Burning Inheritance Read online

  CHAPTER NINE

  Isabel was folding the hems of soft, tan leather pants into fringed cream boots when the intercom buzzed. Frowning, she finished putting on the second boot, and then went to lift the receiver. She couldn't imagine who it might be, unless Jason had cut short his trip to Spain. But, remembering how angry he had been with her before he went away, she didn't think that was likely.

  'Yes?'

  'Isabel?'

  It was Alex's voice, and her stomach gave a sick­ening little lurch. Alex? What did he want? After her painful reminiscences earlier, he was the last person she wanted to see.

  Swallowing, she kept her voice as expressionless as possible, 'Yes. What do you want, Alex?'

  'Can I come up?'

  Isabel almost gasped. 'I don't think that's a very good idea,' she replied distantly. 'If it's something to do with the shares, I suggest you contact my solic­itor------'

  'It's nothing to do with the shares,' he interrupted her harshly. 'I want to talk to you. Preferably not standing in the pouring rain.'

  Isabel hesitated. 'If it's about the board meeting------'

  'I've told you, it's nothing to do with Denby's!' He sighed. 'Please.'

  Isabel's lips parted. Alex, saying please! Now that was really something. Besides, she was curious to know what had brought him here on a Saturday morning. It seemed out of character, somehow.

  'I—all right,' she said at last, coming to a decision. She pressed a button. 'Push the door. It's open.'

  She had unlocked her door by the time he had climbed the stairs, leaving it ajar so that she could take up a position in the window bay. With the light behind her, she had a momentary advantage, although, as it was such a dull day, the advantage was very small.

  Alex reached the door and opened it tentatively. Then, glimpsing her across the room, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The brief time it took him to secure the latch gave Isabel a chance to look at him unobserved, and in spite of her determination to be cool and detached, it was still unnerving to have him there.

  He had evidently had to walk after leaving his car, and his dark hair was damp and moulded to his scalp. Its wetness accentuated the fact that he needed a haircut, and where it brushed his collar, it curled upwards with irrepressible vitality. He was wearing black trousers and a matching black suede jerkin, both of which were smudged with water, but it was his lean face that held her attention, and the disturb­ingly black eyes that he now turned in her direction.

  'Isabel,' he acknowledged, by way of a greeting, unzipping his jacket and shaking drops of rain-water from his wrists. 'What a morning!'

  'Miserable, isn't it?' Isabel took her cue from him. 'I was just about to go shopping, but I'm not looking forward to it.'

  'I wouldn't if I were you,' Alex put in wryly. 'The West End is clogged with traffic, and you can't find a parking-space to save your life.'

  Isabel shrugged. 'I was going to take a taxi.'

  'Ah.' Alex nodded. 'And is it essential?'

  'The shopping?' And after gaining his acquiescence, 'I have to eat.'

  Alex inclined his head. 'I see.' Then, startling her, he added, 'You could eat with me.'

  'With you?' The words were out before she could prevent them, and she saw his instinctive withdrawal at her incredulous words.

  'Even bastards eat,' he remarked drily, and to her surprise she saw a hint of colour invading his cheeks.

  'I—well------' His behaviour had disconcerted her.

  Whatever reason he had had for coming here, she would never have believed it was to invite her for a meal! 'I don't know what to say.'

  Alex shrugged now and, noticing that the trickling dampness from his hair was invading his neck, Isabel crossed the room to her bedroom, emerging a few moments later with an apricot-coloured hand-towel. 'Here,' she said, handing it to him. 'You'd better take off your coat.'

  Thanks.' Alex did as he was bidden, and Isabel dragged her eyes away from the evidence of taut muscle silhouetted beneath the silk of his pale blue shirt. As he towelled his hair dry, she cupped her elbows in her hands and turned to face the rain-swept view of the park outside. Anything rather than look at him, she thought tensely. She had been a fool to think she still hated him. If she ever had, it was long ago now. Although she might deny it, her feelings came from a vastly different source.

  'Well?'

  He spoke again then and, swinging round to face him, Isabel found he had put his jacket on again. However, with his hair ruffled by its towelling and his eyelashes still glinting with a few errant drops of rain­water, he was distractingly approachable. Too approachable, she acknowledged tautly. She was used to seeing his public face; his private one was much too human.

