The Yuletide Engagement & A Yuletide Seduction (17 page)

Jane was inclined to agree with him. From what she knew of the ruthless American, he wasn't into “saving” companies, only taking them over completely!

She certainly didn't envy Richard Warner his meeting with the older man tomorrow!

She reached out to squeeze his arm understandingly. “I'll keep my fingers crossed for you,” she told him softly before straightening. “Now I have to be on my way—and I think you should go upstairs and give your lovely wife a hug! There's a lot to be said for having a loyal wife and a beautiful family like you have, you know,” she added gently, having no doubts that Felicity would stand by her husband, no matter what the outcome of his meeting with Gabriel Vaughan.

Richard looked at her blankly for several seconds, and then he laughed softly. “How right you are, Jane,” he agreed lightly. “How right you are!”

She was well aware that it sometimes took someone outside the situation to remind one of how fortunate one
was. And, no matter what happened tomorrow, this man would still have his beautiful wife and daughters, and their unborn child. And that was certainly a lot more than very many other people had.

And sometimes, Jane remembered bleakly as she left the house, all the positive things you thought you had in your life could be wiped out or simply taken away from you.

And a prime example of that had been this evening when Gabriel Vaughan had turned out to be the guest of honour at the Warners' dinner party! She had worked so hard to build up this business, to build something for herself—she would not allow it all to be wiped out a second time!

It had not been a good evening for Jane. First that broken cup—which she would replace, despite Felicity's protests that it wasn't necessary—then Gabriel Vaughan coming into the kitchen: the very last man she'd ever wanted to see again! Ever! And Felicity, poor romantic Felicity, had given him Jane's business card!

What else could possibly go wrong tonight?

She found that out a few minutes later—when her van wouldn't start!

J
ANE
almost choked over her morning mug of coffee! As it was, her hand shook so badly that she spilt some of that coffee onto the newspaper that lay open on the breakfast-bar in front of her, the liquid splashing onto the smiling countenance of the man's face that had caused her to choke in the first place!

Gabriel Vaughan!

But then, nothing seemed to have gone right for her since meeting the man the evening before. It had been past one o'clock in the morning when she'd discovered her van wouldn't start, and a glance towards the Warners' house had shown her that it was in darkness. And, in the circumstances, Jane had been loath to disturb the already troubled couple. Besides, she had decided, if Richard Warner had any sense, he would be making love to his wife at this very moment—and she certainly had no inclination to interrupt that!

But it had been too late to contact a garage, and there had been no taxis cruising by in the exclusive suburb, and finding a public telephone to call for a taxi hadn't proved all that easy to do, either. And when she'd come to leave the call box after making the call it was to find it had begun to rain. Not gentle, barely discernible rain, but torrents of it, as if the sky itself had opened up and dropped the deluge.

Tired, wet and extremely disgruntled, she had finally arrived back at her apartment at almost two-thirty in the morning. And opening her newspapers at nine o'clock the following morning, and being confronted by a photograph of a smiling Gabriel Vaughan, was positively the last thing she needed!

This was the time of day when she allowed herself a few hours' relaxation. First she would go for her morning run, collecting her newspaper, and freshly baked croissants from her favourite patisserie on the way back. She had made a career out of cooking for other people, but she wasn't averse to sampling—and enjoying—other people's cooking in the privacy of her own home. And François's croissants, liberally spread with butter and honey, melted in the mouth.

But not this morning. She hadn't even got as far as taking her first mouthful, and now she had totally lost her appetite. And all because of Gabriel Vaughan!

She would never see him again, she had assured herself in the park earlier as her feet pounded on the pathway as she ran, slender in her running shorts and sweatshirt, her hair tied back with a black ribbon. As far as she was aware, the man had only paid brief visits to England over the last three years, and just because he had rented an apartment for three months that didn't mean he would actually stay that long. Once his business with Richard Warner had reached a suitable conclusion—to Gabriel Vaughan's benefit, of course!—he would no doubt be returning to America. And staying there, Jane hoped!

But this photograph in this morning's newspaper—of Gabriel with a dazzling blonde clinging to his arm—had been taken while at a weekend party given by a popular
politician. It seemed to imply that his rare visits to this country in recent years had in no way affected his social popularity when he was here.

