Claiming His Wedding Night. Lee Wilkinson
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do, so what was the point of upsetting him?
The same applied to Helen.
When the other woman answered the phone, Perdita steadied herself and reeled off a brief version of the same story she had told her father.
‘It sounds hopeful,’ Helen commented. ‘And, whatever you do, don’t worry about this end. I can cope. By the way, have you talked to Martin yet?’
‘I had so much on my mind last night, I forgot to recharge my phone,’ Perdita said, glad of an excuse, ‘so my battery’s low. Will you ring him for me and explain that I’m going to the States as Mr Calhoun’s guest? Tell him I’ll be in touch later.’
‘Of course. Well, the best of luck.’
‘Thanks. I may need it.’
Aware of how heartfelt that must have sounded, Perdita sighed and dropped the phone back into her shoulderbag.
Barely a moment later the door slid aside and Jared strode in, giving the impression he always gave of having abundant energy and vitality.
Just the sight of him jolted her, making her heart pick up speed and her breath catch in her throat.
‘You’ve spoken to your father?’ he enquired with the air of a polite host.
‘Yes.’
‘I do hope you managed to reassure him?’
The false concern grated and she said coldly, ‘Why should you care?’
‘Oddly enough, I would prefer not to have his death on my conscience.’
‘Then can I suggest that trying to kidnap his daughter is going the wrong way about it.’
‘I don’t know why you insist on referring to it as kidnapping. You’re simply accompanying me as my guest, albeit a somewhat unwilling one.’
‘Guests, even “somewhat unwilling ones”, usually have some clothes with them.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said airily. ‘From past experience I know what a beautiful body you have, and I much prefer you without clothes.’
Watching the hot colour pour into her cheeks, he added, ‘And there’s sure to be plenty of nice warm sunshine in California.’
‘California!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why California?’
‘Because I still live there.’
Just those five little words made her feel as though she were in a lift that had dropped too fast.
‘After a refuelling stop in Boston,’ he continued evenly, ‘we’ll be flying on to San Francisco…’
Then, seeing her dismay, ‘Where did you think we were going?’
‘I…I didn’t know for sure. I suppose I’d presumed it would be Salingers’ headquarters in New York.’
‘Is that what you told your father?’
‘It’s the conclusion he jumped to.’
Then, unable to keep the satisfaction out of her voice, she went on, ‘Not that it makes a great deal of difference. Wherever we’re heading for, I won’t be able to get off the plane.’
‘Really?’ he queried interestedly. ‘Why not?’
Triumphantly, she pointed out, ‘Because I can’t land in the States without my passport.’ Sweetly, she added, ‘And I’m afraid I don’t have it with me. Which leaves you with a bit of a problem.’
‘Not really.’
‘What do you mean, not really? What are you intending to do? Try and smuggle me in?’
‘My dear Perdita—’ there was mockery in his voice ‘—do credit me with a little sense.’
He felt in his jacket pocket. ‘Your passport.’
Looking at the document he was flourishing, she said, ‘I can’t deny it’s a passport, but it’s certainly not mine. Mine is at home in my bureau.’
‘That’s just where you’re wrong.’ He opened the pages to show her a picture of herself.
As she gazed at it in disbelief, he slipped it back into his pocket.
Finding her voice, she accused, ‘You’ve gone so far as to have a fake passport made!’
‘Not at all. It’s the genuine article.’
‘It can’t be!’
‘I assure you it is.’
As she struggled to take in the implications of that, he added, ‘And, in the hold, there’s a suitcase carefully packed with everything you should need for at least the next couple of weeks.’
Common sense insisted that it couldn’t be so, that he just had to be lying. Yet she knew he wasn’t. Somehow he’d managed to acquire both her passport and a case full of clothes.
But how?
Even if he’d known exactly where she lived and where to find her things, he could hardly have walked in and taken them himself. Someone must have helped him. It was the only explanation that made sense.
But who?
A moment’s thought convinced Perdita that there was only one person who could have helped him, and that was Sally.
Sally, whom they’d grown fond of. Sally who, instead of being merely a housekeeper, had become like part of the family.
No, no, she couldn’t believe that Sally would do such a thing!
But even as she tried to refute the charge, Perdita recalled that morning and how flustered the other woman had looked as she’d insisted, ‘I really do have your best interests at heart’.
Jared, who had been watching her expressive face, smiled. ‘I didn’t think it would take you too long to work it out.’
Gritting her teeth, she asked, ‘How on earth did you get Sally to do your dirty work for you?’
‘She doesn’t regard it in that light. She sincerely believes that what she did is for the best.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Then you should.’
Bogged down, unable to think straight, Perdita said helplessly, ‘I don’t understand how you managed it. How you got to know her…’
‘As luck would have it, we first met when she and her husband lived in California. When I discovered she was your housekeeper, I asked for her help.
‘Initially she refused, saying it would be quite wrong and disloyal. But, in the end, after I’d told her everything, she agreed. She thought that she was helping to put things right.’
‘What things?’
‘Past mistakes.’
Perdita let that go and attacked from another angle. ‘How did you know where we lived?’
‘As soon as I was on my feet again, I set about tracing you. It wasn’t easy, but eventually I discovered where you lived and also that your father’s business was in trouble.
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