Takeover Engagement. Elizabeth Duke
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He absorbed that for a moment. ‘And what else have you inherited from your mother?’ he asked, his lip quirking. ‘Perhaps you were named after her as well?’
Lucy hid a smile, a quiver flittering through her. So…he was trying to find out her name now, was he? ‘My mother’s name is Charlotte,’ she answered with a shake of her head. ‘Mine’s Lucy.’
‘Ah…Lucy. Pretty name.’ Instead of seizing the opportunity to introduce himself, he added musingly, ‘I knew a Charlotte once. Only to her family she was always known as Lottie.’
‘My mother doesn’t like being called Lottie. She prefers Charlotte.’ Lucy stole a look up at him. Was he asking all these questions—questions that couldn’t possibly be of any real interest to him—to avoid her asking questions of him?
‘Mmm…well, I can’t say I blame her.’ The crooked smile flashed briefly. ‘So tell me, Lucy…what have you inherited from your father? His temperament, perhaps?’
She drew in her lips, puzzled by some odd inflection in his voice. Or was it the way he was watching her, his narrowed eyes piercingly intent on her face? He could hardly be bowled over by her beauty…she wasn’t that good-looking!
‘I’m not sure I’ve inherited anything noticeable from my father at all,’ she said a trifle shakily. Her brother Mike, she mused, was more like her father. In looks and in temperament. Their father was a decent, amiable, good-natured man. Steady—some might say stolid—dependable, like a rock. A gentleman even during the difficult time of his separation from his wife after twenty-three years of marriage.
Maybe that was why she’d been initially attracted to David, Lucy reflected, because she’d wanted a steady, reliable man like her father. Only she was beginning to realise that wasn’t what she really wanted after all. Something—she wasn’t sure what—was missing.
A silence had fallen between them. The stranger seemed as lost in his own thoughts as she was in hers. But eventually he asked, ‘Was your mother a podiatrist too? Is that why you took it up?’
‘Heavens, no. My mother’s expertise lay in another direction entirely.’ Did he grill all the women he met, even strangers in lifts, about their family backgrounds? she found herself wondering idly. Was background-upbringing—pedigree—so important to him? Her lip curled. Judging by the fine cloth of his suit, his soft, cultured voice and his polished, imperious, almost arrogantly self-assured manner, his own background was impeccable. No doubt he’d been brought up to believe that background—privilege, wealth, success-meant everything.
Her voice cooled slightly. ‘I took on podiatry because my friend Gaby was studying it. She got me interested, and I thought…why not?’
‘Why not, indeed?’ If he’d noted any coolness in her tone he gave no sign of it. His mouth even curved into a quite devastating smile as he asked, ‘And your mother? Where did her expertise lie?’
Her eyes wavered. Though his tone was casual and the impact of his smile would have charmed a snake, there was something…Something that warned her not to be fooled. There’s more to all this probing, she thought with a frown, than a snobbish desire to check out a stranger’s pedigree…more to all these questions than a claustrophobic’s anxiety to keep the conversation rolling, I’ll swear it.
And then the answer struck her. ‘You are a psychiatrist!’ she burst out, a flash of turquoise brightening the blue of her eyes. It seemed the only logical explanation. ‘You’ve been secretly laughing at me all along, haven’t you? Well, you’ve finally given yourself away!’ she cried in triumph. ‘You’ve been asking too many questions. Shrinks simply can’t help themselves. They have to ask questions!’
He laughed…a short, sharp sound. To Lucy, it had a slightly hollow ring. ‘Oh, you know shrinks well, do you?’ His tone, his body language, everything about him—on the surface, at least—was relaxed enough, but she would have sworn that underneath he was irritated for some reason or tense about something. But what? Because she’d steered the conversation in a direction he didn’t want?
‘I’ve met a few shrinks in my time,’ she informed him, her chin jutting. ‘We had a psychiatric unit at the hospital where I used to work. Well, are you?’ It was about time she turned the tables and started firing a few questions at him for a change. ‘If not a psychiatrist…a psychologist?’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m neither…as I told you before. I’m just a boring run-of-the-mill businessman.’
A businessman, she could believe. A wealthy, successful one, she had no doubt. But boring? Run-of-themill? Hah!
‘What line of business?’ she asked, curious despite herself.
Before he had a chance to answer—assuming he’d been going to—the lift jolted and began to move.
‘They’ve fixed it!’ she cried unnecessarily. And added, with quick compassion, ‘Now you can breathe a bit easier.’
Instead of agreeing with her he responded in a lazy drawl, with a sardonic twist of his lip, ‘On the contrary…I was just beginning to enjoy myself.’
She shot him a quick look, and glimpsed again the dangerous gleam in his eye that had disturbed her earlier. Heat whipped into her cheeks. ‘I’m glad you managed to get your phobia under control,’ she said, her tone deliberately dry. She was beginning to wonder if it had ever existed in the first place.
‘Mmm…with your help.’ Was that a twinkle in his eye now? ‘You must admit it took your mind off your own…anxieties,’ he said smoothly as the lift came to a crunching halt at the sixth floor.
She gaped at him. Was he admitting he’d faked his phobia? She felt a stab of pique at being made a fool of, then stifled it, realising he had only done it to calm her, to give her something else to think about. Good psychology!
‘I take it all back,’ she said with a quick, contrite smile. ‘I think you might have made a good psychologist after all.’
‘You have a delightful smile.’ His eyes were on her mouth. ‘I thought you would.’
She looked away quickly, and immediately regretted it, feeling like kicking herself for reacting like a bashful schoolgirl. Why hadn’t she simply accepted the compliment, been gracious about it, and then dismissed it from her mind as she would have done with anyone else? What was it about this man that made her feel so…?What was it she felt? Vulnerable? Confused? Off-balance? All of those!
And then she remembered David. She hadn’t given him a thought, she realised contritely, for some time. Would he still be up here waiting for her?
She sighed. Highly unlikely! Not after all this time. He’d warned her…And this time, she knew, he’d meant it. By now he was probably already at the airport, or even boarding his plane right this minute, thinking she’d stood him up deliberately.
She swore under her breath as the heavy lift doors jerked open.
THEY had to announce themselves and wait to be inspected through a small glass aperture before the door to Kowalsky’s opened. Lucy was bristlingly aware of the dark stranger close behind her as she stepped inside.
It was more like a cluttered workroom than a display room, though there were glass display cases in evidence. Two men, one young, the other middle-aged, were bent over work benches, doing repair work or creating new pieces in the antique style for which Kowalsky was famous. A third man, an elderly, greyhaired man wearing thick bifocals, emerged from behind a large desk. There was no sign of David.
‘Mr Travers!’ The old man looked straight past her, his rather myopic gaze lighting up at the sight of the man behind her. ‘Good to see you again. Please…come in.’