Whirlpool Page 10

  ‘Getting personal is not going to solve anything.’ The pain in her heart was sharp and bitter.

  He looked at her gloomily. ‘How much is he offering for your shares?’

  ‘He hasn’t made any offers yet,’ she replied.

  ‘Bear this in mind-between us, Sir Malcolm Denison and I could probably give you a fair price. We don’t have Damian Holt’s financial resources. But we were Keith’s friends, and—’

  ‘I’ll let you know about any decisions I make at the board meeting next week,’ she said firmly. ‘1 don’t want to say any more at this stage.’

  He glanced at her sharply, then shrugged. ‘All right. I’d better go down to the shop-floor and do some work.’

  He went out, leaving his coffee untasted.

  Kirby sat motionless behind Keith’s desk, feeling the pain swelling inside her, hearing the crude words echoing in her head.

  The man who dropped you in the gutter, where Keith picked you up.

  It took her ten minutes to recover enough to rise, go to the locked filing cabinet in the corner, and start locating the papers that Damian had requested she have ready for him.

  She felt weak and shaken. Guilt hung over her like a thundercloud. As if Damian hadn’t scarred her enough, she had endured guilt for the full five years of her marriage-a secret, consuming remorse that she didn’t love Keith enough. That she had loved another man more than she loved her husband.

  And then Keith had died, and there was no way she could ever make it up to him, and the guilt had remained, grown inward, becoming more painful than ever.

  That clumsy blow from Roderick Braithwaite had hurt more than he could have imagined.

  You’re still sweet on him, aren’t you? Who’s being unfaithful? You or me?

  Horrible, unfair words. Yet Roderick’s accusations contained a kernel of truth. Damian had started haunting her, the way she’d known he would. Her mind was full of thoughts of him.

  Last night she had dreamed of him, the kind of dream she hadn’t had for years, so intense and sweet that she had awoken, her pillow wet with forbidden tears.

  She’d had to lie there, lashing her mind with reminders.

  Remember what he did to you. Remember what he has become. Remember that he’s going to marry another woman.

  That last thought had done it. Sickened by his callous attitude towards marriage, she’d managed to chase her dream back into its lair. For a while…

  Although Sovereign Force was one of the most beautiful spots in the whole of Braydale, its inaccessibility meant that few people, apart from riders and the most determined hikers, ever got there.

  ‘Force’ was an old northern word for a waterfall, and the Force itself was a spectacular ravine, where the Bray spilled some forty feet down to a pool below.

  But the only feasible route there was an uphill climb of several miles along the course of the river through alternating rock and moorland. It was hard going, even for the big, strong horses Kirby and Damian had hired on Thursday morning.

  After two hours, they halted to let the horses rest a little. Kirby turned in her saddle, and looked back the way they had come. The craggy moors stretched down in mauve sheets towards the valley below where

  Braythorpe nestled snugly. A sky pregnant with rain hung heavily overhead, lending a sombre grandeur to the view.

  The wind swept Kirby’s hair away from the oval of her face, and she looked up at the clouds. ‘I hope it doesn’t rain for a while.’ They were both wearing rugged outdoor jackets against the threatening weather, but there was still an hour’s ride to the Force, and a three-hour ride back down to Braythorpe.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Damian said, staring down the valley.

  She glanced at him. ‘So you do still feel something?’

  ‘Of course I do. My roots will always be here, Kirby. There’s nothing I can do about that.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you sit in your glass tower in London dreaming of the moors?’ she mocked.

  ‘Sometimes I do exactly that,’ he replied. ‘There are times when I’d give a lot to see this view.’

  She patted her horse’s neck. ‘Look your fill,’ she advised him drily. ‘I doubt whether you’ll get up here very often after your marriage. Wendy didn’t strike me as having any particular fondness for North Yorkshire.’

  ‘You think she’s going to run my life?’ he asked, amused.

  ‘She positively reeks of authority. But you obviously have few illusions about one another. No doubt she won’t be too terribly shocked when you go on little escapades—geographical or otherwise.’

  Damian laughed. ‘No, she probably won’t be too shocked.’

  Kirby could not stop distaste from hardening her soft mouth. ‘How did you propose to her, darling Damian? Did you suggest a merger? Or was it more of an incorporation?’

  ‘Oh, it just came out. During one of those … appropriate moments.’

  ‘What moments are those?’

  ‘You’re not a virgin any more,’ he said composedly. ‘I’m sure you know what I mean.’

  She flushed angrily. ‘Well, I’m glad there’s some warmth between you and your fiancee.’

  ‘Warmth?’ He appeared to consider the word. ‘No, 1wouldn’t call it warmth. Sex doesn’t have to be warm, Kirby. Sometimes it’s nothing more than … a muscle relaxant.’

  ‘I really don’t want to know,’ she said tightly, wheeling her horse round.

  ‘Then what did you ask for?’

