The Innocent and the Playboy Read online

  ‘Oh, Rachel, what a firebrand you are. You can find more reasons to start a fight than any woman I know.’ He seized her hand and held it between both of his. ‘Yes, I know—you want to go. I won’t stop you. This time.’

  She felt the warmth of his palm, the strength of his fingers... A little bit more of her defences fizzed and disappeared. Rachel tugged her hand away.

  ‘Goodbye.’ She meant to sound decisive and in control. She did not. Even to her own ears she sounded on the edge of panic.

  But he let her go easily enough.

  He said, ‘Not goodbye. You can’t expect to have it all your own way.’

  Rachel was turning away. She looked back at that. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  The smile he gave her was caressing. ‘You start the fights, darling. Leave me to finish them.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  RICCARDO’S words stayed with Rachel all afternoon. She raced through her work and dashed home to pack. She turned the radio up high but it did not drown out that amused, determined voice.

  What had he meant? Rachel tried to convince herself that he’d meant nothing, that he had just been trying to worry her. But she could not. She might not have seen Riccardo di Stefano for nine years but in some ways she knew him as well as she knew herself, she thought. She knew he did not make empty threats.

  She tried to put it out of her mind. She had to talk to Alexandra and she needed her whole mind on the conversation.

  She picked her up from school. Alexandra got into the car. She was evidently torn between satisfaction at getting a lift on a rainy day and wariness.

  ‘Girl talk?’ she demanded suspiciously, lobbing her bag into the back seat.

  Rachel concentrated on pulling the car out of the double-parked whirlwind outside the crowded school gates.

  She chose her words with care. ‘Not unless you want to.’

  Alexandra shook back her hair defiantly. ‘If you think you can talk me out of seeing Theo, you can think again.’

  Rachel did not rise to that one.

  ‘I’ve talked to Mother,’ Alexandra announced. ‘She says she doesn’t see anything wrong with it.’

  ‘Well, that’s a body-blow for me,’ said Rachel gravely.

  Alexandra bit back a snort of laughter. ‘She is my mother.’

  ‘And she doesn’t know Theo.’

  The atmosphere chilled perceptibly.

  ‘Nor do you. He’s got a lot of potential. It’s just that people are prejudiced against him.’

  Rachel groaned. ‘Don’t tell me. The world doesn’t understand him.’

  ‘Oh, you’re so cynical,’ burst out Alexandra. ‘Why can’t you give people the benefit of the doubt, try being open-hearted for once?’

  Rachel thought about her interview with Riccardo di Stefano. She had hardly been open-hearted there. On the other hand, that was the legacy of painful personal experience. Were you supposed to chuck out what you had learned and pretend that people were trustworthy when you had serious evidence that they were not?

  She said sadly, ‘Maybe I am. Maybe your way is better. Perhaps if you trust people to behave well even the worst of them can rise to the occasion.’

  She felt Alexandra staring at her. Rachel could feel her astonishment. She drew a deep breath and launched into the speech she had been preparing all day.

  She said quietly, ‘Lexy, I have no right to give you advice. I haven’t run my life well enough to think that I know better than you. But... Well, there was a time when I wasn’t cynical enough. You probably won’t believe it and I don’t want to drag out all the gory details. But, believe me, it changed my whole life. Not for the better. I wouldn’t want that to happen you.’

  There was silence for a considerable time. Then Alexandra said in a small voice, ‘Is that why you work all the time?’

  It was Rachel’s turn to be astonished. ‘Do I?’

  ‘More and more. Hugh says it’s because you are so ambitious.’ She ended on a faint note of query.

  Rachel turned the car carefully onto the dual carriageway.

  ‘And what do you think?’

  Alexandra hesitated. Then she said slowly, ‘There’s a prefect at school. She’s very clever. Always in the library. She used to go out with Nick Dorset. He ditched her after the school trip to France. Now she doesn’t do anything except pass exams.’

  Rachel caught her breath. At fifteen her stepdaughter was more perceptive than she had bargained for.

