Whirlpool Page 16

  ‘Kirby,’ he said quietly, ‘I can understand your anger. What I can’t understand is why you won’t even let me speak to you.’

  ‘So you can tell me more lies?’

  ‘I’ve never lied to you.’

  ‘You betrayed me,’ Kirby flashed. ‘You behaved in the most despicable way a man can ever behave towards a woman.’

  ‘And how is that?’ he asked.

  ‘You violated my trust! You took me to bed―and made love to me to blind me to what you were doing behind my back!’

  ‘Do you really think that?’ he asked, his eyes holding hers. ‘Is that why you think I took you to bed and made love to you?’

  ‘I don’t think it was out of charity to a poor widow,’ she said, her cheeks scarlet now. ‘When you were seducing me, Damian, you had already begun buying up

  Waterford shares. In secret. Without telling me. Do you really expect me to imagine your intentions were pure as the driven snow?’

  ‘I didn’t have what you call “intentions” of any kind,’ he replied, even more quietly. ‘We made love because that was what we’d both been longing for from the moment we set eyes on one another again … right here, in this room.’

  ‘Very romantic,’ she replied shortly, trying to disguise the way his quiet words had affected her.

  ‘We made love,’ he went on, ‘because we are in love. And have been so ever since we were little more than children.’

  That hit her like a dagger stabbing into her heart. She went pale, and felt the room sway around her. ‘How can you be so cruel?’ she whispered.

  ‘As for my not telling you about the shares―how could I? I’d already developed the only plan I could see for achieving what you wanted. I started to tell you what I had in mind up at Sovereign Force. But before I could get to the point you said that you would never dream of selling Waterford Electronics to me. You said you trusted me even less than Braithwaite or Denison. You said you could never believe me capable of an altruistic action. I realised then that it would be better to present you with a fait accompli than try and convince you by reasoning.’

  ‘Well, you’ve presented me with your fait accompli, all right. But you’re not going to have it all your own way,’ she told him grimly. ‘I’m not as defenceless as you hope I am.’

  ‘You mean Roderick Braithwaite?’ Damian shrugged. ‘I know you saw him last night. I can imagine what you discussed. But, I assure you, he doesn’t come into this.’

  ‘He comes into it more than you might like to think,’ she retorted. ‘Between us, Roderick and I still control the majority of the stock.’

  Damian’s tanned face was as immobile as if graven from bronze. ‘Roderick Braithwaite is too sensible to oppose what is clearly the best course for the company,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps Roderick Braithwaite has motives which you don’t know about,’ she said recklessly.

  She saw Damian’s eyes narrow quickly. ‘Oh? What motives are those?’

  ‘I told you. Roderick wants to marry me. I’m going to accept him.’

  ‘What rubbish!’

  ‘It is not rubbish,’ she flung at him. ‘As a matter of fact, we set the date last night!’

  She had the satisfaction of seeing the naked anger detonate in Damian’s normally controlled face. He reached her in two swift paces, his fingers biting into her arms with enough force to make her gasp with pain. His eyes blazed down at her like dark lightning. ‘Tell me you don’t mean that,’ he said in a voice whose controlled savagery made her skin tingle.

  ‘You’re hurting me, Damian,’ she told him, finding a quiet dignity somewhere within the turmoil of her emotions. ‘And of course I mean it. I mean everything I say―unlike you.’

  ‘You cannot marry that man,’ he grated.

  ‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘He’s a superb manager.’

  ‘He might be a Nobel prize-winning economist, for all I care. He’s not a fit husband for you!’

  This time it was Kirby’s turn to grow cooler as he grew hotter. ‘Let me go, please,’ she commanded. ‘I refuse to talk to you while you’re mauling’ me.’

  He stared into her face for a moment. Then the disturbing pressure of those strong fingers eased. But he did not release her. Instead, he drew her against his broad chest, his arms sliding around her shoulders to hold her in a close embrace.

  She could not restrain her shudder of emotion as she felt him kiss her throat, his hands caressing her as though he were a groom gentling a distressed thoroughbred.

  ‘Kirby,’ she heard him murmur, his mouth close to her ear, ‘I’m sorry you had to suffer … I didn’t intend it.’

  Then he let her go, and took a step back. By the taut expression on his face, he was fighting down emotions every bit as wild and conflicting as the ones now raging in her own heart.

  ‘I have very little time right now,’ he went on, with an effort. ‘I have to take Wendy to the airport in a few minutes. She’s flying back down to London this afternoon.’

  ‘To give you another crack at the merry widow?’ she asked cruelly.

  ‘No. For good. Wendy and I have broken off our engagement.’

  Kirby tried not to show him how sickeningly her heart had lurched at those words. ‘If you expect me to believe that,’ she retorted, ‘you must take me for an even bigger fool than I thought.’

