Revenge By Seduction

Catriona wondered if she should be taking this seriously. Shouldn’t she just humour and play along with this eccentric but sweet old lady and then be on her way, having done her good deed for the day?

‘Aye. I suppose there’s something in that, Morag,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m not expecting a bed of roses.’ She finished her tea, then rose and said brightly, ‘Perhaps I will go to London. And if I do meet this wonderful man you say is waiting for me I’ll be sure to write and let you know.’

An odd little smile played on Morag’s lips. ‘There will be no need for that, Catriona. I’ll know well enough when it happens. Now you’d better go home and break the news to your parents.’

As things turned out she put off telling her parents until after supper that evening. Suddenly the only sound in the room was the heavy ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece as they both stared at her in silence.

She sighed. ‘Well, don’t look so surprised. You must know it’s been on my mind for some time.’

Her parents looked at each other in resignation, then her father nodded. ‘Aye, lass. We can’t say it’s come as a great surprise.’ He toyed with his pipe, then cleared his throat. ‘Where are you thinking of going?’

‘London.’

‘London!’ exclaimed her mother in horror. ‘But that’s so far away!’ She appealed to her husband, ‘Tell her not to go. You’re her father. She’s only a child!’

‘I’m an adult now,’ Catriona reminded her gently.

Her mother sniffed. ‘Barely. You’re still a child as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Oh?’ She smiled. ‘Aren’t you forgetting that you were only eighteen when you married Dad? I dare say that Gran said the very same thing about you.’

Her mother sniffed again, but her father chuckled. ‘She’s got you there, Jean. And a bonnie bride you were.’ He grinned at his daughter. ‘Don’t worry, lass. Your mother doesn’t think you’re ready for London, but I’m wondering if London is ready for you.’

‘I hear it’s an awfully wicked place,’ her mother warned, ‘Gangsters and drugs and terrible tap water you have to filter before you can drink it. Anyway, you were born and raised here. You’ll get lost. And all your friends are here.’

‘And they’re all in the same boat as me,’ she replied. ‘There’s no work here and I’ve been a burden to you long enough. I can’t let you go on supporting me for ever. I’ve got to stand on my own two feet.’ She smiled at both of them, then said quietly, ‘Besides, I don’t want to end up an old maid. You’ll be wanting grandchildren, won’t you?’

‘Aye…’ her mother said wistfully. ‘But I’d always hoped that one day you and Jamie Reid would…’

Catriona gave a snort to indicate what she thought of a man who still let his old mother fetch the coal from the back shed.

‘She’s right,’ her father agreed. ‘There isn’t a lad in Kindarroch I’d want for a son-in-law. All the good ones leave here the first chance they get. They know there’s no future in the fishing now. They’ve all gone south to work in banks or factories.’

Her mother sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. I even heard that the Harbour Hotel might soon be up for sale. Trade is that bad.’ She looked at Catriona sadly. ‘There’s no use me trying to make you change your mind. You’re just like your father. The McNeils always were a stubborn lot.’

Catriona gave her a kiss on the cheek, then hugged her. ‘That’s why you married one, isn’t it? Maybe I’ll be as lucky as you were. Old Morag seems to think so.’

It had been said in all innocence but her mother gave a start and her eyes widened. ‘When did you see Morag? Is she the one who’s been putting this idea into your head?’

‘Och, no,’ she answered lightly. ‘I helped her home with her shopping this morning and when we got there she invited me in for a cup of tea.’

There was a shocked silence then, ‘You were inside her house?’

‘Aye. And I dare say you’d have done the same if she’d invited you. Anyway, I’d already made up my mind about leaving and I swear on my life I hadn’t told anyone. But she knew.’

Her father scratched his head in amused wonder. ‘Aye…that’s Morag for you. There isn’t much goes on around here that she doesn’t know about.’

‘She has the second sight, right enough,’ her mother agreed in a respectful whisper. ‘It’s no wonder that the poor wee minister takes to drink whenever he sees her.’ She paused, then asked with bated breath, ‘What’s it like inside her house?’

Catriona reassured her. ‘Well…it’s very old-fashioned but everything is clean and polished. And there wasn’t a black cat or crystal ball or black candle in sight, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘Oh…’ It was a sound of disappointment. Then, ‘So what exactly did she tell you?’

