Christmas Nights (37 page)

She had just placed the last plate in the dishwasher when Tiffany came back for the next course.

Jon frowned as he listened to the conversation taking place between Harold and the Americans. On the face of it, there was no reason why he should feel so instinctively suspicious that Harold was concealing something, but then he knew Harold.

Tiffany, looking increasingly hot and bothered, was bringing in the pudding course.

Jon shook his head when she offered him some. He had never had much of a sweet tooth, unlike Harold who was greedily indicating that Tiffany give him an extra-generous helping of the pudding.

‘Wow, that was some meal,’ one of the Americans commented enthusiastically to Tiffany, gallantly insisting on helping her to remove the dirty dessert plates and carrying them out to the kitchen for her whilst Harold
reminded Tiffany that he wanted the men’s biscuits and cheese to be served in his study.

In the kitchen Heaven heaved a small sigh of relief. Only the cheese and biscuits and the coffee and petits fours left now and then she could leave, before the disastrous explosive effects of her special additions to her pudding recipe began to make themselves felt!

She stiffened as Tiffany came into the kitchen accompanied by a man. Fortunately it wasn’t Harold.

‘Hey now, who is this?’ the American demanded.

‘I’ve been helping Tiffany with the meal,’ Heaven told him quickly before Tiffany herself could say anything.

‘Say, isn’t that the pudding we’ve just had?’ the American demanded, his attention distracted away from Heaven towards the segment of pudding still left.

‘You ought to try it,’ he told Heaven. ‘It’s something else…’ And then, to Heaven’s horror, he reached for the bowl and, picking up a spoon, dug it into the pudding and then held out a spoonful towards her.

As she stepped back from him Heaven mentally prayed for help. There was no way, no way in this world she could eat that pudding but the American was very large, very determined and, she suspected, slightly drunk.

‘Oh, dear,’ she suddenly heard Tiffany cry anxiously. ‘Mr Rosenbaum… Eddie… Please, we must get back.’

‘Where the hell is Tiffany with that cheese?’ Harold demanded angrily. ‘Jon, be a good chap and see what’s doing, will you?’

As he threw the command across the table at him, Jon had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from throwing
it right back at him, but for Louisa’s sake he couldn’t afford to betray any of the antagonism he felt towards his ex-brother-in-law and so instead of telling him in no uncertain terms to go himself he stood up and pushed his chair back, heading for the kitchen, but not before he caught sight of the smirking smile that Jeremy Parton was giving him.

Grimly Jon pushed open the kitchen door and then came to an abrupt halt at the scene in front of him and the woman dominating it.

As Heaven looked up and saw him all the colour drained from her face. For a minute she thought she was actually going to faint. What on earth was Jon doing here?

‘Oh, Jon, is everything all right?’ she heard Tiffany twittering. ‘Is Harold—?’

‘Harold sent me to check up on what had happened to the cheese and biscuits,’ Jon informed her, causing Tiffany to start scurrying frantically round the kitchen.

The American, sensing an ally, looked at him and announced, ‘Say, she won’t eat the pudding…’

‘I can’t. I’m allergic to nuts and it’s got almonds in it,’ Heaven garbled. Oh, God, what on earth was she going to do now? There was no doubt whatsoever that Jon had recognised her, and no doubt either, she suspected from the thoughtful way he looked first at the pudding and then at her, that her refusal to touch it was arousing his suspicions.

As he reached past the American, for a moment Heaven thought he was actually going to force-feed the pudding to her. The thought made her feel quite giddily sick but to her relief he simply relieved the American of
the bowl and spoon and told him firmly, ‘Harold wants to talk with you…’

Her relief was short-lived, though, because instead of following the American as he scuttled quickly towards the door Jon simply stood watching her.

‘Heaven?’ Tiffany started to panic, looking uncertainly from Heaven to the trolley.

‘Harold is waiting, Tiffany,’ Jon reminded her, and whilst Heaven watched in helpless dismay Tiffany gave her an apologetic look and then followed the American through the kitchen door, letting it swing closed after her, leaving Heaven completely alone with Jon, enclosing her in the now far too small space of the kitchen with a man whose presence had once filled her with excitement but which now filled her with apprehensive dread.

