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  ‘Ever since Keith passed away I’ve tried to warn you that the firm was becoming increasingly vulnerable. As chairman of Waterford Electronics, I would have said no to Holt. Even if you had taken the measures I suggested months ago, I would perhaps have stayed loyal. But, as it is, I have to look out for my own interests.’

  She swallowed, hard. ‘May I ask what he has offered?’

  ‘I don’t really want to go into that,’ came the placid reply. ‘But I can say this-nobody could really quibble with the price he’s offering. In fact, I can go so far as to say I’m not doing badly out of this at all, Kirby.’

  You smarmy little traitor, she thought savagely. I’ll bet you aren’t. But didn’t utter the words. Instead, she forced herself to speak composedly. ‘Malcolm, I needn’t tell you that I’m opposed to a take-over from Damian Holt. I really feel you owe it to me to give me a first option on your shares. I’ll match the Holt Corporation’s offer, of course.’

  ‘Ah. And how exactly will you raise the money, Kirby?’

  She took a shaky breath. ‘I’ll sell the Lodge.’

  ‘Well, well,’ he said softly. ‘So you mean business.’

  ‘Yes, Malcolm. I mean business.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, it’s a pity.’

  ‘You’ve already sold the shares to the Holt Corporation?’ she asked in dread.

  ‘Not quite. But I really don’t feel I can afford to wait while you put the Lodge on the market, Kirby. It could take months to sell. In the meantime, Waterford Electronics shares might take a nose-dive—especially if there are rumours about a rift in the management.’ He sighed in a lifelike imitation of regret.

  ‘No, Kirby, I’m sorry. For my own sake, I’m going to have to let Damian Holt have my shares.’

  ‘I see,’ she said numbly. ‘You took this decision without consulting me. You didn’t even wait until the board meeting next week!’

  ‘Don’t sound so distressed,’ he said, with phony sympathy.

  ‘Whatever happens, you’ll still have a jolly big chunk of the shares. If you don’t sell to Holt, they can’t kick you out—can they?’

  ‘No, but you know as well as I do that I can’t control Waterford Electronics on my own. Damian Holt and his people would run rings around me!’

  ‘That is rather a problem,’ Sir Malcolm sighed in sugary regret.

  ‘Tell me something, Malcolm,’ she asked. ‘Have you by any chance spoken to Roderick Braithwaite on this topic?’

  ‘Ah, now, Roderick.’ Sir Malcolm laughed. ‘Roderick Braithwaite is an unpredictable factor. I have no doubt that Holt will have approached him, just as they approached me. But, in addition to being a board member and a major shareholder, Roderick is also chief manager of the firm. And a good chief manager, I might add. He might be a little uncertain about his future in Waterford Electronics, with the Holt Corporation as a major shareholder. I’d guess he’d be pretty ambivalent.

  If you’re considering anything dramatic, like a fight-back, then perhaps Braithwaite is your best ally. Talk it over with him. Personally,’ he chuckled, ‘I’m just glad to be out of the firing-line, with a good profit in my pocket. Must rush now. Got a golf appointment. Take care, Kirby. Oh-and good luck with that board meeting.

  I won’t be there, of course … but Damian Holt will.’ He rang off.

  She cried surprisingly little.

  Perhaps that was because this was the second time Damian Holt had tried to break her heart, and by now she was getting used to it.

  But more likely it was because of the ingredient that hadn’t been present six years ago-anger.

  Or, to put it more accurately, fury.

  It was a shimmering sense of outrage that made Kirby’s whole body feel hot. Outrage at the way he’d deceived her about his intentions towards Waterford Electronics.

  Outrage at the means he’d used to distract her, beguile her, bamboozle her.

  All the time she’d been fluttering with excitement at his pretended interest, her poor heart yearning for his affection, he’d been cold-bloodedly setting about a way to take the company away from her. Pluck himself a nice, ripe, profitable plum.

  How he must have laughed at her.

  He had set about making her fall in love with him, all over again, with scheming deliberation. The kind words. The ride up to Sovereign Force. The caresses that had set her ablaze. All, no doubt, calculated to the last move, the last kiss …

  In fact, she thought with a sudden, horrible revelation, Wendy Catchpole’s convenient absence itself must have been planned. He had deliberately sent her away to give him a clear field with Kirby Waterford.

  Or had she connived at it? She, with her cold green eyes and her ‘sophisticated’, ‘modem’ marriage—had she too been in on the stratagem?

  More than likely. ‘We don’t let insignificant little details come between us,’ she had said. ‘We keep our attention on the important things of life.’ That had been an almost deliberate taunt. Telling Kirby that she had been used, that she didn’t matter, that she was not one of the important things of life.

  So, even as Damian had been making love to her, with that apparently blazing passion, there must have remained, somewhere in that over-sized brain of his, an icy little place that never took its attention off the real objective.

  How he must have gloated at the way she’d fallen so neatly, so completely into his trap.

  That thought made her weep with sheer fury.

  Why hadn’t she known better? Why had she been so helplessly vulnerable to his wiles? Having once been burned, hadn’t she even had the sense to avoid the flame a second time? She cursed her own stupidity with a venom that superseded even her rage against Damian.

