Dangerous Temptation (24 page)

"Oops," she said, pretending it had been a genuine mistake, and turning, she set her cup down on the tray. But she sensed no one was deceived by her play-acting. Least of all her husband, she realised in some dismay.

Her father, too, was watching her rather suspiciously. But what could he deduce from such an obvious non-event? And, judging by his expression, he wasn't altogether happy with the situation, either. They were all being compelled to deal with a virtual stranger in their midst.

Nathan had now assumed her position, propping his shoulder against the hardwood frame of the window and gazing out at the view. What was he thinking? she wondered. Did amnesiacs experience normal thought processes? There was so much she wanted to ask, but she didn't know how.

As if becoming aware of her scrutiny, he turned now to look at them all with a sardonic gaze. In cream trousers, a navy shirt, and a linen waistcoat, his clothes looked more familiar this morning. But his lazy gaze impaled her and left her feeling weak.

"Sit down—all of you," exclaimed her mother with determined brightness, and as her husband's assistant took the chair nearest to her, she made an effort to be polite. "Did you sleep well, Marshall?" she inquired, handing him a cup of coffee. "I know it isn't always easy when you're in a strange bed."

"I slept very well, thank you, Mrs Webster," he responded, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses farther up his rather prominent nose.

Caitlin frowned suddenly as his profile seemed unexpectedly familiar. But then, he spoke again, and the feeling slipped away.

"I want to thank you once again for inviting me," he continued. "It's been quite an experience visiting—Matthew—in his home. I know it must be quite an imposition while you're entertaining your family. I hope you'll tell me if I get in your way."

"I'm sure you couldn't do that, my dear," replied Mrs Webster crisply. And Caitlin, meeting her husband's eyes, realised she wasn't the only one who had noticed the hidden barb. All the same, her smiling courtesy was in direct contrast with the way she had spoken earlier, and her daughter could only assume she'd decided to bite the bullet.

Waiting until Nathan had hooked a tall, rattan stool and straddled it before choosing her position, Caitlin sank gratefully onto the sofa beside her father. There was no way Nathan could take advantage of her there, she assured herself. Though his constant observation was unnerving all the same.

Mrs Webster handed Nathan and her husband each a cup of coffee, refilling the jug from a Thermos off the tray. Then she turned to the older man with a brittle air of inquiry. "So—don't keep us in suspense. Was Nathan any help in your urgent consultations?"

Matthew was still considering his response when his son-in-law broke in. "I'm afraid not," he answered disarmingly. "I was a complete waste of time. I don't even remember the countries we deal with."

Caitlin, obliged to look in his direction while he was talking, found herself watching his hands. Unlike Marshall, who used the handle of his cup to drink with, Nathan's palm practically encased the cup. The fine china almost disappeared within the embrace of his long brown fingers, and the realisation that earlier that morning that same hand had been cupping her breast sent a fiery tingle of awareness along her veins.

She tried to distract herself by summoning her memory in an effort to recall if she'd seen Nathan hold a cup that way before, but it was difficult to concentrate with the images before her, and for once she was relieved when her father spoke.

"I suppose the question you should have asked was whether we had been of any help to him," Matthew remarked satirically, though he was showing more tolerance than she'd been led to expect. And with some relief, she abandoned her attempt to ignore her husband, hoping her father would attribute her quickened breathing to the humour in his words.

"And did you?" she asked, more to prolong the conversation than anything else, but unfortunately, her father shook his head.

"I think not," he said ruefully. "Nathan has no knowledge of me or Marshall. He has no conception of his life before the crash."

"No."

It was the expected response, and because the magnetism was still there, she looked at Nathan again. But now his eyes were guarded, and she guessed that for all his air of inconsequence, the restrictions of his condition were a constant drain.

"I have to admit, Nathan," her father remarked suddenly, "that until we talked, I had had my doubts about your—well—amnesia. I'd never met anyone who'd actually lost their memory before, and it just seemed a—convenient way to—to escape—your problems."

Nathan frowned. "Any problem in particular?" he inquired, his eyes narrowing, and Caitlin saw how Matthew Webster was struggling to find a response. Whatever her father had on his mind, he'd overstepped his brief, and it was left to his assistant to repair the damage.

"What Matthew means is, we're experiencing some confusion over a contract that was placed in Colombia," said Marshall evenly. "I know Matthew was hoping you might be able to help us out." He made a dismissive gesture. "It's not important. I can handle it. It just might take a little longer than we thought."

Nathan stared at him. "This—contract. It was for a job?"

Marshall moved a little uncomfortably, as if he, too, realised he was in danger of saying too much. "For a dam, actually," he conceded with an almost imperceptible shrug towards her father. "As I say, it's not important. We can cope."

Nathan didn't let him off the hook. "A dam," he echoed. "That sounds fairly important to me."

"But not insuperable," Marshall assured him with a thin smile, and Daisy Webster gave an impatient flap of her hand.

