JOANNA WAS EXHAUSTED by the time she let herself into her small apartment the following morning. The flight from New York had landed soon after six-thirty. And, although she’d been hoping to get a few hours’ sleep on the flight, a crying baby and the man beside her snoring for most of the journey had put paid to that.
She’d flown home via New York because the flight from Miami to London hadn’t been due to leave until the evening and the last thing she’d wanted to do was hang around Miami airport, looking as though she was waiting for Matt to come and find her.
There’d been a flight to New York almost immediately, and she’d been lucky enough to snag a seat in business class. She’d excused the extravagance on the grounds that it was an emergency. Some things were worth the price you had to pay.
She wasn’t looking forward to seeing David again. Naturally she wouldn’t tell him she’d slept with Matt. But she was very much afraid he would suspect what had been going on. And in her present fragile state, she might well reveal more than she intended.
He was bound to say ‘I told you so’ if she admitted that the visit hadn’t gone as she’d anticipated. He’d warned her not to go and she half wished she’d taken his advice.
Half wished?
Shaking her head, she stripped off her clothes and headed for the shower. Standing under the hot spray, she felt as if she was sluicing every trace of Matt’s lovemaking from her body. A vain hope, she acknowledged, and when she heard the phone ringing as she turned off the water, she found herself hoping that it was Matt.
Crazily, her heart skipped a beat at the thought, but then she quickly came down to earth again. It was her mobile phone that was ringing and Matt didn’t have her mobile number. Wrapping a bath towel around her, she went with rather less enthusiasm to answer it, which even she knew was foolish. She felt a sense of resignation when she saw David Bellamy’s number on the small screen.
She really didn’t want to talk to him right now. Yet she had no choice. ‘Hi, David,’ she said, trying to adopt an upbeat tone. Crossing her fingers to protect herself against the lie, she added, ‘I was going to ring you later.’
‘How much later?’ He didn’t sound appeased. ‘You must have arrived home hours ago.’
‘Not hours,’ she protested. ‘It was early morning when I landed. You might not have been awake if I’d phoned you then.’
‘Even so...’
‘David, I needed a shower and a change of clothes. You know what it’s like when you’ve been away.’
‘You were only away a couple of days, Joanna. It was hardly a holiday.’ He sighed. ‘Do I take it you saw the great man?’
‘I saw Matt, yes.’ Joanna hesitated before continuing. ‘Actually, he’s been ill. That’s why he didn’t answer any of my emails.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really,’ she said, half annoyed at feeling the need to defend herself. ‘He’d picked up a bug in South America while he was there.’
‘Oh, well...’ David evidently decided not to push his luck. ‘So you’ll be coming in—what? Later today?’
‘Make it tomorrow,’ she said, although the idea of going into work at all wasn’t appealing right now. ‘This place is a mess and I need to do some grocery shopping.’ She paused. ‘Is that all right?’
‘I guess so,’ replied David ruefully. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to assure myself that you got home safely.’
‘Well, thanks.’ Joanna realised she’d been in danger of taking her frustrations out on him. ‘I’ll tell you all about my trip tomorrow.’ Or as much as was sensible anyway. ‘Okay?’
* * *
It was the hotel phone that awakened Matt.
His own mobile phone was in the pocket of the trousers he’d taken off—well, kicked off in the other room, actually—the night before. If it had rung earlier, he certainly hadn’t heard it.
Groaning, he blinked, taking stock of his surroundings. Then, realising that Joanna wasn’t beside him—was she in the shower? —he rolled over to snag the phone at her side of the bed.
‘Yeah?’
‘Matt? Oh, thank goodness, I’ve reached you at last. I’ve been ringing your phone for ages but you didn’t answer.’
Matt recognised his sister’s voice at once. ‘What’s the urgency?’
Sophie clicked her tongue. ‘Well, when you didn’t come home last night, we were all concerned. But then, this business with Dad—’
‘What business with Dad?’ Matt dragged himself up against the pillows and forced himself to focus on what she was saying. ‘What’s happened?’
Sophie sighed. ‘Oh, Matt, we had a call from Andy Reichert in the early hours.’ Andy Reichert was his—now his father’s—second-in-command. ‘He’d phoned Dad last night, and he’d been concerned when he couldn’t reach him. Apparently, Dad hadn’t been too well during the afternoon, so, as a last resort, Andy went to the office.
‘He found Dad slumped over his desk. He called 911, naturally, and Dad was rushed to hospital. It’s another stroke, Matt. A more serious one this time. No one knows what the eventual outcome will be, but right now it’s touch and go.’
* * *
Three weeks later, Joanna had accepted that Matt wasn’t going to contact her. Whatever had happened in Miami, he’d evidently decided there was no point in pursuing her to England.
She’d found it hard to accept at first. She’d been so sure he’d want to see her again. Foolish, perhaps, but after the night they’d spent together, she’d actually been tempted to give him a second chance.
Still, maybe that was just her hormones talking. Whatever, she’d finally convinced herself that maintaining the status quo was in her best interests and his. She’d been in danger of losing sight of her reasons for going to Miami in the first place. Was she so easy to deceive?
Evidently so.
She hadn’t heard from Matt’s solicitors either, though in the last week, and with David’s encouragement, she’d consulted a firm of divorce lawyers here in London. She’d given them Matt’s address and had assumed they’d contact him on her behalf, and she’d waited on tenterhooks for his response. But nothing had come of it. Yet.
A second interview was planned for the beginning of the following week, and she’d decide then what she was going to do. There didn’t seem much point in delaying the inevitable. Which meant she had to tell her mother what was going on.
