Claiming His Wedding Night (2 page)

‘I didn’t manage to charm the bank manager,’ Perdita said wryly.

Helen grinned. ‘Perhaps you just weren’t his type.’

Once in her own office, Perdita disposed of her handbag and hung up her jacket before sitting down at her desk.

But, though she had a great deal of administrative work to get through, try as she might, she couldn’t concentrate. Jared was once again occupying her thoughts to the exclusion of all else.

She found herself rerunning the little scene outside the Arundel over and over again in her mind, wondering how it might have ended if the taxi hadn’t been there at just the right moment.

But it was, she told herself sternly, so she must avoid dwelling on other possibilities and try to dismiss all thoughts of Jared from her mind.

Only that was easier said than done.

His dark face and the memories it brought flooding back
refused to be banished and by four-thirty she had achieved very little in the way of work.

She had just decided to give up and go home when the phone rang and Helen told her, ‘Mr Calhoun’s secretary would like to speak to you. She’s on the other line.’

‘Thanks.’

Fearing the worst, Perdita picked up the receiver and said, ‘Perdita Boyd speaking.’

A woman’s voice, sounding cool and efficient, responded, ‘Miss Boyd, I have a message for you. Unfortunately, Mr Calhoun has been forced to cancel your appointment.’

Knowing only too well how urgently they needed the lifeline Salingers had appeared to be holding out, Perdita’s heart sank like a stone.

Trying to keep her voice level, she asked, ‘Can you tell me the reason?’

‘Mr Calhoun needs to fly to the States tomorrow morning,’ the secretary told her crisply. ‘The only way he can find time to see you is if you can meet him at the airport and talk to him over breakfast.’

Unable to hide her eagerness, Perdita agreed, ‘Yes. Yes, I can do that.’

‘In that case, if you’ll give me your home address I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up at six-thirty tomorrow morning.’

Perdita gave her the address and thanked her before ringing off.

Feeling like a condemned woman who had been granted a last-minute reprieve, she phoned her father to tell him of the change of venue.

Then, having pulled on her jacket, she collected her bag and made her way through to the outer office, where Helen was just preparing to leave.

‘Problems?’ the other woman enquired, her face sympathetic.

‘Just a change of plan, thank the Lord.’

Perdita explained briefly what that change of plan involved, adding, ‘So it could have been worse. I only hope he’s not in too much of a hurry to really listen to me.’

‘Amen to that. Well, if you want to get off, I’ll lock up.’

‘Thanks. See you sometime tomorrow.’

The phone call had temporarily driven thoughts of Jared from the forefront of Perdita’s mind but, as she started to walk home, memories of the past came flooding back in a relentless tide.

She had been born in the States, but her American mother had died soon after and her distraught father had taken her back to England with him.

After she’d left school, in order that she should see something of the country of her birth, her father had taken her over to California for a prolonged visit.

Elmer, who owned a large house near Silicon Valley, had insisted that the pair of them stay there with himself and Martin.

Perdita had been in San Jose for only a matter of days when she and Jared had met at a party. She had fallen in love with him at first sight—love like a deep, fast-flowing river that she had plunged straight into without stopping to ask herself if she might drown.

Right from the start, it had been like sharing a self with him. They had completed each other, filled each other’s lives and hearts. She had thought of them as soulmates.

But in the end that whole concept of closeness, of belonging together, had proved to be just an illusion. A lie.

He was tall, dark and handsome—a hackneyed phrase but a true description—a charismatic man who had always attracted the opposite sex like buddleia attracted butterflies.

But, with eyes only for her, he had never seemed to notice them. Even so, in the early days of their relationship she had had to struggle hard to hide her jealousy when one of them had touched him or smiled at him.

When one day she had admitted as much, he had kissed her and said, ‘There’s no need to be jealous, my love. I’m a one woman man, and
you’re
that woman. There’ll never be anyone else for me.’

Wanting desperately to believe him, she had almost succeeded, until that awful night in Las Vegas and the nightmare that had followed.