"Really, Matt," she said, though Caitlin knew very well her complaint was addressed more accurately to his assistant, "must we discuss business matters morning, noon, and night? It's Saturday, and I shouldn't have to remind you that Nathan has just left hospital. I wasn't happy with you cornering him the minute he came down this morning, and I wish you'd consider other people's feelings sometimes, as well as your own."

"It's all right, Mrs Webster."

Nathan was quick to defend his superior, and Caitlin wondered rather uneasily what had been going on. If Marshall hadn't been around, she might have persuaded her father to take her into his confidence, but in the present circumstances, she didn't stand a chance.

"It's not all right, Nathan." Caitlin remembered her mother used to have quite a soft spot for him years ago. It hadn't been so evident recently. But then, Nathan seldom came to Fairings these days. "And you used to call me Daisy," Mrs Webster added, dimpling almost girlishly. "And you were not invited here to undergo an interrogation. You must forgive Caitlin's father. He thinks of nothing but work."

Nathan smiled, but Caitlin sensed it was a thin veneer, put on for her mother's benefit. "I'm sure—your husband is just frustrated—Daisy," he assured her gently. Then, with a rueful glance at Caitlin, "Have we kept you waiting long?"

Not long enough, thought Caitlin tensely, but her mother had turned to Matthew now and was continuing her tirade. "I suggest you and—your assistant—confine your discussions to the office in future. Caitlin wants to take Nathan for a walk this afternoon, don't you, darling? And she doesn't want to spend the time worrying about what you're going to do when they get back."

Caitlin's jaw dropped, and Nathan, who had obviously still been considering what Marshall and her father had said, now gave her a mocking look. "What a good idea," he said, seizing the opportunity as she'd been afraid he would. "I could do with some exercise. I'm used to working out at least a couple of times a week."

"Working out?"

"Where do you work out?"

Caitlin and her father spoke simultaneously, and Nathan's brow darkened with the effort he was making to answer them. Then, "I don't know," he groaned at last. "I just—feel that's what I used to do." He frowned. "I know I enjoy running, but did I belong to a gym, as well? Surely you can tell me that, Kate."

His diminutive of her name did not go unnoticed, but Caitlin was too busy trying to think of a way of answering him to care what the others might think. And, in the event, her father took the initiative from her.

"You may have belonged to a health club," he conceded, using his own interpretation of the question. "Many of your colleagues do." He exchanged a look with Marshall. "Though I have to say you never mentioned it to me."

"Nor to me," added Marshall with infuriating candour, and Caitlin wondered anew what role he really fulfilled in her father's organisation. After all, he and Nathan had never been friends. Quite the opposite. So why would her father expect him to offer any insight into her husband's life?

Feeling compelled to say something positive, however small, she took a steadying breath. "I'm sure Marshall doesn't—
didn't—
follow Nathan around, Daddy. And you know, I think he did belong to a sports club. I remember him playing squash on occasion."

Nathan gave her a grateful look, but Caitlin didn't want his thanks. She could have added that, as far as she'd been aware—until this week—he'd never enjoyed exercise for its own sake. He had played squash in the early days of their marriage—or said he had anyway—but she suspected it had just been a front for the affair he was having with Lisa Abbott.

And at least her mother welcomed her explanation. "There you are, Matt," she said impatiently. "It's obvious it's only going to be a matter of time before Nathan remembers everything. I suggest you learn a little tolerance. It wouldn't hurt you to feel some sympathy sometimes, instead of always thinking about yourself. You're beginning to allow that damn company to mean more than your own family!"

The smell of wood smoke was in the air. Now that the mist had finally dispersed, the sun was clearing away the remaining clouds, and the woods beyond Fairings were displaying all the many colours of autumn. Underfoot, the woodland paths were slippery. It had rained the night before, and the dampness had turned much of the vegetation into mulch. But at the edges of the path, it was still possible to feel the crispness of the fallen leaves, and Mrs Webster's old spaniel, Flora, crunched happily beside them as they walked.

The scent in the woods was quite distinctive. It was a earthy mixture of wood, and foliage, and gentle decay. Where water was dripping from the bare branches, it sounded almost hollow—a haunting evocation of the season, of nature's grief that summer was gone.

Caitlin walked a little ahead of Nathan, ostensibly to show him the way. But, in truth, it was to avoid any intimate conversation. She was seriously wishing the walk was over. Her mother had had no right to force this situation on her, and for all his apparent enthusiasm, she was sure her husband wasn't enjoying the outing, either.

Apart from a casual remark about the weather, Nathan hadn't spoken since they left the house. She was sure he was still concerned about the contract her father and Marshall had mentioned that morning, and for all she had deter-mined not to get involved with him, she guessed it didn't get any easier not knowing who he was. But at the same time, she could appreciate her father's position. If there was some problem for which Nathan had been responsible, his amnesia must be causing some delay. But at least he believed Nathan's condition wasn't fabricated now. Until he'd spoken to her husband himself, he hadn't been convinced.