скачать книгу бесплатно
Emma swallowed down her disappointment and hurt and tried to rally her spirits, despite feeling like an ant that had just been stamped on by an elephant. ‘I have feelings too, Lawrence. I tried to explain to you that I needed more time. You tell me you want us to be closer, yet you go to bed with someone else at the first opportunity? I really don’t understand.’
‘I’m sorry I hurt you, angel. Please, don’t be angry with me. I know it’s hard for you to understand but a man has needs. You must realise I wouldn’t be interested in any other girl at all if you would just allow yourself to be a little more intimate with me.’
Telling herself she was too damn forgiving for her own good, Emma wished she didn’t suddenly feel like crying…and she still hadn’t managed to give Lawrence the bad news yet. ‘Anyway, I did manage to see your father.’
‘I knew you would.’ His hand moved up from her shoulder to settle briefly at the side of her cheek. ‘So…how did it go?’
‘Not good, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh?’ Moving away from Emma, Lawrence strode back across the room to the sofa and stood in front of it with his arms folded across his bare chest.
‘I’m afraid he won’t help.’ Hating the fact she was forced to state things so baldly, Emma chewed down anxiously on her lip, fielding the hurt she already saw reflected in the dazzling blue irises and wishing there was some way she could eradicate it forever.
‘You explained everything to him? That I wanted to make a new start down in Cornwall? That I wouldn’t bother him again if he helps me out just this one last time?’
‘Lawrence, I did my best, I really did, but he was resolute. Nothing I said seemed to reach him.’
‘Then you clearly didn’t try hard enough!’ His lips twisting in a scowl, Lawrence glared at Emma as if she were solely responsible for the predicament he found himself in. As his words scorched into her brain, Emma stared back at him, feeling as if she’d just received a sudden, unexpected blow to the head.
‘What did you say?’ Nervously, she wove her hand through her shoulder-length hair then pulled it free again.
‘You know how desperate I am!’
That was it, Emma told herself soothingly. He was only angry with her because he felt so desperate. When he calmed down, everything would be right again between them. But beneath her own assurance another feeling was rising, one that resembled something very close to resentment. Many of her friends—and she herself—had come from far more difficult situations and not everyone had had the cushion of comfort to fall back on that Lawrence had had. Was he right to always expect his father to bail him out of trouble? When did the boy become an adult and start to look after himself?
Glancing at the tall, blond, handsome youth who graced her living-room, Emma experienced a sudden surge of shame that she was silently giving vent to some not so nice feelings about him. It was the ordeal she’d been through, she told herself. It was having Piers Redfield look at her as if he wanted to manoeuvre her up against a wall and take her there and then in his office, with the Lord Mayor’s procession weaving through the streets and his staff hanging out of the windows to watch it. Her body throbbed with shameful heat at the thought.
‘I’m really sorry that your father won’t help but maybe there’s another way? Between us we must be able to come up with something.’ Forever hopeful, Emma tried to smile consolingly but she could hardly bring herself to look Lawrence in the eye with the thoughts that were currently scorching her brain. Some friend she was.
‘Bastard!’ Without a thought for Emma’s furniture, Lawrence kicked the leg of the coffee-table and sent the glass bowl containing the fruit skidding along its polished surface.
‘Lawrence!’
‘I suppose he gave you a lecture on how irresponsible and selfish I was? How I don’t deserve help because I’m such a dismal failure? Then I suppose he told you how many jobs he’d got me interviews for, how many I didn’t turn up to or left after a few days? How I’m always coming up with crazy schemes that go nowhere instead of knuckling down to some ‘‘honest hard work’’?’
‘He didn’t run you down to me.’ Distressed by his anger, Emma crossed the room to go to him but he shrugged her off when she reached out to comfort him and glared at her instead.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ His eyes wild, he shook his head. ‘You’re supposed to be my friend. You know how desperate I’ve been. You may not mind living in this dump but I do mind! I’d do anything to get out of it…anything! Why couldn’t you have persuaded him to help me?’
‘Persuaded him?’ Her dark eyes huge, Emma stared back at Lawrence in stunned disbelief. ‘What do you mean, persuaded him?’
‘You’re a pretty girl, nice breasts, long legs, soft voice… It can’t have been beyond you to try and convince him, can it?’
