To Claim His Mistress: Mistress at a Price / Mother and Mistress / His Mistress's Secret

‘He must be out of his mind,’ said her father shortly. ‘Ditching an incredible woman like that.’

‘You feel you have any place to criticise?’ Cat asked, her voice hardening.

‘There’s no comparison between the two situations,’ he defended. ‘Your mother’s temperament was a nightmare. For heaven’s sake, girl, you were there.’ His tone was injured. ‘You saw what went on.’

‘Yes,’ Cat said curtly. ‘I also know it was a long time ago, and maybe you should stop apportioning blame and move on.’ She hesitated. ‘Have you talked to Aunt Susan?’

‘Briefly,’ he said. ‘To be candid, I found it a little awkward. She didn’t say a great deal, although I did offer to go down there, of course.’

‘Did you plan to take Sharine with you, by any chance?’ Cat played restively with a pen on her desk.

‘Well, naturally. I can hardly leave her in London by herself.’ He paused. ‘I gather from your silence that you think it’s a bad idea?’

‘I’ve seen the secretary,’ Cat mentioned drily. ‘Another young blonde.’

‘Ah,’ David said quietly. ‘I see. In that case, this could be something you might tackle.’

‘And I think she might need time and space to deal with it, initially,’ Cat said. ‘Without being inundated by her husband’s relations, however well-meaning.’

‘That’s rather harsh,’ he protested. ‘I’ve always been devoted to Susan, and she knows it.’

‘Of course,’ Cat returned. ‘And you should think well of her. After all, she brought up your only daughter.’

There was another longer silence, then he said grimly, ‘Thank you for reminding me, Cathy,’ and put the phone down.

Cat disconnected more slowly. I did not, she thought, intend to say that. And maybe I’m the one who needs to move on.

It only served to demonstrate how on edge she felt, and how insecure, and she wasn’t used to that. Didn’t know how to handle it.

Next I’ll be snapping at the clients, she thought wryly as she closed down her computer. I need to be careful. And to keep my mind on my work. This is the life I’ve chosen, after all, so I should nurture it.

Dorita from Accounting appeared in her doorway. ‘We’re off to the wine bar. Coming with us?’

Cat pulled a face. ‘I’m still a little whacked from the weekend.’

‘Then what you need,’ Dorita told her cheerfully, ‘is some of the hair of the dog that took your leg off. Cindy and Megs are in a champagne mood.’

‘And why shouldn’t they be?’ Cat slipped her arms into the jacket of her dark work suit. ‘Sounds good to me. What are we celebrating?’

Dorita shrugged. ‘The start of another working week. The fact that Megs has met a fella and thinks he’s the one. Just pick a number.’ She fluttered her fingers and vanished.

Cat didn’t feel like a heavy after-work session, but the prospect of going home to an empty flat to brood had no great appeal either.

I need, she thought, a suitable distraction. And this could be it. Besides, as one of the firm’s directors, it was a good thing for her to stay in touch with her junior colleagues. They were a talented and hard-working bunch, and immensely loyal in a marketplace where every contract had to be fought for.

With the shadow of recession never far away, people were reluctant to invest enormous sums in upgrading their working environments, and ImageMakers were maintaining their position by offering sensible, workable designs, using quality sub-contractors, and keeping each project strictly within budget.

Their reputation was high, but it was still a struggle, and it was impossible to relax, even for a moment—except, of course, when work was over for the day.

Or over for some, Cat amended ruefully, looking at the bulging briefcase that was accompanying her home.

The wine bar was already filling up when they arrived, but they managed to grab one of the last tables and Cat bought the first bottle of champagne. Penance, she thought as she handed over her credit card, for being ratty with her father.

At first most of the chatter was work-related, but as they began to unwind it started to get more personal.

During a sudden lull, Megs leaned forward. ‘So, how was your cousin’s wedding? You did go, I suppose? Any tasty men there?’

Cat drank some wine as she considered her response. ‘Loads of them,’ she drawled at last. ‘All of them, alas, with equally tasty women.’