  She didn’t answer, just urged her horse back into a walk. His mount fell into step beside hers as they continued the ride uphill. She rode in silence for a while, emotion churning inside her. At last she couldn’t help bursting out, ‘I’m sickened, Damian! I never dreamed that you’d become so calculating. I realise that success means a great deal to you. But to contemplate such a cold, mercenary marriage … it’s obscene!’

  ‘I’d prefer to call it practical,’ he replied. ‘Wendy and I each have something the other wants. Why should it disturb you if we’re not hypocritical about love?’

  ‘Because marriage is more than just a—just a combining of interests! 1was married for five years, Damian, and this is one area where I know more than you do.’

  She turned a passionate face to him. ‘I’ve got nothing against Wendy Catchpole. When I met her, I thought she was the perfect wife for you. But if you don’t love her, for God’s sake don’t marry her.’

  ‘Moral indignation puts a lovely colour into your cheeks, Kirby,’ Damian said, still smiling. ‘Why shouldn’t I marry Wendy?’

  ‘Because one day one of you might meet someone you do love,’ she told him in a low voice, ‘and then you’ll understand what you’ve done to each other.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that eventuality need concern us ’he replied easily. ‘Our marriage will have plenty of scope for what you call “escapades”. Neither of us is going to play policeman on the other.’

  ‘Love is never an escapade, Damian. You can’t tell it when to happen. You can’t call it off when you feel like it. And being married to one person when you love another is a terrible fate.’

  He raised one eyebrow. ‘Are you speaking from personal experience there?’

  ‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘My marriage to Keith was very happy. And, as I told you the other night, my infatuation with you vanished a long, long time ago. But I do still care about you as… a friend. As a friend, I’m telling you that marriage without love can only ever be a torment.’

  ‘And yet,’ he said, silkily dropping the net around her, ‘The other day you were telling me you’re seriously considering Roderick Braithwaite’s proposal… even though you admit you wouldn’t be marrying for love.’

  ‘Oh, that…’

  ‘Yes, that. Explain this apparent inconsistency, Mrs Waterford.’

  ‘I can’t. Except to repeat the old saying, “Do as 1say, not as I do.” ’

  ‘I’ll bear your advice in mind,’ he said with gentle mockery. ‘Now
, save your breath for the climb.’

  They reached Sovereign Force at noon, and could hear the rumble of the waterfall as they tethered the horses.

  They walked through the thicket of trees, the sound of the water growing to a roar of thunder as they approached.

  It was a spectacular sight. They had emerged at the foot of a tall cliff which interrupted the river’s flow.

  The water poured from high above where they stood, exploding down the jagged rock-face in a violent succession of cataracts, the foam stark white against the black of the rock: The ,deep pool below was continually roiling and swirling with the cascade that poured into it. Further along, overhung by trees, the pool narrowed to resume the course of the Bray down through the dale.

  The clamour of the water was so loud that they could not hear each other speak, but Kirby felt Damian’s strong fingers twine around hers. She held on tightly to his hand, revelling in the elemental energy of the scene. ‘Force’ was the perfect word for this phenomenon. She recalled, with almost painful clarity, her emotions when Damian had kissed her. Then, too, she had felt a wild primal force at work inside her, straining to explode into life, as this waterfall was doing now.

  Her eyes followed the waterfall down to the dark pool beneath. And there, she thought sombrely, was the whirlpool, waiting to suck her down. The water spun and whirled, dragging the river’s floating debris of leaves and twigs deep into the unknown depths. She shuddered at the thought of the icy black chasm beneath the water.

  Damian, mistaking her shiver for .cold, drew her close his arm sliding around her waist. She was achingly aware of his strong body against hers, of his protective warmth.

  They stood watching the cascade together for a long while. For a moment, the clouds parted overhead and a few silvery rays struck down into the ravine. The mist was suddenly a dance of rainbows, and Kirby marvelled at the opalescent beauty of it. Like water-nymphs, she thought, exulting in the raw energy of their haunt. Then the light dulled, and the rainbows faded back to black and white.

  They turned, and walked back to the horses.

  ‘I’m so glad we came,’ she said, as soon as they could hear one another speak. ‘I’d forgotten how magnificent it is.’

  ‘It has a pagan beauty,’ he agreed. ‘They say the Druids used to worship there. I can believe it.’

  ‘So can I.’

  Damian unhitched the saddle-bag he had been carrying, and gave it to Kirby. They’d brought a simple picnic with them, and they were both hungry after the exercise. They spread the blankets out under the shelter of a tree, and sat down where they could enjoy the grandeur of the view, with the distant reverberation of the Force as a musical backdrop.

  Kirby investigated the saddle-bag, producing a bottle of champagne, some cold chicken, a crusty farmhouse loaf, and plenty of fruit. She inspected the champagne dubiously. ‘This is probably primed to go off like a grenade after the shaking it’s had.’

  ‘I’m too thirsty to care,’ Damian said. He took the bottle, and prised the cork out with strong fingers. It exploded, as Kirby had predicted, in a spray to rival the waterfall; but once the foam had subsided there was enough of the golden liquid to fill their plastic cups.