She felt sick. The room seemed to lurch crazily as all her blood rushed to her head, and she remembered Piers asking her, ‘Are you my reward?’ Had he guessed right? Had Lawrence expected her to get intimate with his father so that he would help him out? Could her so-called friend really be that ruthless? The thought was so stunningly outrageous that Emma could hardly find words to express her disgust. ‘Get out,’ she said, her teeth gritted.
‘Yeah, well.’ Pushing his fingers defiantly through his dishevelled blond hair, Lawrence appeared unaffected by her distress. ‘I worry about you, you know, Emma? It’s unnatural not to be interested in sex. The only reason Vicky or Nicky, or whatever her name is, is upstairs in my bed is because you’re so damned frigid! Either that or you’re a lesbian and you haven’t told me.’
‘I think you’ve said quite enough for one day.’ Her back stiff, Emma walked to the already opened door and held it wide. Biting her lip to stop it from quivering, she watched, chilled, as Lawrence swept past her without another word then pounded up the linoleum-covered stairs to his flat. When he’d gone, she quietly closed her door and leaned back against it with her eyes shut tight.
‘You wouldn’t be the first misguided fool to fall for his dubious charm,’ his father had said, and at the time Emma had believed him to be judging his son completely unfairly. But this was the first time she’d really let him down, she realised. Usually when Lawrence asked a favour of her, she endeavoured to deliver it. Disappointment in her failure to come up with the goods this time must have soured his supposed affection for her—so much so that he couldn’t even pretend to be civil. Now she was left with the knowledge that at least his equally ruthless father had been expressing an honest belief when he’d suggested that Lawrence had sent Emma to use her charms to persuade him to cough up financially.
Her stomach churning, Emma pushed away from the door and glanced disconsolately at the clock on the mantel. She had just a couple of hours before she had to be at work and right now she needed a shower to scrub away the taint of the day, though she seriously doubted if she’d ever be able to forget the humiliating events of today. The way she was feeling it would be very easy to blame herself for being such a disappointment to both Redfields. She wasn’t sophisticated or clever enough to command genuine regard the way some more worldly women could and consequently she’d allowed both men to treat her with disrespect. Though she wasn’t entirely sure that gazing at someone as if they urgently needed to be alone with you in the most intimate way could really be construed as demonstrating disrespect… Remembering the almost overwhelming pull of attraction she had shockingly experienced when she’d looked back into Piers Redfield’s disturbingly blue gaze, Emma felt herself grow hot with shame. She had no business lusting after Lawrence’s father—however attractive or compelling he might be—and the sooner she put him out of her mind and got back to reality, the better.
Piers had dinner at his club, enjoyed a glass of his favourite French cognac with an old business associate, then got Miles, his driver, to take him home. But once home in the large five-bedroomed Victorian house on the outskirts of Hampstead Heath, he prowled the huge drawing-room then the impressively stocked library with little enthusiasm or interest, a restlessness in his blood that he could neither restrain nor deny. His mind all but drove him crazy with the memory of Emma Robards telling him that he didn’t deserve to be a father because he wouldn’t help Lawrence and had made a pass at her instead.
Her comment had touched him in a very raw place—an old wound made up of guilt and regret. He’d carefully erected layers of skin as tough as steel around it to stop it from hurting him. But as he recalled it now, it did hurt him. Lawrence might have made a hash of his life so far in terms of getting his act together, but was that really so deserving of Piers’s contempt? Was it the boy’s fault that his mother had tried to make up for the lack of his father’s input by spoiling him rotten and endeavouring to meet every whim and want with meticulous regularity to make up for Piers’s absence? Thereby creating an individual just about as selfish as he could be.
‘And was it my fault that I was away from home too much because I was trying to build a firm foundation for my family’s future? Did Naomi really believe I just did it all for myself?’ Piers stalked the floor of the library, his hands alternately deep in his pockets and raking frustratedly through his hair. Emma Robards had opened a can of worms, that was what she’d done. Who the hell did she think she was, stealing into his office uninvited, practically demanding that he finance Lawrence’s latest crazy business venture just because they were related by blood?