She hoped that would be an end to it, but soon found she was out of luck. Cindy was getting married the following year, and wanted exhaustive details about the hotel and what it had to offer. Megs, who seemed to be on the verge of having stars in her eyes, demanded a full description of Belinda’s bridal gown. So she had little choice but to comply with their demands for information.

Maybe I can use it as a kind of exorcism, she thought wryly.

By the time she’d finished the bottle was empty, and Dorita was at the bar buying further supplies.

This would be the perfect opportunity to slip away, Cat thought, reaching for her bag, which hung from a hook under the table. As she straightened, she saw that Dorita was on her way back, and that her place at the counter had been taken by a tall man with dark, curling hair, wearing an elegant charcoal suit.

His back was turned to them all, but Cat felt herself freeze, her gaze fixed on him with painful incredulity.

Oh God, she thought. It can’t be him—it can’t…

‘Did you spot him, girls? The new guy at the bar?’ Dorita rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve never seen him in here before, but seriously fanciable, I’d say.’

‘And already fancied, by the look of it.’ Cindy nodded significantly at the petite blonde who was threading her way towards him through the crowd.

Cat felt as if she’d been turned to stone as the girl joined him, sliding her arm through his with possessive familiarity. She wanted to look away. She longed to get up and run, but doubted whether she was capable of making it to the door. Her legs felt weak, and hurt seemed to be punching holes in her stomach.

Then he turned slightly, smiling as he bent to kiss his companion, and she realised that he was a complete stranger.

She swallowed, her body sagging in relief. What on earth had she been thinking of? she berated herself silently. This guy didn’t bear even a passing resemblance to Liam. He was shorter, for one thing, and his shoulders weren’t as broad. How could she not have realised?

If every glimpse of a tall, dark man is going to reduce me to bug-eyed paralysis, I’m in real trouble, she told herself impatiently. I need to get a grip. Claw my life back from this limbo.

‘Are you all right, Cat?’ Megs was studying her. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

Cat forced a laugh. ‘Nothing so romantic. I’ve just remembered I’m nearly out of milk and everything else, and I need to fit in a trip to the supermarket on my way home. So I’d better get going.’

She firmly refused any more champagne, and headed for the door. On the way, she stole a glance at the bar, wondering how she could have been such a fool. The pretty blonde was chatting animatedly to some people beside her, showing off the sparkling ring on her left hand, but he was leaning against the counter, looking round him.

As his glance met Cat’s it sharpened with unconcealed interest, stripping her naked as it swept her from head to foot. He gave her an ingratiating grin, and lifted his glass in a furtive toast.

My God, Cat thought in revulsion. Someone attractive and apparently sane has staked her future on this piece of human debris.

And who was to say that Liam wasn’t standing in another bar, looking into some other girl’s eyes, telling her what a lousy weekend he’d had and how lonely he’d been without her?

The thought nearly made her gag. She half stumbled into the street, drawing deep breaths of stale air as she tried to recover her equilibrium.

She had to put the events of the weekend behind her, before they drove her crazy, and she knew it. But if only someone would tell her how.

She couldn’t face the struggle with the Underground, she thought, hailing a cab. She got out at her neighbourhood supermarket and wandered the aisles with her trolley, trying to summon up some interest in feeding herself over the coming week. In the end she settled for the usual staples, adding a cold roast chicken, pâté and salad, as well as dried pasta.

Spaghetti carbonara would be quick and easy tonight, she thought as she turned the corner towards her block of flats.

She was just fitting her key into the door when her neighbour emerged from the flat opposite, smiling over a dozen cellophane-wrapped red roses.

‘For you, dear. You’ve got an admirer,’ she added roguishly. And not before time was clearly the silent coda to that.

At any other time Cat would have found it amusing, but she was too stunned to do anything other than mutter a word of thanks through dry lips, and carry the flowers into the flat.

‘Have dinner with me,’ begged the message on the card in a florist’s rounded script. ‘Thursday 8 p.m. at Mignonette.’

There was no signature, but they had to be from Liam, she thought, her heart thudding wildly. Somehow, once his anger had cooled, he’d found out where she lived and was making contact—and far sooner than she could ever have dreamed. Her throat was constricted with excitement mixed with incredulity as she put her shopping in the kitchen and took a tall vase from a cupboard with hands that shook a little.

