Czytaj książkę: «Desire For Revenge»

CHAPTER ONE

‘LOOK David, I think this has gone far enough I…’

‘I want you Sarah, and I always get what I want, especially when what I want happens to be a green-eyed witch with red hair and a body just made for love, even though something tells me that that body has never actually experienced the total reality of a man’s love.’

She felt trapped; half mesmerised by the deliberately soft monotone of his voice, and not even the fact that they were in her office, within easy screaming distance of her fellow employees, had the power to make her feel fully safe. And besides, what sort of executive would she be if she let one mere man sexually intimidate her to the extent where she was panicked into reacting like a naïve teenager?

Gathering herself together, Sarah took a deep breath and then said as calmly as she could, ‘David we’ve been through all this before. You might be a valuable asset to the company, but I am not prepared to go to bed with you just so that you will continue to use Leichner & Holland as your publishers. And I’m sure that Steven would back me up in this.’

Steven Holland was the owner of Leichner & Holland and it was he who had been responsible for promoting Sarah a year ago from being assistant editor to the status of fiction editor, with a special responsibility for the new avenue of fiction aimed at women, which they were pursuing. Sarah did not delude herself as to her abilities; she had been promoted as a result of something which had really been little more than a lucky fluke. She had been idly reading through a manuscript which James Richards, the chief fiction editor, had thrown on one side and had immediately been struck by the emotive way in which the story had been written. The name of the writer had been unknown to her, but she still found the novel powerfully compelling. She had been reading it one lunch hour over her coffee and sandwich when Steven had passed her on the way to his office. He had questioned her about what she was reading, and after being amused by her enthusiasm had said that since she was so enthusiastic about the work he might as well read it for himself.

Slightly to Sarah’s surprise he had been as enthusiastic as she was herself, and the result was that she was now officially Fiction Editor (Female) for Leichner & Holland.

Of course her promotion had not been without problems. For one thing James Richards had objected strenuously to it, and Sarah had heard only the other day that he had actually now given in his notice. There had been a lot of talk about who might replace him, but as yet nothing official.

‘I mean it Sarah…I want you and I mean to have you…’

‘But not here I trust, David…’ she managed to quip acidly. His remark about her virginity rankled and worse, made her feel acutely vulnerable. Sarah was no fool. She recognised very strongly in David Randal a very basic masculine drive to possess and subjugate the female sex. The fact that, as he had so correctly guessed, she was still a virgin made him all the more keen in his pursuit of her.

She watched him get up and leave her office, gnawing anxiously on her bottom lip. How he felt about the female sex came across very clearly to her in his books. Sarah did not like them at all. He wrote under a female pseudonym, and that in her opinion, was the only reason he managed to get away with some passages that were in effect little more than a lascivious description of female degradation. She had already expressed her doubts to Steven about David’s latest manuscript, but it was an undeniable fact that the long historical novels he wrote, sold well. At the last group meeting of the editors responsible for the various types of books the firm published, James Richards had bitterly opposed her suggestion that they ceased publishing David’s work. He had even accused her of wanting to cut David from their lists because she disliked him personally as a man, which had been a very difficult accusation to refute without revealing the truth.

Sarah had few illusions about either her own ability or the security of her position. If she once admitted that she could not handle sexual harassment from an author she could well soon find herself demoted. It was ridiculous that at the grand old age of twenty-five she should find herself in this position, but trying to make it plain to David Randal that she did not find him in the least attractive was like trying to build a snowman in the Sahara desert—a complete waste of time and effort.

She even suspected that he found her dislike of him a challenge. It was her virginity that attracted him the most, Sarah thought wryly, as she sat back in her chair. Without that she would simply be another passably attractive woman. How had he guessed? Perhaps it had something to do with the way she always recoiled from him whenever he came anywhere near her… She had disliked him even when she had had little to do with him, but now… She had heard it said that an experienced man could always tell when a woman was unawakened. Until now she had never really believed it.

She picked up her pen and toyed absently with it. The simplest answer would be for her to leave and find another job…but where would she find one as congenial as this? And one that paid as much. With her promotion had come a very useful pay rise… And very timely it had been, too, with Gran suddenly too feeble to look after herself, and Jane worrying herself sick about how she was going to cope with triplets under five, a husband, a rambling, half-modernised country vicarage, an assortment of pets, and Gran as well. Especially when the doctor had told them that because of the delusions she sometimes experienced, Gran needed to be watched for most of the time.

