Whirlpool Page 17

  Somewhere warm and bright. With a view of the river, perhaps. Within reach of the cheerful bustle of the town.

  Somewhere she would be able to see her old friends for coffee, meet people of her own age, recover her stalled life …

  But, at the moment, those were impossible dreams.

  She turned to the mountain of correspondence, social and business, that she had to work on this morning.

  But she was still fantasising about this prospect several hours later when she realised, with a sinking sensation of panic, that Damian would soon be here to pick her up.

  She hastened to get ready. The wintry weather dictated warm clothes. She chose a roll-neck jersey in downy, dove-grey wool, and a pair of matching wool trousers, tucked into a pair of soft leather boots that would withstand the worst of the slush. A hat and coat were going to be a necessity if they had to walk anywhere.

  She applied make-up with a light hand, as she always did. She studied her own pale face in the mirror as she touched her lips with red. She looked so tired and frail.

  These past days had drained her emotions. She had not felt this kind of emotional exhaustion since… She smiled wearily. Since the last time Damian had derailed her life.

  She snapped the lipstick shut, and brushed the chestnut curls of her hair. Whether it was because she had slept badly, or because of the cumulative drain on her feelings, today she felt close to capitulation.

  Coming on top of everything else, Mrs Carstairs’s enticing picture of a life without the nightmare burdens of the Lodge and the firm had affected her strongly.

  She wished with all her heart that she looked prettier to face Damian this morning. The pathetic wishes of a woman in love, she thought wryly. Wanting to be more beautiful, more attractive, more irresistible.

  Come on, Kirby, she told herself fiercely. Don’t be a weak fool. Pull yourself together, girl!

  She was getting increasingly nervous. She had to force herself to stop drumming her fingers or showing other signs of nerves as she waited downstairs. She pretended to be busy with her correspondence, but in reality was far too highly strung to concentrate on anything.

  If she could have avoided this coming interview by any means possible, she would have done. But she knew Damian’s character. He would not give up until he had achieved his goal. She would have to face him, and get this over with, once and for all.

  Mrs Carstairs tapped at the door. ‘A telephone call for you, ma’am. A Miss Catchpole, from London.’

  Kirby stiffened. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Mrs Carstairs to say she was out. But then curiosity overcame her reservations. She went to the telephone, and lifted it.

  ‘Kirby Waterford speaking,’ she said briskly.

  The familiar, upper-class tones replied, ‘Hello, Kirby. It’s Wendy Catchpole. I’m calling from my flat, in London.’ There was a pause. ‘I don’t know whether Damian’s told you about our various decisions yet.’

  ‘He mentioned that you had gone back down to London,’ Kirby answered guardedly.

  ‘Ah. Well, there’s more to it than that, though I expect Damian will tell you about that himself, in time. There are various ramifications, business and personal. But I’m making this call on my own behalf. To give you a little business advice, woman to woman.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Kirby said, her voice growing even stiffer. ‘I seem to be getting a lot of business advice lately.’

  ‘You need it,’ Wendy said bluntly. ‘You know very little about business, despite the position that your husband’s death has put you in.’ The tones were as clipped and precise as ever, but Kirby sensed no underlying hostility beneath Wendy’s speech. ‘I’m not going to be wearisome about this. But I feel there are one or two things you really ought to know about Damian.’

  ‘I don’t think you can tell me anything I don’t already know about Damian,’ she replied shortly.

  ‘Don’t be too sure. You’ve known him a lot longer than I have, I agree. But you know him as a man. I know him as a businessman. And that’s a very different matter. I see things about him that you don’t.’

  ‘Such as?’ Kirby challenged.

  ‘To take an example, you seem rather fixated on this wretched affair of the polluted river … the chemical spillage, the poisoned fish―all that little drama.’

  ‘Is there something I don’t know about that?’

  ‘Kirby, business runs on other people’s money. Shareholders’ money. You understand that, surely. A company loss is the shareholders’ loss. When a chemical firm gets sued for millions, it isn’t just some faceless corporation―it’s thousands of individuals, some of them by no means rich, who stand to make a loss.’

  ‘Nothing like the loss of those fishermen, who had their livelihood taken away from them!’

  ‘Damian didn’t spill the chemicals himself, you know,’ Wendy replied mildly. ‘It was an accident. Accidents do happen. But what I’m trying to get at is that it was Damian’s primary duty, as head of the group, to make sure that his shareholders didn’t suffer an unacceptable loss. He had an obligation to them which came before his obligation to outside parties, even though they’d also sustained a serious misfortune.’

  ‘I’m not as naive as all that, Wendy,’ she retorted. ‘I know that argument.’

