The Dark Side of Desire (15 page)

‘Yes,’ went on Lassiter, as though Leon had made some encouraging remark, ‘looks like there’s another interested
party out in the Far East. Made me a
very
tempting offer, I must say.’

He looked expectantly across at Leon, whose impassive regard remained undented. Lassiter was doing nothing except wasting his time and increasing Leon’s irritation.

‘Very tempting,’ Lassiter went on after a moment. He looked hard at Leon. ‘They’re not interested in taking any equity. Just offering me a generous line of credit for further expansion.’

‘Then I can see the attraction for you,’ agreed Leon.

Flavia’s father went on staring, clearly trying to read Leon’s reaction, and equally clearly taken aback by his statement of agreement.

‘So you can see,’ he went on, ‘why I’m giving them serious consideration.’

‘Yes, I can,’ was all the response he got.

Leon’s deliberate impassivity triggered Lassiter into showing his hand completely.

‘So why would I accept
your
offer if I can avoid losing equity by taking this new one that’s come up?’

‘Why indeed?’ Leon agreed again. Then, with a slight lift of his hand, as he was getting bored now, as well as irritated, he simply said, ‘I thought I’d made it clear that my deal is the one we discussed. It won’t change. If this new offer means you don’t accept mine, so be it.’

He’d kept his tone neutral, and the flash of anger in Lassiter’s pouched eyes at being unable to hustle Leon into renegotiating his proposal left him unmoved. Any turnaround by him would be on
his
terms, not Lassiter’s, and if Lassiter had found another white knight abroad, with less stringent conditions, good luck to him. To his mind, to bail out Lassiter without the control that equity would afford would be financial madness—Lassiter would just squander any loans and continue unabated in his lucrative but exploitative African ventures.

His gaze rested, unimpressed, on Alistair Lassiter.

It’s a miracle Flavia isn’t like her father—

The thought formed in Leon’s head as he levelled his gaze on Lassiter. Flavia’s warm sympathy for his
pro bono
work in South America, and her heartfelt indignation at the economic exploitation so many people suffered, was a complete contrast to her father’s callous attitude that profiteering out of the impoverished Third World was perfectly acceptable.

Thinking of Flavia made his eyes flicker automatically to the image on the computer screen—the beautiful house in the tranquil Dorset countryside that she lived in and called home. Was she there now? Would a single phone call put him back in touch with her at last? His eagerness to reach for his phone and do so was almost overwhelming. He just had to get rid of Alistair Lassiter first.

He sat back pointedly, indicating there was nothing more to debate. Then, both to expedite Lassiter’s departure and because he had no wish for his relations with Flavia’s father to be unpleasant just because he wouldn’t budge on his rescue package, he said, his tone cordial enough, ‘I wish you luck with your alternative offer, and I hope you get the business settled soon. There’s a great deal of good value in the company—you hardly need me to tell you that—but I have my own ways of operating, and I always want to take equity.’

There. That was surely sufficiently conciliatory to give Lassiter a face-saving exit. As he finished speaking, for an instant he thought he saw another flash of anger in the fleshy face, but a moment later it was gone. In its place was a resumption of the smiling bonhomie that Leon was used to seeing.

‘Well, old chap,’ he replied, his manner bland once more, ‘I’m sorry you’re going to let go the opportunity I’ve offered you, but there it is. Looks like the other lot get the deal.’ He made it sound as though it were Leon’s loss, and he got to his feet as if regretfully.

As he did so, he nodded towards the computer screen
on Leon’s desk, and Leon realised, to his annoyance, that Lassiter must have been able to see it.

‘Ah, I see you’re taking a look at Harford. Beautiful place, isn’t it? Flavia’s devoted to it. Comes to her from her mother’s side.’ He smiled, as if jovially. ‘But of course you’ll know all that by now, won’t you?’

There was a knowing look in his eyes, but Leon would not be drawn. His personal relationship with Flavia was not something he would discuss with her father.

Lassiter’s expression lost its smile. ‘Of course,’ he went on, shaking his head, his voice rueful, ‘sadly—like so many of these upper-crust county families—they ran out of money some time ago. That’s why, if I’m absolutely honest about it,’ he confided, ‘Flavia’s mother was so ready to snap me up—self-made as I am. Because I could help finance its upkeep. I still do. It’s cost me a fortune over the years, but Flavia adores the place—would do anything to keep it.’ He paused. ‘Anything at all.’

He smiled. Paused again. ‘She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she? So beautiful! I could tell you were very taken with her, and I’m glad you’ve got together now, despite her being … well, a bit capricious towards you initially. I don’t like to say such things, as a fond father, so you must allow me some prejudice in her favour. I can never see any wrong in her—but that’s fathers for you!’

