Sweet Peas in April (2 page)

Sam picked up the tray, wanting to get out of there quickly before Esther put two and two together and made four. “Trust me; it couldn't get any more awkward if it tried. He turned up forty minutes late as it is. And no, it's Mr. West or no one. It took long enough to find a firm who'd even listen to me, never mind send someone out.”

She headed back to her office, pushed the door closed with her hip, and crossed over to the desk. She set the tray down on the polished surface and set the coffee cups on coasters in front of her guests. “Here you go.”

Adam leaned forwards, his aftershave achingly familiar. He took a cup from her, the warmth from the brief touch running rampant through her. She pulled away as he leant back in his chair and smiled that intoxicatingly lazy smile of his. “Shall we start with some background?”

Straight to business. Typical Adam. Nothing changes.
“Sure.” She sat behind her desk, hoping the slight distance would protect her. She opened the file on her desk and studied the tall, blond man she'd once known so well.

He'd filled out more in the last ten years. Broad shoulders, slight thickening at the waist, but his hair still blond and parted on the right. His blue eyes seemed darker, more soulful.

His tanned fingers gripped his cup, wedding ring still very much evident on his left hand.

She had no idea why. After all, he was the one who'd walked out on her and their marriage.

Her left hand turned the pages of the file. She could feel his gaze and raised her eyes to meet it, his frown surprising her. Did he expect her to still be wearing her ring? She met his stare head on. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. Just surprised no one else could help. I mean, it's a pretty big case.”

“I guess that scared them off,” Sam said dryly. She took a deep breath, beginning from the start. “It was little things at first. We'd lose contracts. There was misappropriation of funds and paperwork going astray. Even stupid things like paper, drawing pins, and the pens off my desk going missing. It was irritating, but also worrying, as it meant someone had been in my office. Then things began to escalate. The books didn't balance. Money started going missing from accounts all across the board. Some of it turned up in other accounts, most didn't. We lost several big contracts because of this.”

She sighed. “Anyway, I managed to trace it to one department. All the accounts were handled by Max Holder and Troy Branning. Max died in a car accident in December, but the money didn't stop moving. I suspended Troy in January and took over all his accounts myself. There is no doubt it was him.”

“And he's suing you?” Adam regarded her with that look she knew so well.

She swallowed, trying to stop her body from reacting like a hormonal teenager. He wanted nothing to do with her. End of. “Yeah, he is. Wrongful dismissal, loss of income, and a couple of other things tossed in for good measure. I can't afford this lawsuit.”

“Why not bring criminal charges?”

“I tried speaking to someone. The police say I don't have enough evidence. They suggested handing it over to the fraud squad, but that would damage the company's reputation even more. I built this business on trust.”

“It seems to me that trust is already gone.”

She stiffened and narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

Adam held her gaze. “Your company lost the money. You just admitted that.”

“Now wait a minute.” She folded her arms defensively. “Troy Branning was not acting on behalf of my company when he embezzled those funds.”

“That's beside the point. He worked for your company. Therefore it's your company and your reputation down the pan. Would you trust your money with a company who diverted funds to line their own pockets?”

“Just whose side are you on?”

Adam smirked. He turned to Jo. “Go and wait by the car. I'll be there in a few.”

She nodded as she rose. “Yes, sir.” She gathered her stuff and left.

Sam leaned against the window, keeping as much distance between her and Adam as possible. “So, that's it. You're not going to help me, either. Just lay the blame squarely on me.”

Adam kept his voice calm, not wishing to inflame the situation. “I didn't say that. I'm merely stating the facts as you gave them to me. Give me a jolly good reason why I should help you.” He uncrossed his legs, not lifting his gaze from her.

“I could lose everything. Don't you get it?”

He stood, his decision already made. “I already have lost everything, so I understand that perfectly.” He nodded to her left hand. “No wedding ring?”

“No,” she snapped. “Not that it's any of your concern.”

