Her Best Worst Mistake (7 page)

“
I don’t want it.”

“
Why not?”

“
You know why.”

“
Because it’s from me?”

Did he really dislike her so much?

“
Because I don’t need your bloody
pity, Violet.”

“
Tough. You’ve got it.”

She turned to go again but he strode forward and
grabbed her arm. Suddenly she was breathing in his aftershave and
the smell of shirt starch as he opened her shoulder bag and shoved
the schnapps inside it. She stared at his face, very close to her
own, but he was intent on his task and didn’t look up until he’d
released her and taken a step away.

“
Now you can go.”

“
Lovely. Beautiful manners. Maybe I
was wrong, maybe you don’t deserve my sympathy at all. Maybe E’s
the one I should feel sorry for, for putting up with a rude bastard
like you for so many years.”

Martin gave her a scathing head to toe, his signature
look where she was concerned, apparently.

“
There are many
things I will miss about sharing Elizabeth’s life, but spending
time with you will not be one of them. I can honestly say that I
have never been more...
relieved
to think that I need never lay eyes on a person
again. Was that polite enough for you, Violet, or should I drop a
few four letter words in there so you feel more at
home?”

Hurt and anger and something else she didn’t even
dare name rose up inside her in a messy, confusing rush. She opened
her mouth but nothing smart or bolshy or sharp came out.

And so she did the next best thing that leapt to
mind—she poked her tongue out and blew a noisy raspberry, at the
same time grasping the waistband of her sweater and lifting it up,
flashing her breasts at him. It was a tactic she’d last employed
when she’d been working very hard to be expelled from school, and
it came from the same frustrated, hurt, angry place.

She didn’t hang around to hear the inevitable
censure. She swiveled on her heel and marched down the corridor
toward the elevator. Once inside, she stabbed the button for the
ground floor half a dozen times until the doors slid closed and she
started descending.

Martin St Clair was a pig. An ungrateful, ignorant,
hateful pig and she hoped he suffocated in his self-imposed prison.
She hoped he met some horrible over-bred woman at someone’s dinner
party very soon and married her and had lots of horrible children
with big teeth and braying laughs and the smug air of entitlement
that came from knowing that mummy and daddy had lots of money and
important friends in high places.

She hoped—

A big, fat tear slid down her face and plopped onto
her hand. She stared at it, utterly baffled. Where on earth had
that come from...? She didn’t care what Martin St Clair thought of
her.

Did she?

The answer came from somewhere well
hidden and barricaded inside her:
yes
.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against
the rear wall of the elevator.

She was such an
idiot
.

The elevator announced its arrival on the ground
floor and she pushed away from the wall and stepped out into the
echoing foyer. She started toward the entrance, then pivoted on her
heel and walked back to the lift. She left the bottle of schnapps
front and centre on the floor of the elevator car.

At least she’d have the satisfaction of knowing she’d
had the last word between them.

That was something. Not much, but something.

Chapter Four

Martin walked around his desk and resumed his seat.
He pulled the contract he’d been working on toward himself and
resumed reading, determined not to be rattled by Violet’s visit.
Determined not to give her the satisfaction of affecting his
equilibrium.

He read the same paragraph three times before he
swore and threw the contract across the room. Its many pages hit
the wall with a pronounced thud before sliding down the panelling
to the carpet. He pushed his chair back and strode to the window.
Four stories below, a slim, slight figure crossed the road. He
didn’t need to see the red hair to know it was Violet—the
distinctive sway to her hips and the way she held her shoulders and
head gave her away. Within seconds she’d walked out of sight, her
step brisk and efficient. Putting as much distance between her and
him as she possibly could.

He had no idea why she’d come here. As for that stunt
she’d pulled at the end... It was so typical of Violet it made him
grind his teeth. She was like a peacock, constantly displaying her
wares, always needing to be the centre of attention.

Or so it seemed to him.

Typical, also, that she hadn’t been wearing a bra. If
ever he’d been in any doubt about what was beneath her
usually-plunging necklines, he knew now. Soft pink nipples, small,
perky breasts, creamy skin.

Knowledge he’d prefer not to have, thank you very
much.

He ran his hand through his hair, then went to
collect the contract. He threw it in his briefcase, along with a
couple of other files, then shrugged into his overcoat. He turned
off the lights in his office and made his way to the elevator. It
arrived with a cheery ping, stainless steel doors sliding open. He
took a step forward, then stopped in his tracks.

A tall, frosted bottle sat in the centre of the
elevator car, the artificial lighting glinting off the large
illustration of a peach on its label.

He shook his head as he stepped into the elevator and
punched the button for the ground floor.

Of course Violet had to have the final word. God
forbid she walk away from any fight without at least trying to do
so. When he arrived at the ground floor, he stepped out into the
foyer and headed straight for the exit.

Let someone else find the bottle. The cleaners, some
early bird tomorrow morning. He didn’t want Violet’s guilt gift in
his home.

He stepped out into the icy darkness, pulling his
coat up around his ears. The sky overhead was dark with cloud, a
sure sign that the weather bureau’s prediction of snow was on the
money.

I think what’s happened between you and E sucks.
Yes, I thought you were bad for each other, but that doesn’t mean I
think you’re a bad person or that I don’t want you to be happy.

He’d been about to walk to his car, but he stopped
and let his breath hiss out between his teeth.

Bloody Violet.

Turning on his heel, he swiped his access card to get
back into the building and crossed to the lift. Naturally, it took
an age for the elevator car to travel from the top of the building
to the foyer. He glared at the floor indicator, and the moment the
doors slid open he stepped inside and stooped to grab the bottle.
Schnapps in hand, he headed for the door.