In a voice that warned her he wasn’t prepared to play any games, Jon demanded. ‘What have you done to the pudding, Heaven?’

‘The pudding?’ Heaven hedged instinctively. ‘Nothing… why should you think I might have done anything?’

Oh, God, if only she had had time to get away before he had come into the kitchen. Desperately she tried to glance at the clock to check the time without him seeing what she was doing. How long before the extras she had added to the pudding started to make their existence felt?

That depended very much on the individual person’s digestive system, but at a guess… Heaven’s heart started to beat nervously fast. She had to get away before the consequences of her retaliatory actions came to light. As she had good cause to remember, Harold
had a nasty temper; she had never actually seen him physically abuse another person but she had sensed that he had the temperament to do so if pushed too hard—he was that kind of man; you could see it in his face… in his eyes… especially now that he was approaching forty and the slightly florid good looks she had seen in photographs of him as a younger man could no longer mask his real personality.

‘You were refusing to eat it,’ Jon reminded her dryly.

‘I told you… I’m allergic to nuts,’ Heaven fibbed, hoping he would put the betraying tide of colour warming her throat and face down to nervousness and not guilt.

‘You weren’t allergic to them the night I took you out,’ he told her softly. ‘I distinctly remember that the pudding you ordered and ate on that occasion contained them.’

Heaven’s eyes widened. He could remember that? She could certainly remember what they had ordered to eat, but then she could remember every single small detail of that evening, and the hopes it had brought her.

‘Er, how much pudding did you have?’ Heaven asked him warily.

‘None,’ Jon returned promptly. ‘I wasn’t very hungry and I don’t particularly enjoy sticky puddings.’

‘None.’ Heaven couldn’t manage to keep the relief out of her voice. ‘You really mean that?’ she checked. ‘You didn’t have any at all?’

‘I didn’t have any at all,’ Jon confirmed, grimly adding. ‘So, I’ll ask you once again. What have you done to the pudding, Heaven?’

Heaven hung her head. She knew he wouldn’t let her escape until he had got the truth out of her.

‘I put cascara in it… cascara and liquid paraffin,’ she told him, dry-mouthed.

For a moment Jon simply looked at her in silence and then, when he managed to find his voice, he demanded, ‘You did what?’

‘I put cascara and liquid paraffin in it,’ Heaven repeated. Then, taking a deep breath, she added challengingly, ‘And you may as well know that although it had nothing to do with me Harold hasn’t paid the contractors so they haven’t connected the plumbing upstairs and—’

‘Oh my God…’

Heaven could hear someone walking towards the kitchen and immediately she started to panic.

‘Jon…’ She froze as she recognised the voice of Harold’s accountant, knowing that he would recognise her.

Jon obviously realised it too from the look he was giving her, but, to her amazement, as the other man pushed open the door Jon reached for her, wrapping his arms tightly around her and pushing her face against his shoulder so that it was virtually concealed by his body and her own hair.

‘What—?’ she began indignantly, but Jon quickly silenced her, bending his head to cover her open mouth with his own and then proceeding to kiss her slowly and thoroughly—very slowly and very thoroughly, Heaven acknowledged as her head began to reel with shock and her body literally melted against him with the devastating immediacy of hot chocolate sauce poured over ice cream.

‘What the hell is going on in here?’ Heaven tensed as she heard Harold’s voice and realised that he must have come looking for the other two men. ‘And who in
hell’s name is this?’ he demanded, no doubt referring to her, Heaven recognised as she trembled in Jon’s arms, instinctively cuddling closer to him as she allowed him to tuck her face back into the protective and concealing curve of his shoulder.

‘My girlfriend, Harold. I rang her and asked her to come and pick me up; I don’t want to risk losing my licence…’ she heard Jon responding smoothly.

‘Your girlfriend, great,’ she heard Harold snarling. ‘Well right now you’ve got more important things to do than practising for the sexual olympics on my kitchen table, and—’

Harold stopped speaking abruptly, his hands going to his stomach.

‘Oh my God… God…’ Heaven heard him cry as he clutched his body in desperation and started to run towards the doorway.

In the hallway total pandemonium seemed to have broken out, with everyone—but more especially the men—groaning and clutching their stomachs as they complained of the griping pains gripping them.