‘She just said that I had nothing to worry about because I was a McNeil and the McNeils had always known how to look after themselves.’

Again her mother sounded disappointed. ‘Is that all?’

‘Isn’t it enough?’ she asked, skilfully avoiding a direct answer. ‘Haven’t you always said that she has the “gift” and that she was a person you could trust?’

‘It’s good enough for me,’ her father said firmly. He bowed to the inevitable with good grace. ‘We’ll organise a wee going-away party for you in the hotel bar the night before you leave.’

Her mother bit her lip, then nodded and gave a tired smile. ‘Aye…I suppose you’re right, Catriona. I always knew this day would come. But you’ll come back and see us as often as you can, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, Mum.’ She hugged and kissed them both, then turned away quickly before they could see the tears forming in her eyes.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN the flat was cleaned and tidied to her personal satisfaction Catriona peeked into Madge’s room. Madge was snoring gently, and, careful not to disturb her, Catriona closed the door quietly. Then she put on her coat and locked the flat door as she went out.

The shop was only a ten-minute walk away. Since it was Sunday, a day usually spent lounging around and resting, Catriona was dressed informally in jeans and a loose white cotton sweater. And in spite of the ache in her heart she also wore her usual air of friendliness as she exchanged good mornings with the regulars she was beginning to recognise. Old Nellie who ran the florist shop next door to the boutique was busy setting up her usual brilliant display on the pavement outside and she ordered a bunch of flowers, telling Nellie she’d pick them up when she was finished.

She made herself a cup of coffee, then, arming herself with a stock sheet from the cubby-hole which served as an office, she began checking the inventory in the rear stock room.

The jaunty, carefree smile which she’d worn on the way here had merely been a front. Now that she was alone the mask had slipped, and there was a hard bitterness in her eyes and the downturn of her mouth.

She tried her best, but ten minutes later she felt like giving up. At any other time stock-taking was a chore she could breeze through in half an hour, but this morning she was finding it impossible to concentrate. Her mind just wasn’t on the job. It was too preoccupied with dark feelings of betrayal and seething anger.

How could she have been so stupid as to fall for that black-hearted devil? So the McNeils could look after themselves, could they? Well, here was one who obviously couldn’t. Had she surrendered herself to him so willingly because beneath all her pride she was nothing more than a gullible Highland peasant girl who still believed in the folk tales of her race? Tales about magic and dark lovers and old women who could foretell the future. Had she wanted to believe that Ryan Hind was the man she was destined to marry? Was that the reason she had so carelessly fallen in love with him? Had she been her own worst enemy?

The seemingly random hand of fate which had brought them together had been in the shape of a young teenage tearaway causing chaos and posing a threat to life and limb as he’d hurtled along the pavement on a pair of rollerblades.

Catriona had managed to leap out of his way just in time to save herself from being knocked flat. It had been more of a sideways stagger, but the end result had been a collision with the tall stranger who’d just emerged from the estate agent’s office.

‘Oops!’ she’d gasped, the breath almost knocked out of her. His arms had held her securely and she’d stammered an apology to the knot of his silk tie, which had been all she could see of him at the time.

‘I…I’m sorry.’

The deep, warmly resonant voice seemed to wash over her. ‘I’m not. You’re welcome. So far this has been the highlight of my day. You can drop into my arms any time you want.’

She was about to tell him resentfully that she was quite capable of standing on her own two feet, and that there was no need for him to clasp her so tightly, when she strained her head upwards and changed her mind. Strikingly handsome was the first thought that came to mind. Beneath dark, ironically tilted brows the eyes were a startling light grey, alive and sharply observant. It was a face which instantly evoked visions of romantic encounters under the starlit skies of far-off deserts. It was a face which would cause any woman’s heart to flutter nervously.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked in concern.

The sound of that voice sent little shivers through her again, and she managed to shake her head. She could smell him in her nostrils. The faint hint of aftershave…the fresh, laundry smell of his blindingly white shirt.

The noise of the rush hour traffic dimmed in her ears and she was oblivious of the people jostling by to catch their buses home. She was alone with him in a pool of silence, struck dumb and absolutely smitten.

