The Dark Side of Desire (14 page)

‘I’m really very, very sorry, Mr Maranz.’ Alistair Lassiter’s secretary sounded flustered down the line. ‘But all I can say is that he left for the Far East this morning. At very short notice,’ she finished, her tone attempting to be placating.

Leon’s jaw tightened with angry exasperation. Why the
hell
had Lassiter gone overboard to get him back to London
to hammer out the deal right now and then promptly disappeared to the other side of Asia?

‘
Where
in the Far East?’ he demanded of the hapless secretary.

‘Mr Lassiter said his plans were fluid,’ she replied uncertainly.

Leon rang off, his face dark. Lassiter was up to something. Had he tracked down a late-entry white knight in the Far East? Was he hopeful of better bail-out terms? Well, the deal Leon was offering was the only one he was going to offer Lassiter, whatever the man did. But in the meantime he’d torn himself away from Flavia, and it had
not
been what he’d wanted to do.

Flavia …

Her name resonated in his head, weaving between his synapses like a seductive, sensuous silken flame.

Flavia …

Emotion welled in Leon, washing away all tiresome thoughts of Alistair Lassiter. Focussing on the one person he wanted to think about.

Flavia
.

He said her name again in his head, feeling a rush of wonder. She was everything he’d dreamt she might be—everything and much, much more! He had known from the first moment of seeing her that he desired her, but now—oh, now she fulfilled so much more than desire. There was a warmth to her, a sincerity, an ardour, and a passion that was like a bright, true flame. How he had ever worried that she might be the spoilt daughter of luxury he could not now imagine!

I can trust her—believe her—be happy with her …

Happy …

The word resonated in his head like a sweet note of music.

So simple a word. Yet how much it encompassed! This past week with Flavia had been unforgettable—as if his life had become something it had never been before. As if he had found something he had never found before …

Found
someone
he had never found before …

Someone to be happy with.

Happy for ever?

The question hovered tantalisingly, wonderingly. Dared he ask it?

Dared he answer it?

He stared ahead of him, unseeing of the wide expanse of his office, the high vista out over the City beyond that had taken him so many years of dogged work to achieve. He was seeing only Flavia, smiling at him, with all the warmth in her gaze that he could dream of. Holding out her arms for him …

With a start, he got to his feet. What was the point of him hanging around here in London any more? Out in Palma Flavia was waiting for him, and that was all he cared about. He would head back to Majorca, to Flavia, without delay. Waste not one more moment without her. And as for that question—the one he longed to answer—well, there would be time. All the time they needed together to answer it. There was no rush, no urgency. They would take as much time as they needed, being with each other, learning all there was to know about each other, finding all the happiness that lay between them.

His spirits high, on a rush of anticipation to be with Flavia again that very day, he went through to his PA’s office and let her know he was leaving again. Would she book the earliest Palma flight possible for him? Then, taking his leave, he headed to the lift, phoning Flavia’s mobile as he went. He couldn’t wait to tell her he was on his way back to her. Couldn’t wait to be with her again—take her in his arms again!

Impatiently, standing by the lift doors, he waited for her to pick up.

But instead the call went through to voicemail. Frowning momentarily, he stepped into the lift as the doors opened, and redialled once he was in the lobby downstairs.

Yet again it went to voicemail. Well, maybe she was in the hotel pool. He tried one more time, still got voicemail, and
left a message, duplicating it in a text as well. Then, to be on the safe side, as he settled himself in the car taking him to the airport he phoned the Palma hotel direct.

‘Phone up to Señorita Lassiter’s room, please,’ he instructed the desk clerk.

Her answer was apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry, Señor Maranz, but Señorita Lassiter checked out of the hotel last night.’ She paused, then said enquiringly, ‘Will you be settling her bill?’

R
AIN
was beating on the windowpanes, rattling the frame. Flavia had drawn the curtains; the bedside light was low. Her heart was gripped by a vice.

I should have been here—I should have been here
.

The words of condemning reproach went round and round in her head as she sat by her grandmother’s bed. The nurse had gone an hour ago, saying she would be on call to come back ‘at any time’ as she’d said tactfully to Flavia.

Flavia knew what that meant. Had known the moment she’d arrived, forcing herself to drive the strange hire-car from Exeter airport through the driving rain eastwards along the A30 into Dorset.

Had known the moment she’d phoned Mrs Stephens back from Palma.

‘It’s your grandmother …’

Guilt had struck instantly.

I should never have left her—never!

With her head she could tell herself all she liked that she might just as well have been in London, dancing attendance on her father, as out in a paradise she had never dreamt of—but guilt still clawed at her with pitiless talons.

To have been so selfish! To have thought nothing at all of simply disappearing off with Leon! Living out some kind of self-indulgent idyll just because … just because …

She felt the words twist inside her, trying to get out even
as she tried to crush them back in. But she couldn’t hold them back.

Just because I’ve fallen in love with him …

The words sheered across her mind, forcing themselves into her consciousness, jolting through her like an electric shock. But it was a shock that she had to disconnect at the mains—right away.
Now
. It wasn’t something she could give any time to at all! Not now—
not now
! Guilt stabbed at her yet again. Worse than ever.