‘Come on,’ Heaven heard Jon saying as he started to release her, but instead of freeing her completely as she had expected he kept hold of her arm, hustling her towards the back door. When she balked at this treatment and tried to break free he shook her arm and warned her, ‘If I were you I’d leave whilst I still could. Once Harold—’

‘That was exactly what I was trying to do before you interfered,’ Heaven informed him indignantly, ‘and if you’d just let go of my arm…’

‘Tiffany, where the hell’s the cook?’ Heaven heard
Harold screaming above the cacophony of noise in the hall.

Grimly Jon smiled at her.

‘I want to talk to you,’ he told her, ‘so make up your mind, Heaven. Either you stay here and face Harold or you leave now with me.’

He wanted to talk to her. What about? Heaven wondered nervously as, without waiting for her decision he pulled open the back door and half pushed and half dragged her through it.

‘Tiffany…’ Harold was still bellowing.

Heaven winced.

‘It won’t be just Harold you’ll have to answer to,’ he warned her as he marshalled her towards his car and, still holding her captive with one hand, unlocked the driver’s side with the other. ‘Those Americans aren’t going to feel too happy with you. You do carry professional insurance against being sued, I take it…?’

Heaven’s expression, mercilessly revealed by the interior light of the car, gave away her shocked consternation.

‘Ah, I see—you don’t carry that kind of insurance.’ Jon answered his own question. ‘Rather foolish of you, I would have thought.

‘Get in, Heaven,’ he commanded, holding open the passenger door for her.

Reluctantly Heaven did as he instructed. After all, what alternative did she have? She had planned to be well away from the scene of her retribution before the effects of her innovative recipe additions took hold and she shuddered inwardly as she contemplated what might happen to her if Jon chose to turn her over to Harold now.

She still couldn’t believe that he was actually working for Harold, but what other reason did he have for being one of Harold’s dinner guests?

Which meant that Jon could not possibly be the man she had once thought him to be. And that discovery should surely have meant that her heart could have no possible reason to bounce crazily against her ribs just because she was seated next to him and just because she could still smell the warm, sexy male scent of him, still feel the sensual erotic pressure of his mouth against her own.

‘Why did you kiss me?’

As soon as she had blurted out the words, Heaven regretted them. She had quite obviously been spending too much time with Tiffany, she derided herself, because that was the kind of naive, gauche remark more acceptable from someone like Tiffany than from a streetwise life-wary woman like herself.

‘Why do you think?’ Jon challenged her back as he set the car in motion and activated the central locking system. ‘If I hadn’t, Jeremy Parton could well have recognised you and Harold most certainly would…’

‘Why should you want to protect me from them?’ Heaven demanded aggressively. ‘After all, you’re Harold’s business advisor and you’re just as—’

Abruptly she stopped, biting down hard on her bottom lip.

‘Go on, I’m just as what? Just as dishonest—is that what you were about to say?’

Heaven lifted her head.

‘Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?’ she challenged him. ‘Harold is dishonest, morally if not legally, and I’m surprised that you, knowing what he did to Louisa, how
he cheated your own sister, should have anything to do with him. Tiffany told me all about the American deal,’ she added assertively. ‘I know that although Harold is planning to sell the business to them, he’s also planning to withhold from them the patent for the new software he’s originated.’

‘What?’

They had just joined the mainstream of traffic on the road outside the house but, instead of accelerating, much to her shock, Jon actually braked.

‘Run that by me again, will you?’ he demanded as he took his foot off the brake and the powerful Jaguar started to glide forward again.

‘You heard me the first time,’ Heaven told him bravely. ‘I know that Harold is planning to sell the business to the Americans letting them believe that they’ve got sole rights to all the software but in reality he’s come up with a new program that supersedes the ones they’re buying and he’s planning to fix it so that the patent takes effect from immediately after the sale. Tiffany told me.’

‘He might be planning to do that but the Americans aren’t stupid. They’re putting certain clauses into the contract which prevent Harold from rewriting any of the programs they’re buying or selling any new program within a prescribed area…’

‘But that area doesn’t include the Far and Middle East, at least not according to Tiffany and that’s where Harold Lewis intends to sell it,’ Heaven pronounced triumphantly.