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‘It could be.’ Janie gave a little shake of her head. ‘I’m sure Gerard would rather be here, fighting, than coming back to salvage what he can from the wreckage. For that’s all there’d be, and you can ask Graham if you don’t believe me.’
‘Oh, I believe you,’ Lisle said bitterly. ‘I believe you only too well. The Allard man looks capable of anything.’
‘And in this case appearances aren’t deceptive,’ Janie said grimly. ‘According to all reports, he’s fought his way single-handed up a very steep ladder, and you don’t do that these days without stepping on a number of faces.’
‘By the look of him, he’s also been trodden on in his time,’ Lisle said caustically. ‘I’d like to shake the hand of the man who did it.’
‘I don’t recommend it.’ Janie shot her a minatory glance. ‘My advice is to forget that you don’t find him the flavour of the month—particularly if he’s going to be a force to be reckoned with in Harlow Bannerman. Graham says that Jake Allard can be a good friend—but a very bad enemy.’
‘Indeed?’ Lisle had discarded the black dress by now, and was pulling a cashmere sweater over her head to match the olive green corded jeans. She tugged the sweater into place, and raked her fingers carelessly through the heavy waves of copper hair, pushing it back into shape. ‘Well, perhaps he’ll discover the same can be said of me.’ She cast a swift glance over the contents of the case and remembered her toilet bag from the bathroom. ‘He doesn’t frighten me,’ she flung over her shoulder as she went to the door.
Jake Allard was coming down the passage, glass in hand. There was no way he couldn’t have heard her last remark, and his teeth glinted momentarily in a faint, hard smile as he held the glass out to her.
‘Your brandy, Miss Bannerman, or perhaps the need for it has passed.’
She said curtly, ‘Yes, it has,’ and went on down the passage to the bathroom.
It was unoccupied, and obeying an impulse she hardly understood, she closed the door behind her, and shot the small bolt, shutting herself in away from the rest of the world. There was a mixture of exotic scents in the warm air, and several of the towels lay damp and crumpled on the floor. Automatically she retrieved them, straightening them and returning them to the heated handrail. There were mirrors everywhere and she seemed to catch sight of herself in them all, a myriad reflections of Lisle, two bright spots of colour in her pale face, her green eyes glittering like a cat’s.
She’d spoken brave words, but they had been a lie. Of course she was frightened, with a deep gut-wrenching panic which was totally outside her experience. She felt as if every prop and stay to her security were being knocked away one by one, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
She sank down on the high-backed wicker chair and tried to think, to reason out everything which had happened in the past hour.
Grandfather, she had been told, could be dying, but then his doctors had written him off before, and been wrong. As Janie had said, Murray Bannerman was immortal. He didn’t believe in illness, or particularly in safeguarding his health against the march of time either.
‘If you lived as these damned medicos want you to, you might as well be dead,’ he had growled testily more than once.
The doctors grumbled too about his refusal to follow their advice, his frankly avowed aversion to hospitals, They complained it was impossible to give him the treatment he needed, but Lisle knew that secretly they admired his stubbornness and his fighting spirit.
She tried to imagine life without him—Harlow Bannerman without him, and the exhilarating boardroom battles he had always enjoyed. She had often felt he secretly relished the covert sniping between Gerard and Oliver Grayson, but she had never until then doubted for a moment whose side he would be on if ever the chips were down.
Now she was not so sure.
Jake Allard at the Priory—on a private visit. And just what discussions had gone on under the shelter of that privacy? she wondered desperately. It was surely beyond coincidence that all this should have taken place when Gerard was safely out of the way, so what could her grandfather have been thinking of?
She would have to telephone Gerard somehow, get him back into the country before it was too late.
He’d covered his tracks well if Jake Allard had failed to find him, she thought, but it was hardly surprising. Harry Foxton wasn’t over-jealous, or particularly suspicious, but he was no fool either, and any hint that Gerard and Carla were enjoying a break from a damp English autumn on the same Caribbean island would set all kinds of alarm bells ringing. Few men with very attractive wives trusted Gerard, she was forced to admit.