He set the bottle on the kitchen bench when he
arrived home. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he’d skipped lunch
and he knew he had to eat. There was cheese and bread and he turned
the griller on and made grilled cheese on toast, a meal he hadn’t
enjoyed since his Trinity College years. Throughout, the schnapps
bottle seemed to mock him, and finally he reached across and
grabbed it, thrusting it into the first cabinet that came to
hand.

He killed the rest of the evening
going over financial reports and making notes before falling into
bed. He was bone-tired, but his brain circled and circled, churning
over Violet’s visit and the accusations they’d thrown at each other
again and again.

It was a good thing they didn’t have to see each
other any more. She made him say and do things he wasn’t proud
of—like the way he’d all but kicked her out of his office, accusing
her of gloating and rejecting her gift.

Yes, it had been a pity-gift, but that was beside the
point. She’d come all the way across town on a cold winter’s night
in order to see him. She’d gone out of her way. And he’d hurled
accusations and insults at her head.

Not that she would care what someone like him said to
her. She made no secret of the fact that she found him highly
amusing. A funny little man worrying about funny little
things—things that had been handed to her on a silver platter the
day she was born.

He punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape
and rolled onto his back. He frowned, willing Violet out of his
head. He needed to sleep. He had heavy schedule tomorrow, and he
needed to be fresh.

He concentrated on reciting the 2007 amendments to
the Tax Act in his head. Slowly his muscles and mind relaxed and he
drifted toward sleep. He was on the verge of dropping off when an
image popped into his mind: Violet’s face after he’d told her how
relieved and happy he was that he’d never have to see her again.
There had been a long moment there when they’d both been very
still, his words hanging in the air between them. For a split
second, her golden brown eyes had stared back into his own and he’d
seen...what, exactly?

Hurt?

Pain?

Surely not. His eyes flicked open and he stared at
the ceiling. Violet Sutcliffe had been insulted by far better men
than him in her day. He was sure of it. She was a hardened party
girl, cynical and worldly and always up for a good time. Anything
he said to her would be water off a duck’s back.

It took him another recitation of the Tax Act to slip
off to sleep.

He woke feeling tired. His work day was punctuated
with difficult, intense meetings, the highlight of which was an
awkward, deeply uncomfortable session with Edward and a number of
other senior partners.

He’d talked briefly with Edward when he landed two
days ago, reporting in to let the older man know that his visit to
Australia had been fruitless in terms of bringing Elizabeth home.
It had been a difficult conversation, full of undercurrents and
unspoken regret, and every meeting or encounter with Edward since
had been tinged with the same unease and restraint. That Edward was
embarrassed on Elizabeth’s behalf was clear, but Martin had no idea
how to address the chasm that had opened between them.

Fortunately there was always more than enough work to
bury himself in and he pushed on into the afternoon, losing himself
in a complicated brief. He was still hard at it when his assistant
poked her head into his office at five.

“
Don’t forget they’ve got the men
coming into steam clean the carpets tonight,” she said.

He saw her handbag was already on her
shoulder—clearly, she was more than happy to leave work early for a
change. Behind her he could see the cleaning crew setting up their
equipment.

Great. So much for getting some work done in the
quiet after hours.

“
Thanks, Tam. Have a good
weekend.”

“
You, too. Although you’ll probably
be busy doing wedding things, huh? I had Johnny running around like
a chicken with his head cut off at this stage when we got
married.”

She smiled, friendly and expectant, waiting for his
response.

He stared at her, very aware that he needed to start
telling people that things were over with Elizabeth. He opened his
mouth to make the first of what would no doubt be many
explanations.

“
I’m not sure what’s on the agenda
for the weekend,” he heard himself say.

“
Trust me, she’ll put you to
work.”

Tammy pushed away from the door frame and disappeared
from view. Martin stared at the space where she’d been, annoyed and
surprised with himself. Never in his life had he shrunk from facing
the unpalatable.

He stood and rounded his desk. Tammy was just about
to disappear into the elevator.

“
Tammy!”

She stopped in her tracks, clearly surprised to have
him holler after her. A number of heads turned in the open plan
area in the centre of the office. Martin strode toward her.

“
Did I forget something?” she
said.

He stopped in front of her, very aware that anything
he was about to say would be overheard by the staff nearby.

Well. So be it.

“
You should probably know, Elizabeth
and I have called off the wedding.”

Tammy’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, no. Is everything
all right?” She blushed furiously. “Sorry. That pretty much rates
as the stupidest question ever. Forget I asked.”

He managed a smile. “It’s okay. We’ve decided to go
our separate ways. Nothing too complicated about it.”

He shut his jaw with a click, biting back the urge to
explain further.

“
I see. Well, I’m really sorry to
hear that.”

She surprised him by leaning forward and giving him
an awkward, one armed hug.

“
If there’s anything you need...
Help with canceling anything, whatever...”

“
Thanks. But I’ve got it under
control.” He took a step backward. “Have a good
weekend.”

“
You too, Martin.” She gave him a
faint, sympathetic smile before turning and resuming her walk to
the elevator.

He returned to his office, aware of more than one
pair of eyes following him curiously. Once he had gained the
privacy of his office, he let out the breath he’d been holding and
loosened his tie.

He’d fronted enquiries and negotiated with some of
the most hardened players in the London legal fraternity, but that
last five minutes definitely counted as among the least pleasant of
his life.

At the other end of the office, the carpet cleaning
machine started up, the loud, throbbing sound cutting through the
ambient noise. Still fired by the impetus that had sent him out of
his office after Tammy, he grabbed his briefcase and coat and
headed for the door.