The extra money she was earning, plus the sale of Gran’s small house, plus what Jane’s husband, Ralph, could provide had meant that they were able to pay for Gran to stay in a really good residential home close enough to the Gloucestershire village where Jane and her family lived, for Jane to be able to visit once a week, and for Gran to join in all the family events. If she had to go back to working merely as a secretary—even in a really good job—she would not be able to make her contribution any more.

Tears blurred her eyes for a moment and she brushed them away impatiently. She so desperately wanted to do all she could to help Jane and Ralph. They had done so much for her. Jane had been twenty-one and newly engaged when their parents had been killed in a road accident; Sarah had been fourteen.

Ralph had not hesitated. Although he had just been on the point of leaving the firm he worked for and setting up in business on his own, he had said instantly that he and Jane would marry, and that Sarah would make her home with them.

Right through university Ralph had supported her, and it was only in this last year that he had realised his dream of starting up his own computer software business. Ralph was the complete antithesis of a man like David Randal. He was a devoted husband, a caring father…hardworking, good humoured. He had done so much for her… helping out now with the expense of caring for Gran was the least she could do.

So what was the answer? Sarah didn’t really know.

‘You look pensive… Problems?’

She looked up and smiled at the pretty, curly haired brunette standing in the doorway.

Rachel had taken over from her as assistant editor, having been Steven’s secretary previously, and Sarah liked her very much.

‘Not really,’ Sarah lied. ‘Does Steven want me for something?’

‘Not as far as I know. It’s lunch time and we have a date…remember?’

Lunch time already? Sarah sighed. How long had she been sitting there worrying about David?

‘I see you’ve had a visit from one of our least favourite authors this morning,’ Rachel commented, when Sarah got up to join her. ‘Is he giving you problems?’

‘No more than usual.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘You know what he’s like.’

‘Yeah! Personally I can’t stand those aggressively sexual types. I don’t know how his poor wife puts up with him. He’s always got some woman going on the side, although they don’t normally last long.’

They reached the lift and stopped talking as they got into it and descended to the ground floor.

‘Heard the news about who’s going to take over from James Richards?’ Rachel asked as they stepped out into the gusty March wind. ‘It’s now official.’

‘No. I haven’t heard a thing.’

‘Well, it’s official now,’ Rachel told her as they sat down in the small wine bar they patronised every Friday lunch time. ‘Our new Editor in Chief is going to be no less than the great Joshua Howard, himself.’

‘Joshua Howard!’ Sarah was impressed. There could be few people in the journalistic or publishing world who would not be at the mention of his name. Although only in his early thirties he had a formidable reputation in the media world.

From being a foreign correspondent with The Times he had gone on to write several stunningly successful ‘faction’ novels based on some of the events he had covered during his years as a reporter.

To Sarah’s knowledge at least one of them had been made into a film, and in view of all this it struck her as rather odd that such a famous and surely wealthy man should be content to take a job as editor with such a small, albeit prestigious, firm as Leichner & Holland.

‘Of course, he isn’t coming is as editor,’ Rachel confided. ‘I know you know that the firm’s been having a few financial problems recently—the new Cartwright novel bombed for one thing, and the legal department is still trying to get back that advance we paid to Wayne Johnson.’

Sarah did know. The loss of the massive advance paid to Wayne Johnson the pop singer who had begun his meteoric career in the early sixties, had been a bitter blow to the firm. After over twelve months when the pop singer had still not produced a single chapter of his life story Steven had decided to try to get their advance back. That had been six months ago, and he was still not having success.

Steven had explained much of this to her when he had promoted her, telling her that he hoped a line of literature aimed specifically at the female end of the market might improve their fortunes, but new lines took time to develop and time, it seemed from what Rachel was telling her now, was something the firm simply did not have.

‘Theoretically Joshua is just coming in as Editor in Chief,’ she confided to Sarah, ‘but in reality he’s investing pretty heavily in the firm. Steven’s still the owner and major shareholder of course; the Leichner line has pretty well died out, and neither of Steven’s daughters want to come into the business, so I suspect that he intends grooming Joshua to take over from him when he eventually retires. You know that Joshua brought his first manuscript to Steven before he became well known?’

‘Yes, I do.’