How can I be thinking of myself now? How can it matter a jot, an iota, what my feelings for Leon are when I’m sitting by my grandmother’s bed?

Watching her dying …

The vice clamped tighter around her heart, and she could feel her body rock slightly to and fro with anguish. Her hands were clasped around one of her grandmother’s hands—hers so strong and firm, her grandmother’s so thin and weak. Unmoving.

The pulse at her grandmother’s wrist was barely palpable, her breathing light and shallow. The palliative care nurse who had been there when Flavia had arrived, breathless and stricken, had talked her through how the end would come, though she had not been able to say just when it would come.

‘It might be tonight—or tomorrow—or a few days. But I doubt it will be longer,’ she’d said, her eyes full of sympathy. ‘She is easing away from life.’

Tears had filled Flavia’s eyes, and she’d turned away, heart seizing. ‘I should have been here!’ she’d said, her voice muffled with emotion.

‘It would have made no difference,’ the nurse had said kindly.

Only that I would not have felt so guilty like this
, Flavia thought as she sat now in her midnight vigil.

The last weeks of her grandmother’s life and her granddaughter had been cavorting on a beach, immersed in a torrid love-affair, thinking only of herself! Caring only about
herself! Not caring anything about her grandmother—the woman who had raised her, who loved her, who had always,
always
been there for her!

Yet when the end of her life had been approaching, her granddaughter had not been there for her—she had deserted her for her own selfish self-indulgence.

Guilt stabbed at Flavia again, and self-hatred.

If she had gone to Leon simply to save Harford, simply to ensure her grandmother could end her days in her own home, and every moment with him had been an ordeal, then she might not have felt like this! Then she might have justified her absence, told herself she’d only been doing it for her grandmother’s sake.

Lie, lie, lie—

Every moment in Leon’s arms had been a moment in paradise! Every hour of the days she’d spent with him had been for
her
sake—her own selfish, heedless sake—not her grandmother’s! Even now, here, at her grandmother’s deathbed, she was still thinking about him! Still aching for him and missing him, wanting to be with him!

Just because she’d fallen in love with him …

No! Don’t think about that! It doesn’t matter and it isn’t important! Only this is important—now—with Gran—the last time on earth you’ll be with her …

Silently, tears spilled from her eyes, wetting her cheeks. Her heart ached with sorrow and grief. She clutched her grandmother’s hand as the life ebbed slowly from her, hour by hour, during the long reaches of the rainswept night. Keeping her last vigil at her side.

Leon was watching the rain. It was pounding down on the pavements far below, streaking down the plate glass windows of his office. Darkening the sky.

His mood was dark, too. Emotion swirled, opaque and turbid. A single thought burned in his brain.

Where is she?

Where had she gone—and why?
Why?

What the hell has happened to her?

She had simply vanished—disappeared! The only communication he’d got back after all his non-stop voicemailing and texting had been a bare, curt message.

Leon, I have to go. Sorry. Urgent family matters
.

That was it. Nothing more. Nothing since. Just nothing.

Frustration bit like a fanged snake. What the hell was going on? Where was she? Why was she not talking to him? What had happened? He didn’t understand—he just damn well didn’t understand!

Part of him was desperately trying to find an acceptable reason for her total silence. Maybe she was out of range again. Maybe her phone had broken, got lost, been stolen. But if that were so, he knew there was no reason why she shouldn’t have got in touch with his office via another phone. He was not exactly anonymous! And he’d given his office explicit instructions to put her through any hour of the day or night.

But she hadn’t got in touch. Hadn’t communicated with him in any way whatsoever.

It was as if she no longer existed.

Or as if
he
didn’t …

Emotion gripped at him again. Where the hell was she? What the hell had happened to her?

Why is she doing this to me?

That was the worst of all—the question that was like a kick in the guts, a knife in his lungs, stopping his breathing. There had to be a reason—a good one!—why she had disappeared. There just
had
to be …

For the thousandth time he reread the only clue he had—
‘urgent family matters.’

What
urgent family matters?

The only family he knew about was her father, so did Flavia’s disappearance have anything to do with Alistair Lassiter’s sudden journey to the Far East? But why not tell
him? Why simply cut him out of her life—cut him stone-dead? As if there were nothing at all between them!

Why is she doing this to me?

The question tore at him again. That was the heart of it! That was what was eating him alive. Flavia, who had been as close to him as a heartbeat, who clung to him in trembling ecstasy, hugged him in spontaneous affection, held his hand with absolute confidence and familiarity as they walked along, was now treating him as if he didn’t exist! Her silence was deafening—devastating.

Frustration gripped him in its vice. How the
hell
could he find out where she was, why she had disappeared, what was damn well going on and why? As if cold gel oozed through his veins, he was chillingly conscious of just how little he knew about Flavia. Oh, they’d talked and talked at Mereden and Santera, talked about anything and everything—easily, naturally, as if they’d been doing it all their lives—but what they hadn’t talked about had been their personal lives.

I thought there would be time for that—much more time!