He smiled again, dotingly. ‘Her mother was just like her—beautiful and determined. She always knew what she wanted! And how to get it!’ He gave a little laugh—an indulgent one. ‘Mind you, she could be sweet as pie, too—when she was after something!’ Now he looked Leon in the eyes again, an open, frank expression on his face. ‘I never thought I stood a chance of winning her—I’ve never been a handsome chap—but I did at least have money to my name. Some people might say it was wrong of her to take that into account, but I could never hold it against Flavia’s mother. She was just as devoted to Harford as her daughter is, and she wanted to save it any
way she could—it’s very understandable.
Very
understandable.’

He gave a sigh. ‘When she set her cap at me because she knew I could preserve Harford for the family she was just too beautiful to resist—I was putty in her hands. And when she died, so tragically young—well, I guess it’s not surprising I lavished everything on our daughter.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘And I guess it’s not surprising that it meant Flavia grew up thinking she could have everything she wanted. I know she can be moody—’ there was an apologetic note to his voice ‘—well, you saw that for yourself, didn’t you, at the charity ball?’ he acknowledged. ‘But I made allowances that evening because I knew how worried she was about my state of affairs.’ He held up a hand. ‘Not that I’ve burdened her with them. I would never do that! But she’s a smart girl, and must have got wind of how things stood with me.’

He nodded at the image on the computer screen again. ‘She’ll be
so
pleased you’ve taken an interest in Harford, I know. Have you been there yet with her?’ he asked. ‘Mind you, now that you and I won’t be business partners after all things may change on that front. It wouldn’t surprise me, I have to say. But if you should go down, you’ll see why Flavia’s so devoted to it and how much she wants me to be able to keep it safe for her—expensive luxury though it is.’

He started towards the door. ‘Well, I mustn’t keep you. We’re both very busy men. I’m sorry we shan’t be partners, but of I look forward to seeing more of you with Flavia on the social front,’ he answered Leon. ‘If the two of you are still together, of course.’

He opened the door and was gone.

At his desk, Leon sat very, very still. Then, slowly, he reached for his phone to make his call to Flavia.

He had one very simple question to ask her.

‘E
ARTH
to earth, ashes to ashes …’

The rector’s voice was low and resonant. Flavia stood, head bowed, tears running down her cheeks. Her grandmother would lie beside her husband in her grave, as together in death as they had been through all their long married life. Grief buckled through her again, as it had been doing over and over again in the long days and the longer nights since her grandmother’s breathing had become shallower and shallower … and then stopped completely.

The committal ended and she lifted her head, blinking away her tears, knowing she now had to get through the ordeal of a reception at Harford for the mourners to attend. It was what her grandmother would have wanted, but she felt she couldn’t take one more expression of sympathy, one more person calling the loss of her beloved grandmother a ‘
merciful release
’ before adding ‘
and not just for your grandmother
’ with an encouraging expression on their faces.

One person had even said right out, ‘It was no life for you here, buried in the countryside at your age—a young girl—no life at all. You should have been off living your own life. finding romance and excitement.’

Anger and guilt had pierced her, needle-sharp, lancing in and out of the ravening grief that shook her, body and mind. It was like being possessed, blocking out everything else.

Even thinking about Leon.

No!
She mustn’t think about Leon—not now—not yet. He belonged to a different world—a world she wasn’t in right now. She had to blank it out totally because she couldn’t cope with it. Even without the guilt spearing her she couldn’t have coped with that world now.
With
the guilt, it was impossible!

I should have been here, with my grandmother—I should never have gone off with Leon!

It was no good telling herself that at least she had come back in time to be with her grandmother at the very end—no good telling herself that her grandmother would not even have realised she had gone away.

And no good telling herself, with chill bleakness, that she had done what she had in order to save Harford for her grandmother.

Numbly, she somehow got through the reception, played the role of dutiful granddaughter even though she had betrayed her grandmother at the last, putting herself first, her own desires …

Indulging herself with Leon, and all that he’d offered her.

But she couldn’t bear to think of Leon, because guilt racked her on his account as well. She’d abandoned him to rush back to her grandmother, and knowing she had done so crushed her with guilt, too.

Guilt … every way she turned. Guilt over her grandmother for not being with her, guilt over the reasons she’d gone to Leon at her father’s malign bidding, then yet more guilt for abandoning him to rush back home again …

The guests were all gone at last, and she finished clearing up after them. She wandered blindly outside, looking back at the house. Never again would she see her grandmother here. Never.

