The Innocent's One-Night Confession. Sara Craven
Because it was clear that Niamh Harrington’s other grandson, whose arrival for her birthday party had caused such a disturbance to the arrangements as well as destroying her own peace of mind, was also something of an outsider.
Her first instinct was, once again, to run. To invent some work-related emergency involving an imperative summons back to London. But that would, quite correctly, lead Zandor Varga to suppose she was scared of him, and what was left of her pride forbade it.
Besides, the Harrington family en masse now seemed more of an advantage than a problem. By the time she’d done the rounds and met them all, it should be perfectly possible to lose herself among them, thus avoiding any further contact with Zandor.
And, of course, Gerard would be her shield too, she told herself, wondering why that was an afterthought.
Her immediate dilemma was what to wear that evening. She’d brought a dress, of course, a black, knee-length linen shift. It wasn’t the one she’d been wearing when she first met Zandor—that had been consigned to the dustbin the following day—but it bore far too distinct a resemblance to the other for her comfort. On the other hand, she felt hot and sticky in the clothes she’d travelled in, and her skirt was badly creased.
I’ll just have to bite on the bullet, she thought. Brazen the situation out. Let him think what he likes.
Her decision made, she took a quick refreshing bath in the deep, old-fashioned tub, then dressed swiftly and brushed her hair till it shone. She clasped a necklace composed of flat silver discs round her throat adding a matching bracelet to her wrist.
She disguised her unwelcome pallor with a discreet use of blusher and masked the strained lines of her mouth with a brownish-pink lipstick.
She reached for her scent spray, then hesitated. She only ever wore one perfume—Azalea, from the distinctive Earth Scents range by Lizbeth Lane, a new young designer whose workshop she’d visited with Susie when she first arrived in London.
And that was something he would definitely recognise—if he got close enough, she thought, sudden heat pervading her body as she returned the atomiser to her makeup purse.
She was trying to calm herself with some Yoga-style breathing when Joanne tapped on her door.
‘Ready for the lions’ den?’ she asked cheerfully.
‘You certainly look great. Your hair is the most amazing colour—rather like Gran’s antique mahogany dining table. Granny Dennison, I mean, not Grandam.’
‘You call her that too?’
‘We all do,’ Joanne said as they walked to the stairs. ‘Except Zan, of course. He sticks to the formal Grandmother when he visits—which isn’t that often.’
She sighed. ‘None of us knew he was coming this time either. I suppose it’s about money again, which means the usual row. And unfair, I think, to put her in a bate on her birthday weekend. On the other hand, I guess we must be thankful he didn’t bring Lili.’
She encountered Alanna’s questioning look and flushed scarlet. ‘Oh, hell, me and my big mouth. Look, just forget I mentioned her—please.’
‘Forgotten,’ Alanna assured her over-brightly, reflecting she’d been entirely accurate about Joanne’s talent for indiscretion.
But it was interesting that the dynamic, all-conquering Mr Varga needed money, suggesting that Bazaar Vert might be feeling the economic crunch along with other high-profile businesses.
Gerard had mentioned nothing about any downward turn, but she could hardly expect that he would, any more than she’d confessed to him her fears about the takeover at Hawkseye, now said to be looming. They weren’t on those sorts of terms.
And now they never would be, which might be disappointing, but hardly the end of the world.
It would have been far worse if she and Gerard had become seriously involved before she discovered his cousin’s identity.
It occurred to her that earlier there’d been a tension between the pair of them that was almost palpable, so perhaps the financial difficulties were all too real.
However, that was none of her business, and in forty-eight hours it would all be over anyway. And she’d be free to get on with the rest of her life.
And there was no need to wonder about Lili. She would simply be Zandor’s latest choice to share his bed. And welcome to him.
Even if his trading figures were down, his rapid turnover in willing women would undoubtedly be continuing unabated. It was probably only his grandmother’s strict embargo on extra-marital sex that had prevented him from bringing her as his guest.
And why the hell am I sparing the situation even a moment’s thought anyway? Alanna asked herself savagely as they reached the drawing room.
Although she knew the answer to that. Zandor’s re-emergence into her life had thrown her completely. She felt as if she’d gone sailing on a calm lake, under a blue sky, only to find herself helpless and at the mercy of a squall that had come out of nowhere.
Oh, get a grip, she thought with sudden impatience.
Certainly Zandor had not been pleased when they met earlier, but maybe her own sense of shock had made her read too much into his reaction. By now, he’d surely have had time to think. To realise their previous encounter had been a long time ago, and that they had both moved on.
At least that was how she planned to handle things from now on, until the weekend was safely over. And, hopefully, for ever after.
‘So there you are, sweetheart.’ Gerard came to meet her and, drawing her towards him, gave her a long, lingering kiss on her astonished mouth.
As he raised his head Alanna stepped back, aware that she was blushing, not with pleasure but with embarrassment and more than a touch of anger at this second demonstration of totally uncharacteristic behaviour.
The words ‘What on earth...?’ were already forming when she looked past him and saw, a few yards away, Zandor watching them, silver eyes glittering in a face that looked as if it had been hacked from dark stone.
And instantly she swallowed the tart query, tossing back her hair and forcing her lips into the semblance of a flirtatious smile instead, aware as she did so that Zandor was turning abruptly and walking away.
Now do your worst, she sent after him in silent defiance.
Gerard took her hand. ‘Come and say hello to my mother,’ he invited.
‘Is she feeling better?’ Alanna’s tone was stilted, conscious as they crossed the room that covert glances and shrugs were being exchanged as if Gerard’s family were as surprised by the kiss as herself.
‘There was never anything the matter with her.’ Gerard’s smile was rueful. ‘She and Grandam have always had something of an edgy relationship, so she finds headaches useful.’
‘Oh,’ was the only reply Alanna could conjure up. It occurred to her that Whitestone Abbey seemed to harbour all kinds of other tensions at various levels.
A pleasant weekend in the country? she thought drily. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
Meg Harrington was ensconced in an armchair, slim and elegant in white silk trousers and a loose shirt in shades of blue, rust and gold. Her fair hair, skilfully highlighted, was cut in a smooth, expensive bob, and her makeup was flawless.
She gave Alanna a polite, faintly puzzled smile as Gerard performed the introduction, then picked up an empty highball glass from the table beside her chair and held it out to him. ‘Get me a refill, would you, honey?’
‘I didn’t know my son was bringing a friend,’ Mrs Harrington said as he departed on his errand. ‘Have you known each other long, Miss—er—Beckett?’
Saying, ‘Oh, call me Alanna, please,’ seemed strangely inappropriate, so