At the same time she had to suppress a tiny pang of disappointment that he’d fallen into the red rose cliché trap. And he was also assuming that she’d automatically be free on Thursday.

Which I am, she thought, but that’s not the point.

Because he’d not offered her any way to communicate with him in turn, she realised. So she would have to choose whether to arrive meekly at the rendezvous—and she didn’t do meek—or to stand him up, which she guessed would sever any connection between them for ever.

Well, I don’t have to decide at once, she told herself as she arranged her flowers, and carried them back into the living room.

But in her heart she already knew what her decision would be, and she threw her head back and laughed with jubilant anticipation.

It seemed, of course, as if Thursday would never come. During the days, Cat was positive and dynamic, throwing herself into her work with renewed energy, her expectations carrying her along. But her nights were very different. She slept fitfully, her dreams wild and disturbing with an undercurrent of sensuality that often woke her, her body on fire, and a moan of sheer yearning on her lips.

‘Mignonette, eh?’ said Dorita, the company’s restaurant guru, responding to Cat’s studiedly casual query. She whistled. ‘It must be a heavy date, Cat, because it’s the top place for couples right now.’ She observed Cat’s flushed face with benevolent interest. ‘Going there tonight?’

Cat shook her head. ‘Tomorrow.’

Tonight, she thought ruefully, was her twosome with her mother at the Savoy—something she would have happily foregone.

But Vanessa greeted her with a radiant smile and champagne cocktails.

‘Darling.’ She kissed Cat on both cheeks, then stood back to scrutinise her plain grey shift dress with its matching jacket. She nodded. ‘You look wonderful,’ she approved.

‘And so do you,’ Cat returned with total sincerity, returning her embrace. Her mother seemed to have shed years since the weekend. The almost palpable tensions had disappeared, and she had that magical look of being lit with inner happiness that had been missing for so long.

If this was Gil’s doing then Cat could only be grateful, in spite of her reservations about him.

Or did she simply recognise it because she shared it?

‘I went down to see Susan yesterday,’ Vanessa said when they were seated at their table, with their first course of seafood ravioli in front of them. ‘She’s planning to sell the house and move to France when everything’s settled.’

Cat put down her fork, her eyes widening. ‘She’s really divorcing Uncle Robert? That’s rather quick, isn’t it?’

Vanessa shrugged. ‘She says that when it’s over, it’s over, and she doesn’t want to waste a moment of the rest of her life. She taught French before her marriage, and has always wanted a place there, only Robert wouldn’t consider it.’

Cat shook her head. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Obviously there’s more than one actress in the family,’ Vanessa said drily, and applied herself to her food.

‘But won’t she be lonely?’ Cat persisted.

‘I wouldn’t think so for a minute,’ her mother said with a touch of asperity. ‘She’s still a very attractive woman. Once she’s got Robert out of her system I can see her having a whale of a time.’

Cat raised her eyebrows. ‘With you, no doubt, acting as her mentor?’ she suggested.

Vanessa laughed. ‘Not I, darling. At long last I’m planning to settle down for good, and I refuse to be distracted from that.’ She gave Cat a long look. ‘Well—I didn’t expect you to turn cartwheels in the Savoy, but I thought you’d be a little pleased to hear I was aiming for respectability.’

With Gil, Cat thought, aghast. With a muscle-bound toyboy? Oh, God, is this what she wants to tell me? Why she brought me here tonight for a girlie chat? And I was scared she just wanted to have another go about my father.

She felt infinitely depressed, but managed to summon a smile. ‘If that’s really what you want,’ she said quietly, ‘I wish you every happiness.’

Vanessa stretched a manicured hand across the table and laid it on Cat’s. ‘And I wish the same for you, dearest.’ Her voice was oddly gentle. She paused. ‘Just don’t take as long as I’ve done to find it.’

Cat looked down at her plate. ‘I’m perfectly content with my life, Ma.’ And in twenty-four hours’ time I could be on the edge of bliss, she added, silently and exultantly.

But less than twenty-four hours later much of her exhilaration had evaporated as she searched despairingly through her wardrobe, trying to find something which would look good without seeming as if she was trying too hard.