But it wasn’t altogether his fault, she thought loyally. Since childhood, he had always been too–good-looking and possessed of far too much charm for his own good. His hair was darker than hers—a kind of rich chestnut, and his eyes were bluer, and he had the look of a young Renaissance prince. Women had begun drooling over him in his pram, and almost before he had left adolescence the admiring looks had become frankly speculative. It was like letting a child loose in a sweetshop, Lisle thought ruefully. And so far he had shown no sign of surfeit ….
She sighed. She knew the fact that Gerard had laughed to scorn any idea that he should settle down and give some thought to the next generation of Bannermans had distressed her grandfather. Murray Bannerman believed in the family, and the stability of marriage. He had said openly that a wife and child might give Gerard the sense of responsibility he so often seemed to lack, and yet at the same time he usually greeted the rumour of some new romantic adventure by his grandson with a muttered, ‘The young dog!’ and a hoarse chuckle.
Lisle’s attitude to Gerard’s constant affairs fell a long way short of approval, but he was her older brother, and although there was now no trace of the hero-worship with which she had regarded him when they were much younger, she loved him and made mental excuses for his faults, even when his selfishness and lack of consideration impinged upon herself.
And if there was to be a battle between him and Jake Allard for the control of Harlow Bannerman, she would be fighting at Gerard’s side all the way, she told herself angrily.
Someone rattled the bathroom door and retreated with a muffled curse, and Lisle started to her feet, seizing her brown quilted bag and filling it rapidly with essential toilet items. She wondered how long she would be staying at the Priory. Until. … Her mind closed down, refusing to admit the rest of the thought.
Her only comfort as she unbolted the door and went slowly back to the bedroom was that Murray was a fighter too.
Janie was alone when she went in, and she looked at her, a mute question in her eyes.
‘He’s gone to get his car.’ She zipped the case shut and held it out to Lisle. ‘You’ll need a jacket or something.’
‘Yes.’ She had a new one, dark brown supple suede with a deep fur trim on the collar and cuffs, and now seemed as good a time as any to wear it. She needed the reassurance that something new, expensive and glamorous could give her.
She swung her bag over her shoulder, draped the coat over her arm and picked up her case. Janie followed her out of the room and along to the front door. Lisle gave her a taut smile.
‘Perhaps you should get back to our guests,’ she said, ‘before they drink us dry and start wrecking the place.’
Janie nodded, biting her lip. She said gently, ‘Take it easy, love. Remember what I said.’
‘I’m not likely to forget it,’ Lisle said ruefully.
As she pushed open the glass door and emerged on to the street, the car pulled up at the kerbside, and Jake Allard got out. He opened the passenger door, and stood impassively, waiting for her to cross the pavement to his side, the slight chill of the breeze ruffling the thick blackness of his hair.
Lisle had to force herself to move. She felt drained of strength so that walking became almost an effort of will alone. The only thing which kept her from falling down was the sure and certain knowledge of who would pick her up again, because, crazily, the prospect of being touched by him was suddenly the worst threat of all.
When he reached for her case, to stow it in the boot, she pretended she hadn’t seen the gesture, and put it down on the pavement in front of him instead. She was so uptight that even an accidental brush of fingers could well make her fall apart.
The car was capacious, the front seats well spaced, but when he closed her door and came round to take his place behind the wheel, she felt claustrophobic. She lifted a hand and eased the high collar of her sweater away from her tight throat, making herself breathe deeply.
Jake Allard gave her a frowning glance. ‘You should have had that brandy,’ he said curtly. ‘There’s a flask in the glove compartment.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said off the top of her voice, then added, ‘Thank you.’
‘You look like hell,’ he informed her brutally. ‘What good is it going to do Murray to see you like this? Or is he used to it?’
Lisle set her teeth. ‘If we could just go?’
She’d hoped, childishly, that he would turn out to be a lousy driver, flashy, aggressive and impatient with other motorists, but of course, he was none of those things. Of course. She sat, hating him, across London, glad to be able to build on her anger because it kept the anxiety at bay.
He didn’t say much. Once he asked her if she had any preference as to the route they took, and later, if she wanted some music.
She said, ‘The quickest, preferably,’ to the first question, and, ‘Yes, please,’ to the second. Otherwise there was silence, only faintly disguised by the music.