The word tolled in her head and she felt her heart squeeze with grief. The future stretched ahead—a future she would have to cope with somehow. Dealing with probate, with the aftermath of death. She took a shuddering breath. Dealing somehow with what was going to happen to Harford.

The burden of her father’s loan still hung like an ugly weight over her head, and now death duties would strike, too. Could Harford survive them both? Anxiety pressed at her. Her plans for the time when her grandmother would be no more had been laid long ago. She would raise a mortgage on Harford and use the money to pay off death duties, pay the mortgage off slowly by turning the house and any outbuildings she could afford to convert into upmarket holiday lets.

Now, though, she would have to raise enough to pay off her father as well. On that she was determined. Her father would be out of her life. Out for good! And when she was finally free of him …

She felt a rush of blood, of longing.

When I’m free of my father—finally, finally free!—then and only then can I be free to seek out Leon again. To see if the magic is still there, to see if that wonderful, blissful time with him can be recaptured. But pure this time, clean and free of any taint by my father!

The power of her longing almost overcame her. To be able to go to Leon without deceit, without pressure, without the malign, corrupting influence of her father. She would offer herself as she truly was, without any of her father’s venal agenda, with no hidden motive, no shameful collusion to further her father’s interests, no guilt-racked obligations to her grandmother to save her house by any means she must—whatever it took.

Shame flushed through her again at what she had done. Oh, she would have willingly—
so
willingly!—gone to Leon, given herself up to that overpowering response to him she had felt the moment she’d first set eyes on him, had she not had her responsibility to her grandmother, the duty of love for her, to hold her back. Yet even with that knowledge the taint of her father’s scheming still haunted her. Even though she knew that she would have done what she had, rejoiced as she had, embracing the time she’d had with Leon, it still had the sleazy shadow of her father’s ultimatum to her louring over it.

But now—now she could finally free herself of that sleazy shadow. Now she could pay off her father—free herself for ever from his baleful influence over her life.

Free herself to focus only on what she so deeply longed for.

Leon.

I want him so much. I miss him so much
.

Like a beacon shining through the pall of her grief for her grandmother, the malign shadow of her father, her longing for Leon called to her.

And now I can go to him. Free—free of my duty of love to my grandmother, free of my father’s hideous threats. Free to go to Leon only as myself, what I am, what I truly am …

Hope flared in her and she lifted her bowed head, looking afresh out over the gardens of the house she loved. Resolution filled her, and hope for the future—longing for the man who had opened to her a world of wonder she had never dreamt could be hers.

And it could be hers again …

Memory, rich and golden, glowed in her vision. The starlit terrace at Mereden, the river flowing beyond the lawns stretching away from them, Leon’s hands cupping her face, his mouth seeking hers. The warm, cicada-filled nights on Santera, clinging to Leon, her body trembling in ecstasy.

Just being with him! Walking along the little sandy beach among the fragrant pine trees, barefoot, hand in hand. Laughing with him as they made their nightly barbecues. Curled up against him on the sun lounger as they took their daily siesta in the baking heat of the day. Breakfasting with him over coffee and pastries in the cool of the morning, with the little breeze fresh off the water’s edge.

Just her and Leon. Easy. Happy. Blissful.

Yearning filled her—an ache in her heart for him … only him …

She took a deep, steadying breath. Her mind raced ahead. Tomorrow she would see the solicitors, get probate moving as swiftly as she could. She would visit the bank manager,
too, to set in motion her plans for raising a mortgage, getting liquid funds to pay off her father’s pernicious, punishing loan. Plan ahead for readying Harford for the holiday let market in the spring.

And, most precious of all, tomorrow she would write to Leon.

I’ll tell him everything! Everything! About my grandmother, how I had to abandon him as I did because she was dying. About my vile father, how he threatened Harford, and how I had to protect it for my grandmother’s sake. I will confess everything to him—confess what I dared not tell him before—and beg his understanding, his forgiveness!

As she stood there in the warm summer air, gazing out over the lawns streaked with the last of the afternoon’s sun, for the first time since she had rushed back to her dying grandmother’s side she felt hope surge through her. Yes, she would grieve for her grandmother, accept her guilt for abandoning her as she had, accept her shame for the way she had had to capitulate to her father, but for all that she would not give up on Leon—she would strive to recapture the bliss they had shared. Make all things right with him.

Make a future with him
.

Her heart squeezed with longing.

Oh, please, please let it be so! Let there be a future with him—I long for him so much. So much!

