Whirlpool Page 2

  ‘What’s all this about the devil?’ John MacIntyre asked.

  ‘Oh, Damian’s in leaguewith the powers of darkness,’ Caroline smiled. ‘I thought everyone knew that.’

  ‘Good lord!’ John said.

  ‘She merely means that I’ve made a lot of money,’ Damian explained drily.

  ‘I mean that you sold your soul to the devil years ago,’ she laughed. ‘Can you deny it?’

  Glancing sideway sat Caroline, Damian lifted his wine glass to his smiling lips. ‘I suppose not.’ He had such beautiful hands, Kirby thought absently. Strong, precise, sensual. The only hands whose touch on her body had ever made her pulses race, and the fever rise in her blood.

  She fought that thought down painfully.

  ‘Is the devil’s pay worth it?’ she asked, making one of her few contributions to the conversation.

  ‘I’ve found that being on his staff pays very handsomely,’

  Damian nodded solemnly. His suit, as if to underline the point, was exquisitely cut. The black silk had been tailored to hug, rather than flatter, his broad shoulders and deep chest. A figure like Damian Holt’s didn’t need flattering. It spoke for itself.

  ‘The Holt Corporation runs dozens of companies, doesn’t it?’ someone asked. ‘It must be very exciting.’

  ‘It can be,’ Damian shrugged. ‘But you’d be surprised how dull it can get. Business tends to be endless variations on the same few themes. And for the same few motives.’

  ‘What themes?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘Greed, envy, spite.’ Damian had always possessed a dazzling smile, and he used it now. Beautiful white teeth and glittering, slate-blue eyes. Deep, curving laughter lines on either side of a mouth that had been chiselled to bewitch foolish women. Strong high cheekbones that linked through aristocratic temples to a high, broad forehead. Crow’s-feet, starting to deepen now that he was past thirty-five, reaching towards the silver wings in the dark hair.

  The most attractive man Kirby had ever seen, and ever would see.

  ‘Spite, envy, greed,’ his deep voice went on. ‘The pursuit of wealth and power, my dear Caroline, by whatever means are closest to hand, no matter how mean or petty or dishonest they may be.’

  ‘And you?’ Caroline was leaning her delicate chin on one hand, smiling at Damian dreamily. ‘Are you the Robin Hood in this dark Sherwood Forest, robbing the rich to protect the poor?’

  ‘The poor?’ Wendy Catchpole smiled prettily. ‘Darling Damian is dedicated to seeing that the rich keep on getting richer and richer.’

  ‘Her way of saying I try and meet my responsibilities to my shareholders,’ Damian interpreted.

  ‘You had a spot of bother in the Third World recently, didn’t you?’ The comment had come from one of the men. ‘I’ve been following the Sydenham Chemicals case in the papers.’

  ‘Sydenham Chemicals?’ Caroline asked, tilting her head. ‘That rings a bell somewhere.’

  ‘Spillage of chemicals in some river, somewhere in the Third World,’ John MacIntyre explained laconically.

  ‘Dead fish everywhere. All the environmental groups up in arms. Not to mention the local fishermen, who had an economic disaster on their hands. Their government sued Sydenham Chemicals for several million to pay for the clean-up. Sydenham happens to be owned by the Holt Corporation. Director and owner, Damian Holt.’ He turned to Damian, his expression speculative, rather than warm. ‘But, by the time Damian Holt had finished with them, they were glad to get a few hundred thousand.’

  ‘Some Robin Hood!’ Caroline exclaimed. ‘Damian, I’m shocked!’

  ‘Just paying the devil back,’ he smiled. ‘He likes to get his way.’

  ‘And a few hungry fishermen or a few dead fish here and there don’t really matter, do they?’ Kirby said, not bothering to veil her irony. She’d read about the incident herself, some weeks ago, and had been disgusted at the time. Right now, she’d been sickened even further by his flippant response. But he was impervious to her barbs. He always had been.

  ‘The devil’s wages have the advantage of being generous, and being always paid in advance. All he asks is due repayment…when the time comes.’ Damian glanced around the table, the centre, as always, of attention. His eyes were laughing at them all. ‘If anyone else here is struggling with his or her conscience, my professional advice is to throw your hand in with His Infernal Majesty as soon as possible, Nobody has yet proved the existence of the human soul, but large figures on one’s bank statements are a great comfort. And a few dead fish, as Mrs Waterford says, hardly matter at all.’

  Caroline snorted. ‘Don’t you ever toss any sops to your conscience, Damian? Don’t you ever do anything altruistic?’

  ‘It‘s a very rare phenomenon. You’re talking about charitable causes? Donations and aid? Not very promising, I’m afraid.’

  ‘He’s only trying to sound more loathsome than he actually is,’ Wendy spoke up. ‘Actually, the Holt Corporation does its share of charity work. They give away millions m research grants to poor countries. And Damian does one or two other little things. He’s not completely unredeemed.’

