Kate Proctor - Tall, Dark And Dangerous

Ginny gave another shake of her head, this time in an effort to rid it of the cloying bitterness of those memories.

Chalk and cheese she and Libby might have been, she reminisced sadly, but the mutual desperation of need that had first drawn them together had forged a bond between them that the years apart had never weakened.

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden sound of the telephone ringing, then leapt to her feet and raced to the wall extension.

‘Hi, Ginny! Bad news for the kitty, I’m afraid—I’m being kept in overnight at the clinic. Though it won’t cost any more here than it does in Cannes and I’d have had to stay——’

‘Libby, for heaven’s sake, what’s wrong?’

‘My darned blood-sugar’s up a bit again, but it’s nothing to worry about—it’s not even up as much as it was last time, but they’re insisting on running all those tests again, but only to be one hundred and ten per cent on the safe side.’

‘Poor you,’ sympathised Ginny, silently thanking her lucky stars Libby had followed her obstetrician to Paris—there was no guaranteeing how she might have responded to that sort of news from another specialist. ‘And don’t you dare worry about the kitty—it’s extremely healthy, thanks to the fact that the Lebauts have just paid me for the work I did on their garden…Libby, are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Ginny, I’m a pampered heiress,’ teased Libby, sounding on top of the world, ‘the sort who gets hospitalised for a month with an ingrown toe-nail—so stop fussing!’

‘I’m not,’ sighed Ginny. ‘I just had to make sure you were up to hearing the news…Your uncle’s just arrived.’

‘David?’ groaned Libby.

‘He says his name’s Michael,’ said Ginny, her eyes widening with alarm. She knew relatively little about Libby’s family, except that they were ghastly—and it hadn’t even occurred to her to ask for proof of the caller’s identity. ‘He seems terribly young to be your uncle,’ she added nervously.

‘If the guy you’re referring to looks as though he’s just stepped off the cover of a movie magazine, that’s my uncle Michael,’ replied Libby hollowly. ‘He’s only about eight or nine years older than I am—the baby of the Grant dynasty, but lethal all the same.’

‘He says he owns the villa.’

‘Now you mention it, he does,’ muttered Libby vaguely, her mind plainly on other things. ‘Darn it, this is the last thing we need…Did he say how long he’d be staying?’

‘No, but he obviously wasn’t in the least pleased to find me in residence,’ replied Ginny, then related what had happened.

‘I should have realised one of them would show up here sooner or later to check on me,’ stated Libby morosely. ‘I guess Michael must be in France on business, but don’t worry, he won’t waste too much time hanging around waiting for me to show up—hotshot tycoons like him measure their time in bucks,’ she added, equally morosely. ‘Where is he right now?’

‘Having a bath. Libby, what am I supposed to say to him?’

‘Anything, as long as it’s not the fact I’m pregnant—that’s the last thing I need them knowing!’

‘Not to mention the father-to-be,’ exclaimed Ginny wearily, wondering, as she had innumerable times before, how her brash, rash friend always managed to end up in a muddle, even now, when she had matured beyond all recognition and had her life mapped out before her with the man she so passionately loved. ‘Libby, you keep saying you intend making your peace with the Grants once you and Jean-Claude are married, but now that your uncle’s here——’

‘No! Now’s completely the wrong time!’

‘Libby, don’t you think it’s time you sat down and had a serious rethink about all this—at least about contacting Jean-Claude and telling him about the baby?’

‘We’ve been through all that,’ protested Libby edgily. ‘Ginny, don’t even think about telling Michael anything. I just couldn’t handle it right now.’

‘Libby, love, I shan’t tell him a thing,’ exclaimed Ginny. ‘You know I wouldn’t—but just what am I supposed to say to him?’

‘Just stall him!’ the American girl begged, a note of panic entering her tone. ‘Tell him I’m in Paris on business—you never know, he might even swallow it, once he’s finished laughing…I don’t know,’ she sighed, sounding suddenly very unsure of herself. ‘Just tell him you don’t know when I’ll be back.’

‘Don’t worry—I’ll come up with something,’ said Ginny, that uncharacteristic note of vulnerability in Libby’s voice making her inject a confidence she was far from feeling into her words. ‘You’re not to worry.’

‘I can’t help it with Michael around—I’m just not up to facing the Grants yet,’ sighed Libby, then unexpectedly gave one of her irrepressible chuckles. ‘You know, if I didn’t know you so well, I’d say Michael would be a great choice for you to loosen up with and get rid of those sexual hang-ups you claim you don’t have.’

‘Libby!’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not recommending it,’ laughed Libby. ‘He’s far too dangerous for you—you’d probably end up in love with him.’

‘So, the man actually has a few lovable points,’ teased Ginny, relieved to hear Libby’s laughter, despite its cause.

Oh, he’s lovable, all right,’ sighed Libby. ‘And I was one of his greatest fans until a while back—not that I ever saw as much of him as I’d have liked. Being so much nearer my age, he never went in for breathing down my neck the way the rest of the family did…or so I kidded myself. It was Michael’s spying on me and reporting back to Grandpa and David that resulted in my not getting control of my own money once I reached twenty-one.’

Ginny felt a twinge of guilt as she found herself thinking that Libby, at twenty-one, was the last person to whom anyone in his right mind would have handed over control of a considerable fortune.

‘Ginny, I know what you’re thinking,’ said Libby, ‘and you’re right, but it was the low-down way he went about it that blew him as far as I was concerned. Even m my wildest days, I always had a few decent friends—and not all of them stuck away on the other side of the Atlantic. Michael picked one as his victim and seduced her into telling him all she knew about me—then he dropped her like a hot potato.’

‘Charming!’ exclaimed Ginny, wrinkling her nose in disgust. ‘Luckily I’m far too sexually repressed for that sort of ploy to work on me,’ she added teasingly, while inwardly squirming at the memory of her initial reaction to him—there had been nothing in the least repressed about that. ‘Anyway, we’re probably making far too much of this—for all we know, this is just a flying visit.’

‘You’re right,’ agreed Libby. ‘Luckily Jeanne has said it’s OK for me to stay at her place as long as I like. See if you can find out how long he reckons on being around—I’ll give you a call tomorrow.’

‘What if he answers the phone?’

‘So I’ll speak to him—and tell him how sorry I am to have missed him. Meanwhile, watch yourself—the way that guy wields charm, repression doesn’t get a look-in!’

Charm? What charm? During the past few hours the man had displayed about as much charm as a rattlesnake, Ginny fumed to herself, as she carried a tray of coffee out on to the terrace after dinner.

It was one of those evenings of balmy perfection, the sort that, no matter how many times she experienced it, she knew she would never grow to take for granted. Sitting on the terrace, listening to the innumerable sounds that filled the silence of the night as they drank their coffee, was a ritual she and Libby had fallen into of late. But tonight there was an oppressive charge in the air that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the man now taking a seat beside her.