The Price of Retribution. Sara Craven
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sure that was his doing rather than Aunt Hazel’s. I was never the pretty docile little doll she’d always wanted. That became abundantly clear as I grew up. But I couldn’t blame her. Looking back, I probably gave her a very hard time.
‘But losing Uncle Frank knocked them both sideways. They were like boats drifting on the tide, and they needed an anchor. I can’t ignore them when they need help.’
‘Well, if Evie reckoned on Caz Brandon becoming the family anchor in your place, she gravely miscalculated,’ Della said with a touch of grimness. ‘He isn’t a man for serious relationships with women. In fact, he’s famous for it, as you’d know if you hadn’t been working abroad so much, and only back for flying visits. Evie, on the other hand, has been right here all the time, and should have been well aware that he’s not the marrying kind.’
She hesitated. ‘I’m playing devil’s advocate here, but is it possible she may simply have—misunderstood his intentions?’
There was a silence, then Tarn said huskily, ‘If so, it was because he meant her to do so. That’s the unforgivable thing. Del—she’s really suffering. She trusted that bastard, believed every lie he told her.’ She shook her head.
‘She may well have been incredibly naïve, but I’ve seen him in action now, and he’s quite a piece of work. The arch-predator of the western world on the look-out for another victim.’
She gave a harsh laugh. ‘My God, he even asked me to have a drink with him.’
‘Which you naturally declined.’
‘Yes, of course. It’s much too soon for that.’ Tarn’s lips tightened. ‘He’s going to find out just what it’s like to be strung along endlessly and then discarded like a piece of trash.’
‘Well, for God’s sake, be careful.’ Della got to her feet. ‘Caz Brandon may like to love them and leave them, but he’s no fool. Don’t forget he inherited a struggling publishing company seven years ago and has turned it into an international success.’
‘The bigger they are,’ said Tarn, ‘the harder they fall. And his business achievements don’t necessarily make him a decent human being. He needs to be taught that you can’t simply take what you want and walk away. That eventually there’s a price to be paid. And I intend to teach him precisely that.’ She added tautly, ‘For Evie’s sake.’
‘Then all I can say is—rather you than me,’ said Della. ‘And now I’m going to make some coffee.’
Left to herself, Tarn sank back against the cushions, trying to relax. She didn’t really need coffee, she thought. She was hyped up quite enough as it was, the adrenalin still surging through her. And this was only the first stage of her plan.
The next big hurdle, of course, would be getting a job at the Brandon Organisation. This evening was a walk in the park compared with that.
But you can do it, she told herself robustly. There’s a lot riding on this—the total and very public humiliation of Caz Brandon. In some way.
For a moment, the image of him filled her mind as completely as if he was standing there in front of her. Tall, broad-shouldered and elegant to his fingertips in his dinner jacket and black tie, his dark hair combed back from a lean incisive face. Hazel eyes, long-lashed under straight brows, a firm-lipped mouth, the nose and chin strongly marked.
Oh, yes, she thought savagely. She could see why Evie had fallen for him so far and so fast. With very little effort, he could probably be—irresistible.
And she gave a sudden shiver.
She’d been in New York when Aunt Hazel’s call had come, she recalled later that night, when sleep remained curiously elusive.
‘Tarn—Tarn—are you there—or is it just that nasty machine?’
She’d known at once from the agitated tone that it meant trouble. In any case, her foster mother rarely rang just for a catch-up chat. And lately there’d been hardly any calls at all, Aunt Hazel, she’d supposed, being totally preoccupied by preparations for Evie’s forthcoming and presumably triumphant marriage.
She said briskly, ‘Yes, I’m here. What’s the matter?’
‘It’s Evie. Oh, God, Tarn.’ The words were tumbling over each other. ‘My poor baby. She’s taken an overdose of sleeping pills—tried to kill herself.’
Tarn heard her with horrified dismay. Evie might be something of a flake at times, but attempted suicide? That was unbelievable. Awful beyond words.
‘Tarn—did you hear what I said?’
‘I heard,’ Tarn said slowly. ‘But why should she do such a thing? In her letters, she always seemed so happy.’
‘Well, she’s not happy now, not any more.’ Aunt Hazel was crying with loud, breathy sobs. ‘Perhaps never again. Because he’s finished with her—that man—that brute she was going to marry. The engagement’s off and she’s had a complete nervous collapse as a result. She’s been rushed into some kind of rest home, and they won’t allow visitors. Not even me.
‘Tarn, I’m going frantic. You’ve got to come home. I can’t be alone at a time like this. I may go to pieces myself. You have to find out what’s going on at this place—The Refuge. They might talk to you. You’re so good at this kind of thing.’
Except, Tarn thought grimly, that would-be suicides and mental breakdowns were well outside her experience zone.
She said gently, ‘Don’t worry, Aunt Hazel. I’ll get the first available flight. But you shouldn’t be on your own. Would Mrs Campbell stay with you till I get there?’
‘Oh, no,’ the older woman said quickly. ‘You see I’d have to explain—and I can’t. No-one else knew about the wedding, apart from us. It was all going to be a totally hush-hush affair. And if Mrs Campbell ever found out, she’d tell everyone that my poor girl’s been jilted, and I couldn’t bear that.’
‘Hush-hush?’ Tarn repeated astonished. ‘But why?’
‘Because that’s the way they both wanted it. No fuss.’ Mrs Griffiths was crying again. ‘Who could have thought it would end like this?’
Who indeed? Tarn thought grimly as she eventually replaced the receiver. And why on earth would the head of publishing conglomerate the Brandon Organisation want his forthcoming marriage to be a secret? Unless, of course, there was never going to be any marriage—and that was another secret that, this time, he’d carefully kept to himself.
Because St Margaret’s Westminster and an all-day party at the Savoy or some other glamorous venue, accompanied by all the razzmatazz at his disposal seemed more the style for a billionaire tycoon.
Not that many of them crossed her path very often, she reminded herself wryly.
She still found it almost impossible to credit what had happened. It was true that her foster mother had always been an emotional woman, and prone to exaggeration yet this time there seemed every excuse for her reaction.
She wandered restlessly round her loft apartment, as she considered what to do.
A flight to Heathrow for the following day was, of course, her main priority. But she had also to deal with the problem of Howard, who would not be pleased to hear that she wouldn’t be accompanying him to the Florida Keys to stay with some friends he had there.
Tarn herself had mixed feelings about the cancellation of the trip. She and Howard had been dating for a while now, but she’d been careful to keep their relationship as casual and platonic as all the others she’d embarked on in the past. Not that there’d been that many.
However, she recognised that this state of affairs could probably not be maintained indefinitely. This invitation was clearly intended to move things to a more intimate level, and she’d accepted, mainly because she could think of no good reason to refuse.
Howard