Jane stood up impatiently, her relaxation totally ruined for this morning. Damn the man! He had helped ruin her life once—she couldn't allow him to do it again, not when she had worked so hard to make a life and career for Jane Smith.

Jane Smith.

Yes, that was who she was now.

She drew in a deeply controlling breath, forcing back the panic and anger, bringing back the calm that had become such a necessary part of her for the last few years, reaching out as she did so to close the newspaper, not taking so much as another glance at the photograph that had so disturbed her minutes ago.

She had a job to do, another dinner party to arrange for this evening, and the first thing on her list of things to do was to check with the garage she had called earlier, and see if they had had any luck in starting her van. If it wasn't yet fixed she would have to hire alternative transport for the next few days.

Yes, she had a business to run, and she intended running it!

Despite Gabriel Vaughan.

Or in spite of him!

 

“H
ELL,
I hate these damned things! If you're there, Jane Smith, pick up the damned receiver!”

Jane reached out with trembling fingers and switched off the recorded messages on her answer machine, quickly, as if the machine itself were capable of doing her harm. Which, of course, it wasn't. But the recorded
message of that impatient male voice—even though the man hadn't given his name but had slammed the receiver down when he received no reply to his impatience—was easily recognisable as being that of Gabriel Vaughan.

She had telephoned the garage before taking her shower, had been informed that it would be ready for collection in half an hours' time, once they had replaced the old and worn battery. Then she'd showered quickly before switching on her answer machine as she usually did when she had to go out.

She had only been out of her apartment for an hour, but the flashing light on the answer machine had told her she had five messages. The first two had been innocuous enough—enquiries about bookings, which she would deal with before she went out to collect her supplies for this evening's dinner party. But the third call—! He didn't even need to say who it was—she could recognise that transatlantic drawl anywhere!

It wasn't even twelve hours since she had left the Warners' home; the damned man had left no time at all before trying to contact her again!

What did he want?

Whatever it was, she wasn't interested. Not on a personal or professional level. On a personal level, he was the last man she wanted anything to do with, and the same applied on a professional level. For the same reason. The less contact she had with Gabriel Vaughan—on any level—the better she would like it.

That decision made, she decided to totally ignore the call, pretend it never happened. After all, he hadn't left a name or contact number, just those few words of angry impatience.

Having so decided, she reached out to switch the machine back on. After all, she had a business to run.

“Jane! Oh, Jane…!” There was a short pause in the fourth message, before the woman continued. “It's Felicity Warner here. Give me a call as soon as you come in. Please!” Felicity had sounded tearful enough at the beginning of the message, but that last word sounded like a pleading sob!

And Jane didn't need two guesses as to why the other woman had sounded so different on the recording from the happily excited one she had left the evening before; no doubt Richard had been to his meeting with Gabriel Vaughan!

Maybe she should have tried to warn the other woman last night, after all, once she had realised who Richard was dealing with? But if she had done that Felicity would only have wanted to know how she knew so much about the man. And it had taken her almost three years to shake off the how and why she had ever known a man like Gabriel Vaughan.

But Felicity sounded desperately upset, so unhappy. Which really couldn't be good for her in her condition—

“Don't you ever switch this damned thing off, Jane Smith?” The fifth message began to play, Gabriel Vaughan's voice sounding mockingly amused this time—and just as instantly recognisable to Jane as on the previous message. “Well, I refuse to talk to a machine,” he continued dismissively. “I'll try you again later.” He rang off abruptly, again without actually saying who the caller had been.

But Jane was in no doubt whatsoever who the caller had been, remembered all too well from last night when
he had called her “Jane Smith” in that mocking drawl. Two calls in a hour! What did the man want?

Some time in the last hour—if Felicity's cry for help was anything to go by—he had also spoken to Richard Warner!

The man was a machine. An automaton. He bought and sold, ruined people's lives, without a thought for the consequences. And the consequences, in this case, could be Felicity's pregnancy…!

Once again Jane switched off the answer machine. She didn't want to get involved in this, not from any angle. And if she returned Felicity's call she would become involved. If she wasn't already!

She didn't really know the Warners that well. She understood they had been guests at several other dinner parties she had catered for, which was why Felicity had telephoned her for the booking last night.