  She said involuntarily, ‘You’re growing up.’

  It was the wrong thing to say, of course. Hopelessly wrong. Alexandra was immediately insulted and said so.

  ‘I am grown-up. Why won’t you realise it? Does it push you over the hill, or something? Is that a problem for you? You don’t respect me. You never have.’

  The tirade went on until they reached home.

  There were several messages on the answering machine—Mandy with the arrangements for her trip to Aberdeen, Gilly saying she would be delighted to have Alexandra to stay if she wanted, the cleaning lady promising to provide the children’s evening meal. Alexandra listened, her face growing tighter and tighter. When the final beep announced the end of the tape she swung round on Rachel.

  ‘You’re going away,’ she said tragically.

  Rachel felt instantly guilty. ‘Only until the weekend.’

  ‘Why? ’

  ‘Work, I’m afraid,’ she said, trying to forget that it also conveniently removed her from Riccardo’s vicinity until he was safely on the plane back to his country.

  ‘You don’t care about us.’

  ‘Of course I care.’ Rachel’s guilt was swamped by justifiable frustration. ‘I’ll be back in time to stop you going to the all-night rave with Theo,’ she added.

  Alexandra was not amused. She stamped. ‘You’re laughing at me. I hate you.’

  She fled upstairs. Rachel sighed, shrugged and went to check her packing.

  When Hugh came in, her bag was waiting in the hall and she was going through her briefcase. He stopped, swinging his schoolbag off his shoulders. He raised his eyebrows at the waiting luggage.

  Rachel nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. Only a couple of days this time. I’m back on Thursday night. Can you cope? Lexy can go to Gilly’s if it’s too much to ask.’

  ‘She’ll do her homework or I’ll beat her,’ said Hugh, grinding his teeth horribly. ‘Of course I can cope. Lexy doesn’t have fights with me.’

  That was true. Rachel was still worried, though.

  ‘If Theo turns up...’

  Hugh’s face closed. Suddenly he looked a lot older than his seventeen years.

  ‘I can deal with Theo Judd. He won’t try anything.’

  ‘Well, if you have any trouble—’

  ‘I’ll lock Lexy in her room and plant a hedge of thorn-bushes,’ he said impatiently. ‘Don’t worry. She’s not as big a fool as you think she is.’

  There was a swish of tyres, then an impatient honk from outside. The story of my life, thought Rachel.

  She called upstairs, ‘I’m off now, Lexy. Goodbye.’

  There was no answer.

  ‘I’ll break it to her that I’m in charge,’ Hugh offered.

  Rachel hesitated, but she really did not have many options. She gave him a quick hug.

  ‘You’re a rock, Hugh.’

  He hugged her back. ‘Go for it, Killer.’

  Rachel picked up her overnight bag and looped it over her shoulder.

  ‘I’ll call you from Scotland, let you have my number at the hotel.’

  Hugh snapped her briefcase shut and opened the front door. He jerked his head at the door in a gesture of dismissal.

  ‘Fine, if it makes you feel better. But nothing will happen.’

  Rachel grimaced. She wished that had not sounded so much like a challenge to the gods. But she did not have time to discuss it further. Hugh put her briefcase in the car. He even permitted her to plant a brief kiss on his cheek as she got in.

&nb
sp; ‘Don’t worry.’

  It was easy enough to say, thought Rachel as she settled onto her seat on the last shuttle of the day. Not so easy to put into practice. It was not that she did not trust them, she thought, but she saw how young they were, how vulnerable in their youth. How did you get that across without destroying their confidence completely, or else sounding paranoid?

  She let her head fall back against the cushioned airline seat and closed her eyes. If only she could forget how it had hurt when her father had rejected her. She turned her head on the cushion restlessly. If only she could forget the even worse hurt: the weeks she’d waited when Riccardo had not come for her, the slow realisation that he was never going to come for her. She thought, What is wrong with me? I. have not thought about this for years.

  There was not much doubt why it had surfaced now and it was not Alexandra’s behaviour. It was just something else to chalk up to Riccardo di Stefano’s account.