Eventually she decided on a cream georgette skirt, cut on the bias, with a matching jersey top, short-sleeved and round-necked, and a plain jacket the colour of sapphire. She put gold studs in her ears, and a tiny sapphire pendant in the shape of a star nestled at the base of her throat. She wore her favourite pale rose lipstick, and her nails were varnished in a similar shade.

She drew a deep breath as she looked at herself in the bedroom mirror.

‘You’ll do,’ she said aloud.

It would have been far more cool to arrive late, she knew, but her taxi delivered her at Mignonette punctual to the second.

She paid off the driver and walked slowly into the restaurant.

She saw him at once, standing at the bar with a drink in his hand, and this time her eyes did not deceive her. He was wearing casual dark grey pants, and an open necked shirt that was almost silver. His jacket was slung across one shoulder. He was talking to the barman, and not looking at the door, so she could feast her eyes on him as greedily as she wished.

For a moment she indulged herself to the hilt, then started towards him, her stomach churning and a tight knot of excitement in her chest.

‘Cat—you came.’ A man’s voice intruded into her happy dream. Someone stood blocking her way. ‘I was so afraid you’d turn me down.’

Dazed, Cat focused on him, her brows snapping together as recognition followed.

Oh, God, she thought. It’s Tony, the best man.

‘This is just so great.’ He was smiling happily, oblivious to her sudden pallor as shock and disappointment kicked in. ‘Have you been here before? One of the guys at work recommended it. Our table’s ready, so we may as well go in,’ he added eagerly. ‘We can have a drink while we’re ordering. Better than standing at the bar.’

But then, anything was better than standing at this bar.

‘Yes.’ It didn’t even sound like her voice. ‘Yes, of course.’

As she followed him, putting one foot somehow in front of the other, like a mechanical doll, she risked one swift glance at Liam.

He had turned, probably to see what all the excitement was about, as Tony had not lowered his voice. The world shrank suddenly to enclose them in some echoing void, and their eyes met in one stunned, coruscating flash.

I thought it was you. She wanted to shout the words aloud in her despair. It should have been you.

But she said nothing, making herself look straight ahead, her silence drowning Tony’s chatter.

Then they were moving under the archway into the restaurant, but Cat could still feel Liam’s gaze burning into her back every step of the way, until, at last, she was safely out of his range of vision.

CHAPTER SIX

‘DID you like the flowers?’ asked Tony.

Cat, who’d been sitting gazing unseeingly at the menu, started. ‘Thank you—they were amazing.’ She thought of the long stiff stalks, and the still tightly furled, scentless crimson buds. ‘But why didn’t you sign the card?’

‘Cheryl was always complaining I wasn’t very romantic.’ He spoke defensively. ‘I thought I’d try a touch of mystery—and it worked.’ He smiled at her, flushing slightly. ‘Because here you are.’

‘Indeed I am.’ And wishing that she could be anywhere else in the world, she thought wretchedly.

Oh, God, she whispered inwardly. How can this be happening to me? How could I have jumped to the conclusion that the flowers had to be from Liam? And the message.

Well, wishful thinking was the short answer to that. She’d wanted it so badly to be him that she’d suspended rational thought. Ignored the bitter rancour of their parting. And poor Tony, of course, had simply passed through her consciousness without touching the edges. She hadn’t given him a single thought, or anyone else either. Had never doubted her own conviction for a moment.

But she could have borne the disappointment somehow if only Liam had not been here—waiting, she’d thought, for her.

Oh, why—why should he choose to visit this particular restaurant out of all others on this particular night? Cat wailed silently. It was crazy—impossible. Cruel.

On the other hand, there wasn’t the slightest reason for him not to patronise Mignonette. It was high-profile and popular. The date of his visit was just one of life’s bitter ironies.

She supposed in a perverse way she should be thankful for Tony’s intervention. Otherwise she would have walked straight to Liam and probably suffered a crushing humiliation in the process.

And now she had to sit here, pretending to take an interest in food and wine when in truth she was wired up, every sense in overdrive, as she waited for Liam to enter the restaurant itself.