  Fool, idiot, weak-hearted feminine dupe! Was this the poise she’d gained over five years of marriage?

  Was this the much-vaunted maturity she’d imagined she had achieved? To let Damian Holt use and abuse her, and then take her company away?

  No, she told herself, wiping the tears from her lids.

  No. She was not going to put her head into that particular noose. Not now. Damian had made the fatal mistake of playing his hand too soon. He should not have let Wendy Catchpole come to that lunch.

  It had been Wendy’s presence there, more than anything, that had set the alarm bells ringing. Had he chosen to break his great ‘plan’ to her alone, in the wonderful afterglow of their lovemaking, she might—might just have fallen for it. Sighed, ‘Yes,’ and signed on the dotted line.

  But now she had seen the pit at her feet, had seen the sharpened stakes of the trap.

  Now she’d realised that Damian Holt was not a friend—but an enemy.

  When the tears had stopped, Kirby reached for the telephone again. If Roderick Braithwaite was her best ally, then it was time she got in touch with him. Fast.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CAROLINE LANGTON bent to pick up a stick. She threw it across the meadow, and the dogs went galloping away after it in a babble of enthusiastic yapping.

  ‘Well, if you don’t trust Damian Holt,’ she said to Kirby, ‘I can’t imagine how you can think of trusting Roderick Braithwaite. The man is an utter creep.’

  ‘You mean he’s not plausible and good-looking, like Damian,’ Kirby retorted ironically.

  ‘I mean he’s a toad, Kirby! And the fact that you’re hob-nobbing with him won’t change him into a fairy prince!’

  ‘I only went to dinner with the man last night―and he was one of Keith’s oldest friends.’

  ‘He’s also a prospective suitor… isn’t he?’

  ‘He thought he was. That part wasn’t nice, I admit. But I don’t have much choice.’ Kirby’s oval face wore a look of grim determination that her friend had seldom seen on it before. ‘At least he’ll support me in fighting Damian Holt’s take-over. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘He’ll only support you because he thinks he can make his own position even stronger.’

  ‘I can handle Roderick, Caroline.’


  ‘Can you? And how can you be sure he won’t betray you?’

  Kirby had no ready answer to that. They crested the rise, and were looking across the fields at Langton Farm. The mellow stone of the old farmhouse was bathed in the late afternoon sunlight. Kirby had come here to her friend’s home so many times over the past year. She’d come to regard it as a refuge from storms.

  Which was why she was spending another weekend here now, sheltering from the pain of what Damian had done to her. It was a Sunday afternoon, filled with the infinite peace of an English Sunday in the country. She wasn’t looking forward to leaving this idyll, and going back to the emptiness of the Lodge tonight.

  She thought back over her meeting with Roderick Braithwaitelast night at the Braythorpe Hotel. Roderick, of course, had been fully aware of the Holt Corporation take-over bid, and had obviously been waiting-with smug amusement-for her to get back in touch with him.

  ‘I told you what sort of advice Damian Holt likes to give, didn’t I, Kirby?’ he’d greeted her belligerently.

  ' “Make yourselves nice and small, my lambs, so I can swallow you whole!” Remember? You laughed at me then. You’re laughing on the other side of your face now!’

  The three hours’ discussion which had followed had not been pleasant for Kirby. She’d been forced to eat a great deal of humble pie. Roderick had pointed out, with considerable force, and in several different ways, just how wrong she had been, and just how right he had been.

  He’d also repeated his threat to defect to another firm, leaving her to deal with Damian Holt on her own.

  But, in the end, drained and exhausted, she had secured what she’d wanted-Roderick’s word that he would not sell out to the Holt Corporation, leaving her completely isolated.

  In exchange, she had agreed to review Roderick’s position within Waterford Electronics. She’d managed to keep that vague, by dint of some very careful arguing; but they both knew what Roderick was talking about … the chairmanship of the company.

  And in the end Kirby knew she was going to have to face up to some very difficult choices. She couldn’t keep up this tightrope-walking act indefinitely.

  It was Kirby’s turn to throw the stick, and she flung it with all her force, deriving some release from the action. The dogs flew after their quarry in joy.

  ‘It seems to me,’ Caroline interrupted Kirby’s thoughts, ‘that you haven’t really given Damian Holt anything like a fair chance.’

  ‘Caroline,’ she replied drily, ‘I know you’re a member of the Damian Holt fan club, but how many more chances do I have to give him? I trusted him to find a way of saving Waterford Electronics from exploitation. What he has done is start a take-over bid. It’s war, plain and simple.’

  ‘But you haven’t listened to his reasoning. By your own admission, you stormed out of L’Escargot in a rage before he’d even finished explaining. You still don’t really know the details of what he’s offering.’

  ‘I don’t have to,’ she replied tightly.

  They walked homeward, towards the farmhouse. Caroline took her friend’s arm. ‘Aren’t you being rather emotional about this?’