  She remembered his behaviour at lunch and set her jaw. I have made a good life for me and the children, she told herself. That is the thing to remember, not ancient history. No matter what Riccardo di Stefano says, there is no unfinished business between us.

  She was still telling herself that when she emerged from the airport into a grey, windy evening. Rain was bouncing up from puddles. Rachel huddled the collar of her suit round her face, thinking bitterly that she would have refused to make this journey but for Riccardo. By the time she got to her hotel she was shivering as much from temper as the drenching.

  ‘Mrs Gray?’ said the pleasant uniformed girl at the desk. ‘Yes, of course your room has been reserved. Will your husband be joining you?’

  Rachel closed her eyes briefly. The girl might be pretty and efficient but she had a lot to learn in the way of tact.

  ‘I doubt it,’ she said with restraint. ‘Tell Mr Torrance I’ve arrived when he comes in, will you, please?’

  She found she had a huge room which was clearly part of a suite. The door to the adjoining room was locked. She bounced experimentally on the side of the enormous four-poster bed. When she sat on it, her feet did not touch the floor. Rachel stretched luxuriously, then grimaced as her jacket stretched clammily. Her suit was soaked.

  The bath was the size of a ship. Fortunately there was more than enough hot water to fill it and the hotel helpfully provided small bottles of heather-scented oils and lotions. Rachel stripped off and sank back into scented steam.

  ‘Thank God I packed a cocktail dress. I wonder how Colin would like to have dinner with a boss in a bathrobe?’ she mused.

  It was an entertaining thought. She chuckled, giving herself up to relaxation for the first time in what felt like days. Eventually her teeth stopped chattering.

  The telephone on the wall rang.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Colin Torrance. Had a good journey?’

  ‘I got wet.’

  He laughed. ‘We have a good bit of weather up here. Wait till you see the views, though. This place is spectacular in a storm.’

  ‘I look forward to it,’ said Rachel untruthfully. ‘Downstairs in thirty minutes?’

  She swirled her hair up in a towel, slid into the thick hotel robe that she was not going to have to wear for dinner and dialled home. Alexandra answered. Questioned, she admitted that she was finishing a history project which had to be given in the next day. Hugh took the phone from her.

  ‘She’s got books all over the floor and Susanna and Erica are here. They’ll be lucky if they finish before dawn,’ he said tolerantly.

  ‘No Theo?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank God,’ said Rachel devoutly. She sent them all her love, promised to bring back the biggest box of shortbread she could find and rang off.

  Her hair was too damp to pin up. She hesitated over using the hotel drier but she knew that it would only fluff her hair up uncontrollably. In the end she compromised, leaving it loose but pinning it back off her face.

  She caught sight of her reflection and stopped, disconcerted. The red-gold waves reflected bronze lights from her smart cocktail dress. It made her look unexpectedly frivolous. Colin Torrance, she thought, would be astonished.

  She went downstairs, pausing by the hotel manager’s desk.

  ‘I’ve left a suit hanging on the back of my door. It needs cleaning and pressing. Could you organise that, please?’

  ‘Of course, madam. What room number, please?’

  Rachel checked her keyring. Further down the lobby desk, the teenage enthusiast who’d signed her in was waving excitedly.

  ‘Three-three-one,’ Rachel said. ‘Yes?’ she added, to the receptionist.

  ‘Mrs Gray, your husband called.’

  That child needs more than lessons in tact, Rachel thought. She needs a brain transplant. She was about to say so when she saw Colin Torrance across in the bar.

  So she contented herself with saying crisply to the girl, ‘I don’t think so,’ before she went over to him.

  He had been polite in her office but now he was positively effusive.

  ‘It’s a relief you’re here,’ Colin admitted. ‘I can handle the lending but when it comes to the whole package-well—’ He flung out his hands. ‘They seem to think they’ve locked in the Far East orders, but I’m not so sure. And as for the currency risk—I don’t think it’s even occurred to them!’

  ‘Why couldn’t you say that in your report?’