In other circumstances, in other company she would have enjoyed the tapes. They were obviously of his own devising, and expertly done, and she couldn’t fault the choices he’d made either, although she wasn’t familiar with them all. Jack Jones, she recognised, and Carly Simon and Judy Tzuke. With any other man, that could have been a talking point, the first tentative stage in an acquaintance that might or might not develop into a relationship. But not with this man.
Every word he had said to her, every look he had given her was etched on her mind, and the acid had bitten deep.
Darkness had closed around them, and the street lights dwindled as the roads narrowed into lanes.
Lisle sat up suddenly, peering around her. ‘This isn’t the way to the Priory.’
‘He isn’t at the Priory,’ he said shortly. ‘He’s in intensive care in hospital.’
Lisle’s hand stole to her lips, stifling a sharp sound of distress. She said, ‘He hates—machines.’
‘So I gathered.’ His tone was dry. ‘But this time it wasn’t up to him to decide. And considering it was a matter of life and death, it was probably just as well.’
She said sharply, ‘If Murray is going to die, which I don’t necessarily accept, then he’d rather it was with dignity in his own bed than strapped up to some—electronic miracle.’
‘And if the electronic miracle were to live up to its name and save him—how would you feel then?’
She sank back in her seat, biting her lip. In a low voice she said, ‘He’s an old man, and this isn’t the first attack he’s had. I don’t think I—believe in miracles.’
‘I’d be interested to know what beliefs you do hold, if any,’ said Jake Allard. ‘But that can wait. In the meantime, perhaps you could control your most obvious doubts, especially in front of Murray.’
‘Of course I will!’ she said indignantly. ‘What do you take me for?’ As soon as the words were spoken, she could have kicked herself.
She didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling.
‘Another point for discussion at a later date, Miss Bannerman.’
Her hands clenched in her lap, the nails curling involuntarily into her palms. Was it possible that Murray could trust this man, like him—even tolerate him?
She saw the lights of the hospital in the distance with a strong feeling of relief. She would soon be rid of him, she thought. No doubt he had come to fetch her to Murray’s bedside out of consideration for the older man, but as Murray’s collapse had necessarily curtailed the discussions they had been having, there was no reason for him to linger, as she was prepared to make more than clear.
As the car turned in between the tall gates, she said, ‘I’d be grateful if you could drop me at the main entrance.’
‘I hate to pass up a novelty like your gratitude,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t do as you request. I’m putting the car in the car park, and then we’re going in to see Murray together.’
Her voice shook with temper. ‘Forgive me, but aren’t you taking this togetherness thing a little too far? I’m sure you—intend to be kind,’ she added with heavy irony, ‘but from here on in, I’m sure Murray would prefer to see only members of his immediate family.’
‘Namely you and your brother, whenever he turns up.’ Jake Allard swung the car deftly into a spot between two other vehicles, and braked.
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’
He shook his head, as he switched off the lights and the ignition, and pocketed the keys. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as that, Miss Bannerman. There are other factors to be taken into account.’
‘Such as your overweening desire for control of Harlow Bannerman,’ Lisle asked sarcastically. ‘You can hardly badger Murray with business propositions now.’
‘I never did,’ he said flatly. ‘All the initial approaches have been made by him. Whatever your brother may choose to think, it’s Harlow Bannerman that needs Allard International at this juncture, and not the other way round. You’re a member of the company, Miss Bannerman, and a shareholder, presumably. Don’t you ever look at reports and balance sheets? I recommend that you do so, and in the near future. It could be instructive.’
She fumbled for the door catch, and the door swung open.
‘I don’t want to hear any more of this,’ she said, as she got out. ‘I’m going to see my grandfather. He’s all I need to know about right now.’
She had long legs and she strode out, hoping that he would take the hint and stay where he was, but when she reached the electronically operated sliding doors to the main foyer, he was beside her.
Lisle turned to him, her face frozen. ‘This is getting ridiculous.’
‘I quite agree,’ he said grimly. ‘Perhaps before you go rushing off in all directions to intensive care, you might care to listen to me for a moment. There’s something you ought to know.’
She looked up into the harshly unsmiling face, her green eyes widening. ‘There are—other complications? He can’t—oh God, he can’t be—dead already, and you haven’t told me?’
