CHAPTER THREE

      FACING the window, Abby had an excellent view of the garden, but Hallam himself sat with his back to it, throwing his face into shadow. It put her at a definite disadvantage, she decided; it would have been much better if they had both sat sideways on to the window. Had he done it deliberately?

      She looked beyond him. ‘You have a nice garden, Mr Lane.’ Mundane words, but she needed to say something—anything—to dispel her inner tension. She could accept that maybe he did want to talk about Greg but there had to be something more. Otherwise why the candles and the exquisite china? Why go to all this trouble?

      It could be that he was trying to find out exactly what sort of a person she was. Perhaps he thought she expected this wine-and-roses treatment. Perhaps he thought all women expected it.

      She recalled her unfortunate response to his kiss that first time he’d come to her office—could she have given him the wrong impression? Had he thought then that she was any man’s for the taking? It was definitely a disquieting thought.

      When she looked back at Hallam he was watching her, a faint, cynical smile playing about his lips. Abby had the troubled feeling that he was aware of every thought passing through her mind.

      ‘Yes, I’m extremely pleased with the way the grounds have developed,’ he said. ‘They’re very different from when I first moved in, far less austere. We can take a walk afterwards if you like and I’ll show you some of the changes I’ve had made.’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ answered Abby coolly. ‘I won’t be here that long—unless, of course, Greg returns, though somehow I don’t think he will. I think you’ve arranged this whole evening deliberately, though why I cannot imagine.’

      A brow lifted but before he could make any response a woman’s voice said, ‘Are you ready for dinner now, Mr Lane?’

      Abby gave a start of surprise. The door was behind her and she had not heard any footsteps.

      ‘As ready as we’ll ever be, Emily,’ he answered pleasantly.

      The woman came further into the room. ‘You’re Neville Sommers’ daughter, aren’t you?’ she asked, peering at Abby closely. ‘I thought it was you the other day but I couldn’t be sure.’ She was a thin, neat woman with short grey hair and a cheerful expression.

      ‘That’s right. Did you know him?’ asked Abby.

      ‘He looked after my late husband’s affairs,’ confessed the woman. ‘You’re very much like him, do you know that? There’s no mistaking that you’re father and daughter. I was sorry to hear he had passed away; he was very good to me.’

      Abby gave a wistful smile, pleased to hear this woman’s kind words. ‘I miss him a lot.’

      ‘And now you’ve stepped into his shoes,’ said Emily briskly. ‘Good for you, Miss Sommers. If you’re anything like your father young Greg couldn’t have chosen anyone better.’

      Abby glanced at Hallam Lane out of the corner of her eye. His lips were pursed disapprovingly. ‘Food, Emily,’ he said peremptorily. ‘I’m starving.’

      The woman immediately scuttled away and he looked at Abby curiously. ‘I wasn’t aware that Mrs Renfrew knew your father.’

      ‘Does it make any difference?’ she asked, sitting back in her chair and looking at him directly. ‘Or is the issue still that you don’t like to think I could be good at my job, especially as good as my father?’

      ‘I know you’re good,’ he told her surprisingly, a quirk to his eyebrow as he spoke, ‘or I would never have let Greg have his wish.’

      ‘Meaning you’ve checked me out?’ she asked sharply. It did not surprise her. Nothing this man did would ever surprise her.

      His housekeeper chose that moment to return and he remained silent for a moment as the woman placed in front of them a delicious-looking fillet of Dover sole in a creamy white sauce with prawns.

      ‘I’d have been a fool not to make a check,’ he said once they were alone.

      The smell of the food was profoundly appetising and Abby’s empty stomach gave a loud rumble. She quickly took a mouthful and found the fish every bit as delicate and tasty as it looked.

      ‘And yet you still don’t want me defending your son,’ she protested once she had emptied her mouth. Abby could not understand him. Hallam Lane was without a doubt the most enigmatic man she had ever met.

      ‘I would have preferred a man.’ Dark eyes looked challengingly into hers.

      Abby flashed him a quick, indignant glance, wishing she could see him more clearly. Although the evening sun was not shining directly through the window the sky was extremely bright and his face very much in shadow. ‘Is it women in general you don’t approve of,’ she asked, jabbing unnecessarily hard at her fish, ‘or just women in what you see as men’s jobs?’

      He smiled slowly. ‘Oh, I like women all right.’ And his eyes dropped from her face to her breasts. His perusal, as always, was long and deliberate and induced a warmth in her skin that she could have done without. Abby wondered whether there was a hint here of what he had in mind for later, what he had perhaps had in mind all along—though she had been too dense to see it!

      What a fool she was not to have heeded her earlier misgivings and left while she’d had the chance. She knew nothing about this man, had no idea what he was like—except that he was lethally attractive and equally dangerous. In fact he was the most threatening man she had ever met in her whole life.

      Despite her misgivings Abby kept a tight hold on her emotions, letting none of her fears show. ‘Do I presume from that that you have a lady-friend, Mr Lane?’

      He dragged his eyes back to her face with a seeming effort. ‘Hallam, please. And no, as a matter of fact there is no one special.’

      ‘Why is that?’

      His lips twisted with sudden bitterness. ‘Let’s say I tried it once.’

      ‘Ah, your wife—she did this to you?’ Abby knew she was out of order but the words spilled from her lips without conscious thought, and she was appalled to find herself adding, ‘Actually, I don’t blame her for leaving you; you’re the most arrogant man I’ve ever met. No woman in her right mind would—’

      ‘My wife is dead,’ he cut in icily, stopping in an instant her angry flow of words.

      Abby wished the floor would open and swallow her up. Hot colour flooded her cheeks and her whole body grew uncomfortable.