Recalling those bewitching honey-brown eyes of hers with no difficulty at all, along with the unexpectedly sensual touch of her skin when she had laid her hand across his, Piers silently conceded that he was both intrigued and more than a little attracted to his son’s girlfriend. Emma Robards had the kind of chutzpah he admired but she was surely on a lost cause if she was hoping to win Lawrence’s undying gratitude for what she’d dared. Piers knew his own son and it didn’t take much imagination to work out that when Emma had returned home empty-handed—with no promise of his help, either financial or otherwise—gratitude would be the last thing on Lawrence’s mind. He was like a child who’d received every Christmas present he’d ever dreamed of, but still expected there to be one more. No, if Piers wasn’t mistaken, the daring Miss Robards would have received nothing more than the raw edge of his son’s tongue for her troubles. He almost felt sorry for her. What was she doing with a loser like Lawrence anyway?
Piers swore harshly beneath his breath. It had become all too easy to berate his own flesh and blood. Still, he probably deserved it. Especially after this last little stunt, sending his girlfriend to do his dirty work. Well, this time Piers would pay him back and make him think twice about resorting to such a stunt again. He would help him one last time, he concluded, but in return he wouldn’t hesitate to seduce Emma Robards. He’d show his irresponsible son that when it came to matters of strategy, he’d better sharpen his game if he wanted to play with the big boys. As he warmed to the idea, he drove his hand impatiently through his hair one last time then stalked determinedly from the room. In the stunning entrance hall with its black and white tiles and crystal chandelier suspended from the high ceiling, Piers grabbed up his coat from the hall-stand and went out into the cold, rainy night to hail a cab.
‘Sorry, Liz. I don’t know what’s the matter with me this evening.’ As Emma stooped to pick up the pieces of broken glass from the kitchen floor, Liz Morrison—friend and co-owner with her husband, Adam, of the bistro known as The Avenue—dropped down to help her. Her smooth forehead wrinkled with concern when she noticed that the younger woman’s hands were trembling.
‘What’s wrong, my love? Has someone upset you? Those lads are a bit rowdy out there tonight but they’re celebrating a friend’s promotion. Did one of them say something to you?’
‘No, it wasn’t them. I’m just feeling a little on edge, that’s all. Don’t worry.’ Getting to her feet, Emma briskly deposited the broken glass into a nearby bin. ‘It’ll pass.’
‘Want to go home early? I can get Louise to stay a bit later to help out.’
‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Really.’
But even as she automatically recited the words, Emma knew she was nowhere near fine. Not after that horrible incident with Lawrence this evening, and the earlier more embarrassing one with his father. It hurt when illusions were destroyed and tonight she’d discovered that Lawrence Redfield wasn’t the friend that she’d thought him to be. He’d clearly only used her friendship to advance his own ends, and now all Emma wanted to do was curl up into a tight little ball and make the world go away for a very long time until she felt right again. Only she couldn’t do that. She had a life and a job to do, and Liz Morrison had been too good to her for Emma to let her down just because her feelings had been hurt. Smoothing down her neat black skirt then adjusting the matching velvet ribbon on her pony-tail, Emma forced a smile, picked up a tray of glasses to take out to the bar, and headed for the double doors that led into the restaurant.
Liz’s hand on her wrist took her by surprise.
‘You need a break. Everyone else has taken holidays except you. You haven’t even marked out dates on the calendar. I don’t flatter myself that work here is so compelling you can’t tear yourself away, so what’s up, Emma? You can talk to me, can’t you?’
Liz Morrison was like a surrogate mother as well as a friend. Her daughter, Fleur, had gone to school with Emma, and when Fleur departed to Paris to start her career as a very junior dress designer in one of the big fashion houses, Emma had become even more like a second daughter to Liz and Adam. Looking into her concerned, attractive face now, Emma lifted her shoulders and dropped them again.
‘I made a fool of myself, Liz, that’s all. I’ll get over it. And as far as holidays go—well, I just haven’t sorted anything out yet.’ Only that wasn’t strictly true either, Emma thought disconsolately. The plain fact of the matter was that she wasn’t in a financial position to take a break. Although she got paid holidays, Emma relied heavily on tips to boost her income, and with her grandmother’s operation coming up and all the improvements that needed to be made to her house if she was to return home there afterwards, she needed as much money as she could get. The local authority would only give her a grant for some very basic improvements—the rest, family were supposed to supply. And, as Emma was the only family Helen Robards now had contact with, the responsibility fell to her. Not that Emma minded—far from it. Her grandmother was the one person in all the world who loved her unconditionally and Emma would do anything in her power to bring a little more ease to her life.
