HELEN BROOKS - A Very Private Revenge

She had barely taken a step or two over the threshold when the phone began to ring in her red and gold sitting room, and strangely, just as she lifted the receiver and spoke her name, she knew who it was...

‘Tamar?’ Jed Cannon’s husky voice caused an involuntary curling of her toes. ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling you at home?’

‘How...how did you get the number?’ she prevaricated bemusedly. She didn’t know if she minded or not, if she were being truthful, she admitted silently to herself.

‘Telephone directory,’ he said blandly.

‘Oh.’ She wondered how many T. McKinleys there were in the London area. She’d have to have a look later. ‘How can I help you?’ she asked carefully.

‘My people can get in to do a survey tomorrow morning,’ he said without any preamble, ‘and I’ve already checked with Gerald that that’s okay.’

Have you indeed? And it’s Gerald now, is it? She was beginning to get mad.

‘We’ve discussed a rough price for getting the work done, and Gerald’s quite prepared to drop by the required amount Now—’

‘Mr Cannon—’ how dare he, how dare he take over like this? ‘—you are aware negotiations of this sort should be done through the estate agents?’ she asked icily.

‘Who says?’ he shot back quickly.

‘It really isn’t done—’

‘Tamar, I couldn’t give a pig’s ear about what is done and what isn’t,’ he said, with a smooth arrogance that had her telling herself desperately that she had to remember he was the buyer, that this was a huge deal, that she couldn’t afford to get on the wrong side of him and blow it. And that was besides her original plan to worm herself into his life and get him interested before she let him know what was what Which didn’t seem quite such a good idea now, somehow.

‘I’m working within a limited time-scale, and I haven’t got time for pussy-footing about. Right? Now, if you have a problem with that, I’m sorry, but there it is. Although surely the sooner the deal is clinched, the sooner Gerald’s happy, I’m happy, and you get your commission. Yes?’

Blow her commission, the arrogant, supercilious, overbearing—

‘Right?’ he repeated coldly.

‘Right,’ she agreed tightly, her tone saying something quite different. And she had decided whether she minded him calling her at home!

‘Tamar...’ There was what sounded like a long, impatient sigh. ‘Please don’t be difficult.’

‘I’m not being difficult.’ Oh, this was getting ridiculous. What was she doing? She couldn’t afford to argue with him like this, she cautioned herself sharply, forcing a sweeter note into her voice as she said, ‘I’m not, really, Mr Cannon, but negotiations of this sort are what I get paid for, after all.’

‘And in the normal run of things I’m sure they are quite invaluable,’ he said soothingly.

‘Yes.’ Patronising into the bargain, she thought exasperatedly. But at the moment all the cards were stacked well and truly on his side, and all she could do was grit her teeth and play ball. ‘Well, if Mr Biggsley-Brown is happy with what you’ve discussed, I’m sure we will be,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ll have to ring him in the morning and confirm, of course.’

‘Of course,’ he agreed drily. ‘But I’m sure you’ll find he’s very understanding.’

Huh! She narrowed her eyes, frowning across the room. And what was all the mad rush about anyway? Why was it so imperative for him to have a house so quickly? He had a marvellous bachelor pad—a sumptuous penthouse from all accounts—in Kensington. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have anywhere of his own to live.

He was just being awkward—flexing his wealthy muscles and demanding that everything be done yesterday, because that was how he wanted it Ruthless to the last, she thought bitterly.

‘Yes... Well, thank you for letting me know what you’ve done, and I’ll be in touch once—’

‘Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?’ Jed interrupted evenly.

‘Dinner?’

Eager delight was quite absent from her voice, and his own reflected his recognition of the fact when he said, his tone smooth but distinctly cool, ‘It’s something most people do in between lunch one day and breakfast the next.’

Dinner. Tamar was eternally grateful Jed Cannon couldn’t see her as she leant back against the wall and shut her eyes for a moment, before taking a deep steadying breath and saying, the breathless note not at all feigned, ‘I’m so sorry, but I do have a previous engagement tomorrow...’ in the sort of voice which made it clear she would like him to suggest another evening when she could make it.

He did. ‘Wednesday evening?’ he asked expressionlessly.

Wednesday. That would give her Tuesday lunchtime and evening, and Wednesday lunchtime if she needed it, to buy a new outfit, have her hair done, give herself a beauty treatment... ‘That would be lovely,’ she said quietly, hoping she was hitting the right note of cool interest now.

‘Good. I’ll pick you up about eight,’ he said smoothly. ‘I was thinking we might go to Harvey’s, unless you have any objection?’

Tamar just stopped herself saying, Harvey’s? in the same blank, gormless way she had said, Dinner?, and instead managed to sound quite blasé when she answered, ‘No, Harvey’s will be fine.’

Harvey’s will be fine. After she had said goodbye and put the phone down she had a sudden desire to laugh hysterically. Harvey’s was the one nightclub in London that even the rich and famous would kill to get membership for, and there wasn’t one single person of her acquaintance who had got so much as a nose in the door. And he was taking her there! Her, Tamar McKinley!

The urge to laugh vanished instantly as the thought of what she was going to wear surfaced with frightening intent. You couldn’t go to Harvey’s in an off-the-peg dress and shoes, she thought with blind panic. This was going to be an exclusive designer job at the very least. Well, she would have to use the money in her building society account that she had been saving all year for a holiday, and maybe the cash she had put by for her car too. Needs must.

She went straight into her tiny but extremely well fitted kitchen and made herself a very strong cup of black coffee, which she drank down scalding hot in an effort to combat her churning stomach. It helped, and after she had drunk a second cup her natural optimism and determination came to the fore.

Jed Cannon was just a man, when all was said and done. All right, he might be wealthier and better-looking than most, and have enough charisma and male magnetism to send the average woman bandy, but she wasn’t the average woman. She made a deep obeisance with her head to the thought. And he was going to remember her—and Gaby by the time she had finished—for a long, long time.

CHAPTER THREE

TAMAR knew, when she looked into Jed Cannon’s silver-grey gaze and saw it narrow to laser-like intentness the moment before he smiled, that the short jade-green silk cocktail dress, with its wafer-thin straps and simple crossover style bodice, had been worth every penny. And the matching shoes, with their high, high heels and neat little ankle straps, were just right too, emphasising her long legs and slim shape perfectly.

The price had been astronomical, but it had been the way the outfit showed off her figure that had made her hesitate in purchasing it at first. Since Mike Goodfellow’s attack, she had been chary about wearing anything too revealing, hiding in big baggy tops and jeans the first year, before slowly graduating to more tailored feminine clothes as time had gone on—but always with a view to modesty and propriety.

But you didn’t go to somewhere like Harvey’s muffled up to the ears. Even she knew that. And so...