  He looked wry. ‘We may be advising the company but there is a real power battle between father and son on the board. The last thing I want to do is get browbeaten into taking sides before I understand what’s going on.’

  ‘And the company is seeing the interim reports before you send them to head office?’

  ‘Well, the board does.’ Correctly sensing her annoyance, he added defensively, ‘They insisted. It’s in the contract.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘Heaven preserve me from companies who pay for advice they don’t want. Presumably they think you’re just up here to endorse one side or the other?’

  He was philosophical. ‘It’s happened before. And Philip told me to keep the whole board sweet. We want that account.’

  ‘Someone should tell Philip about logical impossibilities,’ muttered Rachel. ‘OK, give me a run-down on the personalities.’

  Colin looked out of the window. Outside the rain was lashing at the window so hard that it was impossible to see across the road.

  ‘Over dinner? I was thinking of taking you to a very good little Italian place but it might be better to eat here. It’s very expensive and a bit—er—formal but we shouldn’t have trouble getting a table on a night like this.’

  Rachel shuddered at the thought of going out of doors again.

  ‘Definitely here,’ she said firmly. ‘Bentley’s can afford it.’

  When they went into the dining room, however, she was taken aback.

  ‘Formal? You have a gift for understatement, Colin.’

  The tall Edwardian room had lowered its lights to the faintest of background glows. Illumination of the food was provided by candles in rose-decked candle-holders. The tables were covered with crisp linen and an Aladdin’s treasury of glimmering goblets and silver. In one corner a pianist in a smoking jacket played Cole Porter by the light of a candelabra.

  ‘Good grief,’ said Rachel with feeling. She touched her bronze skirt as if it were a talisman. ‘Do you realise that if my suit had not got soaked at the airport I would be seriously underdressed?’

  Colin gave her a faint, uncomprehending smile. They were shown to a discreet corner table. The waiter whispered a welcome and presented them each with an enormous leather-bound menu. Rachel’s had no prices. She began to feel an overwhelming urge to giggle.

  ‘This place could give the Tunnel of Love a run for its money,’ she said. ‘Anyone sees us here and it’s the end of your reputation. Probably mine as well. I thought seduction parlours like this went out in the naughty nineties.’

  But Colin, a conscient
ious husband and father, did not see the funny side of it. He kept apologising for the room being too dark for her to read any of the papers he wanted to pass across the table to her.

  ‘Give them to me later,’ said Rachel impatiently. ‘Just tell me your impressions so far.’

  But Colin was worried about client confidentiality. He did not want to name names or say anything which could be overheard and correctly interpreted. As the dining room filled up he became increasingly agitated at the thought of industrial espionage by their fellow diners. In the end he resolved the dilemma by moving his seat to Rachel’s right and murmuring about boardroom squabbles in her ear.

  By the end of the meal it was not just the ponderously romantic ambience that was making it difficult for Rachel not to laugh. She almost snatched the papers from his hand when they left the dining room. She declined a final coffee in a choking voice and made for her room.

  When she got there, she laughed until she cried. Eventually she sat up, wiped her smudged mascara and blew her nose.

  Therapeutic, she decided.

  For the first time in days she felt as if she could go to bed with a quiet mind. She undressed, brushed her hair until it jumped with static, and tumbled between deliciously laundered sheets.

  ‘A good hotel,’ she said drowsily, ‘is halfway to paradise.’

  It felt as if her head had hardly touched the pillow when she came out of her dreams with a jerk. She had been dreaming something fast and frightening. Her heart was still pounding as she fought her way back to consciousness. Once her eyes were open, though, she lost all memory of what it was that had frightened her.

  She lay there, listening to the strange night sounds of the hotel. It made her feel oddly free. She had thrown back the curtains when she’d come in last night. Now she could see a distant streetlight and the pointed roof of a church, like a woodcut from a children’s story book.

  Somewhere out there, she thought lazily, there is the big shiny moon. She even toyed with the idea of getting up to look at it. But she was too comfortable. She plumped up her pillows and was beginning to turn over when something stopped her.