  Swallowing, she assumed an expression of smiling inconsequence. 'I—can't believe you came here on a wet Saturday morning, just to invite me out to lunch,' she declared lightly, relieved to find she sounded infinitely more confident that she felt. If he knew how the thought of having lunch with him was chewing her up, he wouldn't doubt that sooner or later he'd persuade her to sell the shares.

  'I didn't,' he said now, in answer to her remark, and she kept the smile glued to her face by an immense effort of will. She should have known, she thought bitterly. Every day was a working day to someone like Alex Seton. He would use any means that were neces­sary to get into her apartment, but once he was there, he had no reason to sustain the act.

  Swallowing again, she bit back her disappointment.

  'Well, then, I suggest------' she began harshly, but he

  interrupted her before she could finish.

  'I came to apologise,' he said, astounding her completely. 'What I did on Thursday morning was—unprofessional. I should have had the relevant papers delivered to you in advance of the meeting, so that you could have been prepared for what was said. But instead, I took Robert's line, and put you on the spot. There's no excuse for it, but I wanted you to know I've felt bloody bad about it ever since!'

  Isabel was glad the window was behind her, as her hands sought the sill for support. She had thought she had heard everything when he asked to be allowed to come up. But this—this was totally out of character, and her brain worked desperately, trying to ascertain some reason for his apparent change of heart.

  'So,' he said at last, 'the least I can do is offer to buy you lunch. Will you accept?'

  Isabel made a helpless gesture. 'Did your uncle send you here------'

  'No.'

  'This isn't some new ploy to gain my confidence or something?'

  'No.' Alex's denial was adamant. 'Believe it or not, but coming here was all my own idea. My uncle wouldn't approve, I can assure you.'

  Isabel could believe it. She imagined Robert Seton would likely blow his top if he discovered his favourite nephew had been fraternising with the 'enemy'.

  Now, she shook her head. 'Well, I—I'm grateful for your honesty, and—and I appreciate your taking the trouble to come here and tell me how you feel. But—there's really no need to take me to lunch------'

  Alex's lips thinned. 'No need," he agreed flatly. 'But it's what I'd like to do, anyway.'

  Isabel licked her lips. 'Why?'

  'I've told you.'

  'To make amends?'

  'Yes.'

  'And I've told you there's no need.' She gathered all her composure and faced him squarely. 'I wouldn't like to put you out.'

  The dark eyes were intense. 'And if it's what I want?'

  Isabel caught her breath. 'I find that hard to believe.'

  'Do you?' He breathed evenly. 'Well—that's still no reason for you to refuse me.'

  Isabel shifted awkwardly. 'Alex------'

  'Isabel?'

  She pressed her lips together. 'You don't even like me!' she protested.

  'I don't like myself much either,' he commented drily. 'But the fact remains, we both have to eat, and I see no real reason why we shouldn't do it together. Do you?'

  Isabel could think of several, not least
her own unwilling attraction towards him, that was being strained to its limits by his proximity. But still, she reflected weakly, there was probably less danger in having lunch with him in some restaurant than in arguing with him in the intimacy of her living-room. And she had already had one example of how that could end.

  'All right,' she agreed at last, inwardly despising herself for her weakness. 'I'll have lunch with you. But afterwards------'

  'Let's take one step at a time, shall we?' he suggested, the faintest suggestion of a frown marring his dark good looks. 'OK. Shall we go?'

  Isabel hesitated. The flat-heeled boots and leather trousers had seemed suitable attire for tramping round the shops, but they were less appropriate for the kind of restaurant Alex probably patronised. Her hair, too, plaited into a braid that fell just below her shoulders, had been secured for convenience, rather than style, and only the cream silk shirt seemed acceptable.

  'You look fine to me,' Alex inserted suddenly, and she realised he had guessed what she was thinking. 'Go on. Put on a coat or something. Just to keep your shoulders dry.'

  In fact, Isabel paused long enough to apply a touch of mascara to her lashes, and a beige eyeshadow to her lids. With her exotic colouring, she needed little make-up, and the result was pleasing even to herself.