Glenys Carlyle—or Glenys Avery, as she was now—lived in Cornwall with her second husband. Lionel Avery was a wine merchant she’d met at a night club in London fifteen years ago, just after she and Joanna’s father had separated.
Although he was almost eight years her junior, they seemed happy together. And despite the fact that Joanna had initially resented her mother for leaving her father, time, and the fallout both before and after her father’s death, had strengthened their relationship.
She’d been fourteen when her parents split up, and whenever the topic had come up, her father had always blamed his ex-wife. It was true, her mother had been the one to walk out on the marriage, but it was also true that Angus Carlyle was not the easiest man to live with.
After Glenys and Lionel were married, her mother had invited Joanna to live with them. But Joanna had felt she couldn’t leave her father on his own. Okay, she’d acknowledged that Angus Carlyle had his faults, but she didn’t feel she could abandon him completely.
And she hadn’t. But she found herself wondering now if that had been her first mistake.
* * *
Matt landed in London at about seven p.m. He’d used the company jet to fly to England, rather than try to book a seat on the scheduled flight, but he hadn’t been able to relax. Too much was going on, both in his business and his personal life. His pilot hadn’t been too pleased at being hauled out of bed in the early hours of the morning either, but he’d known better than to cause a fuss.
Matt had received the divorce papers from Joanna’s solicitors a few days ago, and since then he’d been agitating to get away. But he had responsibilities. Since his father’s second stroke, he’d had to take over again as CEO of the company, and it had been impossible for him to drop everything to fly to London.
A company car was waiting for him at the airport, and he gave the driver Joanna’s current address. Although he still owned the apartment they had shared in the city, she didn’t live there. After their break-up, she’d found her own apartment not far from the gallery. With Bellamy’s help, no doubt, Matt thought dourly, as the limousine transported him swiftly through the busy streets.
Colgate Court was a small development of one-and two-bedroomed serviced apartments, with the amenities common to such accommodations. Matt scowled when he got out of the car, reflecting that if Joanna had been willing to use the money he’d deposited regularly in her bank account, she could have afforded somewhere a lot better than this.
But it was adequate, he conceded, bending to inform his driver that he’d ring him if he needed him again. Then, fastening a couple of buttons on his cashmere jacket, he strode quickly towards the entry.
Matt had never been inside the building before, but he had checked the place out after attending her father’s funeral. He’d wanted to know where she was living, particularly as Joanna had apparently changed the number of her mobile phone so he couldn’t reach her that way.
A man was standing in the lobby of the building, looking out at him. The door to one of the ground-floor apartments was ajar and Matt wondered if he was the caretaker for the building. The outer door was locked with the usual keypad beside it, and after ascertaining which apartment was occupied by Mrs—no, Ms—Carlyle, he scowled at the anomaly and pressed her bell.
There was no response and his scowl deepened. He’d been fairly sure she’d be at home at this hour of the evening. Perhaps the man would know. He hesitated only a moment before knocking at the door, and after a second’s hesitation the man came to open it.
However, he regarded Matt rather suspiciously, as if he wasn’t used to dealing with visitors after dark. Especially a tall, intimidating visitor, who was regarding him with a definite air of impatience.
Matt’s skin was darkly tanned, too, after his convalescence in Florida, and he had an unconscious arrogance that apparently aroused the man’s defences. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked offhandedly, and Matt got the feeling that he was hoping he’d say no.
‘You already have,’ Matt replied, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, causing the man to back up in alarm.
Adopting his most unthreatening tone, Matt continued, ‘I’m here to visit with my wife, Mrs Novak? Um, that is—Ms Carlyle,’ he amended shortly. ‘Do you know if she’s at home?’
The man frowned, and tucked the newspaper he’d been carrying under his arm. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, with evident satisfaction. ‘I’m only the caretaker here. Sorry.’
Matt knew an almost uncontrollable desire to swear, but instead he said stiffly, ‘I’ll go up and see for myself. The third floor, isn’t it?’
The man took a heavy breath. ‘I can’t let you do that. You can ring her bell again, if you like, but—’
Matt controlled his annoyance with an effort. ‘She might have been in the bathroom when I rang,’ he protested.
‘She might indeed.’ The man sniffed and Matt sucked in an impatient breath.
‘Mrs—Ms Carlyle is my wife,’ he said curtly. ‘I need to speak with her.’
‘Do you now?’ The man cleared his throat. ‘Does she know you’re coming?’
Matt’s hands curled into fists in his pockets. He wasn’t used to being treated in this way. ‘No,’ he snapped tersely. ‘Not that it’s any business of yours. Now, if you’ll—’
But before he could go on, the door to a lift he’d barely noticed before swept open at the other side of the lobby. Footsteps crossed the faux marble floor, halting uncertainly when he turned.
‘Matt!’
Joanna was standing just a few yards from the lift. She was carrying what appeared to be a basket of laundry, and he guessed she’d been on her way to speak to the caretaker. Why else bring a basket of laundry down to the ground floor?
But now she’d halted and was staring at him with disbelieving eyes.
She was so beautiful, he thought. Her streaked blonde curls shone like gold, as if the sun were hidden in their heavy masses. Her eyes were wide and startled as she gazed at him, twin orbs of a deep blue, surrounded by long darkened lashes.
‘Hello, Joanna,’ he said, resisting the urge to glance triumphantly at his companion. ‘Perhaps you would tell our nervous friend here that we’re acquainted?’