Mignonette was a series of rooms, opening out from each other, all decorated in cool pastels and divided into booths. The lights were shaded, the conversation hushed, and a pianist just inside the archway was softly playing a medley of romantic standards.

All in all, it was an ideal place for lovers, but not so good if you were here with entirely the wrong man.

And downright bad when you knew the man you really wanted was going to walk past your table at any moment.

It was like knowing a gun was about to go off, she told herself. You were excited and scared all at the same time. And hoping against hope that you wouldn’t receive a fatal wound.

‘I got your address from Freddie at the reception,’ Tony went on, a faint note of self-congratulation in his tone. ‘He was tickled pink at the thought of us getting together.’

But we’re not together, she thought. And we never would be in a thousand years, even though you’re good-looking, well-dressed, pleasant and a serious earner. And if Belinda doesn’t murder bloody Freddie, I might have a go.

She sipped her dry martini. She said lightly, ‘Then that makes everything all right.’

‘Freddie and Belinda will be great,’ he said after a pause. ‘He can be a bit of a fool sometimes, but she’ll make him toe the line.’

I bet she’s already started, Cat thought drily, remembering her cousin’s set face as she departed on honeymoon.

She heard approaching footsteps and tensed, knowing beyond all doubt who it was. She began to concentrate so furiously on the à la carte section that the words blurred and danced in front of her eyes.

He walked past without even a glance in her direction. He was not alone, and of course she had not expected him to be. But, all the same, she’d hoped so badly…

The girl with him was tall and slim, with long chestnut hair confined at the nape of her neck with a bow of black ribbon. Her skirt was black too, and the silk tunic she wore over it was striped in black and white. She had good legs, and moved well. And Cat didn’t have to get a direct look at her face to know that she would be strikingly beautiful.

She would also have known her again anywhere, even if she was blind and in the dark. The image of them walking together into the adjoining room was etched with razor sharpness into her mind.

But at least they weren’t sitting at the next table, and she had to be thankful for that, at least. Her voice was over-bright as she told Tony she would have the queen scallops, followed by poulet Normande.

Tony ordered cassoulet. ‘Peasant food,’ he said with satisfaction.

Very rich peasants, if they can afford these prices, thought Cat wearily, wondering how soon she could make an excuse and leave.

The food was delicious, but she ate embarrassingly little, simply pushing it round her plate. She barely touched the wine either, confining herself to sips of mineral water.

I should have done the same the other night, she thought wearily. Then I wouldn’t be sitting here with a knife twisting inside me.

Although it was wrong to blame alcohol for her passionate surrender to Liam. It had been sheer, stark animal attraction that had brought them together. Fusing them into an explosion of physical desire which she’d never experienced before and had been unable to resist.

I made my choices, she thought flatly, and now I have to live with the consequences.

Tony, she noticed, had none of her reservations about the wine. He quickly finished off the first bottle and asked for a second.

The wine loosened his tongue, too. When they’d first sat down they’d talked about work, which Cat had found infinitely preferable to discussing more personal matters. But a chance remark of hers about lawyers had opened the floodgates, and she found herself being treated to a blow-by-blow account of divorce in the twenty-first century. He was clearly labouring under a strong sense of injury, and before too long Cat wanted to scream.

‘Somebody’s making Cheryl do this,’ he kept declaring truculently. ‘She doesn’t need the money.’

By the time the second bottle was only a memory his speech was slurred, and he was beginning to get amorous, and a little maudlin.

Not an ideal combination, Cat thought, signalling discreetly to the waiter. But a perfect excuse to forego dessert.

She paid the bill, then, with the waiter’s help, and praying that Liam would stay well out of the way and not witness her struggles, she managed to get Tony outside without causing too much fuss, and into a cruising cab. He tried tipsily to persuade her to accompany him, but she declined tersely, freeing herself forcefully from his wandering hand.

And a minute later another cab was speeding her in the opposite direction. Back to safety.

She leaned back in her corner and closed her eyes. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ she muttered under her breath, somewhere between laughter and tears, then paused, the breath catching in her throat as she recognised the fuller implications of her words.

Her hands clenched together in her lap, and she turned to look out of the window in an attempt to refocus her thoughts on the brightly lit shops they were passing. But all in vain.