Sara Craven - To Claim His Mistress - Mistress at a Price / Mother and Mistress / His Mistress's Secret

Cat lay watching him search for his clothes, nerving herself. At last she said, ‘Talking of rules…’

‘Mmm?’ He was buttoning his shirt, but he shot her a lightning glance.

‘I don’t really need a car and a chauffeur to get me here,’ she said. ‘I can make it on my own.’

‘He’ll be here for you shortly,’ he said. ‘But it can be the last time, if that’s what you want.’

‘Please.’ She paused. ‘Also, I got held up last night, and there was no way to warn you. So—maybe—it would be sensible to exchange mobile phone numbers—for emergencies.’

Liam looked at her, brows raised. ‘I thought that was exactly what you didn’t want?’

She hunched a shoulder. ‘We’re both busy people, and—things happen. I don’t want any misunderstandings either. Numbers only,’ she added hastily. ‘No other details, of course.’

‘Naturally.’ There was a note of irony in his voice. ‘And emergencies only. Then let’s do it.’

Cat was thoughtful when he’d gone. It had hardly been an eager concession on his part. It seemed that he’d really bought into the idea of separate lives.

But then, so have I, she reminded herself. I didn’t ask what had caused his jet-lag. He didn’t ask why I was late. And that’s a kind of trust—isn’t it?

How will I ever know? she thought. And sighed.

She had just come out of a meeting, and was returning to her desk via the coffee machine, when her mobile phone rang.

She looked at the screen with a kind of stunned disbelief as she answered.

‘Liam—has something happened?’ She swallowed. ‘Can’t you make it this evening after all?’

‘Nothing like that. I just needed to hear your voice.’

She realised she was smiling absurdly, her face warming. She tried to sound severe. ‘That’s hardly an emergency.’

‘You have your definition,’ he said softly. ‘I have mine. And I want you to know I’m counting the hours until tonight.’

‘Me too.’ Her voice was husky, shaking a little.

After they’d disconnected, she sat staring at the little electronic miracle in her hand. My lifeline, she thought, to him. And he’d called her.

‘You’re very cheerful this morning,’ Megs commented on her way past. ‘You must be on a promise.’

Cat returned a dutiful smile as she slipped her phone back into her bag.

How wrong can you be? she thought, dragging herself back down to earth with painful effort. There were no promises—no commitment. Just this one tenuous and strictly temporary link.

So I’ll have to make the most of it, she told herself soberly. For as long as it lasts.

CHAPTER NINE

‘REALLY, darling,’ said Vanessa. ‘You’re being no help at all.’

Cat, still lost in the blissful euphoria of the previous night, gave a slight start, and hurriedly reminded herself why she was there.

‘What’s the matter?’ Vanessa went on, giving her a shrewd look. ‘Doing a little nest-building on your own account?’

Cat bit her lip. ‘Please don’t be absurd. I have somewhere to live, if you remember.’

‘A bachelor girl’s pad,’ her mother said with a sniff. ‘I hoped you might be broadening your horizons.’

‘My horizons are just fine, thanks. Regarding what we’ve seen so far…’ She paused as the waiter brought their desserts. ‘I liked the little house in Chelsea best. And Holland Park wasn’t bad either.’

‘Bad vibes, sweetie.’ Vanessa shook her head. ‘I don’t think the previous tenants were very happy.’

‘Anyway,’ Cat went on, ‘shouldn’t you be asking Gil what he thinks rather than me?’

Vanessa shrugged. ‘He’ll go along with whatever I decide. And you seem very concerned for his feelings all of a sudden,’ she added. ‘You’re not becoming fixated on him, I hope, because it wouldn’t do you much good.’

‘Not at all,’ Cat said crisply. ‘I just find it odd you haven’t consulted him.’

‘Well, don’t worry about it, darling. Gil and I understand each other very well, believe me.’ Her mother paused. ‘And you’re right; it will have to be Chelsea. Such a pretty garden, and the right atmosphere, too.’ She sighed contentedly. ‘That’s so important for me, particularly now.’

Cat observed her with narrowed eyes. ‘Why now?’ she enquired. ‘And also, why the rush? Mother—what are you up to?’

Vanessa spread her hands. ‘Darling—I’ve always needed absolute peace when I’m studying a part. You know that.’

‘Is that why the house in Beverly Hills was always teeming with people?’ Cat asked drily.

‘But I was filming then.’ Vanessa’s eyes were limpid. ‘Live theatre is entirely different.’

Cat put down her dessert fork and sat forward. ‘You’re—going into a play?’ she said slowly. ‘When did you decide this?’

Vanessa inspected a minute fleck on her nail. ‘When adorable Oliver Ingham offered me the role of Anne Hathaway in his new production,’ she said lightly. ‘I went up to Scotland at the weekend to discuss it with him and agree terms. Nevil Beverley wrote the script, and, believe me, sweetie, it’s to die for.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Cat said grimly. ‘And death could well be involved.’ She paused. ‘You do know, I suppose, that my father’s playing opposite you as Will Shakespeare?’

‘Well, they were bound to mention it,’ said Vanessa. ‘And I think if Oliver can cure him of some of those tiresome mannerisms he might be quite good.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘In fact, it could be quite like old times.’

‘Oh, God,’ Cat said weakly. She looked her mother in the eye. ‘Are you completely crazy—going into a production with David and his girlfriend? It’ll be a nightmare. You must see that. Why, you don’t even speak.’

‘Well, neither did Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway for most of the time, so the story already calls for a certain amount of tension.’ Vanessa purred. ‘I feel it could be quite a challenge—for all of us, especially the little American. Such a change from pantyhose commercials.’

She put her napkin on the table and rose. ‘Now, order us both some coffee, darling, while I go to the powder room.’

And she departed, amid a flurry of excited whispers from neighbouring tables, leaving a troubled Cat staring after her.

Whether she liked it or not, there were clearly stormy times ahead, she thought as she signalled to the waiter.

There was no chance, of course, that her father would pull out of the production. He would regard that as a serious defeat in the ongoing post-marital war with his ex-wife. No, he would do it if it killed him.

And the press, of course, would have a field day. David Adamson and Vanessa Carlton starring together in the West End for the first time since their very public divorce. There would be vultures gathering from all directions, awaiting the latest furore. Plenty of rats in the arras to cover the inevitable spats during rehearsal. She could see the headlines now.

But David and Vanessa were actors, she told herself with an inward shrug. They thrived on publicity, whatever form it took.

Her main concern would be to avoid getting caught in the power struggle between them. Which meant extending her policy of non-involvement somehow.

And that reminded her of another, quite different problem. Because this property hunt had turned out to be seriously bad news, she told herself grimly. Galling as it might be, Vanessa had not been far out in her comment about nest-building.

Cat reluctantly admitted to herself that she’d been viewing the flats and houses on offer totally through her own eyes, having all kinds of illicit daydreams about moving into them with Liam. In her mind, she’d filled each space with furniture that they’d chosen together. Picked the room where they would spend every night in each other’s arms. Imagined how their life might be together.