  ‘Whatever you believe,’ he replied, recovering his self-control, ‘it’s the truth.’ Damian glanced at his watch. ‘I have to go. But before I do I want you to agree to meet me again. And I want you to promise you’ll listen to what I have to say about Waterford Electronics. Whatever the future holds for us, we evidently have to get that out of the way before you’ll be able to think straight. Will you promise me you’ll listen? And that you’ll trust me, Kirby?’

  Her mind was still battling to grasp the news about Wendy Catchpole. Could it be true? She took a shaky breath. ‘When do you want to meet?’

  ‘I’ll come and pick you up at the Lodge tomorrow lunchtime. Agreed?’

  She stared at him, feeling as though a maelstrom was whirling inside her, opposing emotions battling wildly for supremacy. It was an effort to speak at last. ‘How can I ever believe you, Damian?’ she asked in a tortured voice. ‘How do I know whether you’re telling me the truth or callous lies?’

  ‘I don’t think I can give you the answer to that, Kirby,’ he replied gently. ‘I think the answer lies in your own heart.’

  He leaned forward, and kissed her on the mouth. She made no effort to avoid him. His lips were warm and possessive, but the contact was momentary. Then he was walking out of the room, without turning back.

  Kirby felt so weak that she had to sit down. She hugged her aching stomach with both arms, hunched by the fire, whose warmth did not seem to touch her. Fragments of what he had said whirled through her mind like leaves in a gale…We are in love… and have been so ever since we were little more than children …trust me, Kirby.

  Of course, she had been lying when she’d said she had accepted Roderick’s proposal. They hadn’t even discussed the idea on Saturday night-Roderick knew that particular scheme was a dead duck. It had never been anything else, whatever she might have led Damian to believe.

  But she’d been almost shocked by the raw anger with which he’d reacted to those words. Damian was not given to displays of emotion, but there had been no doubt of his passion then. Had she totally misjudged him? Were there true and deep emotions beneath that composed male facade?

  She heard Caroline come into the room, and felt the gentle touch of her friend’s hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Kirby―are you all right?’

  ‘No,’ she said unevenly. ‘I’m not all right. I’ve never felt so lost in all my life, Caroline.’

  Caroline sat beside her. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He wants to see me again, alone. To explain about Waterford Electronics, he says. But he said other things, too; That he’s broken off his engagement to Wendy. But I can’t believe him�
�’

  ‘Don’t cry,’ Caroline urged, as Kirby broke down. ‘I trust him, even if you don’t. I’d trust him with my life. Can’t you trust him with a little of your time?’

  Kirby fought for control over herself. She found a handkerchief, and dried her eyes. ‘Doesn’t look as though I’ve got much choice, does it?’ she said bitterly.

  ‘No,’ Caroline agreed with a smile. ‘It doesn’t.’

  Monday dawned grey, windy and rainy again. The fine autumn days were steadily giving way to less pleasant winter weather. Braythorpe could hardly be seen for the pall of mist that hung over the town, and up here a stiff northerly was stripping petals from the last roses with ferocious glee.

  The Lodge was especially sombre on days like this.

  The high-ceilinged rooms were full of shadows, no matter how many lights were on. The wind moaned in the eaves.

  An atmosphere of cold and melancholy pervaded the house, a sort of unheard lament, whose refrain was the tap-tap of the roses against the windows.

  Kirby had been awake since six. She lay in bed, no longer asleep, but not yet ready to face the day, haunted by intensely felt but unclear thoughts. It all tumbled around in her brain, like garments in a washing machine―Damian, the firm, her own future, Roderick Braithwaite, Wendy Catchpole …

  The prospect of joining forces with Roderick against a take-over by Damian was not alluring. True, between the two of them, she and Roderick would always have a significant proportion of the stock, however many Damian managed to secure. But not a big enough majority to fight him off. And, as she’d told Caroline, she had no hope of being able to control the future of Waterford Electronics the way she’d been doing so far.

  That capacity was already gone. She had to recognise that. Even if Roderick had been a pliable person, who would do exactly as she ordered all the time, the presence of Damian within the firm would be intolerable. His brilliance and authority would soon dominate them all.

  And Roderick was not a pliable ally. He had definite ideas about the future of Waterford Electronics, and, to keep him on her side, she would have to make bigger and bigger concessions to his ideas. And in the process she would lose all control over Waterford Electronics.

  One way or the other, she was being forced into a corner.

  Like Hercules, she remembered from her schooldays, forced to sail between the two perils of Scylla and Charybdis-the whirlpool and the monster.

  And there were deeper, more disturbing implications in all this.

  That Damian, her whirlpool, had broken off his engagement with Wendy Catchpole was the most disturbing factor among so many in all her turbulent thoughts.

  Was it true? And, if it was, could she really believe the implication that Damian wanted her?

  He had hurt her so badly once before. If only she could learn to trust him again … but could she ever trust him again? It was just too much to ask, to throw herself back into the whirlpool for his sake.

  And yet … was she being blind to her own emotions?