She remembered his tight-lipped silence when her father—who was still recovering from his recent heart attack—had called him a swine and a heartless Casanova, and peremptorily ordered him out of the house in San Jose.

Remembered only too well how Elmer Judson and Martin, both big, heavily built men, had advanced on him threateningly when he had refused to leave without her.

But, even then, Jared hadn’t said what she had dreaded him saying, the one thing that would have shocked her father and stopped the other two men in their tracks.

Perhaps he had expected
her
to say it.

But she hadn’t.

And a melee had ensued.

Jared was young and fit and more than able to defend himself, she knew, but, with a bruised cheek and a split lip, he had never once hit back.

Even so, it had taken the combined efforts of both Elmer and Martin to throw him out, while she had stood like a statue, tears spilling out of her eyes, and watched, ignoring his repeated pleas of, ‘Come with me, Perdita.’

The final blow had been when her father had reneged on a promise to help finance Dangerfield Software through a crisis.

That last minute failure to honour an agreement that had been previously signed and settled had forced Jared into near bankruptcy.

Even then he hadn’t stopped trying to get her back. After weeks of unanswered letters and phone calls, he had appeared
in the Silicon Valley offices of Judson Boyd and asked to speak to her in private.

Still raw and bleeding from his betrayal, and knowing only too well that there was nothing he could say that would alter things, she had shaken her head and asked him to leave.

Standing his ground, he had once again sworn he was innocent and accused her of refusing to listen to him, of lack of trust, of never really loving him.

The latter had brought stinging tears to her eyes. But, fighting against the surge of emotion, and flanked by her father and Martin, she had told him that he was wasting his time, that she never wanted to see him again.

When he would have argued further, he had been ‘escorted’ from the premises.

The last few bitter words they had exchanged had been over the phone.

When she had felt able to, she had rung him to repeat that everything was over between them, that she wanted to be free of him, and that she and her father were leaving the States for good.

It was then he had warned, ‘Don’t think I’m letting you go so easily. Sooner or later I’ll find you, wherever you are.’

Now, just thinking about it, made her shiver.

But, though it was still so vivid in her mind, it had been almost three years ago. Surely after this length of time he would have moved on?

In all probability he was married. When they had once talked about their future together, he had said he wanted children so he might even have started a family.

She could only hope that his life was now settled and stable, and that he had forgotten the past.

But suppose he hadn’t? Suppose he was here in London because of her? Suppose he had finally managed to track her down?

Becoming aware that her unhappy thoughts had gone full
circle, she brought herself up short. It was high time she stopped thinking about Jared and started to concentrate on tomorrow, and what was bound to be the most important meeting of her life.

The next morning, after a virtually sleepless night when she had spent hours lying awake trying not to think about the past, Perdita was up at five-thirty.

Her head throbbed dully and she felt like death warmed up—an expression of her father’s that until that minute she hadn’t fully understood.

Glancing at herself in the bathroom mirror, she grimaced. Just when she had wanted to look her best and radiate an air of efficiency and confidence, she looked like something the cat had dragged in.

Oh, well, she would just have to see what ravages a spot of make-up could hide.

Showered and dressed in a smart charcoal-grey business suit, small chunky gold hoops in her neat lobes, her blonde hair taken up into a fashionable knot, she checked her appearance in the cheval glass in her bedroom.

Her skin was flawless, so normally she needed very little in the way of cosmetics. Now, just a light coat of foundation hid the slight shadows beneath her eyes, while a pale lip gloss and a hint of blusher bestowed a healthy glow.

Her brows and lashes were naturally darker than her hair and needed only a touch of mascara to define them even more.

After a critical survey could find no real fault with her appearance, she picked up her bag and headed for the stairs, just as Sally’s voice called, ‘The car’s here now.’

‘Coming.’

The housekeeper, who had insisted on getting up to see her off, was waiting in the hall. With a quick hug, she said, ‘I only hope everything goes well.’

Then, looking oddly flustered, she added, ‘I really
do
have your best interests at heart.’

