Merger By Matrimony (2 page)

Ha! If he only knew. She and any form of worldly-wise experience had never so much as rubbed shoulders. Her life had always been a peripatetic journey on the fringes of civilisation, swept along by parents whose concerns had never included the things most normal people took for granted. Occasionally, when one of the members of their team took a trip into Panama City, they would return with a few magazines. She knew about microwave machines and high-tech compact disc players, but only from the glossy pages of the magazines. Firsthand, her
experience of twenty-first-century living was lamentably undeveloped.

From Panama City they'd moved gradually onwards and downwards, to more and more remote towns, until they'd finally taken root amidst the wilderness of the Darien forest some eight years previously. In between her education had been erratic and mostly home-grown, aside from one tortuous year at a boarding school in Mexico and then a further three at the Panamanian university, from which she'd emerged, in record time, a qualified doctor and desperate to return to her family and the jungle she had come to love.

She'd hated the veneer of sophistication that seemed an obligatory part of twentieth-century city life. She'd hated the need to wear make-up and dress in a certain way at the risk of being thought freakish. She'd hated the envy she'd encountered from other girls who'd thought her too good-looking and too stand-offish for her own good, and the barely developed young men with their boorish, laddish manners who'd seemed hell-bent on getting her into bed. She'd had no real interest in shopping for clothes whenever she could, and neither school nor university had been able to cope with her prodigious talent at nearly everything she put her hands to.

So what was she going to now?

More of the same, and this time with the horrendous task of walking into a company about which she knew nothing, to attempt to speak to people about whom she knew nothing and all because of an inheritance from an uncle whom she had not known from Adam.

As she stepped off the plane and allowed the unfamiliarity of Heathrow Airport to wash over her like a cold shroud, she felt a wave of terror assault her.

Even her two disreputable cases rolling past on the belt
looked small and scared next to the bigger, brasher items of luggage being snatched up by the horde of weary travellers.

She was to stay at her unknown and now deceased uncle's Knightsbridge house which, Derek Wilson had assured her, was beyond plush.

Right now, all Destiny wanted was to be back home where she belonged.

She had to force her feet forwards, out through the line of watchful uniformed custom officers, past the heaving banks of friends and relatives waiting for their loved ones back from holiday and then, with a surge of gratitude, towards the familiar face of the man who had succeeded in turning her uncomplicated life on its head.

‘Got here safe and sound, then,' Derek greeted her, assuming control of the trolley with her bags even though she was more than capable of pushing it herself. ‘Did you have a chance to read all the company reports I left with you? Details of your inheritance? My driver's waiting for us outside. You'll probably want to relax after your trip—' he grimaced at the memory of his own ‘—so I thought I'd drop you straight to your house, let you sort yourself out, have a rest. I've made sure that it's fully stocked with food and you can give me a ring in the morning so that we can start sorting out this business.'

‘Where are all these people
going?
' There was barely room to manoeuvre their trolley. In her brightly woven dress, which had been her only item of clothing suitable for long-distance travel, Destiny felt gauche, out of place and utterly lost.

‘All over the world.' The man at her side cast a critical look at his companion. ‘You'll have to do some shop
ping, you know. Especially for when you go into the offices…'

‘Why? What's wrong with what I've got on?'

‘Nothing! It's very charming, I'm sure. Just…not quite suitable…'

‘Suitable for what?'

They had now cleared the interminable confines of the airport terminal, but outside things were no less frantic. Destiny felt as though she'd been catapulted onto another planet, where everything operated on the fast-forward button. Black cabs rushed past them; buses were pulling up and pulling away; cars were spilling out their contents of travellers and cases. She allowed herself to be led to a long sleek car quietly purring at the end of the drop-off kerb. It was a far cry from the communal four-wheel-drive Jeep she'd become accustomed to, with its unreliable windows, cracked plastic seats and coughing engine noises.

‘Suitable for what?' she resumed, as soon as they were in the back of the car.

Derek coughed apologetically. ‘Suitable for the board meeting you'll be attending tomorrow afternoon.'

‘Board meeting?
Me? Attending?
' She spoke four languages, had taught any number of subjects over the years, and knew more about medicine and how to deliver it than most doctors, yet the thought of a board meeting was enough to send her into a panic attack. She was only twenty-six! She shouldn't
be
here!

‘Well, perhaps
board meeting
is a bit of an overstatement…the directors just want to meet you, actually…'

‘Can't
you
go? Or perhaps tell them that I'm ill? Jet lag…?' She could feel her heart lurching about inside her and had to take deep breaths. Inoculation, delivering
babies, tending to the ill seemed a faraway excursion to Paradise.

Derek swept past her objections with practised ease. ‘Their futures are at stake. Naturally they want to meet the person now in charge of the show…' He cleared his throat and she looked at him, aware that some other piece of not quite so innocuous information was about to come.

‘There's also one other person I feel I ought to mention…'

‘What other person…?'

‘I'm sure you'll be able to handle him…' His voice failed to live up to any corresponding conviction.

‘
Handle him?
Is he violent?'

At which Derek allowed himself to chuckle. ‘Not violent, my dear girl. Not in the sense you think. His name's Callum Ross…his name crops up in the Company Report I left for you…'

‘Sorry, I fell asleep on the plane.'

‘He's…how to describe him?…he's a household name over here in the world of high finance and business. Quite a legend, in fact. He's managed to accumulate quite a number of companies in a remarkably short space of time…' He sighed and nervously patted his receding hair. ‘The man's quite formidable, Destiny. Some have even described him as ruthless.' His expression conveyed the impression that he included himself in this number. ‘When he wants something, he's reputed to go after it, no holds barred.'

‘I've met types like that,' Destiny said slowly.

‘Have you? Really?'

