Stormspell (21 page)

Shannon's lips parted. 'What do you mean? Mr Crown is ill?'

'He will be if he doesn't slow down.' Dominic declared flatly. 'He had some pain last week and he made another appointment with Greenslade. He got the results of the tests they ran on him this morning.'

'And?'

'And—he's been advised to take a rest, a long rest.'

'To retire, you mean?'

'I guess that's what it adds up to,' agreed Dominic, swallowing a mouthful of his drink, and then staring down broodingly into the glass. 'He's called an extraordinary meeting of the board for tomorrow. He's asked me to attend.'

Shannon nodded. 'I can guess why.'

Dominic looked up. 'So can I. The point is—do I want it?'

'Do you want it?' Shannon made a sound of disapproval. 'Man, how can you even ask such a question? And you kicking your heels these past few years, just waiting for a chance to take over!'

Dominic grimaced. 'Maybe I was more ambitious then. Right now, it seems a hell of a responsibility.'

The telephone bell interrupted their exchange and waving Shannon away, Dominic reached for the receiver. 'Yes?' he said impatiently, in no mood for diplomacy, and then gasped aloud when a feminine voice teased: 'What a way to welcome someone home!'

'Barbara!' Dominic sat forward on the couch, spreading his legs, the hand holding his glass hanging loosely between. 'When did you get back? I thought your father told me you weren't due home until the weekend.'

'I wasn't,' Barbara agreed lightly. 'But Jane's all right now. The baby's thriving, and she has a perfectly good nursemaid. Besides,' she paused, 'I wanted to see you, darling. These past two weeks have seemed positively endless! Have you missed me?'

Dominic slumped back against the cushions at her words, feeling abominably guilty. In all honesty, he had had little time to miss his fiancee, and recalling the content of his conversation with Tim Connor at lunchtime, he felt even worse. Barbara was so eager, so accommodating, exactly the right sort of girl to become Mrs Dominic Crown. The trouble was, he knew, he simply didn't appreciate her.

Now, however, he found the right words to placate her. 'Of course I've missed you,' he told her gently. 'When can I see you? It's been much too long.'

'How about tonight?' Barbara suggested breathily, his words effecting their purpose. 'Daddy's going to a business dinner this evening. Why don't you come over? We'll have the place to ourselves?'

Dominic sighed. 'I can't, not tonight.' And he went on to explain the situation, it will have to be tomorrow evening. I'm sorry, but you should have warned me you were coming home.'

Barbara sounded disappointed. 'Couldn't you come here after dinner tonight?' she appealed. 'Daddy won't be back until late, and we've hardly been alone together since we got back from Barbados, what with one thing and another. I want to see you, Dom. I want to
be
with you. Couldn't you try and get away early?'

Dominic chewed absently at his lower lip. 'Okay,' he said at last. 'I'll try. But I can't promise. You know what these dinner parties of Ma's are like— they go on for ever.'

'Well, do your best,' pleaded Barbara urgently, and after further protestations of her eagerness, she rang off, leaving Dominic feeling decidedly contemptible.

In the event, Dominic was able to excuse himself from his parents' guests at about a quarter to ten, and he levered himself behind the wheel of the silver- grey Porsche with some relief. He had driven himself to Curzon Square to give him freedom of movement afterwards, but now, instead of heading towards Barbara's home in Kensington, he turned into Park Lane and drove north towards Regent's Park.

After his conversation with Hector Greenslade that afternoon, he had purposely searched the telephone directory for Davina Pascal's address. Hers was not such a common name, and the designation when he found it—Pascal, Miss Davina—was unmistakable. Her address was given as 2, Wellington Mews, and a consultation with the map had elicited the information that it was among that maze of streets and squares between Gloucester Place and the Edgware Road.

It wasn't easy to find at night, despite the street lighting. He suspected he might have found it easier on foot. But eventually he turned into a small square, with Wellington Mews opening off it, a narrow cul-de-sac, approached beneath a stone arch. It was certainly private, and after parking the car and taking a look, he was reluctantly impressed. There appeared to be only the one house opening into the mews, despite the number, and it was tall and narrow, flanked on either side by what looked like stables and garages. In the pale illumination from a pair of carriage lamps, he could see geranium-filled window boxes below windows with ornamental shutters. and a heavy door with a fluted fanlight, above whitewashed steps. There were lights at an upstairs window, and he wondered who was at home. He wondered what reaction he might get if he rang the bell and introduced himself, if he informed Miss Pascal of her brother-in-law's illness, and reminded her of the existence of her niece. How might she receive the news of her sister's child? Surely a woman who had adopted a son rather than remain childless might welcome a surrogate daughter.