As she stood and felt the emotion of her longing for him seize her, her hope for a future with him sear within her, gazing out over the gardens of the home she loved so much, she became aware of a disturbance in the peaceful tranquillity of the air. A distant, rhythmic throbbing that grew louder and louder still.

She looked up, craning her neck, into the sky. It was a helicopter, its rotors chopping the air like a fearful heartbeat. She stared, hearing and then seeing the machine loom over the trees beyond, coming from the east. A frown warped her brow as she watched it descend. Heading down towards the lawn.

The branches of the trees at the edge of the lawn were whipping frenziedly in the gusts, the tall flowers in the herbaceous borders were winnowed, the grass below the machine flattened. Before her eyes the helicopter landed, setting down on the wide lawn beyond the terrace. Its engines were cut. The whirling, thudding vanes slowed. They had hardly stopped when the door opened and a tall, lithe figure jumped down.

Like a flame leaping inside her, Flavia felt her heart sing out.

Leon! It was Leon!

Leon—here—now. Come to her.

Disbelieving with joy, she could only stand, watching him walking towards her, her heart full.

As he alighted from the helicopter Leon could feel his heart churning. The rhythmic chopping of the helicopter’s rotors was still throbbing in his head. Even before the machine had landed he had seen Flavia standing there in front of the house—the gracious, greystone Georgian house that was every bit as beautiful as it had looked on the computer screen, every bit as beautiful as Alistair Lassiter had said it was.

No wonder Flavia Lassiter wanted to hang on to it.

Just as her father had said.

He could hear him talking again in his head, hear what he’d said about her. The words fell like stones. Destroying, one by one, everything Leon had thought he knew about Flavia …

The knife that those words had plunged into his side twisted again.

The moment Lassiter had gone out of his office Leon had seized up the phone, called the number on his screen. Urgency had impelled him—but a new urgency.

No one had picked up the phone. All he had got was an answer-machine, telling him to leave a message. He’d dropped the phone down. No, he would
not
leave a message. He would not wait pointlessly for Flavia
not
to return his call, just as she hadn’t any of his calls. The time for that was over. It was time for something much more decisive.

He straightened, seeing her standing there, stock still, on a gravelled terrace on the far side of the lawn the helicopter had landed on. The churning in his heart intensified, his emotions firing like gunshots. As his eyes rested on her, he could hear a silent cry come from him.

Flavia!

Flavia standing there—as beautiful as his memory had painted so vividly—real and close and there in front of him. He wanted to rush up to her, sweep her into his arms, fold her close against him! Feel her heart beating against his!

But instead all he did was quicken his stride towards her, feeling the knife in his side strike again.

I have to know! I have to know whether she’s the way her father says she is or whether …

Whether she was the woman he had discovered that night at Mereden, those magical days and nights on Santera. Passionate and ardent. Warm, genuine, sympathetic, generous.

Or someone quite different. Someone who could be as sweet as you like when she wanted something. Someone who set her sights on something and went after it, whatever it required.

Such as deliberately, calculatingly having an affair with a man she thought was going to bail out her father—the father who was keeping her home solvent
.

Again, as it had done over and over on the journey here, the question seared in his head.
Was it true—was it true what her father had said of her?

The knife twisted in his guts again.

His stride quickened and he reached the terrace. For an instant longer Flavia seemed to stand there, transfixed. Then …

‘Leon! Oh, Leon!’

She had thrown herself at him, and without conscious volition his arms went around her. Held her to him. Closed around her. Emotion clenched in him. It seemed a lifetime since he had last seen her, last kissed her as he boarded the flight for London, leaving her behind in Palma. But now she was back
in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder. Almost,
almost
he forgot what had sent him here, heart churning, thoughts dark as night. Almost he simply cupped her face and kissed her lips with his, recapturing the happiness he’d felt with her.

Almost.

But then, with a ragged breath, he steeled. Put her away from him. She swayed, gazing at him, the joyous expression draining out of her face. Bewilderment, consternation took its place. Leon wanted to seize her back into his arms, make her eyes shine again—but he forced himself to resist.

Not yet—not yet. First he
must
know the answer to the question he would demand of her.

I thought I knew her—had discovered the real Flavia beneath the freezing exterior
.

But if that were a fiction—a lie? What if the damning portrait her father had painted at was true? What if Flavia had been running a play the whole time they were together?

The knife in his side twisted again.

He looked about him. Looked down the length of the perfectly proportioned Georgian façade flanked by gardens.
Oh, yes, this place was a jewel, all right!

‘So,’ he said slowly, ‘this is Harford.’

His gaze came back to her. She was standing, had paused, consternation still in her face, but there was something new, too—a tension netting about her. A wariness.