CHAPTER ONE

      A BITING east wind blew flurries of snow across rolling uplands where Northwold Breweries blended with such ecological care into its Gloucestershire surroundings. The various specialist buildings and linking walkways were masked by skilfully landscaped banks and trees, and normally the sixty-acre site was a green and pleasant place. But on this particular January morning the stark white view from the managing director’s office resembled a lunar landscape.

      Eleri Conti arrived early, as she always did, and went into James Kincaid’s office with her usual glow of anticipation for this first, private part of the day alone with him.

      He was standing at the window, tall, loose-limbed, dressed in one of his dark custom-made suits and a flamboyant tie as usual. But when he turned his face wore a grim, haggard look so dauntingly different from usual that Eleri’s smile of greeting died a sudden death. In her favourite black gabardine suit and white shirt, her dark hair caught back with a large ebony clasp, she faced him across the desk as she’d faced him at this hour almost every working day for the past year. But today something was obviously wrong. The atmosphere was bleak enough to rival the day outside.

      ‘Good morning, Eleri. I think you’d better sit down.’ He waved her to a chair.

      ‘Good morning, Mr. Kincaid.’

      He sat staring down at his desk in brooding silence while Eleri grew colder by the second as all kinds of worrying scenarios crowded her mind, not least the loss of her job as personal assistant to the managing director.

      At last James Kincaid squared his formidable shoulders and looked up, his eyes sombre. ‘There’s no way to make this easier. I wish there was. In short, Eleri, I’ve been informed that someone at this branch of Northwold leaked information about the Merlin takeover. As a result someone else made a nice little killing on the market.’

      Eleri went white. ‘And you are accusing me of leaking the information?’ she asked in utter disbelief.

      ‘No!’ James Kincaid shook his head vehemently, raking a hand through his hair. ‘Or at least not accusing. I’m merely asking if you know anything about it.’

      ‘Which is the same thing.’ Eleri had to exert rigid self-control to remain erect in her chair. She felt physically sick, as though the man opposite had dealt her a body-blow. Which, by doubting her integrity, he had. And worst of all she felt searingly hurt—because the accusation had been made by James Kincaid, for whom she cherished feelings kept strictly hidden. No one, either in Northwold or in her family, had the least idea that she was the victim of that tired old cliché: the secretary in love with her boss.

      What, she thought bitterly, did she find so attractive about the man? He was far from classically handsome, with swarthy skin, unruly brown hair, forceful nose and a wide though well-cut mouth. Straight, dark brows above deep-set pewter-grey eyes warned the onlooker that this was no man to suffer fools gladly, and he wore his expensive clothes carelessly, as though from the moment he put them on he never gave them another thought. But, in comparison with James Kincaid, for Eleri all other men suffered. Willpower kept her utterly still in her seat as James took up a pen, rolling it between his fingers. Familiar with every little mannerism of his by heart, it gave Eleri deep satisfaction to see that he was affected—if only a little—by stress.

      At last he looked up and began to explain rapidly. ‘Eleri, just before the takeover went public on Tuesday, a trader in a London bank did a swift, profitable bit of dealing—buying Northwold shares at the old price then selling them a short time later when they rose quite sharply once the news was out. It was a relatively modest sum, and the trade only attracted attention because my sister’s husband works for the same merchant bank. Up to that point the takeover was top secret.’ He paused, his reluctance apparent as he added, ‘Of the office staff here, you alone knew about this beforehand. And I know that a friend of yours works at the bank in question.’

      Eleri stared at him in bitter disbelief. ‘You really believe I would pass information to someone in a position to make use of it?’ Her eyes flashed coldly. ‘My friend would never do such a thing—even if I had been stupid enough to be so—so—’

      ‘Indiscreet?’

      ‘Unprincipled,’ she corrected stonily. ‘I told no one about the takeover, Mr Kincaid. No one. And I deeply resent your suspicions.’ She jumped to her feet, but he waved her back to her seat.

      ‘Sit down, please.’

      The outer door opened and Bruce Gordon, the technical director, came in like a whirlwind. ‘James, I need—’ He stopped suddenly as he looked from James Kincaid to Eleri. ‘Sorry.’

      ‘Give us a few minutes, Bruce,’ said James tersely, and the other man