  ‘Well, I’m relieved to hear it,’ Caroline smiled, ‘even though 1doubt whether a few million here or there makes much difference to the Holt Corporation. I’m going to ring for the pudding, and then we ladies will leave you gentlemen to your port, your cigars, and your tall stories.’

  The trifle was being brought in―a magnificent creation in a huge crystal bowl, and the universal ‘ahh’ of admiration successfully deflected the conversation from Damian’s work.

  Kirby turned to Damian’s fiancee. ‘When are you planning to get married?’ she heard her own voice ask, almost normally.

  ‘Oh, we haven’t set the date yet. Probably some time in the new year, when the pressure of work drops a little.’

  Her voice was crisp and precise, like the eyes that were assessing Kirby. Wendy Catchpole’s skin, like Damian’s, was tanned, as though she and Damian had just come back from some sunny holiday, and the long, unfussy sweep of golden hair sat exquisitely on her brown shoulders.

  She wore diamonds at her ears and throat, matched by the big diamond engagement ring on her left hand.

  Rich, upper class and poised, Kirby thought numbly. Exactly the sort of woman Damian would marry.

  ‘I hope you’ll be very happy,’ Kirby said, somehow making it sound warm.

  ‘Oh, we intend to be.’ Was there disdain in those beautiful, glass-green eyes? Had Damian told this Nordic blonde all about what a fool Kirby had made of herself over him, about the absurd and extravagant passion she had once nurtured? Wendy’s face gave nothing away.

  She went on, ‘May I offer my condolences, by the way? Your husband’s death was very tragic. One doesn’t quite know what to say, does one?’

  ‘I’m getting over it,’ Kirby said neutrally. ‘But thank you. You’re not Yorkshire, are you?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ the other woman laughed, as though the Idea was ludicrous. ‘I was born in Hampshire.’

  ‘Of course. How long have you known Damian?’

  ‘Oh, quite some time.’ The precise, rather clipped voice exuded self-possession, and Kirby listened in silence as Wendy Catchpole went on talking about herself and Damian, her well-shaped mouth forming each syllable with confident, metallic precision.

  She worked in a London financial company of which her father, Gerald Catchpole, was a senior partner.

  Daddy was evidently a very wealthy man who’d made large loans to Damian Holt for various projects, and that was how she had first met ‘darling Damian’.

  They had been going out for some time, although things, as Wendy put it, ‘hadn’t got serious’ until some eighteen months ago.

  They’d become engaged during the summer, and, as Kirby had guessed, had just been abroad to Portugal with one another. Wendy Catchpole was obviously extremely proud of her important husband-to-be.

  ‘He’s a marvellous person,’ she concluded with her bell-like laug
h. ‘An absolute darling. But then, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Kirby nodded. ‘1 know that very well indeed.’

  She turned away, and spent the rest of the evening in conversation with some rather dull friends of Keith’s, studiously avoiding Damian’s whirlpool eyes.

  Towards midnight, when the majority of Caroline’s guests had left, and only the closer friends remained, sitting talking intimately in the glassed-in patio, Kirby felt it was time to take her bruised self to bed.

  She heard Wendy Catchpole’s rather metallic laugh from the patio. Not wanting to see her or Damian again, or draw attention to her withdrawal, she found Caroline, and said her goodnights.

  ‘1 could see you were tired and edgy all evening,’ Caroline said compassionately. ‘1 hope it hasn’t been too much of a strain.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s been a lovely evening.’

  ‘Anyway, you’ve got the rest of the weekend to relax in. You didn’t tell me you and Damian Holt were relations, by the way. I had no idea.’

  ‘Well, we don’t keep in touch these days.’

  Caroline studied Kirby’s face inquisitively. ‘You don’t like him one little bit, do you?’

  ‘I’ll tell you about it some time,’ Kirby smiled tightly.

  ‘You should keep in touch with him. He’s a useful man to know. He could give you excellent advice about the problems you’re having with Waterford Electronics.’

  ‘I’m not planning to ask him,’ she said, deadpan.

  ‘A man like Damian can be useful for all sorts of things. Take my advice, Kirby: keep useful men around you. This is a hard world for a woman on her own,’ she said with simple and unsentimental frankness. ‘Women’s liberation is all very well when everybody’s being civilised. But when the going gets rough, a woman finds she needs a man on her side, if only to defend her from the other men.’

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

  They exchanged kisses, and Kirby slipped quietly into the hallway.

  On impulse, she decided to find herself something to read in the library. On nights like this, sleep was often an elusive friend, and she sometimes read until dawn, sitting up in bed.

  The book-lined, oak-panelled library was softly lit. She started hunting through the shelves. It was not easy to find the kind of thing she wanted, and she examined and rejected several books without success.

  Then she heard the door open, and felt another presence in the room.

  She turned, and gave a little gasp as she saw Damian.

  His tall figure was in semi-darkness as he leaned in an alcove, watching her.

  ‘1 had a feeling you might come in here.’

  ‘Did you? You must have powers of telepathy, as well as everything else,’ she replied.