There could be few publishers as morally altruistic as her boss, Sarah reflected, recalling what he had told her, because he had recognised the book as a winner from the very first, but he had also known that his small publishing enterprise did not have the resources to promote the book as it needed to be promoted to ensure the world-wide success it deserved, and so he had recommended that Joshua try another publishing house, and had given the manuscript his own written commendation as well as giving Joshua an introduction to the American firm which had eventually published his work.

It was rather heartwarming to think that his kindness and generosity was now being repaid by Joshua Howard, and without having met him, Sarah felt herself warm to him.

‘What’s he like?’ she asked Rachel curiously, ‘I’ve never seen him.’

In response Rachel rolled her eyes heavenwards and sighed. ‘Fantastic…and his smile is just so sexy that it made my bones melt.’

She saw Sarah’s disbelieving expression, and grinned. ‘Okay, don’t believe me, but just wait until you’ve seen him. Tall, dark, handsome… Believe me he’s got the lot and a body that—’

‘Okay, okay! I think I get the picture. But does Brian know that you—’

She broke off as Rachel grimaced and then grinned. Brian was Rachel’s fiancé, a pleasant, tow-haired young man with a steady placid nature that nicely balanced Rachel’s more extrovert, dizzy personality.

‘Seriously, his personality seems to be just as good as his looks,’ Rachel told her. ‘He’s no James Richards, but I don’t think he’s the type to suffer fools gladly either. He doesn’t seem to hold any sexist views, but I don’t see him as the type to make any special allowances for us females, just because we are females if you know what I mean…’

With a sinking heart Sarah reflected that she did. Steven, for instance, if she told him about the problems she was having with David Randal, would sympathise with her and try to find some way of alleviating the problem, but to turn to Steven meant going over the head of the Senior Editor, which simply was not done. She had not gone to James Richards for help or advice because she knew he would only gloat over her dilemma, and she had been hoping that the new person, whoever that might be, might be someone more understanding. The trouble was that the whole problem was fraught with embarrassment and difficulty… To explain it in full meant explaining her own virginal state, which was something she was extremely reluctant to do. The easiest answer would be to get rid of her virginity, she reflected rather wryly, but at the moment that was easier said than done, since she had no current male friend. There had been opportunities at university, but she had found the work there so taxing and strenuous, and she had been so determined to repay Jane and Ralph for the financial support they were giving her, by getting a first-class degree, that there had been no time for boyfriends.

Afterwards there had been the initial struggle to get work; followed by the realisation that her degree did not really equip her for any particular job, meaning that she had had to work at night to get her secretarial qualifications. All in all there had been scant time for romantic involvements.

Despite her inexperience, Sarah was no fool. She knew quite well that it was the lure of her virginity as much as anything that attracted David to her. Without that… She also suspected it would not be much longer before he stopped asking and started demanding. She half suspected he would even go to the length of actually threatening her. He had hinted as much once or twice already. Even though she personally did not like the work he produced, it did earn money—money which the firm obviously badly needed at the present time. Once David started threatening to take his work elsewhere unless she gave in to him, what was she going to do? And Sarah knew it was only a matter of time before he did make that threat. She had already seriously damaged his ego, she knew that; and he was small-minded enough to want to make her pay for that.

‘You’re shivering…are you all right?’

Rachel’s anxious query brought her back to reality.

‘It’s this icy wind,’ she fibbed. ‘London seems so cold at the moment.’

‘Mmm… Spring’s just round the corner, although you’d never guess it. Doing anything interesting this weekend?’

‘I’m going down to my sister’s. We’re all going to a fancy dress ball—a local charity “do”, and rather grand…’ She pulled a slight face and Rachel laughed.

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic. What are you going as?’

‘I don’t know. Jane’s organising our costumes.’

In point of fact she wasn’t particularly looking forward to the ball, but Jane had told her that the invitation had come from someone very influential locally, who was also a possible client for Ralph’s business, and she had asked Sarah to support her and go with them.

‘I’m scared out of my wits, that I might do the wrong thing,’ she had confided over the ‘phone, ‘and I need my clever little sister by my side to give me confidence.’

In the face of that, there was little that Sarah could do other than agree to go, but she wasn’t looking forward to it.

For the rest of the afternoon she was quite busy. Steven made his announcement about James Richards’ successor at half past four, and Sarah was slightly surprised to learn that Joshua Howard was actually coming into the office on Monday before he was due to begin working there. It seemed that James had demanded to be released from the usual notice period.

Sarah left the office at just gone five. Her suitcase was already packed and all she had to do was to get back to her small flat, shower and change, and then take a taxi to the station.