‘Well, you need to make taking a holiday a priority. Even if all you do is stay at home and potter. You’re looking tired. You spend most of your time out of work caring for your gran. I know she’s been seriously ill but it isn’t right that you should be totally responsible for her care. I’m not a fool, Emma. I know she needs a lot of care and that it’s draining you, both physically and financially.’
It was impossible to prevent the wave of self-conscious heat that flooded her cheeks at Liz’s perceptive comment. She did feel drained. But what could she do about it when there was no one else to share the burden of her grandmother’s care?
‘I won’t pretend it’s not tough sometimes but she’s my only family, Liz. Yes, I’d love a holiday but right now it’s not an option. Not even remotely.’
Liz smiled in understanding. ‘I’m not getting on to you, Emma, love. I’m just concerned. Still worried about Gran’s operation?’
Emma nodded, yet couldn’t help smiling at the thought of her grandmother’s determination to get better. ‘She’s tough though, you know? She’ll be OK. And if it makes you feel any better I’ll book some time off in a fortnight. That’s a week before the op, and I can be with Gran and keep an eye on her before she goes into hospital.’
‘Well, if either of you needs anything—anything at all—you must let me know. Promise?’
‘Promise. But you’re too good to me, you know that?’
‘Someone’s got to look out for you, love. Now, you’d better go and help Lorenzo in the bar or he’ll be in here screaming for those glasses any second now!’
An hour later, Emma glanced up from stacking glasses behind the bar and froze. Staring back at her from the doorway where he had just come in from the cold, Piers Redfield’s burning blue gaze closed the distance between them as though they stood head to head. She almost dropped another glass in her bid to extricate herself from the intensity of his examination, glancing helplessly at the handsome Lorenzo as he stood by her side humming along to the music that was playing softly, but unable to find words to elucidate her distress. What on earth was he doing here? Had Lawrence sent him? Had Piers decided to press charges or something equally horrendous because Emma had had the audacity to inveigle her way into his private office?
Finally realising they had another customer and before Emma could find her voice, Lorenzo dashed out from behind the bar to greet the imposing-looking man in the damp trenchcoat, speaking to him enthusiastically in his drawling Italian accent as Emma looked on, aghast. Then, shaking Piers’s hand and taking his coat, he led him to a secluded table for two in one of the dimly lit recesses with their dark oak seating. He laughed at something Piers said as he bent his head briefly to light the lone white candle in the centre of the table. Emma’s stomach knotted with deep foreboding. She noted a couple of women at one of the nearby tables glance across the almost full restaurant at Piers. Bending their heads, they whispered something and giggled. It didn’t take a genius to guess what had just passed between them. Piers was easily the most attractive and dynamic-looking man in the room, and Emma didn’t suppose there were too many crowded restaurants where that wouldn’t be the case.
Taking a deep lungful of air, she busied herself with drying glasses until Lorenzo hung up Piers’s coat then returned to the bar.
‘Emma, can you take the man in the corner a menu, please?’
It wasn’t like her to be so slow on the uptake but then it wasn’t every night she had a good reason to hang back. Her nervous brown eyes glanced helplessly into Lorenzo’s deep black. ‘Can’t you do it? I’m—I’m busy with these glasses.’
The young Italian restaurant manager shook his head in clear disapproval. ‘First you break all my glasses then you refuse to serve a customer. What is wrong with you this evening, Emma?’
A fierce blush coloured her otherwise pale cheeks. ‘I’m not refusing to serve anybody, I’m just busy doing something else.’
Without a word, Lorenzo reached for something on the corner of the bar and dropped a leather-bound menu into her hands. ‘Enough of this nonsense! Take the man a menu and for the love of God look happy about it!’