  'I'm ready,' she said, emerging from her bedroom to find Alex occupying the position she had occupied earlier. Tying the belt of her dark green raincoat about her waist, she looked at him almost shyly, realising as he walked towards the door that this was the first time he had actually invited her company.

  The Ferrari was parked a few yards along the street and, bidding Isabel wait under cover of the porch,

  Alex sprinted towards it. Within seconds, he had unlocked the doors and climbed inside, starting the engine almost instantly, and reversing back to where she was waiting.

  Isabel left her sanctuary as he pushed open the nearside door and, as she coiled herself into the seat beside him, she was uncomfortably reminded of the last time they had driven together.

  'All right?' he asked, his eyes softer now, and distractingly gentle. She had never known Alex to be gentle, and the experience was unnerving. Oh, God, she thought, clamping her lips together, on no account must she make a fool of herself again!

  As he had said, the roads were all jammed with traffic, everyone reverting to personal transport to avoid the discomfort of waiting for buses in the rain. Trying to drive into central London was a nightmare, but after realising that Alex had the situation under control, she sat back to enjoy the experience of driving in a car that attracted all eyes, even in the rain.

  'An English summer,' she murmured ruefully, as they ground to a halt once again. 'I should have gone to Spain, after all.'

  'Spain?' Alex glanced her way.

  'Madrid, actually,' she conceded. 'I was supposed to be part of a shoot Jason's doing there.'

  Alex frowned. 'So why aren't you?'

  Isabel grimaced. 'Would you believe—the board meeting?'

  There was silence for a while, and then Alex said incredulously, 'You gave up a trip to Spain to attend the board meeting?'

  'That's right.' She shrugged. 'Stupid, wasn't it? Jason was really mad!'

  Alex negotiated the next set of traffic lights, and then said tersely, 'You and Ferry—you spend a lot of time together?'

  Isabel looked his way. 'Some,' she admitted cautiously. 'We're—friends. He's been very kind to me. I owe him a lot.'

  'How much?'

  It was an odd question, but Isabel took it at its face value. 'He took a chance and employed me, when no one else would,' she replied evenly. 'The agency I worked for before I—before I was married, wouldn't even consider me. They prefer—younger models. Not mid-twenties divorcees, who've forgotten how to move their bodies.'

  Alex made a curious sound. 'Do you forget?'

  'Oh, yes.' Isabel was serious. 'A good model is the result of good training. You can't walk in off the street and do it.'

  Alex's glance was faintly mocking. 'It's a profession, then?'

  'As I once told you,' she reminded him swiftly, and then relaxed. He wasn't baiting her today. He was being incredibly nice, as a matter of fact. Too nice, she warned herself fiercely. What was it they said about the smile on the face of the tiger?

  It wasn't until they were crossing the Hammersmith Bridge that Isabel realised they were not going into the West End after all. Until then, she had been prepared to concede the fact that Alex probably knew his way around London better than she did. Besides, the rain made aliens of the most familiar sights, and only the river remained the same, whatever the state of the weather.

  'Where are we going?' she asked, her voice not quite as sharp as it might have been had she not suspected he was taking her to some surburban road-house. 'We seem to be leaving the city behind.'

  'We are.' Alex cast her a reassuring look. 'So, tell me, what would you be doing now, if you were in Madrid?'

  Isabel bit her lip. The temptation to demand an answer to her question was compelling, but she didn't want to spoil their tenuous harmony. 'Oh—working, I suppose,' she conceded, lifting her shoulders in a careless gesture. 'I'd probably be too hot, but I'd be looking forward to a swim later. That's one of the advantages of staying at an hotel. They always have a pool, and we—that is, the other girls and I—usually take full advantage of it.'

  'And Ferry?' inserted Alex softly. 'Does he join you?'

  Isabel hesitated. 'Sometimes.'

  'Most times?'

  'Just—sometimes,' she said, turning to look out of the window. 'Where are we?'

  'Are you in love with him?' Alex asked beside her, and his words brought her round to face him.