“You want my help, fine, I'll take the case.” He picked up his briefcase. “I shall need somewhere to work—read all the files, computer records, and so on.”

Confused, she frowned. “That information can't leave my office.”

“Then your office it is.” He strode to the door.

“Adam,” she managed.

He turned, resting his hand on the door knob. “Sam, when you decide if you want my help or not, here's my direct number.” He dropped a card on the top of the bookcase and headed out, leaving the door open.

Sam crossed the room and closed the door quietly, groaning in frustration.
Oh, God, grant me the patience to deal with him just long enough to sort out this mess.

****

Adam sat in his office, coffee steaming on the desk. He pressed his fingers to the tip of his nose and exhaled deeply. The last time he'd seen Sam, he'd been packing.

Sam leaned on the door frame, tears falling. “You're really going?”

“What have I got to stay for?”

“Me? Or don't I matter either.”

“How can you say that?” He flung the last few shirts into the case.

“I gave up everything for you,” she said. “University, family…”

He scowled. “Family?” he scoffed. “They never approved of me. That's why we eloped in the first place.”

“Well, your parents didn't like me either,” she shot back. “Nice white bloke with big ambitions marries trashy black kid from the slums.”

Adam flung the case shut, the slam echoing in the half- empty room. “They never called you trashy, and they didn't even think that of you. And a block of flats on a council estate is not a slum—it was your home and as good a home as anyone else I know comes from.”

“But they didn't approve. I wasn't good enough.”

He raised his hands, tired of the same argument going around in circles. “I'm not doing this. Not now. Not anymore.” He picked up his case.

“Where are you going?”

“That doesn't concern you.” He strode to the door.

“It does too concern me. You're my husband.” Sam ran after him and grabbed his arm. “Don't you walk away from me!”

“There is nothing left.” He looked down at her hand, ignoring the shaft of pain that speared through his arm straight to his heart. That was the first time she'd touched him since Immy's funeral.

“Immy's gone.” Adam shook himself free. “It's over, Sam. Just accept it and move on.” He let the door slam on his way out and didn't look back.

Adam sucked in a deep breath, looking down at the wedding ring on his left hand. Move on? She'd done that all right. He twisted the ring and pulled it off. He let it spin on the desk, watching it turn, the vows he'd made repeating in his head.

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others,'til death us do part.

The ring fell and finally stopped.

Death
had
parted them. But not his death or Sam's.

Rather the death of their only, much loved daughter.

2

Sam curled her hair around her finger as she waited for the phone call to connect. She didn't know why she was so nervous. She'd spent a sleepless night trying to come up with an alternative, but there wasn't one. She had no choice. It was deal with Adam or let her company go under, and that wasn't going to happen. He'd given her his direct number, but she didn't feel she had the right to use it. Besides, he could refuse to take the call rather than be railroaded into speaking to her.

Finally, the operator's voice came on the line: “Jacob's and Company, Solicitors. How may I direct your call?”

Sam swung her chair to face the window. “Could I speak to Adam West, please? It's Sam Reece from Wyatt Finance, Inc.”

“One moment, please.”

There was a short burst of holding music before Adam's voice filled her ears. “Adam West.”

“Hello, Adam, it's Sam.”

“Ms. Reece, how are you?”

She baulked at his use of her title. Her voice didn't want to work. “I—I'm fine. You?”

Cups chinked in the background, and Adam's voice came from further away. “Just leave it there, thank you.”

“Have I called at a bad time?”

“I'm in the middle of something, but you're not bothering me. I told the receptionist to put your call through. What can I do you for?”

“I'd like you to take the case. If you don't mind sharing a corner of my desk and using my PA for any secretarial stuff you need doing. I don't have room for your secretary as well.”

“That's fine.” Clicking accompanied his voice. “I can come and see you this afternoon at one, if that is convenient.”

“One is fine. I'll see you then.” She hung up and sucked in a deep breath as she scribbled a note in her diary. She pulled out her hair band and retied her hair.
Can I do this?