Now she knew how those French aristocrats must have felt on their way to the guillotine. Her legs almost buckling beneath her, Emma took her time negotiating her way past tables, a smile fixed on her face that felt more like a mask. When she reached Piers’s table, she held out the menu and lost the smile altogether.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her voice barely above a strangled whisper. Completely unfazed, Piers took the menu without a word and opened it. Pretending interest, he idly flipped through the beautifully bound pages and smiled. It was the smile of a big cat that had just cornered his prey and was now toying with it before the inevitable took place.
‘I heard this was a good place to eat. What would you recommend this evening?’
‘You haven’t really come here to eat at all, have you?’ Her anxious glance suddenly trapped by his remarkable blue eyes, Emma’s stomach clenched painfully. Soundlessly closing the menu then placing it carefully down on the table, Piers linked his hands together and considered her with all the serious deliberation of a judge about to pronounce sentence.
‘Astute as well as daring. You’re a constant surprise, Miss Robards.’
‘What’s this all about? Why have you come here? Did Lawrence send you?’
‘Now, why would he do that?’
To punish me…to make me suffer because I didn’t get him what he wanted… Emma put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from pleading with him to go away and leave her alone. Already Lorenzo was looking over at her from the bar, a suspicious frown between his smooth black brows. ‘I don’t know. Why would a Redfield do anything?’
‘Is that an insult I hear in your voice, Emma? You don’t mind if I call you Emma?’
‘Please.’ Nervously running her hand across her hair, she leant closer, her words intended for his ears only. ‘If you’re angry with me for coming to see you on Lawrence’s behalf, I’m very sorry. If you want to know the truth, I regret every second and I swear to you it will never happen again. Now, will you please go before my manager gets even more suspicious?’
‘You’re right. I didn’t come here to eat.’ Before she realised his intention, Piers had snagged her hand and held it, a glimmer in the seductive depths of those deeply crystalline blue eyes that sent Emma’s heart racing in a futile search for somewhere to hide. His touch made her hot all over and the faint musky tang of his aftershave enveloped her in a sudden paroxysm of fear and anticipation. ‘I went to see Lawrence. He told me you worked here. You and I have to talk.’
‘Why did he tell you where I work? What do you want from me, Mr Redfield? Please tell me quickly so that I can get back to work.’ She snatched her hand away and rubbed it as if to erase his touch.
Piers frowned. He wasn’t used to women responding to him in such a negative way and, frankly, it irked him. Did she still nurse hopes for herself and Lawrence? Was that the way of it? If so, she was on a hiding to nothing because when Lawrence had answered the door to him earlier, his errant son had clearly had company. Company of the bedroom kind—a cute little blonde with an impish smile and breasts to write eulogies to if that tight red dress she’d been wearing was any true indication of the facts. After he’d agreed to furnish Lawrence with twice the amount he needed to set up in Cornwall, his son would have told Piers anything he cared to know. It had been easy to get him to reveal the name and location of the bistro where his pretty neighbour worked. Lawrence himself had mentioned it during the course of their conversation—no doubt to lessen Emma’s appeal by revealing that she was a waitress and not in a league his father would be interested in. ‘Why would a Redfield do anything?’ Emma had suspiciously asked… Why indeed? Perhaps ruthlessness ran in the blood after all?
Now, as he sat staring up at the beautiful girl his son had thought to use to further his own ends, Piers felt that same blood in his veins heat and slow with all the excitement and anticipation of fierce desire. All the aces were on his side if he played his cards right, and if she was sweet to him Piers would reward her with anything her little heart desired…
‘What time do you finish?’
Emma reluctantly told him.
‘I’ll wait and take you home. It’ll have to be a cab; my driver’s gone home for the night.’
‘Your driver?’
‘Chauffeur, then. Anyway, as I said, I’ll wait and take you home, then we can talk.’
‘No!’
‘No?’
‘I mean, I don’t want you to wait and take me home and I definitely don’t want to talk to you, Mr Redfield! What can you possibly have to say to me that would be of interest? I’ve already apologised for sneaking into your office; what more do you want?’
His blue eyes went so dark that Emma stepped back from the table as though a hot lick of flame had suddenly scorched her tender skin. Her blush was so deep she felt sure everyone in the room must notice it. In fact Lorenzo was headed her way right this second—no doubt angry that she seemed to be antagonising his customer—because it was plain to see that Piers wasn’t smiling.