  ‘Here’s to you,’ Damian smiled, toasting her.

  ‘And to you,’ she echoed, lifting her cup. The champagne was deliciously bubbly, the perfect drink for this moment. Despite the threatening sky, Kirby felt a sense of pure happiness settle around her heart. She was sitting in one of the most beautiful spots in England, alone with the man she loved most in all the world. What else mattered?

  They tucked into the food without ceremony. ‘So,’ Damian said, slicing the chicken, ‘how’s your week been, Mrs Waterford?’

  ‘Up and down, Mr. Holt.’ She told him about her encounter with Roderick Braithwaite the other day—excluding Roderick’s cruel parting comment. ‘He hasn’t said much since then,’ she concluded, ‘but he’s obviously worried about you. And when I saw Malcolm Denison, he also asked a few pertinent questions about your involvement.’ She smiled with wicked amusement.

  ‘They both seem convinced that I’m about to sell Waterford Electronics to you.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘They’re worried sick. Roderick called you a wolf, sniffing round the tent. And Malcolm said something about corporate raiders and boardroom pirates. Is that what you are, Damian-a boardroom pirate?’

  ‘I’ve been known to buy the odd company. But I’m not in the corporate raiding business.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly got Roderick and Malcolm on the run. For intelligent men they really have a very limited outlook. As if I’d dream of selling Waterford Electronics to you! The whole point of the exercise is to keep the company in safe hands.’

  ‘And you don’t think my hands are safe?’ he asked casually, refilling her cup with champagne.

  ‘No safer than Roderick or Malcolm’s, that’s for sure,’ she laughed. ‘If I can’t trust them, how could I ever trust you?’

  ‘I’m offended,’ he said with mock-affront.

  ‘After the little speech you gave me on the way up here?’ she snorted. ‘A man who would marry for money is hardly the right person to trust to be altruistic in business. What about those poor fishermen whose river you poisoned? And the boy who died in the air crash? No, Damian. You don’t have a very good record on human rights. In fact, I couldn’t ever believe you capable of any kind of altruistic action at all!’

  Damian lay back, biting into an apple. He surveyed her with lazy eyes. ‘Your pals Roderick and Sir Malcolm aren’t entirely off-course, you know,’ he said. ‘Waterford Electronics is facing some pretty stiff competition these days. The last thing a company needs is to have cash-flow problems in the middle of a crisis. It will soon become necessary to make several adjustments to the way the firm operates.’

  She glanced at him warily. ‘What sort of adjustments?’

  ‘Nothing too dramatic. Just a bit of streamlining. A little more push in the sales department. A little more care about company spending.’

  ‘This is beginning to have a familiar ring,’ she said grimly.

  ‘Don’t put that delicious frown on your face,’ he smiled. ‘I’m not telling you to cut all your firm’s philanthropic expenses. I’m just suggesting that there are ways of giving profits back to the community without putting the company’s resources at risk. Your competitors,’ he added meaningfully, ‘are not throwing their money away on grants, bursaries and sports facilities.’

  ‘That’s why we’re different,’ she retorted. ‘Because we care about the future of this town. Because we care about the families who work for us!’

  ‘Granted,’ Damian said. ‘But there’s no reason why Waterford Electronics shouldn’t become more profitable, without sacrificing the benevolent work it does. Braithwaite and Denison take the simple-minded view that just cutting out the charity marathons and selling off the land is going to make them rich men. It’s not as easy as that.’

  ‘Tell me what the solution is, then,’ Kirby invited. ‘You said I wouldn’t like it. But I’m willing to consider anything … within reason.’

  ‘I’m still pulling the details together,’ he replied. ‘I’ll give you the full plan in a few days’ time.’

  ‘You got me up here on false pretences!’ she accused. ‘You said you’d tell me what the plan was this afternoon.’

  He considered her thoughtfully. In this light the blue in his eyes was dominated by the grey, giving his stare a brooding quality that seemed to reach deep inside her.

  ‘Now is not the moment,’ he said flatly. ‘But I can tell you this much. The solution to your problem lies in two courses of action. One is to make Waterford Electronics as competitive as possible, which will silence your critics, and get them on your side, if that can be done. The other is to round up all the shares that are now in hands other than yours, Sir Malcolm Denison’s, or Roderick Braithwaite’s. To make sure that as much of the voting stock as possible is
concentrated in one place, so that you cannot be challenged again.’

  ‘That’s easier said than done,’ Kirby said with a sigh. ‘I told you, Damian, I’m only a rich woman on paper. Keith left me all his shares in the company—but I can’t sell them. I don’t have any cash, just an income from Waterford Electronics. I certainly don’t have anything like the money to go around buying up all the shares other shareholders might have.’

  ‘There are problems,’ he conceded. ‘That’s why I need a few more days to get the finer points tied up.’

  Her face fell. ‘Ah, well. It sounded too good to be true.’

  ‘Trust me,’ he laughed. ‘And don’t be such a pessimist.’