The question, although rhetorical, got a response.
You have to.

She swung back to the desk as the intercom buzzed. She reached over and pressed the button. Her other hand automatically swept the two or three crumbs to the floor. “Yes, Tessa?”

“Your father is here to see you.”

Sam looked at the intercom. Her father was here? “Show him in.” She got up, worry pulsating through her. What could have happened? Her father wouldn't just turn up for a visit for no reason. Something must be wrong.

The door opened. As always, Vincent Reece's presence filled the room. Sam moved over to hug him. “Hi, Dad.”

He hugged her back. “It's good to see you, Sam.”

“You, too. Have a seat.” She nodded to the couch on one side of the room and then glanced at her PA. “Tessa, can you bring us some tea, please?”

Tessa nodded. “Sure.”

Her father sat. Sam could feel his gaze even with her back to him. “You look pale and tired, child.”

Sam sat beside him. “Long hours tend to do that to a person. Some days I don't get seem to get five minutes to myself.”

“You should take better care of yourself. Are you eating properly?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Are you sleeping OK?”

“Yes, Dad.” Sam grinned. “Did you really drive all the way from Winchester to ask me that? It's an eighty mile round trip.”

He smiled back. “I came to inquire about your health, yes, and talk about something else.”

Sam held up her hand as Tessa came in with the tray of tea. “Thank you, Tessa. Why don't you take a long lunch? Come back at two.”

“Are you sure?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Mr. West is due at one and I can get him settled in here and show him the files he needs to see. I don't have room here for his PA, so there maybe stuff he'll need you to do for him while he's here.”

“That's fine, Ms. Reece, I can do that. See you at two.”

Her father raised an eyebrow.

As the door shut, Sam poured the tea. “I know that look, Dad. What?”

“Mr.
West
?”

“I need legal advice and my usual lawyer has retired and his firm closed down. This firm comes highly recommended.” OK, that was the short version. Dad didn't need to know the long, convoluted story of precisely why no other lawyer would touch her with a barge pole.

“West?” Dad repeated.

Sam sighed. “Yes, Dad. Adam West.”

Her father visibly stiffened. “Is that wise?”

“Dad, it is just business and nothing more. A few days and he'll be gone and then it'll be over.”
I hope.

“Make sure of it.”

“What do you have against Adam?”

“That man wasn't good enough for you.”

“Why?” Sam held out a cup. “Because he's white? A couple of years older than me? A lawyer? Would you rather I'd married a black man?”

Her father took the cup. “The color of his skin has nothing to do with my feelings towards him. That man never made you happy. I wanted to give you away at your wedding; to be proud as I walked you up the aisle. Not to find out you'd married some posh ne'er-do-well in a postcard.”

“Dad…”

He raised his free hand. “Hear me out. No one would ever be good enough for you. At least not according to your mother, but you never gave us a chance. We should have met him before you married him. He could have asked permission…”

“Dad, please,” Sam interrupted. “No one asks permission to marry someone these days.”

“I asked permission to marry your mother.”

“Yeah, well, that was the dark ages.”

Her father frowned. “You gave up everything for this man—your studies, friends, and for what? To have him walk out on you the instant things got hard.”

“I went back to uni and now have my own firm.” She paused.
For now at any rate
. “But this is purely business. He's my lawyer. End of.”

Her father sipped his tea. “And that's legal? You can do that?”

Sam ran her fingers over her left hand. “Yes.”

“No ring?”

“I haven't worn it for a couple of years now. It's at home, somewhere.”

“Have you filed for divorce yet?”

“There's no point. If Adam wants a divorce, he's a big boy and more than capable of asking. Besides, he left me, remember? And we didn't exactly have a Biblical reason for separating, not that either of us were Christians at the time. For all I know, he still isn't. I mean, neither of us was unfaithful or…” She let out a deep breath. “And it's not as if I'm ever planning to get married again. Been there, done that, and got the scars to prove it.”