Ralph would pick her up in Gloucester. It was a routine which had been perfected over the eighteen months Sarah had worked for Leichner & Holland, and one which was now comfortably familiar.

By the time she arrived the triplets would be in bed, asleep, but they would be the first thing in the morning to wake her up—three boisterous and lovable four-year-olds whom Sarah secretly adored.

The three children—two boys and a girl—had been conceived by her sister after only a few months on a fertility drug when she had reached her early thirties with no sign of the child she and Ralph so desperately wanted. Jane had been over the moon, not at all fazed by the information that her doctor suspected that she was carrying more than one child, although up until the last moment no one had guessed the anticipated twins would be triplets. Her sister had a blissfully secure and happy life but no one could deserve it more than Jane. She and Ralph had both been so marvellous to her when Mum and Dad had been killed.

Her journey went smoothly. She found Ralph waiting for her when the train pulled in, his burly form instantly recognisable. He looked more like a farmer than a computer expert, Sarah reflected, returning his warm hug with enthusiasm.

‘How is everyone?’ she asked as they walked through the darkness to his waiting Range Rover.

‘Fine. All dying to see you. Jane’s been in a bit of a tizz this last week about the ball. She’s managed to hire costumes for all of us and I’ve told her there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘I expect she’s worried because she knows how important this contract is to you,’ Sarah suggested, as she fastened her seat-belt.

‘Mmm…I’m seeing Tom Merryweather tomorrow morning. I’m hoping he might give me a decision then. If he does, we’ll push the boat out in style tomorrow night.’

They chatted in a casual fashion as Ralph drove along the familiar roads. Sarah had been brought up in this part of the world and knew it well. She also felt a deep sense of inner peace when she returned here and often wished it was possible for her to stay, but she had her living to earn, and at twenty-five she was far too young, or so Jane claimed, to settle for the stagnation of a country life.

Sarah was not deceived. Jane clucked as anxiously over her lack of menfriends as any mother hen, and Sarah knew that her sister was longing for the day she came home with a fiancé on her arm.

Her sister didn’t wait for them to go inside to greet them. She came runing out of the house the moment the Range Rover turned into the Vicarage’s overgrown drive. Ralph and Jane had only recently moved into their present house. Renovating and furnishing it was going to be a labour of love for both of them, and when they had finished Sarah knew they would have a home they could be justly proud of. At the moment, though, all was chaos. Ralph was doing most of the minor work himself, and since this took time, the back garden seemed constantly to resemble a builder’s yard.

The Vicarage was early eighteenth century and had a substantial garden. There was even a small paddock for ponies for the children later if they required them.

‘Come on inside, you must be shattered after the journey,’ Jane commanded, hugging Sarah quickly as she got out of the Range Rover.

‘Oh, yes indeed,’ Sarah grinned. ‘It took all of two hours or so and at my time of life…’

‘Oh, you know what I mean… Come on I’ve just made some fresh coffee. It seems ages since we last saw you. I want to hear everything that’s been going on.’

‘Well, if you two are going to gossip, I’m off to my study,’ Ralph announced as he carried Sarah’s cases into the large shabby hall. ‘I’ll take these up first for you, Sarah. You’re in your usual room.’

‘But this time you’ll have your own bathroom,’ Jane told her with a grin. ‘Ralph finished converting that old dressing room off your bedroom last week. It looks fantastic.’ She raised herself on tiptoe to kiss her husband’s cheek, and watching them Sarah was conscious of a small piercing sensation of aloneness. What was wrong with her? She had never envied her sister her marital happiness before, why should she start doing so now?’

‘Come on sit down and tell me what’s making you look so miserable,’ Jane commanded, when they were installed in the large, homely kitchen.

Modernising the kitchen had been Ralph’s first priority when they moved in and he had done a marvellous job on it, Sarah reflected, studying the smooth richness of the dark oak kitchen cupboards with their antiqued tile worktops. From the original beams, which he had uncovered and retained, hung a various assortment of herbs and set into one wall was Jane’s pride and joy—an ancient black-leaded fireplace complete with bread oven. On the wall in which the fireplace was set Ralph had exposed the original brickwork, and an assortment of brass pans now decorated it—all original antiques that Jane had cleverly found in local shops. A large, well-scrubbed and very old table took pride of place in the centre of the room, and it was on this that Jane placed their mugs of coffee as she pulled out chairs for them both, and passed a plate of home-made biscuits in Sarah’s direction.