  ‘Yes. But what you don’t know is that, once he’d successfully contested the fishermen’s claim, he paid for the clean-up out of his own pocket.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He would never talk about it, perhaps not even to you. He values his ruthless image far too highly. It keeps his shareholders confident that he’ll always defend their interests to the utmost. But I can tell you for a fact that he paid over two million pounds of his own money to finance the clean-up―in addition to setting up a trust fund to help the fishing villages over the crisis.’

  Kirby was too stunned to answer for a moment. ‘Is that―is that true?’ she stammered at last.

  ‘It’s not only true, but the aid programme is set to continue for several more years yet. They’ll be able to buy new boats, new nets, and improve their standard of living dramatically. I’m not trying to make Damian out as some kind of angel. But I hate to hear him criticised by people who don’t know any better.

  Like that man at Caroline’s party. As I said then, the Holt Corporation is one of the most generous organisations of its size in the world. Damian gives away millions to Third World countries each year. He has a lot of dreams about world unity and the elimination of poverty… things that his competitors would laugh themselves sick at.’

  ‘1-1 can hardly believe all this!’

  ‘Why would I lie to you?’ Wendy laughed, her metallic voice taking on a wry quality. ‘Do you think it suits me to be whitewashing Damian’s character to my worst rival, Kirby? I’m not a person given to strong emotions. But if I were ever to hate someone, you would qualify at the top of the list.’

  ‘I’ve said some awful things to him,’ Kirby said numbly. ‘I feel terrible now.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. As I said, Damian rather relishes his image as the remorseless capitalist, grinding the faces of the poor. It amuses him … and it’s good business. He’s really rather a softie, inside.’

  This extraordinary telephone call had cut Kirby’s legs from beneath her. She sat down, feeling slightly unsteady.

  ‘Why have you called to tell me all this?’

  ‘Well, it’s my roundabout way of getting to the problem of your own company, Waterford Electronics. By the way you reacted the other day, you’ve swallowed the Damian Holt myth hook, line and sinker. Don’t let other people do your thinking for you, Kirby. Check the facts for yourself.’

  ‘How can I do that?’

  ‘Ask people who know. For that matter, ask Damian himself. If he really cares about you, he might let you see the man behind the mask. Now, you asked Damian to help you with your company, and he’s doing just that. But you’re still wearing blinkers. You’re seeing him as some kind of
ogre. He isn’t. If he says he can guarantee to keep your company user-friendly, then he will. After all,’ she pointed out gently, ‘he has had some experience in that field. Furthermore, put yourself on the scale of things. I know Waterford Electronics is a fair-sized firm, but it’s really a very small affair compared to the organisations Damian runs. It really wouldn’t be worth his while to take over your firm just to run it into the ground. If he weren’t so very―fond of you, he wouldn’t be doing any of this.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Wendy.’ Kirby rubbed her face. ‘I really don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Well, that’s about it. Hope you’ll forgive me for sticking my nose in.’

  ‘You’ve been―I want to thank you, Wendy.’

  ‘Not at all. I hate a muddle. Can’t bear turmoil of any kind. It’s such a waste of time and energy, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right…’

  ‘I wonder,’ Wendy said as she rung off, ‘whether you have any idea how lucky you are, Kirby.’

  Kirby put the telephone down, her head spinning.

  Suddenly, everyone was telling her what a wonderful person Damian Holt was. As if she needed telling …

  And at last she heard the growl of Damian’s Porsche outside the house. She rose, and went to the door to greet him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DAMIAN was wearing a dark suit, with a supple suede coat thrown over his wide shoulders. He looked what he was―distinguished, successful, an achiever. He greeted her on the doorstep, unsmiling.

  ‘Good morning, Kirby,’

  ‘Good morning, Damian.’ She looked at him, wondering whether she would ever see a more beautiful man as long as she lived.

  ‘Got a coat?’ he asked. ‘Good. Let’s go.’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, as he held open the door of the Porsche.

  ‘To lunch,’ was all he replied. He had not kissed her, but he took her arm as they walked to his car. The hard muscles of his body brushed against her, setting her emotions fluttering.

  As they drove down the road towards the town, she remembered, with an acute pang, the drive back from the stables on the afternoon of their ride to Sovereign Force. Then they’d been on their way, though she hadn’t known it then, to an unforgettable night of love. Then, too, it had been wet and rainy. Perhaps rain was the weather that suited them best …

  She turned in her seat to look at him. ‘Bought any more Waterford Electronics shares this morning?’ she asked with light irony.

  ‘A few more,’ he replied. ‘With all the interest, the price is starting to rise, unfortunately. This could work out an expensive exercise. Unless…’

  ‘Unless?’ she prompted as he paused.

  ‘Unless I can talk you into letting me have yours cheap.’

  She was so taken aback by this audacity that she snorted. He turned to her with that hidden smile of his.