‘Of course not. But you’re right that there are complications—although it’s true to say that Murray is causing them, not suffering from them.’
Lisle felt unutterably weary. She slid a hand round the nape of her neck, freeing her heavy fall of copper hair from the confines of her coat collar.
‘All the complications seem to be in your head, Mr Allard. Could you explain more clearly, if you must, and a damned sight more quickly.’
‘Last time I gave you bad news, Miss Bannerman, you complained because I didn’t break it to you gently.’
‘Oh, I’m not listening to any more of this!’ Lisle turned away impatiently, but he detained her, taking her arm, not gently, and pulling her round to face him.
‘Yes, you are,’ he grated. ‘You’re going to listen, you spoiled little bitch, so that if Murray is conscious and able to speak, you’ll be able to tell him what he wants to hear.’
‘That I’m delighted he’s apparently selling out to you?’ Lisle demanded, green eyes sparkling. ‘The words would choke me.’
‘Then chew them well,’ he came back at her, his mouth twisting. ‘Because it’s no business deal he wants you to approve. What Murray’s waiting to hear is that I’ve asked you to marry me—and that you’ve agreed.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ue885cf81-97b1-5822-9665-485ebaad1f1f)
THERE was a long screaming silence.
At last, Lisle said huskily, ‘You—cannot be serious.’
Jake Allard said with a kind of weary impatience, ‘Is it likely I’d be joking—about such a thing—and at a time like this?’
She looked at him blankly. ‘But Murray couldn’t—he wouldn’t. …’
‘Wrong on both counts, I’m afraid.’ The grey eyes flickered over her, then still holding her arm Jake began to propel her towards some of the tan leather benches, placed back to back in the main reception area. He said abruptly, ‘Sit down. I’m going to phone up to the unit and see if they’re ready for us.’
Lisle was thankful to feel the solid support of the bench under her. Her mouth was dry and she was shaking from head to foot. She found herself thinking with sudden mocking clarity that if she collapsed, at least it would be in the right place. She placed her folded hands on her knees, and sat staring at them, noticing almost detachedly the white knuckles, the strained grip of the slender fingers. She felt shattered. Incapable of assimilating what Jake had said, or rationalising it.
It seemed a very long time before Jake came back, but she knew that in reality it was only a few minutes. She looked up at his dark face, mentally bracing herself for more bad news, more shocks, but his cool, guarded expression gave nothing away.
‘Sister says fifteen minutes. We’ll go to the cafeteria and wait there.’
She didn’t even think of protesting. She went with him across the foyer to the lifts. An elderly man holding a bunch of flowers, a youth, barely out of his teens by the look of him, with his arm tenderly round the shoulders of a massively pregnant girl were already waiting. As the lift began its upward journey, Lisle found her gaze straying constantly to the young couple. The girl’s left hand with its wide golden band lay protectively over her distended abdomen, and although she was clearly nervous, she was smiling up at her husband, her eyes bright with excitement and happiness.
Marriage, Lisle thought numbly, the ultimate partnership. Sharing a life, sharing a bed, conceiving a child in mutual passion, caring for it together ….
She glanced at Jake and found him watching her with such irony that her face was flooded with sudden, burning colour.
The cafeteria was a dazzle of bright lights, stainless steel, and red formica-topped tables with matching plastic seats. The coffee was surprisingly good and came in thick white institutional cups. Lisle refused anything to eat, but Jake bought a round of cheese sandwiches and ate them with every evidence of enjoyment. When he had finished, he pushed the plate away and looked at her.
‘For God’s sake stop staring at me as if you expect to be leapt upon at any moment,’ he said. ‘I promise you nothing could be further from my mind.’
‘I wasn’t!’ Lisle denied indignantly. ‘But you can’t expect to—to spring things on me like that and expect me to take it in my stride.’
‘I suppose not.’ He gave her a long, considering glance. ‘Well, Miss Bannerman, I think we’d better talk—or may I call you Lisle, seeing that we’re practically engaged.’
‘We are not engaged!’ Lisle returned her cup to its saucer with a bang that even put that sturdy china at risk. ‘I’d rather die!’
‘Death before dishonour?’ The firm lips curved in frank amusement. ‘That’s a curiously old-fashioned viewpoint.’
