Whirlpool Page 6

  In fact, coming to work was starting to turn into a daily ordeal that she dreaded. Nothing she did seemed to please or satisfy him any more. Her best efforts met with cold indifference, while the smallest error earned her swift, harsh, incisive criticism.

  What was almost worse, he was seeing other women constantly, a lot of other women, and taking care that she saw it, or heard about-it. It was as though he took pleasure in flaunting his sexual prowess in front of Kirby, showing her how many women could be got to throw themselves at his feet.

  It didn’t make her love him less. It just hurt her more and more, and sank her deeper into bewilderment.

  She soon learned that there was one simple solution ―and that was to stay well away from him. But, easy as that sounded, she couldn’t do it. She loved him, and there was nothing she could do but be drawn to him, sucked into the dark maelstrom of his fatal attraction for her.

  She was aware of the spectacle she was starting to make, aware of the sniggers, the pity, the staring eyes. But she could no more have helped herself than someone caught in a whirlpool.

  Those who cared about her had tried to warn her. Even her mother, concerned and anxious, had tried to remonstrate, tell her that she was heading for heartbreak. But it had done no good. She’d been lost, still swirling helplessly around the elemental force that was Damian Holt.

  She hadn’t understood. Why was he doing this to her? They’d been so close all their lives, more like two sides of one soul than like separate people. She’d always loved him. Why now, now that she was old enough to give that love a physical expression, had he turned against her?

  She knew she was pretty, that her slim figure drew the attention of most men. Other men desired her, and, if she’d wanted to, she could have had almost as many conquests as Damian. Yet when she was with him he made her feel so unattractive, so uninteresting. And the prettier she made herself, the worse he treated her.

  Her eighteenth birthday, theoretically bringing full adulthood, had been coming up fast. But understanding was a long, long way behind. And, at the party, he had chosen to break her heart, once and for all time.

  Her eyes were drawn up to the portrait of Keith’s gentle, serious face which always hung over the desk which had once been his, and which she now used for her correspondence.

  You didn’t love Keith Waterford.

  Braithwaite’s cruel words had been untrue. She had loved the man who had been her husband for five happy years, but it had been a very different kind of love. There had always been something missing for her. No matter whom she’d married, there would always have been something missing.

  She could only pray that Keith had never sensed that gap in their relationship. She felt sure he had not. Deep passion and deep pain had not been a part of Keith Waterford’s nature.

  He had never thrilled her the way Damian had done. But then, he had never wounded her in the same dreadful way, either.

  Keith had given her back her sanity and her self-respect. And she would always owe him that. Kirby closed her eyes. Which was why she knew she was going to meet Damian at L’Escargot for lunch. She owed it to Keith Waterford to preserve the company he’d put so much of himself into. And, right now, Damian Holt was the one man who might be able to help her do that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS years since Kirby had last been to L’Escargot, but the restaurant had changed little since then, and the French head waiter recognised her immediately. He seemed genuinely touched to see her again, and pressed her hand to his lips gallantly before leading her to the alcove seat looking out over the garden, where Damian was already waiting, a dark and dazzlingly handsome figure.

  He rose to greet her, looking unsurprised that she had turned up despite her refusal of last night. Kirby was overcome by a choking moment of nostalgia as she allowed Damian to kiss her cool cheek, but she fought the weakness down.

  ‘As you can see,’ she said neutrally, ‘I changed my mind.’

  ‘I thought you might.’

  Kirby gave him a dry look to punish his vanity. She unslung her practical leather shoulder-bag, and put it under the table as she sat down. She was wearing a lavender tweed suit this morning, with a silk blouse and pearls. One of her most formal, and most expensive, outfits. The beauty it conferred on her was

  remote, cold, very different from her usual warm earthiness.

  For his part, Damian was wearing a charcoal alpaca suit that set off his dark, rich colouring to perfection.

  Against the deep gold of his skin, his dark blue eyes were startling, and the silver wings in the black hair added a devastating touch of distinction. The deep, curving laughter-lines on either side of his mouth were emphasised, as though he was secretly entertained by her arrival. The crow’s-feet at his eyes were also suspiciously amused.

  He looked painfully desirable, and Kirby felt again, with an aching heart, that no man would ever affect her the way Damian did.

  They were undeniably a handsome couple, and her entrance had caused a slight stir in the muted hubbub of conversation. People were still looking at them, and she knew that a lot of the diners here knew who they were. By next week, she thought wryly, tongues would be wagging all over Yorkshire.

  Damian was watching her. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said quietly, eyes seeming to flame at her from under the dark brows.

  ‘Oh, please,’ she retorted with brittle irritation, ‘let’s not play the fool, Damian. I haven’t come here to flirt with you, or play games of let’s remember.’

  ‘No?’ The magnificent golden face was amused. ‘What have you come for, then?’