Instead, all he’d ever told her had been the bare bones of where he’d grown up, how he’d come to Britain and found a way to make something of himself. And as for Flavia—what had she told him about herself?

Very little. They hadn’t talked about her father, and apart from saying she lived in the West Country, she’d said nothing else. He frowned. The West Country covered a fair amount of territory. He’d already run a search under her name for everywhere west of Salisbury, but nothing had come up.

She could be anywhere! Anywhere!

He strode back to his desk, his mood black and bleak. Those turbid emotions swirled inside him again—part frustration, part anxiety. And one more emotion as well. He knew what it was—knew it but did not want to identify it. Did not want to name it.

But it was there all the same. Like a knife piercing into him.

Hurting him …

He sat down in his chair, closing his eyes. The pain sliced again.

I thought we were happy together. I thought we’d found something in each other that was special—binding us together. Making everything good between us
.

That was what made her disappearance, her obdurate silence, so impossible to understand. That she could have gone from the warm, ardent, wonderful woman she’d been to someone who could just walk away without any desire to communicate with him, to let him know what was happening.

If she has things to deal with, I can understand that! I don’t demand she comes back to me immediately. I don’t expect her to cut out everything else from her life! I only want to understand what those calls on her are—to know she’s all right …

It was the blankness that was destroying him. The impotence. He wanted to know where she was, discover what she was coping with and why.

Where is she?

The question rang again in his head, as unanswerable now as it had ever been.

Grimly, he got out his work. He’d been working like the devil, trying to drown out his emotions with hard labour. Give his teeming mind something to grip on to. At least he didn’t have the business of whether or not to proceed with bailing out Lassiter to contend with. Alistair Lassiter had gone as silent as his daughter …

No. Don’t think about either of them! Don’t speculate pointlessly, frustratingly, about whether Flavia’s disappearance has anything to do with her father. Just focus on something else—anything else
.

But for all his harsh self-adjurations the only question he was interested in kept surfacing.

Where is she and how can I find her?

Then, like a gate opening in his mind, something struck him.

Her passport.

She’d got her passport couriered to the airport so she could fly to Santera.

Couriered from where?

His hand moving faster than his mind, he seized up his desk phone. His instructions to his PA were immediate. The courier company the concierge at Mereden had put in touch with Flavia would know
exactly
where they had fetched her passport from.

He sat back. Relief filled him. Finally he could make a start on finding her …

Within the hour he had his answer. Five minutes later, anticipation leaping in him, having keyed in the address, he was staring at an aerial image on his computer screen of the house Flavia called home. His first reaction was immediate.

No wonder she prefers it to London!

It might not be the largest country house he’d seen, and it certainly wasn’t what the British called a stately pile, but the substantial Georgian greystone dwelling was lapped by several acres of lawned gardens, girdled with woods and set amongst the fields and rolling hills of deep English countryside.

A little jewel of a place, he could see.

Is that where she is now?

For a moment longer he stared at the image, as if he might see Flavia suddenly appear, walking out of the house. Then, with a start, he reached for his phone, ready to dial the number that went with the address. He felt his spirits leap, buoyed by searing hope. In less than a moment she might be answering the phone, speaking to him—

His office door opened. Leon’s hand froze. His PA was standing there, hovering and looking harassed.

‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, but Mr Lassiter is in my office—’ she said. ‘He is asking to see you. I know he doesn’t have an appointment, but …’ Her voice trailed off and she looked uncomfortable.

Exasperation spiked in Leon. God, the man had lousy timing,
all right! For an instant he felt like telling him to get lost, but then, with a steadying intake of breath, he subsided. OK, he might as well see the man. For all he knew Lassiter might have come here about Flavia.

Fear struck him.
Was
that why Lassiter was here? Had something happened to Flavia? Had she had an accident? A disaster?

Even before he’d nodded at his PA, Lassiter had walked in. His expression, Leon could see instantly, was not that of a man come to report bad news about his daughter. There was an air of confident jauntiness that immediately set Leon’s teeth on edge. So did Lassiter’s equally jaunty greeting, and the way he took a seat without being invited.

Leon’s expression lost any sign of the alarm it had momentarily held, and darkened. ‘We had an appointment,’ he said icily, ‘made at your insistence, for which I specifically flew back to this country—and you failed to show.’

Lassiter was unabashed. ‘Yes, sorry about that, old chap,’ he answered airily, sounding not in the least apologetic. ‘I had to fly to the Far East.’ He paused minutely. ‘Bit of a turn-up for the books on my side, as it happens.’

He looked expectantly across at Leon, who remained blank-faced. Beneath his impassive expression, however, he was wishing Lassiter to perdition. The last thing he wanted was to have to focus on his bail-out proposal. All he wanted to do—urgently—was get his office to himself and phone Flavia’s home. Impatience burned in him. But he crushed it down. Like it or not, Lassiter was here, and Leon would have to deal with him first.

Lassiter had pursed his lips. He was looking, Leon assessed, sleeker than usual. Smugger than he had been in their previous exchanges, when his predominant attitude had veered between ingratiating and blustering. Leon waited, irritation suppressed, for Lassiter to continue.