Returning the hug, Perdita said, ‘Thanks. I’ll give you a ring and let you know how it goes.’

A little awkwardly, Sally told her, ‘I won’t be home. I promised I’d pop over and have breakfast with your dad. I thought it might help to take his mind off things. Or, at the very least, give him someone to talk to. I hope you don’t mind?’

Touched by her concern, Perdita said warmly, ‘Of course I don’t mind. On the contrary, it sounds like a great idea.’

Outside, it was another lovely sunny day, the air as cool and sparkling as champagne. At that time in the morning the square was still quiet and in the central gardens dew sparkled on the grass and the beds of early summer tulips.

A dark blue limousine was drawn up by the kerb with a uniformed chauffeur waiting to open the door. As she crossed the pavement, he said a cheerful, ‘Good morning, miss.’

Perdita returned his greeting and, trying not to feel like someone about to try and successfully negotiate a minefield, climbed in and fastened her seat belt.

Traffic was very heavy and the journey seemed to be taking so long that she began to worry about being late. If she missed this appointment, the consequences would be disastrous.

On tenterhooks, she breathed a cautious sigh of relief when they finally reached the airport environs and a few minutes later drew up in an area she didn’t immediately recognize.

A smartly dressed sandy-haired young man was waiting for them.

Before turning to lead the way into the terminal building, he greeted her with a smile and a courteous, ‘Good morning, Miss Boyd. My name’s Richard Dow and I work for Salingers.

‘I’m pleased you were able to make it in time,’ he went on as they crossed the VIP lounge. ‘The traffic seems to get worse.’

To her surprise, Perdita found herself escorted through
heavy glass doors and out onto the tarmac apron where a private executive jet stood close by, its immaculate white and blue paintwork gleaming in the bright sunshine.

As though sensing her surprise, Richard Dow said, ‘Didn’t Mr Calhoun’s secretary mention that Salingers executives usually have breakfast on the plane?’

‘No. No, she didn’t…Not that it matters,’ Perdita added hastily. ‘It’s just that I was expecting…’ The words tailed off as they reached the plane and she was ushered up the steps.

A white-coated steward was waiting in the doorway to welcome her aboard. ‘Good morning, Miss Boyd. My name is Henry. If you’d like to follow me?’

Short and nimble, his black slicked-back hair gleaming, he led the way through to a small but luxuriously furnished lounge where a table was set for breakfast with damask linen, crystal glasses, a bottle of Krug on ice and a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Pulling out a chair, he deftly settled her at the table. ‘If you would like a glass of champagne and orange juice while you’re waiting? Or a coffee, perhaps?’

Her head still aching and intent on keeping a clear brain, Perdita said, ‘A cup of coffee would be nice, thank you, Henry.’

Having assembled brown sugar and cream, the steward took a glass jug of coffee from a hotplate and filled her cup.

Then, indicating a nearby bell push, ‘If you require anything further, Miss Boyd, just ring for me.’

She thanked him and, silent-footed, he disappeared through a sliding door in the bulkhead.

Relaxing a little now that she was sure the meeting was going ahead, she sipped her coffee and surveyed the quiet luxury that surrounded her.

There were two soft leather armchairs, several bookcases, a comprehensive in-flight entertainment centre and a small leather-topped desk.

Salingers did their top men proud, she thought, taking in the sumptuous carpeting and the two striking paintings by Joshua Lorens that she recognized as originals rather than prints.

With this kind of money at their fingertips, they should have no trouble bailing out half a dozen struggling companies. So all she had to do was persuade them that buying into JB Electronics would be a good investment in the long run…

Deep in thought about the coming meeting, it was a moment or two before she realized that the plane was moving, taxiing slowly across the apron.

Perdita had half risen to ring for the steward before it occurred to her that the area was getting busy and the pilot was probably just moving up to accommodate another plane.

Sinking back into her seat, she picked up her cup and was about to take a sip when the bulkhead door slid aside and a well dressed man walked in. A tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man with crisp dark hair and silvery-grey eyes.