  ‘On business,’ she said brusquely.

  ‘Business?’ She saw his eyes drop to her breasts. With dismay she realised that reaction had hardened her nipples flagrantly against the fine silk blouse, making two peaks that, to another man, might have been an erotic invitation. Flushing, she pulled her jacket over herself.

  ‘Considering what happened between us six years ago, and considering that you are now engaged to Wendy Catchpole,’ she said icily, ‘bandying compliments with me is in especially poor taste.’

  ‘What business are you here on, then?’ he enquired, arching one dark eyebrow.

  ‘You offered your advice the other day,’ she reminded him, still without warmth. ‘Does that offer still stand?’

  He shrugged his broad shoulders slightly. ‘Yes, of course. But whatever you came for, I’m glad to see you. Can we order lunch before we get down to it?’

  ‘Whatever you like.’ She accepted the menu he passed her, and took less than thirty seconds to pick a salad, a steak, and a fresh fruit salad to follow.

  While Damian discussed the question of wines with the sommelier, she stared out of the window at the garden, which was carpeted with gold and crimson leaves from the big beeches that screened the restaurant from the road. The very atmosphere of this place was a pain in the heart for her. It reminded her so much of the helpless love she’d once felt for Damian.

  She emerged from her reverie to find Damian watching her intently, lids hooding those slaty eyes.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked him shortly.

  ‘Things I’ve been forbidden to say,’ he replied with a slight smile. ‘1 might ask you the same question.’

  ‘1 was thinking about those trees. They’re bigger than they were last time we ate here together.’

  ‘Time passes quickly these days. When we were kids, a year was forever. Now the years come arid go so fast that we hardly notice them flying. Where did the years go, Kirby?’

  There was a perilous lump in her throat. ‘1 don’t know. I’d prefer to talk about my problem with Waterford Electronics, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Does it upset you to be here, with me?’ He reached across the table, lean fingers closing around hers.

  She jumped at the warm possession of his hands, and forced herself not to pull away, and show him just how much he affected her.

  ‘It brings back memories, but
it doesn’t upset me,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Good,’ he purred. He was stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs, an achingly sensual caress.

  ‘I’m glad you came to me with your problems, Kirby. I’m glad you felt you could trust me.’

  I don’t trust you, she almost snapped. Could he tell that her palms were suddenly damp with perspiration, her pulses racing at his touch? She gulped with relief as he released her, and turned thankfully to her salad when it arrived.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Damian invited, ‘I’m listening.’

  Over the sophisticated salad of shrimps, scallops and other seafood, she tried to give him some of the background to what had started happening this week. Though she’d meant to keep it concise, she found herself talking at some length, one subject leading into the next until she had covered the ground thoroughly.

  Damian listened carefully as she talked.

  ‘Did Keith leave you his total holding of stock?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded.

  ‘You’re the actual owner, not a trustee?’ She nodded again to confirm that. ‘As I said the other night, that makes you a very rich woman, Kirby.’

  ‘As I said the other night―only on paper,’ she replied tersely. ‘I’m not interested in money, Damian. Only in doing what’s right for the company.’

  He considered her thoughtfully. When Damian concentrated, that ruthlessly handsome face took on a slightly somber look. You realised that it was the glittering eyes, the expressions, that made him seem so affable.

  Beneath that debonair mask, she knew, lay deeper and more powerful depths. Whirlpool depths. That broad forehead and those aristocratically carved temples framed a mind that was razor-Sharp, humming with power.

  She finished off by explaining in full what had happened between her and Roderick on Monday, and Sir Malcolm Denison’s reaction on the telephone.

  ‘And now Malcolm has obviously seen his chance, with Roderick out of the way. He’s already started piling on the pressure. Insinuating that I’m incompetent, wanting to take over. There’s a board meeting Friday next week, and I just know that he’s going to make a concerted attack on me.’

  ‘I thought Sir Malcolm Denison was Keith’s best friend?’

  ‘Keith liked Roderick, too, but he didn’t trust him further than he could see him. It’s just business.’ Kirby closed her eyes tiredly for a moment. ‘While the two of them were clashing heads, things were more or less evened up. If Roderick goes―and, incidentally, he hasn’t turned up at the factory today―Malcolm will have the field to himself. I’m so tired of it all, Damian. I just don’t know what to do any more…’

  ‘The man who says he’s resigning―Roderick Braithwaite. What’s he like?’

  Kirby lifted her hands. ‘Big. Brash. Middle-aged. A pusher and shover, with more ambition than finesse. But with enough energy to push and shove his way to the chairmanship.’

  ‘He hasn’t actually handed in his notice yet?’

  ‘No.’

  Damian was watching her over his steepled fingers. ‘Anything else about him I should know?’

  Kirby hesitated, feeling her face flush hotly. ‘Well, he thought 1might as well marry him while I was about it.’