Over the years Jane had made a point of not getting too close to clients; she was employed by them, and so she never, ever made the mistake of thinking she was anything else. But somehow yesterday had been different. Felicity had obviously been deeply worried, had desperately needed someone she could talk to. And she had chosen Jane as that confidante, probably because she realised, with the delicacy of Jane's position working in other people's homes, that she had to be discreet, that the things Felicity talked to her about would go no further.

Jane never had been a gossip, but now there was a very good reason why what Felicity had told her would go no further: she simply had no one she could possibly tell!

Her life was a busy one, and she met lots of people
in the course of her work, but friends, good friends, were something she had necessarily moved away from in recent years. It was an unspoken part of her contract that she never discussed the people she worked for, and Jane guarded her own privacy even more jealously!

Her life had taken a dramatic turn three years ago, but determination and hard work meant she now ran her own life, and her own business. Successfully.

That success meant she could afford to rent this apartment; it was completely open-plan, with polished wood floors, scatter rugs, antique furniture, and no television, because not only did she not have the time to watch it, but she didn't like it either, her relaxation time spent listening to her extensive music collection, and reading the library of books that took up the whole of one wall. It was all completely, uniquely her own, and her idea of heaven on an evening off wasn't to go out partying as she would once have done, but to sit and listen to one of her favourite classical music tapes while rereading one of her many books.

But somehow those last three messages on her answer machine seemed even to have invaded the peace and tranquillity of her home…

Much as she liked Felicity and felt sorry for the other woman, she simply couldn't return that beseeching telephone call.

She just couldn't…!

 

S
HE
was tired by the time she returned to her apartment at one o'clock the following morning. The dinner party had been a success, but the reason for her weariness was the disturbance in her personal life over the last twenty-four hours.

The answer machine was flashing repeatedly—one, two, three, four, five, six, she counted warily. How many of those calls would be from Gabriel Vaughan?

Or was she becoming paranoid? The man she had met the evening before did not look as if he had to chase after any woman, least of all one who cooked for other people for a living! And yet on the second of those last recorded messages he had said he would “try again later”!

Jane sighed. She was tired. It was late. And she wanted to go to bed. But would she be able to sleep, knowing that there were six messages on her machine that hadn't been listened to?

Probably not, she conceded with impatient anger. She didn't like this. Not one little bit. She deeply resented Gabriel Vaughan's intrusion, but at the same time she was annoyed at her own reaction to it. She was not about to live in fear ever again. This was her home, damn it, her space, and Gabriel Vaughan was not welcome in it. He certainly wasn't going to invade it.

She reached out and firmly pushed the “play” button on the answermachine.

“Hello, Jane, Richard Warner here. Felicity wanted me to call you. She's been taken into hospital. The doctor thinks she may lose the baby. I—she— Thank you for all your help last night.” The message came to an abrupt end, Richard Warner obviously not knowing what else to say.

Because there was nothing else to say, Jane realised numbly. What had Gabriel Vaughan said to Richard, what had he done, to have created such—?

No!

She couldn't become involved. She dared not risk—dared not risk— She just didn't dare!

But Felicity had called her earlier today, feeling that in some way she needed Jane. And, from Richard's call just now, the other woman had been proved right! Could Jane now just ignore this call for help? Or was it already too late…?

She couldn't change anything even if she did return Richard's call. What could she do? She would be the last person Gabriel Vaughan would listen to—even if she reversed her own decision about never wanting to speak to him again.

But what about Felicity…?

It was almost one-thirty in the morning now—too late to call either Richard or the hospital; she doubted the nurses on duty at the latter would volunteer any information about Felicity, anyway. She would go to bed, get a good night's sleep, and try calling Richard in the morning. Maybe Felicity's condition would be a little more positive by then.

Or maybe it wouldn't.

She absently listened to the rest of her messages, curious now about the other five calls.

They were all business calls, not a single one in the transatlantic drawl she had quickly come to recognise—and dread—as being that of Gabriel Vaughan. And after those two calls this morning within an hour of each other his silence this evening did not reassure her. It unnerved her!

 

“S
HE'S—
stable—that's how the doctor described her condition to me this morning,” Richard Warner told Jane in answer to her early morning telephone query about Felicity. “Whatever that means,” he added disgustedly.

“What happened, Richard?” Jane prompted abruptly.

This call was against her better judgement; it came completely from the softness of emotions that she must never allow to rule her a second time. But she couldn't, she had decided in the clear light of day, simply ignore Felicity's and Richard's telephone calls.