A Yuletide Seduction. Carole Mortimer
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certainly didn’t envy Richard Warner his meeting with the older man tomorrow!
She reached out to squeeze his arm understandingly. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,’ she told him softly before straightening. ‘Now I have to be on my way—and I think you should go upstairs and give your lovely wife a hug! There’s a lot to be said for having a loyal wife and a beautiful family like you have, you know,’ she added gently, having no doubts that Felicity would stand by her husband, no matter what the outcome of his meeting with Gabriel Vaughan.
Richard looked at her blankly for several seconds, and then he laughed softly. ‘How right you are, Jane,’ he agreed lightly. ‘How right you are!’
She was well aware that it sometimes took someone outside the situation to remind one of how fortunate one was. And, no matter what happened tomorrow, this man would still have his beautiful wife and daughters, and their unborn child. And that was certainly a lot more than very many other people had.
And sometimes, Jane remembered bleakly as she left the house, all the positive things you thought you had in your life could be wiped out or simply taken away from you And a prime example of that had been this evening when Gabriel Vaughan had turned out to be the guest of honour at the Warners’ dinner party! She had worked so hard to build up this business, to build something for herself—she would not allow it all to be wiped out a second time!
It had not been a good evening for Jane. First that broken cup—which she would replace, despite Felicity’s protests that it wasn’t necessary—then Gabriel Vaughan coming into the kitchen: the very last man she’d ever wanted to see again! Ever! And Felicity, poor romantic Felicity, had given him Jane’s business card!
What else could possibly go wrong tonight?
She found that out a few minutes later—when her van wouldn’t start!
CHAPTER THREE
JANE almost choked over her morning mug of coffee! As it was, her hand shook so badly that she spilt some of that coffee onto the newspaper that lay open on the breakfast-bar in front of her, the liquid splashing onto the smiling countenance of the man’s face that had caused her to choke in the first place!
Gabriel Vaughan!
But then, nothing seemed to have gone right for her since meeting the man the evening before. It had been past one o’clock in the morning when she’d discovered her van wouldn’t start, and a glance towards the Warners’ house had shown her that it was in darkness. And, in the circumstances, Jane had been loath to disturb the already troubled couple. Besides, she had decided, if Richard Warner had any sense, he would be making love to his wife at this very moment—and she certainly had no inclination to interrupt that!
But it had been too late to contact a garage, and there had been no taxis cruising by in the exclusive suburb, and finding a public telephone to call for a taxi hadn’t proved all that easy to do, either. And when she’d come to leave the call box after making the call it was to find it had begun to rain. Not gentle, barely discernible rain, but torrents of it, as if the sky itself had opened up and dropped the deluge.
Tired, wet and extremely disgruntled, she had finally arrived back at her apartment at almost two-thirty in the morning. And opening her newspapers at nine o’clock the following morning, and being confronted by a photograph of a smiling Gabriel Vaughan, was positively the last thing she needed!
This was the time of day when she allowed herself a few hours’ relaxation. First she would go for her morning run, collecting her newspaper, and freshly baked croissants from her favourite patisserie on the way back. She had made a career out of cooking for other people, but she wasn’t averse to sampling—and enjoying—other people’s cooking in the privacy of her own home. And François’s croissants, liberally spread with butter and honey, melted in the mouth.
But not this morning. She hadn’t even got as far as taking her first mouthful, and now she had totally lost her appetite. And all because of Gabriel Vaughan!
She would never see him again, she had assured herself in the park earlier as her feet pounded on the pathway as she ran, slender in her running shorts and sweatshirt, her hair tied back with a black ribbon. As far as she was aware, the man had only paid brief visits to England over the last three years, and just because he had rented an apartment for three months that didn’t mean he would actually stay that long. Once his business with Richard Warner had reached a suitable conclusion—to Gabriel Vaughan’s benefit, of course!—he would no doubt be returning to America. And staying there, Jane hoped!
But this photograph in this morning’s newspaper—of Gabriel with a dazzling blonde clinging to his arm—had been taken while at a weekend party given by a popular politician. It seemed to imply that his rare visits to this country in recent years had in no way affected his social popularity when he was here.
Jane stood up impatiently, her relaxation totally ruined for this morning. Damn the man! He had helped ruin her life once—she couldn’t allow him to do it again, not when she had worked so hard to make a life and career for Jane Smith.
Jane Smith.
Yes, that was who she was now.
She drew in a deeply controlling breath, forcing back the panic and anger, bringing back the calm that had become such a necessary part of her for the last few years, reaching out as she did so to close the newspaper, not taking so much as another glance at the photograph that had so disturbed her minutes ago.
She had a job to do, another dinner party to arrange for this evening, and the first thing on her list of things to do was to check with the garage she had called earlier, and see if they had had any luck in starting her van. If it wasn’t yet fixed she would have to hire alternative transport for the next few days.
Yes, she had a business to run, and she intended running it!
Despite Gabriel Vaughan.
Or in spite of him!
‘Hell, I hate these damned things! If you’re there, Jane Smith, pick up the damned receiver!’
Jane reached out with trembling fingers and switched off the recorded messages on her answer machine, quickly, as if the machine itself were capable of doing her harm. Which, of course, it wasn’t. But the recorded message of that impatient male voice—even though the man hadn’t given his name but had slammed the receiver down when he received no reply to his impatience—was easily recognisable as being that of Gabriel Vaughan.
She had telephoned the garage before taking her shower, had been informed that it would be ready for collection in half an hours’ time, once they had replaced the old and worn battery. Then she’d showered quickly before switching on her answer machine as she usually did when she had to go out.
She had only been out of her apartment for an hour, but the flashing light on the answer machine had told her she had five messages. The first two had been innocuous enough—enquiries about bookings, which she would deal with before she went out to collect her supplies for this evening’s dinner party. But the third call—! He didn’t even need to say who it was—she could recognise that Transatlantic drawl anywhere!
It wasn’t even twelve hours since she had left the Warners’ home; the damned man had left no time at all before trying to contact her again!
What did he want?
Whatever it was, she wasn’t interested. Not on a personal or professional level. On a personal level, he was the last man she wanted anything to do with, and the same applied on a professional level. For the same reason. The less contact she had with Gabriel Vaughan—on any level—the better she would like it.
That decision made, she decided to totally ignore the call, pretend it never happened. After all, he hadn’t left a name or contact number, just those few words of angry impatience.
Having so decided, she reached out to switch the machine back on. After all, she had a business to run.
‘Jane!