His eyes continued to stare down into hers, making her more dry-mouthed than ever. ‘With any luck that young thug will break a leg before he causes a serious accident,’ he remarked in annoyance.

At last she managed to say breathlessly, ‘Yes. It…it isn’t safe to walk the streets these days. Some people are so inconsiderate, aren’t they?’ Now that had been a really brilliant observation, hadn’t it? she thought. Why couldn’t she have thought of something witty, or at least more interesting to say? But it was hard to be cool and sophisticated when you were feeling hot and flustered. And he still hadn’t loosened his grip on her.

‘You look a little shaken and pale,’ he observed, then added in a voice which brooked no argument, ‘What you need is a brandy. Come on.’

Her lips opened in a half-hearted attempt to protest, but nothing came and she allowed herself to be led gently but firmly the few yards along the pavement to the nearest bar. It was not until she found herself being ushered into a seat at a secluded table in the lounge that she managed a nervous stammer. ‘I…I don’t like brandy. And I really don’t think…’

‘Whisky, then? I insist you have something.’ He eyed her paternally. ‘Purely for medicinal purposes only.’

She smiled weakly, overwhelmed by the charm and force of his personality. ‘All right, then. A small one. Glenlivet…and some mineral water, please.’ That was how the English tourists drank it at the harbour bar, much to the amusement of the locals, so it seemed the sophisticated thing to do.

He summoned a waiter, gave him the order, then sat down facing her. Reaching across the table, he introduced himself. ‘I’m Ryan Hind. And you are?’

‘Catriona McNeil,’ she murmured politely. His hand was firm and cool and sent a tingle up her arm.

He repeated her first name to himself softly, then smiled. ‘Very pretty. Suits you admirably.’

She was acutely aware of the way his sharp eyes were assessing her appearance, and the thought passed through her mind that a man like him would never have given her a second glance if he’d met her before Madge had taken her under her wing and given her some tips on style and fashion. It was Madge who supplied the clothes she wore, insisting that it had nothing to do with generosity and everything to do with the image of the shop.

At the moment she was wearing a loose-fitting pearl-grey jacket over a cream silk blouse, and her red hair had been groomed and styled to frame her face and fall in a languid curve to her shoulders.

His eyes continued to study her in a silence which she began to find more embarrassing by the second. Her wits seemed to be deserting her and her left leg had suddenly developed a nervous tremble. God knows what kind of impression she was making on him, she thought desperately. A half-witted schoolgirl could have done better.

‘It…it’s rather nice in here, isn’t it?’ she said, making a desperate stab at conversation. ‘I pass this place every day but it’s the first time I’ve ever been inside.’ Oh, God! If that was the best she could do she might be better keeping her mouth shut.

One dark eyebrow rose in obvious interest. ‘You live here in Chelsea, do you?’

‘Yes. Palmerston Court. It’s only a few minutes’ walk from here.’

He nodded. ‘I know it. A very exclusive and desirable property. I’ve been thinking of buying a flat there myself. I’m needing some place permanent. And you would definitely recommend it—as an investment, say?’

She was beginning to recover her scrambled wits. Could it really be possible that this gorgeous man was actually interested in her? It seemed unbelievable, and yet… She reviewed the past few minutes since they’d met. One moment she’d been strolling home, minding her own business, and the next she’d been thrust in-elegantly into his arms. It had been a highly unlikely start to a meaningful relationship, yet stranger things had happened. He could simply have smiled politely, released her and let her go without another word. But he hadn’t. He’d held her tightly, expressed concern, brought her here for a drink, asked her her name, paid her a compliment and found out where she lived. Now he was asking her advice! Oh, there was no doubt about it. This was Mr Right and no mistake. If this wasn’t love then why did she feel six inches off the ground?

He was still waiting for her answer and she gave a tentative self-conscious smile. ‘I don’t know much about property. You’d be better asking an expert.’

The suggestion brought a cynical smile to his lips. ‘There’s no such thing as an “expert” in the property business these days. I’ve always found that it pays to get your information from the people on the ground, as it were. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to show me over the place some time? Do you have a flatmate or…parents you’d have to ask?’

