her computer screen. Because last night he acted on an impulse which he probably regretted just as quickly, and this is the cooling-off period. When he returns, he’ll have other things on his mind and he can allow the whole thing to slide quietly into oblivion.

Which takes me right back to square one.

She bit her lip, and switched on her computer. She’d worry about that later when she’d finished work. Now she needed to concentrate.

But when the working day was over, there was Aunt Hazel to attend to. She’d phoned twice, the first time to make sure Della had passed on her message—’I thought she seemed very casual’—and the second to remind Tarn she’d need to call round and pick up Evie’s key and the address.

When Tarn arrived at Wilmont Road, she found her foster mother peevish.

‘I thought you were never going to get here.’ She picked up an envelope. ‘The rent money’s in here. Six hundred pounds in cash, as he insisted.’ She pursed her lips. ‘How very unreasonable people can be, harassing me like this when he must know I’m half out of my mind with worry. But at least it means my girl will be coming back here to her own home when she’s better.’

‘I suppose he’s entitled to be paid,’ Tarn said mildly. ‘And to look for another tenant.’

‘Oh, poor Evie.’ Mrs Griffiths shook her head, tearfully. ‘She should never have gone to live in that flat. I knew no good would come of it.’

And this time, Tarn could only agree.

Evie had said that Caz had arranged for the move, so Tarn expected her cab to drop her at some smart apartment block. Instead she found herself outside a tall house in a busy street filled with identical buildings, many of which had clearly seen better days. She walked over chipped paving stones past a row of over-stuffed wheelie bins, wondering if Aunt Hazel had sent her to the wrong place.

But one of the keys fitted the front door, and she walked into a narrow hall. There was only one door clearly leading to the ground floor flat, where Mrs Griffiths had said the landlord lived, and most of the remaining space was occupied by a bicycle leaning against one wall, and a narrow side table littered with junk mail pushed against the other.

If he owns the place why doesn’t he clear it up a little, thought Tarn pressing the bell. She rang twice and waited, but there was no reply, so she mounted the uncarpeted stairs to the next floor and Flat Two.

She unlocked the door with faint trepidation, wondering what she would find, but the interior turned out to be a distinct improvement. The small square hall was flooded with light from a big window overlooking some overgrown but attractive back gardens.

The bedroom, she saw, was directly opposite the entrance, its half-open door revealing an unmade bed and the kind of serious clutter a hurricane might leave in its wake.

Tarn wondered, with a faint shiver, if that was where Evie had been found, and hastily turned her attention to the comfortably sized living area with its galley kitchen, accessed by three shallow steps down from the hall.

The carpet and furnishings were not new but they looked clean and in reasonable nick. She’d seen very much worse in her travels.

But this was still far from the kind of love nest that she would ever have envisaged for Caz Brandon. Evie must have been totally blinded by passion not to realise she was being offered a pretty third-rate set-up.

But she wasn’t here to speculate, she reminded herself, or even to build up her resentment and bitterness towards Caz, although this visit was simply confirming everything she’d thought about him. Her job was to clear out Evie’s stuff.

There was an inventory pinned to the galley notice board, which demonstrated that Evie had been content to stick with what was provided and make no individual additions to the utensils, or the china, glassware and cutlery either. But then cooking had never been a big thing to Evie.

Nor had the living space benefited from her attention. Every cushion, picture, and sparse selection of ornaments was also listed.

So Tarn was forced to face the bedroom, and the cramped en-suite shower room which opened off it.

It was unlikely Evie would wish any reminders of the room, she thought as she stripped the bed, and bundled the bedding into a plastic sack, before filling a hold-all with Evie’s clothes and shoes. Although, from a psychological point of view, she realised, it might be better to get rid of all of them too, and start again from scratch.

Emptying the wardrobe didn’t take much doing. For a girl who’d been living the high life with a millionaire boyfriend, Evie didn’t seem to have a lot of clothes, and what there was didn’t rate highly on glamour, thought Tarn, wondering what had happened to the chiffon and lace wedding dress as she emptied the small tallboy.

The drawer in the bedside cabinet would only open fractionally, and she realised something was stuck there. After a brief struggle and a bruised knuckle or two, she managed to release it and extract the culprit, which turned out to be a square, leather-bound book.

Of course, she thought. It’s Evie’s diary. I should have known. And she must be missing it. In the past, she probably hasn’t missed a day without writing in it. I wonder if they’d let her have it at The Refuge. It might be therapeutic for her.

She slipped it into her shoulder bag, then returned to the drawer. Small wonder it had stuck, she thought, discovering an envelope bulging with paperwork which she decided to take with her too, in case there was something incriminating about Caz among its contents. And under the envelope, she found a scrapbook. One glance told her that every single newspaper cutting and photograph that filled its pages featured Caz. And maybe all this material explained why there were no actual framed photographs of him in the flat. Unless, of course, Evie had never been given such a keepsake.

Whatever, this will not be going with me, she told herself grimly, adding the scrapbook to the bin bag.