  How long could she keep denying the strength of her own bond with Damian?

  It was there, like the living force within a tree. No matter how many times she tried to lop off its branches, it was continually putting forth new leaves, new flowers.

  A force that was constantly renewed, fed from roots that went deep, deep into her being. It would only fade when she herself did. She knew that now.

  If it had survived five years of marriage to Keith, with Damian far away in London, what would happen now that they were both free? How could she stop those beautiful, treacherous blossoms from bursting out?

  It was something she could no longer deceive herself about. She had pretended and dissembled for too long now. The time was coming when she would have to face up to it―her enduring, absolute love for Damian.

  She’d once been foolish enough to imagine that she had outgrown it. But she’d been wrong. So very wrong.

  It had grown, as she had grown. She loved him more, now, than she had done six years ago.

  Then she had loved him as a girl, with a girl’s inexperience, a girl’s inability to cope with big emotions.

  Now she loved him as a mature woman. She loved him as someone who understood what love was. Why could she not just accept that? Let the whirlpool draw her in, deep, deep … abandon all hope … just let Damian do as he pleased with her?

  Kirby rose, feeling as though there was a fire in her head. She showered and dressed, and went downstairs to face the day.

  She had already finished her simple breakfast of fruit and coffee before Mrs Carstairs and her two helpers arrived.

  She greeted them warmly, as usual, but the elderly housekeeper seemed to sense the melancholy mood of the house.

  ‘It’s a gloomy place on a day like this,’ she said to Kirby as she put on her apron. ‘These old houses need families in them to bring them alive. A person on their own can never fill all the empty spaces.’

  Mrs Carstairs had dropped hints like this before, and Kirby just nodded an absent agreement. But she was surprised when the housekeeper went on in forthright fashion, ‘This’ll be your second winter here all on your own, ma’am. A year alone in the Lodge is quite enough. Don’t you fancy somewhere a little cosier…more suitable for a lady in your position?’

  ‘You mean―get rid of the Lodge?’

  ‘Aye, that’s what I do mean.’ Mrs Carstairs poured herself a cup of coffee from the percolator Kirby had prepared. ‘Even when Mr. Waterford was alive, this house was far too big. If you’d had a family, now … but that wasn’t to be. And, since he passed away, God rest him, it’s been nothing but a burden to you, Mrs Waterford. Isn’t that true?’

  Kirby studied the sensible old face. ‘Are you saying the place is getting too much for you, Mrs Carstairs?’

  ‘Well, it certainly is that,’ Mrs Carstairs agreed with Yorkshire directness. ‘But that wasn’t what I was getting at.’ She stirred her coffee briskly, looking at Kirby sideways.

  Kirby smiled, despite her heavy heart, and pulled a chair back. ‘Sit down, Mrs Carstairs, and tell me what you were getting at.’

  The housekeeper sat down, smoothing her severe white apron with her hands. ‘There’ve been rumours in the town,’ she began. ‘Rumours about Waterford Electronics. They say the firm is likely to be coming under new management soon. Now, I don’t understand the ins and outs of high finance, ma’am, but everyone knows Mr. Holt’s a fine gentleman.’

  ‘Do they?’ she prompted warily.

  ‘Aye, they do.’ Mrs Carstairs sipped her coffee. ‘And he’s a Braythorpe lad, though he lives in London these days. They trust him to run the firm just as Mr. Waterford would have done. Now, some folks say that you’re not keen on his taking over. They say you think of it as... well, as sort of disloyal to your late husband’s memory. But that would be a silly way to think, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Kirby invited drily. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, it’s obvious. A woman who’s had no experience of business shouldn’t be expected to take over where her husband left off. It isn’t right. It’s too much of a burden. Sooner or later she has to find a suitable man to carry on. That’s what I say, ma’am.’

  ‘You’re telling me to sell the Lodge and let Damian Holt take over Waterford Electronics?’ Kirby said.

  ‘I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to run your life, Mrs Waterford.’

  ‘But that’s what you are saying. In fact, you’re asking me to do you out of a job, among other things.’

  There was a twinkle in the wise old eyes. ‘If you’re worried about the staff—’ she jerked her thumb in the direction of the maids ‘―they’ll find new jobs soon enough. As for me, I’m about ready to retire.’ She paused to drain her cup. ‘Or, if I was wanted to continue in the same position, but in a smaller house,’ she continued casually as she rose to her feet, ‘there might be a few years left in me yet.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Kirby smiled.


  ‘One more thing, ma’am.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A lovely young woman oughtn’t to stay a widow. It’s not seemly. A year of mourning is enough. It’s time to think about picking up your life again. I’ll be about my business now, ma’am.’

  Kirby sat alone, looking broodingly out at the rain.

  How tempting. How very tempting to abdicate her responsibilities towards Waterford Electronics on to broader stronger shoulders. How very tempting to leave the Lodge and its echoing rooms, and move to a single-woman-sized apartment in Braythorpe.