‘My parents live in Scotland,’ she said quickly, then added a little defensively, ‘I’m old enough to look after myself.’

He seemed amused. ‘I’m sure you are, Catriona. I admire a spirit of independence. So you live in London all by yourself, do you?’

At the moment, while Madge was on holiday, she did, and some devil within, urging her to project an image of maturity and self-reliance, made her keep silent about Madge. Thankfully she was spared the necessity of an outright spoken lie by the arrival of the waiter with their order.

Forestalling any further questions on that subject, she busied herself by daintily topping up her whisky from the bottle of mineral water.

The grey eyes watched her with amused interest, then he said with approval, ‘I’m impressed and pleased to see that you didn’t order some ghastly cocktail garnished with a paper umbrella. A nice malt whisky instead. You’re obviously a lady of discernment.’

The compliment gave her a warm glow. He said the nicest things…and with such sincerity. She was a lady. A lady of discernment, no less! And he had such lovely white teeth when he smiled. Oh, it was too much. He was bound to have a girlfriend somewhere. Quickly pushing that unwelcome thought aside, she raised her glass and sipped far more than she’d intended. Immediately she felt it go to her head. At least the water had quenched the fire of the spirit and she was mercifully spared the embarrassment of having a coughing fit.

‘Do you have many friends in Chelsea?’ he asked casually. ‘An attractive girl like you surely has a boyfriend or two.’

‘Oh, no,’ she assured him quickly. Perhaps too quickly. She paused and assumed an air of nonchalance. ‘At least nothing to write home about.’

‘So there’s no one special in your life?’

She shrugged. ‘Not really.’ Her heart was hammering away inside her chest.

‘London can be a very lonely place,’ he commented quietly. ‘You must have some kind of social life, surely?’

She didn’t want him getting the idea that she was some kind of stick-in-the-mud, a stay-at-home, so she said blithely, ‘Well, there’s the usual round of parties. You know what Chelsea is like. There’s always something going on.’

He grinned and seemed satisfied. Suddenly he glanced at the expensive gold watch on his wrist and she felt the stab of cold disappointment. He was going to finish his drink, make some excuse, then be on his way—and she’d never see him again. Was it because of something she’d said? Had he seen through her lies…even if they had just been little white ones?

What did a woman do at a moment like this? she asked herself desperately. Simply shrug off her disappointment? Console herself with the thought that he wasn’t meant to be the one, after all? Perhaps fate had someone else in mind for her, and that was a pity because she was quite willing to settle for him here and now. Given such a short acquaintance it might be foolish to imagine that she was hopelessly already in love, but how else could she explain this wild beating of her heart?

He still had that oddly penetrating and quizzical look in his eye when he asked suddenly, ‘Are you sure you’ve quite recovered, Catriona?’

She managed a bright smile. ‘Yes. I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ He gave a sigh of regret. ‘I’d love to sit here and chat all day and get to know you better, but I’m afraid I have to leave. I’m meeting a client back at my hotel in fifteen minutes.’

She knew it had been too good to be true. Somehow she contrived another cheerful smile. ‘Please don’t let me keep you from your work. You’ve been very kind and I appreciate it, Mr Hind.’

‘Good. Then perhaps you’d like to show that appreciation by having dinner with me this evening?’

She replaced her glass on the table, stared at it stupidly for a moment, then looked up to see if he was serious.

‘Th—this evening?’ she stammered.

‘In two hours’ time, to be exact,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But if that’s too short a notice for you I can arrange it for later.’

‘No!’ she said quickly. ‘I mean…I’m sure I can manage that.’

‘Good,’ he said briskly. Then with a devastating smile he added, ‘It’s been one of those days. Dinner with you will make up for everything.’

Her mind was racing ahead. What would she wear? Did she have anything remotely suitable for a dinner date?

‘I’ll leave the choice to you, Catriona,’ he said gallantly. ‘I usually dine at Cardini’s but perhaps you’d prefer French…or Italian?’

‘Cardini’s will do fine, Mr Hind,’ she answered lightly. She had no idea what Cardini’s was like, but if a man with his grooming and style ate there regularly it was sure to be first rate. He’d probably be wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie, and God knows what she was going to wear but she’d think of something.