  ‘Don’t bother saying what’s in your mind,’ he said. ‘I can guess.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Did you get Wendy to the airport on time?’ she asked sweetly.

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘We parted very amicably.’

  ‘What about dear Daddy? Isn’t he going to be upset that this oh, so convenient love-match isn’t coming off?’

  ‘Gerald? I’ve already spoken to him. He’s no more heartbroken than Wendy is.’

  ‘Even after you jilted his daughter?’

  ‘He understands. You have to realise,’ Damian said evenly, ‘that my relationship with Wendy had very little in common with, say, my relationship with you. It was never based on emotion. It was far more like a business deal. If you don’t marry for love,’ he shrugged, ‘you might as well marry for more mercenary reasons.’

  ‘And you’re a very mercenary man, aren’t you, Damian?’ she said.

  ‘My options were limited,’ he replied gently. ‘I knew I would never marry for love. Wendy was a good choice … while other options were closed. It would have suited us all for economic reasons. You called it a merger the other day, and you weren’t far wrong. But when other factors came into it the economics just weren’t relevant any more.’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ Kirby said casually, ‘Wendy rang me this morning, just before you arrived.’

  He looked at her sharply. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Oh … this and that. We discussed your character.’

  ‘This is beginning to sound more and more sinister.’

  ‘There were a few surprises. When you told me you and she had broken up yesterday, I didn’t really believe you. But from what she said on the telephone, I don’t seem to have much choice any more.’

  ‘You thought I was lying?’

  ‘I don’t know what I thought. When did you make this decision?’

  ‘For my part? One minute after I set eyes on you last weekend.’

  She closed her eyes. How skilful he was at knowing where to thrust the dagger in! If he only knew his capacity to wound her vulnerable emotions! ‘You should write romantic movie-scripts, Damian. You have a definite talent for flummery.’

  He did not respond to the gibe, perhaps sensing that it held no bitterness. ‘You’re different this morning,’ he said.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, you’re not at my throat the whole time. What’s changed, Kirby?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure,’ she replied slowly. ‘Maybe I have.’

  ‘Did Wendy say something to alter your opinion of me?’

  ‘No, not really. My opinion of you is pretty much fixed, Damian. It was fixed a long time ago, and nothing will ever really change it.’

  ‘Sounds ominous,’ he smiled.

  ‘Wendy’s call was…’ She hesitated. ‘Sometimes, in the mornings, you’re lying awake, but still dreamy―and the alarm goes off. It hasn’t really awoken you, but it’s a signal that you have to face up to reality now. That’s what Wendy’s call was like.’ She turned her face away from him, looking out of the window of the car. They were driving along a leafy lane that ran parallel to the river, leading to a secluded residential area where some of Braythorpe’s grandest houses were situated. ‘Where are we going?’ she said. ‘There are no restaurants around here.’

  ‘I thought we’d take a look at something before we ate,’ he said cryptically. ‘Right here, in fact.’

  Kirby saw the name of the house as he swung the Porsche into the driveway. It was picked out on the massive wrought-iron gates that hung open on stone pillars-Ely Hall. She also saw a ‘For Sale’ sign beneath it. She sat in silent puzzlement as they approached the house through an avenue of giant chestnut trees.

  Ely Hall, when it came into view, was not huge. But the stunning beauty of its ivy-clad facade made Kirby gasp. It was perfectly proportioned, an English country house of immaculate loveliness.

  An old house. Older than the Lodge, older even than Langton Farm, this majestic house must have dated back to the early seventeenth century at least. Its gables and barley-twist chimneys proclaimed that.

  As they approached, she saw that the front garden was filled with topiary figures, yew bushes clipped into fantastic shapes of animals and birds, every leaf trimmed to precision over centuries of skill.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ she asked Damian in astonishment.

  ‘Don’t you like the place?’

  ‘I love it. It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen. But 1still don’t know what we’re doing here…’ She gazed around. ‘The place looks deserted. And there was a “For Sale” sign at the gate, wasn’t there?’

  Damian parked the car in front of Ely Hall, and took something out of his pocket, holding it up for her to see. ‘The keys,’ he said succinctly.

  ‘I can see that. Keys to what? To this place?’

  The smile that never reached his mouth was in his eyes again. ‘Yes. To this place. Let’s take a look.’

  Kirby followed him in bewilderment to the front door.

  He unlocked it, and she t
entatively went in.

  The serene atmosphere of the lovely old house enveloped them. She paused in the hallway, gazing up at the carved minstrel gallery that ran above their heads.

  Ely Hall, was, if that were possible, even more beautiful inside than out. She caught an impression of magnificent old furniture, fine oil-paintings, Persian rugs on the floor. Carved linen-fold panelling ran the entire length of the hall. A splendid chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystal prisms muted now, as if waiting to fulminate into dazzling light at the touch of a switch.