  Damian’s eyes glittered darkly. ‘He proposed marriage?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing,’ she shrugged.

  ‘You aren’t interested?’ Damian said sharply.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Kirby replied steadily. ‘I haven’t given him an answer either way. Not yet.’

  Damian’s eyes didn’t leave hers. ‘But you can’t seriously be considering this man’s proposal?’

  ‘Why not?’ Kirby asked back.

  ‘You’ve just described him as brash, aggressive, and middle-aged. Not exactly your type.’

  ‘As Caroline said the other night, this is a hard world for a woman on her own.’ She was starting to rather enjoy that angry glitter in his eyes. ‘Having a brash husband might have its attractions. As for his being middle-aged…’ Kirby dissected her steak calmly’ …he’s really quite handsome, in his way. And, let’s face it, 1wouldn’t be marrying for love. Not again.’

  Damian growled. ‘You’ve just said yourself that he simply wants Waterford Electronics, on a plate.’

  ‘I also said that he has plenty of energy. With someone behind him to direct that energy, who knows?’ She glanced at Damian coolly. ‘It might be a solution. I certainly haven’t discounted it.’

  Damian was obviously making an effort to keep his poise. ‘But if wedding-bells don’t chime, he says he’s going to accept a chairmanship with one of Waterford Electronics’s competitors-taking his knowledge of the company with him?’

  Kirby nodded.

  ‘And Sir Malcolm Denison?’ he asked. ‘Why don’t you trust him to run Waterford Electronics?’

  ‘For the same reason that I don’t trust Roderick Braithwaite. Because he likes money too much.’

  ‘Isn’t business all about money?’ Damian enquired, arching one eyebrow slightly.

  ‘No, Damian. You know that as well as I do.’ She had no appetite to finish her steak, delicious as it was.

  She pushed her plate away, and leaned back in the leather chair, curly chestnut hair framing a face that was slightly pale with weariness and strain. ‘Banking might be all about money, but running a company like Waterford Electronics isn’t. Money is a by-product, perhaps the most important by-product, but it isn’t the sole objective.’

  Damian’s eyes drifted over the slight, feminine figure across the table, from him. ‘That’s only one way of looking at it.’

  ‘But it’s my way,’ she retorted emphatically. ‘We both know that there are many methods of running a big company. There’s a balanced middle way, and there are extremes on either side. Someone like Sir Malcolm Denison would run Waterford Electronics to make himself rich. To make as much money in as short a period as possible. Just as one example, Waterford Electronics has always made a lot of charitable contributions in Braythorpe. Scholarships, grants, subsidies to sports centres. We’ve sponsored a charity marathon. Currently, we’re helping set up a retraining scheme. That kind of thing. It comes out of profits” and it’s expensive, but I want that to continue, just as it’s always done. Malcolm keeps pressuring me to stop all that.’

  ‘Surely you can compromise on such a minor issue?’

  ‘That’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are bigger and more serious problems beneath.’

  ‘Such as?’

  She sighed. ‘The firm has massive assets. Subsidiaries, investments, plant, land, buildings. Chopped up into pieces and sold off, that could all create a lot of fast liquid capital.’

  ‘And make you an even richer woman than you are now,’ he pointed out calmly.

  She drained her glass, watched by those dark blue eyes.

  ‘Yes. There’d be a mountain of money. But Waterford Electronics would have changed completely. It would no longer be a caring company, with responsibilities, with a tradition of helping the town. Braythorpe would have lost something for ever. I may not know much about business, but I know enough to stop that from happening.’

  Damian was resting his chin on his fist, dark eyes hooded, his passionate mouth brooding. ‘Is this Keith speaking?’

  She met his eyes. ‘It’s Kirby.’

  The waiter materialised beside them, and they sat in silence as he cleared the table, and brought Kirby her fruit salad, and Damian his glass of brandy.

  Kirby hesitated, stirring the pudding with her spoon.

  ‘Damian … what can I do?’

  He laced long tanned fingers around his brandy glass.

  ‘I’ll have to consider it. There are various solutions to this kind of situation, and it’s a case of coming up with the best one available.’ He inhaled the bouquet of the cognac, then tasted it. ‘We’ll have to do a lot of talking, of course. See a fair bit of one another. You gave me the i
mpression that you might find that …difficult.’

  She stared at him. Her heart was thudding again, a fist pounding mercilessly against her. Damian. Damian was offering to come back into her life again. If she said yes now, she would see him again. And after that, and after that. Until he went back to London, and left her craving him, the way an addict craved a drug. He was fatal to her, her nemesis.

  But, in her present wilderness, who else could help her? She had no one to turn to any more.

  ‘I need your help.’ Her own voice sounded dry and harsh in her ears. She’d been almost unaware of forming the words.