However, Dominic knew he could not intrude. If, after her father was dead, Ruth contacted him, if she asked for his assistance, then, and only then, could he explain that she was not without a family of her own. With a sigh, half of impatience, half of frustration with himself for once more getting involved, he turned back to the Porsche, sliding behind the wheel and starting the engine. Ruth would never contact him, he thought broodingly. He was the last person on earth she would turn to. And if her own father chose to keep her ignorant of the facts, it was not his prerogative to interfere.

Nevertheless, driving back to Kensington, Dominic knew it would take more than self-justification to put Ruth out of his mind. Like it or not, he could not forget her, and he would have to hope that time, and events, would achieve what willpower could not.

Barbara's home was a Victorian residence near Holland Park. Her father, Gerald Symonds, was a politician, and although his constituency was in some industrial district of the north-west, he found it easier to have his base in the capital. Besides, he had various business interests that demanded his time, and he enjoyed the social life at Westminster.

Barbara's parents were divorced. Her mother, who had been unaware of her husband's political aspirations when she married him, had found the life of a politician's wife too much for her to handle. She was basically a quiet woman, content with her home and her family, and in consequence she had chosen to remain in Cumbria, while her husband made his life in the capital. Of course, it hadn't worked, and when she discovered that her husband had found himself a mistress, Mrs Symonds had filed for divorce.

Barbara had been in school at that time, and the scandal had not affected her. Later, when she and her sister Jane, who was a year younger, returned home, they had had mixed feelings, and eventually Barbara had chosen to live with her father, while Jane, already involved with a young farmer, opted for the rural life, like her mother.

Barbara opened the door of the house almost before Dominic had parked the Porsche at the kerb. She stood, framed in the light emanating from the hall behind her. and Dominic thought, as he had done many times in the past, what an attractive girl she was. Her hair was short and curly, a bubbling red-gold aureole around her pointed face. She was small and vivacious, if anything inclined towards plumpness, but in the right clothes from the right fashion houses, she was every bit as elegant as girls inches taller. Just now. she was wearing a loose- fitting caftan, that only hinted at the contours of her figure, but the light from behind her cast her voluptuous curves into silhouette.

'Dominic!' she exclaimed, as he climbed out of the car, and paused a moment to turn the key. 'Oh. Dominic, you came! I was beginning to think you weren't going to.'

Dominic circled the car and came towards her indolently, slipping his keys into the pocket of his mohair jacket. 'How could I disappoint you?' he teased, bending to take her eagerly proffered lips.

'Dom.' she breathed, the evocative perfume she wore drifting to his nostrils. 'Oh, darling, it's been

so long! Why did I agree to go and stay with Jane?'

'Because she needed you,' replied Dominic, straightening, and urging her into the house. 'How is Jane, by the way? And your mother? I expect the Lake District is quite beautiful at this time of the year.'

'Oh. it is.' Barbara agreed willingly, closing the door behind them, and linking her arm with his. 'But Kensington is better. Don't you agree?'

She led the way into a high-ceilinged drawing room, and then turned to him. her face upraised. With her lips slightly parted and her eyes half closed, it was an open invitation, and Dominic would have been less than human if he had not reached for her.

'Darling, darling.' she whispered, drawing his hands to her breasts, letting him feel the hard peaks beneath the fine silk of the caftan. 'Do you realise you haven't made love to me for more than sue weeks! Not since before you took off for that crazy stunt on the yacht.'

Dominic caressed the side of her neck with his lips. 'You know why,' he murmured evasively. 'My arm—'

'I know, I know.' Barbara was endearingly generous. 'I'm not blaming you exactly. I just wish that affair had never happened.'

'So do I.' responded Dominic tautly, wishing she had not chosen to bring it up. With a determined effort he drew back from her. and forced a faint smile. 'Do you think I could have a drink, honey? My mother watches my intake like a hawk, and I'm positively dying of thirst.'