He flashed another smile. ‘Enough of the Mr Hind. Call me Ryan.’

She hoped she didn’t look as flushed as she felt when she smiled back. ‘Very well…Ryan.’ Seeing him glance at his watch again, she hurriedly finished her drink then said, ‘I, too, will have to be going.’

His hand claimed her arm lightly as he escorted her outside. At the doorway he paused. ‘I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven-thirty. Will that be all right, Catriona?’

‘Yes…’ Her voice had gone husky with excitement. ‘I…I’ll tell the security man in the foyer to look out for it.’

He smiled again, then turned, and she watched him stride off. For a moment she simply stood there, hardly daring to believe what had happened. Something was bound to go wrong. He’d change his mind. She’d get all dressed up and sit waiting for a car which would never show up.

But then again perhaps he really did mean it, and he would send a car, and she’d damn well better be ready just in case. But what was she going to wear?

With a sudden flash of inspiration she hurried back to the shop and let herself in. Telling herself that Madge would understand, she made straight for the reject corner in the stock room.

She found the dress she wanted and held it at arm’s length, then swallowed nervously. Would she dare wear this? Strapless, in pale green Chinese silk, it carried a top designer name and a price tag that would have bought a good second-hand car.

To the casual observer it was a sublime creation and worth every penny, but to eagle-eyed Madge who’d spotted the tiny imperfection in the hemline, it was worthless. As in all such cases she’d immediately got in touch with her supplier, who invariably told Madge to get rid of the items in any way she saw fit. Madge usually donated them to the charity shops in the East End. It tickled her sense of humour to think of some poor old cleaning lady going to work in a five-hundred-pound coat she’d bought for next to nothing.

Catriona found a matching silk stole, then she wrapped them up, let herself out of the shop and rushed back to the flat.

The internal phone buzzed at seven-thirty precisely. She answered it breathlessly, then rushed over to the window and saw the long black limousine drawn up in the forecourt below. Then, breathing deeply to calm herself, she took one last look at herself in the mirror.

When she’d first tried on the dress she’d eyed her reflection in despair. She’d never have the nerve to go out in this! She couldn’t wear a bra—not that that was a problem with the way it clung to her figure—but the amount of flesh and cleavage on display could only be justified in front of a husband or doctor. But it certainly looked stunning. She’d turned this way and that, getting used to the idea.

Now she completed the outfit with the stole and one of Madge’s coats, borrowed for the occasion, then took the lift down to the foyer where Charlie, the security man, had to look twice before grinning and wishing her a pleasant evening.

In the back of the chauffeur-driven car she glanced at herself in the vanity mirror. Although she wore no make-up except for a touch of lipstick, her colour was high. It was nerves, she told herself. High as a kite. She’d have to relax.

She’d have to try and be smart and sophisticated, like the women who came into the shop. They drawled their words and called everyone ‘dahling’ and…well, perhaps she needn’t go that far…they had what she supposed was style.

Could she carry it off or was she going to blow it? Was she just going to sit throughout the evening overawed and tongue-tied until he got bored to death with her company?

She scowled at her reflection, then felt gooseflesh on her neck as she imagined she heard the voice of Morag whispering in her ear— ‘I’ve never met a McNeil yet who’s afraid of a challenge.’ She blinked and drew a deep breath. Voices in her head? That was all she needed! Still, Morag had been right. This was a challenge, and win or lose she was going to give it her best shot.

The traffic in the West End was in its usual state of chaos, but soon enough the limousine drew up outside the restaurant. The chauffeur opened the rear door for her and as she stepped on to the pavement the restaurant doorman came over and tipped his hat. ‘Miss McNeil?’

‘Yes?’

‘Mr Hind is expecting you.’

He led her into the foyer, where a cloakroom attendant took charge of her coat and stole, then on into the restaurant proper, where the dignified head waiter took charge and escorted her through the length of the room towards a table in a quiet, exclusive corner.

Her stomach began to flutter nervously as she took in her surroundings. The hushed, refined dignity of the place was almost intimidating. Silver, gleaming under candlelight…the subdued murmur of conversation…the discreet clink of bottles against wine glasses…the plush Victorian decor…