  He pulled out a heavy, leather-bound volume, and flicked through it casually. ‘You made it very obvious tonight that you share Caroline’s disapproval of my progress,’ he said, his eyes on the pages.

  ‘Disapproval?’ Kirby shook her head slowly. ‘No. I think it’s more … disillusionment.’ She held his eyes. ‘You have prodigious talents. You’re using them in the service of Mammon. That’s sad.’

  ‘The service of Mammon?’ he repeated, amused. He slid the book back home into its slot on the crowded shelves. Then he turned to Kirby, wearing a half-smile, and surveyed her. ‘You sound like a Calvinist minister.’

  ‘Perhaps I do.’

  ‘Is being wealthy a sin?’ he asked. ‘In that case, you’re not free of taint yourself, are you? You’re not exactly starving.’ She didn’t answer. ‘Well,’ he shrugged, ‘we’ve both come a long way from our origins, haven’t we, Kirby?’

  ‘A long, long way,’ she agreed quietly. She looked away from him with an effort, and pretended to be absorbed in her search for a book. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight, Damian.’

  ‘Caroline mentioned something about a charming young widow I ought to meet.’ He shrugged one shoulder. ‘I didn’t associate you with the word, “widow”.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said bitterly, ‘I’m a widow. A rapacious, man-hungry widow. So tell me, Damian, is it really safe for you to be closeted alone in a country house with me?’

  ‘I have Wendy to chaperon me now, haven’t I?’

  ‘You don’t need a chaperon, Damian. I got over you a long time ago.’

  ‘Then perhaps we can enjoy a more normal relationship. As friends and cousins.’

  Her voice stayed calm. ‘Yes, of course.’ She gave him one of her almost-real smiles. ‘Your fiancee is very pretty.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve of something,’ Damian said easily. ‘I think Wendy is the right woman for me.’

  Kirby didn’t change her expression, even though that had been like a deliberate slap across the face. ‘I’m sure you deserve one another. It sounds as though your new father-in-law is going to be equally suitable.’

  ‘So it seems,’ he replied non-committally.

  ‘And what are you and Wendy doing back in Yorkshire?’

  ‘Six weeks’ holiday. I thought I’d revisit the scenes of my long-lost youth before I entered the bonds of wedlock.’ His dark eyes trailed down her figure, assessing the lines of her slim body. ‘Marriage has changed you, Kirby,’ he said softly, eyes moving back up to her oval face. ‘It’s made you so much more adult. So much more poised.’

  ‘Has it?’ she asked with an indifference that was almost detached. ‘And how does widowhood suit me?’

  Damian didn’t wince. He was too assured a man for that. But it was a moment before he replied. ‘I’m very, very sorry about Keith. It was a terrible thing to happen. To you, to him.’

  ‘I’ve been a widow for ten months, Damian. I’m no longer distraught.’

  ‘No. You have other problems on your plate these days.’

  Kirby looked up into the dark blue eyes quickly. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Caroline tells me that Keith left you complete control of Waterford Electronics. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That makes you a very rich woman.’

  ‘On paper,’ she said tersely, ‘yes.’

  ‘And a woman with a lot of responsibilities. I don’t think Keith Waterford would have wanted you to have to run his company singlehanded after his death,’ he went on, watching her closely.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she conceded coolly. ‘But things don’t always work out, do they?’

  ‘If you ever need any kind of help, I hope you’ll have the sense to consult me…’

  She looked up at him with a hint of sarcasm in her velvet eyes. ‘Thank you. The trouble is―how much would your help cost me?’

  He had a way of smiling that didn’t move his mouth.

  The laughter-lines just deepened, and his eyes made your heart miss a beat. ‘Time has made you cautious. Once upon a time you were so impulsive.’

  ‘Whereas you were always thinking three moves ahead,’ she said drily.

  ‘Caroline was telling me that you’ve had a lot of problems lately. She thinks that the factory is getting a little too much for you these days.’

  ‘Does she?’ Kirby asked coolly, pulling a book out of the shelves. ‘I’m afraid that Caroline tends to launch into things without consulting people. I don’t want any help, Damian. I’m managing perfectly well.’

  ‘You must find your responsibilities a crushing burden, Kirby.’

  ‘I’m managing,’ she repeated, curtly enough to snub him.

  ‘Why haven’t you appointed a chairman yet? From what Caroline told me tonight, there’s no shortage of applicants for the post.’

  ‘For one simple reason. There’s no one I can trust. I don’t actually want to talk about it, Damian. I only came in to find a book.’ Successfully disguising the effort it took, Kirby turned away from him, and started perusing the shelves.

  ‘Find trouble sleeping?’ Damian asked.

  ‘I simply like reading in bed,’ she told him with a flas
h of irritation at his perception. .

  ‘I know you still feel bitterness towards me,’ Damian said quietly. ‘You probably always will. But any time you find you can’t manage, give me a call. I’ll be staying at the Beechings for the next six weeks.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She was pretending to look through the travelogue she’d selected, though the print was a blur in front of her eyes.

  ‘I’ll get back to the party. Sleep well, Kirby.’