Barbara sighed regretfully, but she went to do his bidding, lifting the bottle of Scotch from the table in the corner, and pouring a generous measure into a glass. Dominic, meanwhile, sought the comfort of the buttoned-leather sofa, loosening his jacket, and draping one leg casually over the arm.

'Daddy won't be back for hours,' Barbara told him, as she handed him his drink and subsided beside him. 'You can stay the night, if you want to. Mrs Laurence will make you up a bed.'

Dominic took a mouthful of the drink, and then shook his head, if I know Mrs Laurence, she's probably tucked up in bed by now,' he remarked dryly. 'And in any case, Shannon would never forgive me if I wasn't home for breakfast in the morning. This is my first night back at the apartment. He wasn't exactly overjoyed to learn I was dining out, and I couldn't disappoint him again.'

'But you can disappoint me, is that it?' Barbara suggested, tensely, her long nails beating a tattoo against the dark brown hide, and Dominic heaved a sigh.

'Honey, it's not just a question of where I sleep. You know as well as I do that your father wouldn't approve of me spending the night here. Besides,' and he knew an involuntary pang as he realised he was making excuses, 'I'm not really very good company this evening.'

Barbara's arched brows ascended. 'No?'

'No.' Dominic examined the contents of his glass with studied concentration. 'Barbara, it looks as if Dad's going to retire at last.' He paused, as she sucked in her breath in anticipation of what was coming next. 'He wants me to take his place—on a temporary basis, at least.'

'Oh,
Dominic!
" Barbara's irritation disappeared beneath a wave of enthusiasm. 'Why didn't you tell me straight away? Oh, this is so exciting! You're going to be the head of the corporation! Honestly, I can hardly believe it!'

She wrapped her arms around his neck, careless of the glass in his hand, covering his face with kisses. Her delight at the proposed appointment was exuberant, and Dominic had to hold her off eventually, saying flatly: 'You haven't asked why my father is giving up the reins. Surely you realise he wouldn't have done it without good reason.'

Barbara's jubilation gave way to a puzzled frown. 'But I thought—I mean, I assumed he had decided the time was right—' Her voice trailed away. 'He's not been taken ill, has he?'

Dominic disentangled himself from her hands, and got restlessly to his feet. 'Not exactly,' he conceded, smoothing his ruffled hair. 'But he's not a well man. and the doctors have finally persuaded him he'll kill himself within a year if he goes on as he is.'

'Oh!' Barbara pressed her lips together now, looking up at him anxiously. 'I'm sorry, Dom. I had no idea.' She made a helpless movement of her shoulders. 'And here was I. thinking you were crazy not to be jumping for joy.'

'Mmm.' Dominic swallowed another mouthful of his drink. 'Jumping for joy?' He paced broodingly across the screened fireplace. 'What if I were to tell you I'm not entirely convinced I'm the right man for the job? That quite honestly the responsibility of it scares me silly?'

Barbara moved to the edge of the sofa, holding out her hand towards him. 'Don't say that, Dom,' she exclaimed, half impatiently. 'You know you're the
only
man for the job. Your father made that company. He built it up from nothing. When your grandfather died, it was just a string of little pharmacies, getting their supplies from one of the larger chemists. If Jake Crown hadn't had the vision to realise that drugs were going to be big business, if he hadn't created his own laboratories, his own wholesale organisation. Crown Chemicals would never have come into being.'

'I know that.'

Dominic expelled his breath harshly, but Barbara wasn't finished yet. 'You know the organisation inside out. You've worked in the laboratories, you've spent time in the factories, you've studied economics, and business management; it was even your idea that Crowns began producing health foods. For heaven's sake, Dominic, you can't turn your back on it now. It needs you, and you need it.'

'Like I need a hole in the head,' Dominic retorted grimly, and Barbara rose to her feet, standing before him, small and determined.

'It's a challenge, can't you see that?' she exclaimed. 'And I can help you. Just like I've helped Daddy.'

Unbidden, an image of Ruth as his wife flashed before his eyes. She was not like Barbara. He suspected she was more like Barbara's mother. The idea of being the chairman's wife would probably terrify her. She was a child when it came to such things. But then she
was
just that, he thought bitterly. A child! And he was a despicable swine, for violating her as he had.