  Kirby didn’t answer. There was nothing she could say. Caroline did not know what had happened between her and Damian. And Kirby did not want to go into the details of that―not now. It would be too painful, too humiliating, to acknowledge how Damian had led her down the garden path, how he had seduced her mind and body with such contemptuous ease.

  The feeling of having been manipulated, violated, was sickening. But she didn’t have the heart to reveal her degradation to Caroline yet. So all she said was, ‘Maybe I am being emotional. That doesn’t mean I’m not right in what I say.’

  ‘Well, I think you should at least hear what he has to tell you,’ Caroline said gently. ‘Can’t do any harm, can it?’

  ‘I detest him,’ Kirby asserted with considerable vehemence. ‘I never want to set eyes on him again!’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Caroline asked gently. ‘Well, that’s rather unfortunate.’

  Kirby looked at her friend in quick dismay. ‘Oh, Caroline―you haven’t! Have you?’

  ‘If you mean, are you likely to see him again soon … the answer is yes.’

  ‘You’ve invited Damian here?’ Kirby looked around agitatedly, as if expecting Damian to materialise out of the landscape.

  ‘As a matter of fact, he invited himself here. He seemed to guess that you’d choose my place as your bolthole this weekend. He very badly wants to speak to you. A bare three minutes, he said. No more than a word. Naturally, I agreed that he should come and see you here.’

  ‘Naturally? How could you, Caroline?’

  ‘I’m a treacherous old hag, I agree. But the man is very persuasive, as I’m sure you know. It was hard to resist him. Especially as I’m a member of what you call his fan club.’ She held on to Kirby’s arm tightly, as though Kirby were liable to bolt, like a rabbit, at any moment. She patted Kirby’s hand. ‘Personally speaking,’ she smiled, ‘if a man like Damian Holt were chasing after me, I’d be a little more co-operative than you’re being.’

  Kirby uttered a short word that caused Caroline’s eyebrows to rise. ‘When is he coming?’ she demanded.

  Caroline glanced at her watch. ‘Actually, he should be at the house right now. I thought I’d get you out of the way while he arrived.’

  Kirby stopped dead. She stared blankly at Caroline, then down at her own outfit-shabby cord denims and a scuffed Barbour jacket. She could only guess what the wind had done to her hair and complexion.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she sighed. ‘And look at the state I’m in.’

  Caroline Langton laughed. ‘Not very consistent. First you declare you never want to see the man again, now you’re worrying about not looking your best to meet him,'

  Kirby glared at Caroline. ‘I’m glad you think this is funny, Caroline, because I don’t! This is awful!’

  The older woman made an effort to look solemn. ‘Actually, you look fine. You’re lucky―you’re the type who looks at her best with pink cheeks and tousled hair. Anyway, he’s not here to give you marks for fashion. He just wants three minutes talk with you. Come along, Kirby.’

  Kirby groaned as Caroline led her onwards. ‘But there’s nothing he can say,’ she protested. ‘I’ve heard it all before!’ The horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach was so very familiar. If she could have turned, and fled across the moorland, she’d have done so. But she was cornered, with no option but to go back into the lion’s den.

  For the last hundred yards she felt like a prisoner being led to the firing-squad. The feeling wasn’t helped by seeing that Damian’s black Porsche was indeed parked on the gravel in front of the farmhouse. She was as tense as a drawn bow.

  They walked into the house by a side-entrance.

  Caroline’s staff had shown the visitor to the drawingroom, where he was waiting. Kirby wanted to head straight for her bedroom, to restore at least some order to her tousled appearance, but Caroline would have none of it.

  ‘In you go,’ she said firmly, pushing Kirby forward. ‘I’ll leave you in complete privacy.’

  ‘I don’t want complete―oh, damn! I’ll never forgive you for this, Caroline.’

  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and tried to summon her strength. Then she walked into the drawingroom.

  Damian was standing in front of the fire, a tall, dark figure in casual clothes that emphasised his splendid physique. He did not move as she came into the room.

  But the deep blue eyes met hers with an impact that was like an electric shock.

  He was silent for a moment, just studying her. Then he said, ‘I’ve been trying to telephone you since Friday, Kirby.’

  She forced herself to speak. ‘I told Mrs Carstairs to ignore your calls.’

  ‘And not tell me where you were when I came to the Lodge,’ he said drily. ‘Yes, I know.’

  Her voice stuck in her dry throat. ‘I asked you to stay away from me,
Damian. Why did you come here?’

  ‘Because, despite what you may believe, you and I have a great deal to discuss, Kirby.’

  ‘Such as?’ she asked tautly.

  ‘The least important issue is the fact that I am now rapidly becoming a major shareholder in your company. I’m already entitled to a seat on the board. That alone requires us to do some talking, wouldn’t you say?’

  Her voice was hard. ‘Oh, I know what you want to discuss.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Of course. You’re buying up all the spare shares you can find. You’ve even managed to talk Sir Malcolm Denison into betraying me. But you won’t have full control until you’ve got your hands on the shares Keith left me. That’s why you’re here, Damian. Even though you know I’ve seen through you and the hateful game you’ve played with me. Well, we can do all the talking we need to do at the board meeting.’