‘Is everything all right?’ He specifically addressed Piers, but his suspicious gaze broke away for all of a couple of seconds to silently rebuke Emma.
‘Everything is fine. Grazie.’ To her amazement, Piers started to converse with Lorenzo in what sounded like flawless Italian and the younger man, obviously delighted and surprised, responded enthusiastically in his native tongue as though they were long-lost buddies. Relieved that Lorenzo wasn’t about to berate her in front of Piers, Emma moved to make herself scarce, and was shocked when Lorenzo waved her commandingly into the seat opposite Piers and all but pushed her down into it.
‘I am cross with you, Emma, that you didn’t tell me that this man was your fiancé! Even if you had a fight you must not keep such secrets from me, huh? I am your friend as well as your manager.’
‘But he’s not my—’
Beneath the table Piers gave her ankle a sharp kick. Glaring at him with pointed little daggers of pure dislike, Emma wondered what the hell he thought he was playing at. Of all the things he could have said, what on earth had possessed him to tell Lorenzo that they were engaged to be married?
CHAPTER THREE
‘I WILL bring that bottle of wine pronto! Emma, you must take the rest of the evening off. Scusi, Mr Redfield, I will be back in a moment.’
When they were alone, Emma struggled for all of two seconds to contain the anger that was threatening to burst like a dam.
‘How dare you lie to him? How will I explain to him later that it was just some kind of sick joke? I don’t know what you’re playing at, Mr Redfield, but whatever it is I don’t want any part of it!’
‘For your information, Miss Robards, I’m not playing. When I see something I want I cut right to the chase—whatever it takes. Do I make myself clear?’ His penetrating gaze signalled his seriousness and Emma felt her stomach flip over in fright. Was he saying that he wanted her? What had she done to warrant such unasked-for attention? This man was rich beyond imagining and could clearly have any woman he set his sights on—so why had he set his sights on her? An insignificant little waitress who’d championed his son’s cause because he was in need and she’d mistakenly believed he was a true friend.
‘It’s not clear at all.’ Her face burning, Emma fiddled with the little silver napkin ring in front of her. ‘I don’t know what you want from me.’ Finally risking a direct glance, she saw a corner of his mouth hitch up slightly into what could be the beginnings of a smile—only she wasn’t entirely sure. Everything about him inspired awe, from the width of those amazing shoulders in his exquisitely tailored suit, to the clean-cut edge of his hard, chiselled jaw and those scintillating eyes that clearly didn’t miss a trick. Imagining him as chairman of the board at meetings with the country’s most prominent and influential businessmen and entrepreneurs, Emma knew there’d be a respectful hush when he entered the room.
‘Your attention is what I want, Emma.’
‘And you had to tell Lorenzo you were my fiancé to get it?’
‘Whatever it takes, remember? How old are you?’ he asked, amused.
‘Twenty-five.’ Her guard down, Emma widened her dark eyes in puzzlement. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because you look more like nineteen. Tell me. Are you serious about Lawrence?’
The steely muscles that made up the hard wall of his stomach actually clenched as Piers waited for her to answer. Her features were compellingly beautiful, with skin as fine and pale as alabaster and eyes and lips a man could happily gaze at until he grew old—yet she was also possessed of an extraordinary innocence that intrigued Piers even more. He could hardly believe she didn’t know what kind of effect she could have on a man, but that was the impression he was getting. Look at him, he thought wryly. Just one encounter with her and he’d gone against all his principles and signed Lawrence a cheque for a ridiculous amount to set up some pie-in-the-sky little venture that was surely doomed to failure before it even started. He’d have been better off just throwing his money into an incinerator.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Flushing, Emma glanced up almost with relief as Lorenzo descended upon them, flourishing a bottle of the best red wine in the house. Addressing Piers, the young Italian poured the wine, all the while chattering away in his native tongue, then left them to, ‘Enjoy, enjoy!’ with a final departing wink in Emma’s direction and a too knowing smile as he slid behind the bar again.
His fingers sliding around the stem of his wineglass, Piers continued to survey her with an unnerving intensity that made it difficult to corral her thoughts. ‘Would you be heartbroken if you didn’t see him again?’