‘Yes. They live in the jungle and they're called cougars. They don't hesitate to go for the kill.'

Derek didn't smile as she might have expected. Instead he nodded and said musingly, ‘It's a more fitting descrip
tion than you might think… At any rate, Callum Ross has wanted your uncle's company for some time now, if gossip in the City is to be believed, and he was very nearly there. Papers had been drawn up, waiting for the signature of your uncle—who had the poor timing to die before he could validate anything. He's engaged to—well…you could say your stepcousin…'

‘I have a cousin?'
She felt a sudden flare of excitement at the thought of that.

‘No. Not quite. Your uncle was married four times. Stephanie White was the daughter of his most recent ex-wife by her previous marriage. Stephanie's surname became Felt at the time when her mother married your uncle. At any rate, she has some shares in the company, along with the directors, but the majority of the shares are now under your control. What I'm saying, Destiny, is that Callum Ross badly wants what is essentially
your
company now. He's seen his opportunity slip away from him through a blow of chance and he's going to be a very disappointed man. Disappointed enough to be a thorn in your side.'

‘I don't understand
any of this.
' She hadn't been following the progress of the car, but she was now aware that they were pulling up outside a gated crescent. A guard approached them, nodded at something Derek held out for him to see, and the impressive black wrought-iron gates smoothly glided open, like a pair of arms stretching out to reveal a tantalising secret. ‘
All these people!
I just…'

‘Want to go home…?'

She nodded mutely at him, dully taking in what she knew, without really having to be told, was an expensive clutch of houses. They curled in a semi-circular formation around a small, impeccably manicured patch of
green. All white, all three storeys tall, all sporting black doors and tidy front gardens sectioned off with more black wrought-iron gates. A few cars were parked here and there and they were all of the same ilk as the one she was currently in. Sleek, long and shiny. She felt a little ill at the sight of all the structured precision.

‘You can't. At least not quite yet. Not until the business with the company is sorted out once and for all.'

‘Why don't I just sell to this Callum man? Wouldn't that be the easiest thing to do?' She tore her miserable eyes away from her prospective neighbourhood and looked at Derek.

‘If you do, there's a good chance he'll split the company up to maximise his profits if he decides to sell. The other thing is this—there's almost no way that he's going to invest in the work your father's doing.'

‘But wouldn't
I
be able to fund it all myself? With whatever I make from the company?'

‘After all debts have been cleared? Without the backup of the facilities over here in the Felt labs? Unlikely. Anyway—' he assumed a tone of bonhomie ‘—enough of all that. You'll be meeting the man himself soon enough. Here's your place! Number twelve. Lucky twelve. In case you haven't noticed, there's no number thirteen. Superstition. Guess there's a lot of that from where you come? Folklore, superstition, etc?' He pushed open his door as soon as the car had stopped, then skipped around to open hers before bounding merrily up three steps to black door number twelve.

‘Meeting the man soon enough?' Destiny repeated, as he opened the front door and stepped back to let her pass. ‘When?' The driver had followed them with her cases which, on the highly polished black and white flagged
entrance hall, looked even sadder and more forlorn than they had on the conveyor belt at the airport.

‘Shall I do the guided tour?'

‘When am I going to be meeting this man, Derek?'

‘Ah, yes. Tomorrow, actually.'

‘You mean with all the other…directors?'

‘Not quite. Tomorrow morning. After you've seen me, as a matter of fact. Thought it might be best to size up the enemy, so to speak, before you meet the rest…'

The enemy. The enemy, the enemy, the enemy.

She hoped that Derek Wilson had been exaggerating when he'd said that, but somehow, she doubted it. Whoever Callum Ross was, he was obviously good at instilling fear. It was a talent for which she had no respect. In the compound, she'd become accustomed to working alongside everyone else to achieve the maximum. How could they ever hope to help anyone else if they were too busy playing power games with one another? Only the big cats in the jungle inspired fear, and that was all part of nature's glorious cycle.

For a man to stride around thinking that he could command other people into obedience was anathema to her.

By the time she'd explored the house, unpacked and investigated the contents of the superbly stocked fridge and larder, she had managed to distil some of her apprehension at what lay ahead.

If her father could see her now, she thought, he would probably faint. Before she left to return to Panama, she would make sure that he
did
see her. In these grand surroundings. It would give them something to chuckle about on those sultry, whispering evenings, with the sounds of wildlife all around.

And if Henri could see her, sitting at the kitchen table, with a delicate china cup of coffee in front of her—proper
milk! Proper coffee! She smiled. Dear Henri, her soul-mate, just a handful of years older than her, who still flirted with her and jokingly proposed marriage every so often.

Her mind was still sabotaging all her attempts to concentrate on what had to be done before travelling back to Panama, when there was a sharp buzz of the doorbell.

It took a few seconds for her to realise that the buzz corresponded to someone at
her
door, then several seconds more to find herself at the door. Derek, who obviously now saw himself as her surrogate father, had warned her of sharks in the big city which were more lethal than the fishy variety, but she pulled open the door anyway.

It was an impulse which she instantly regretted.

The man standing in front of her, angled in shadows, was taller than she was. Tall and powerful with a sharply contoured, unsmiling face. He was wearing a lightweight suit in a dark colour, appropriate for the mild summer weather, but even his suit did little to conceal the aggressive, muscular lines of his body. She felt her pulses begin to race.

She should have looked through the peephole in the door, a small device pointed out to her through which she could determine whether any unexpected visitors were welcome or not. Despite security, not all visitors were welcome, Derek had told her. Naturally she'd forgotten all about the wretched thing.

‘Yes?' She placed her body squarely in the entrance so that the man couldn't brush past her, although, judging from his size, he would have had little difficulty in doing just that if he wanted to.