  'No!'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Of course I'm sure.' She felt the hot colour invade her cheeks none the less. 'In any case, that's my business. Isn't it?'

  Alex shrugged. 'What time is it?' he asked then, changing the subject completely, and she fumed.

  'It's a quarter past twelve,' she said, glancing at her watch automatically, before staring rather ostenta­tiously at the clock on the console. 'Isn't it?'

  'So it is.' His lips twitched. 'We should be there in time for a late meal, anyway.'

  The interchange with the M3 was looming, and Isabel felt a sudden hollowing of her stomach. This was the way to Nazeby, she realised sickly. Oh, God, he must be taking her to see his uncle! And she had believed him when he said he wanted to apologise.

  'Stop the car,' she said abruptly, gripping the strap of her shoulder-bag and mentally cursing herself for being so gullible. Why was she always so weak where

  Alex was concerned? She already knew the answer, but that didn't make it any less unpalatable.

  The Ferrari didn't slow its pace however, and she was not so foolish as to attempt to open the door at speed. She was no stuntwoman; her appearance earned her her living. If she leapt out now and broke a limb, her career would be in tatters.

  'Alex, please,' she said, despising herself for begging him, but totally incapable of facing the prospect of meeting Robert Seton again on his own ground. 'Don't do this to me!' she pleaded, torturing the strap of her bag, and he shook his head impatiently as they ran down on to the motorway.

  'Where do you think I'm taking you?' he asked, as the Ferrari picked up even more speed, and Isabel slumped in her seat.

  'Nazeby,' she said dully, wondering why she didn't hate him now, when she had every reason for doing so. 'I'm right, aren't I? That is where we're headed. God, why did I believe you, when you said you wanted to apologise!'

  Alex's lips twisted. ' "Oh, ye of little faith"!' he quoted wryly, settling more comfortably in his seat. 'Why do you think I'm taking you to Nazeby? So that Uncle Robert can capitalise on his victory?'

  Isabel sniffed. 'Something like that. What does it matter? Anyway, I shan't get out of the car; so you'll have to bring me back.'

  Alex made an amused sound. 'And if I tell you we have the place to ourselv
es? That Uncle Robert is in South America, and apart from Mrs Cowie and the other servants, the place is unoccupied. What then?'

  Isabel gasped. 'You're not serious!'

  'Why not?'

  'Because—because—well, why there?'

  Alex shrugged. 'To erase a bad memory, perhaps,' he remarked softly. 'Nazeby's not so bad; it's just the people in it. And,' his lips parted to reveal a lazy smile, 'there's always the pool. As I remember, you used to use it more than any of us.'

  Isabel stared at him. 'How did you know that?'

  'I used to watch you, on those rare occasions I was compelled to spend some time at the house. You know the partition that adjoins the conservatory is made of one-way glass? I could see you, but you couldn't see me.'

  Isabel blinked. 'But why would you want to—watch me?'

  'Voyeurism, what else?' he retorted, suddenly brusque. 'Look, it's a bit late now, but you will come, won't you? I phoned Mrs Cowie while you were getting ready, and she's expecting us.'

  It was still raining when they reached the gates that gave access to the Denby estate, but not so heavily now. Instead, a drifting mist wreathed itself around the trunks of the trees in the park, rising from the earth that was still warm from the previous days of sun.

  Nazeby itself nestled in its fold of the downs, lush now with the promise of high summer. There were foals in the paddocks that ran down to the river, and an abundance of blossom in the hedges that marked the boundary of the gardens.

  Mrs Cowie, the housekeeper, opened the door as the Ferrari crunched to a halt on the gravelled fore­court. If she was surprised—or even shocked—to see the ex-wife of the son of the house, who had left here under a cloud, with her employer's nephew, she was too polite to show it. Instead, she offered a suitable greeting before excusing herself about her duties, and Alex led Isabel into the hall with obvious satisfaction.

  'Why are you doing this?' she asked, in a low voice, as they stood together in the panelled entrance hall, and Alex smiled.

  'Why don't you take off your coat and freshen up?' he suggested, instead of giving her a reply. 'You know where everything is, so make yourself at home. I'm going to change these clothes. They feel decidedly damp.'