‘I’ve tried a new recipe,’ she commented, ‘sugarfree so they’re much better for the kids.’

‘Speaking of which…’

‘Oh, no you don’t! I know when the subject’s being changed. What’s wrong, Sarah?’ she asked dropping her bantering tone and looking seriously at her sister. ‘Something is I know that much. Come on…give…’

Jane was much more to her than a mere sister, Sarah reflected as she slowly sipped her coffee. She had virtually brought her up from the age of fourteen, succouring her all through those difficult teenage years. It had been Jane who had listened to and answered all her questions about life and sex. Jane who had seen her through all her teenage traumas. She had never hidden anything from her sister, and it was impossible to do so now.

‘Problems at work,’ she said tersely. ‘One of my writers is pushing me to have sex with him.’

‘And the problem is that you don’t want to… or that you do?’ Jane asked frankly.

‘I don’t…’ Sarah gave a tiny betraying shudder. ‘But he’s putting a lot of pressure on me, and I suspect it won’t be long before he actually threatens me. I can’t turn to Steven for help—that would mean admitting that I can’t handle the responsibility that goes with my job.’

‘Mmm…I don’t know about that.’

‘The thing is this writer has guessed that I’m still a virgin, and that’s why he’s so determined to get me into bed.’

‘Mmm…the old story of the male ego. Well, there is one simple solution.’

‘Rid myself of said virginity,’ Sarah said lightly. ‘That had already occurred to me but it’s not quite as easy as that, is it? After all, I can hardly go up to the first passably attractive male I see and say “would you mind making love to me?”, can I?’

‘No,’ Jane laughed, agreeing with her. ‘Is he married?’ she asked.

‘Very much so. I feel dreadfully sorry for his poor wife. He really is a loathsome specimen. The sort that makes your flesh creep. Oh, he’s attractive enough I suppose in his way…but there’s just something about him…’

‘Mmm. I know what you mean, and I can understand your dilemma. Want me to look round for a suitable specimen of manhood for you?’ she teased, bringing a lighter note to their conversation as Sarah grinned and replied threateningly, ‘Just you try!’

They went on to talk about their grandmother, who Jane told her had settled in extremely well at the home.

‘I thought we might go and see her tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got to go into town to collect our costumes.’ She made a wry face. ‘I’m dreading this damned ball. It’s the local social event of the year, you realise and we’re extremely privileged to be invited.’

‘I can tell that by your excitement,’ Sarah responded solemnly, amusement dancing in her eyes. ‘What are we going as?’

Jane smiled at her. ‘Wait until you see our costumes. The do’s being held at Merton Place, and since it was built at the height of the Georgian era, I’ve gone for very traditional Georgian outfits for all three of us. I had to go to Stratford to get them, I’ll have you know—nowhere in Gloucester stocked anything that would do. They’re theatrical costumes and very, very ornate. They’re being sent by express delivery to the local station tonight, that’s why we’ve got to go to town to pick them up tomorrow.’

‘I can’t wait to see Ralph dressed up as a Georgian dandy…’ Sarah commented.

Jane gave a wicked giggle. ‘I’m going to make him powder his hair but he doesn’t know it yet! If it wasn’t for the fact that we’re being invited by one of Ralph’s most important clients, I might be looking forward to it a little bit more.’

‘You’ll enjoy it when we’re there,’ Sarah consoled her sister and then, changing the subject, invited, ‘Now tell me about my niece and nephews…

‘Come on, Auntie Sarah, wake up…’

Stubby fingers touched her eyelids, giggles erupting somewhere in the direction of her left ear. Someone was trying to tickle her ribs, and entering into the spirit of the game, she pretended she was still asleep, waiting until her three tormentors had given up trying to wake her before suddenly sitting up and grasping the nearest cuddly bundle and subjecting its ribs to the same torment so recently inflicted on her own.

The bundle in question just happened to be her niece, her helpless giggles and shrieks almost splitting Sarah’s ears. The two boys, of course, had to join in the game, the three children only subdued when Jane marched into the bedroom carrying a mug of tea which she placed beside Sarah, at the same time, sternly telling her trio of offspring to take themselves off to their own rooms and get dressed.

‘Little horrors,’ she commented balefully when the triplets had finally departed, but Sarah wasn’t deceived.

‘And don’t you just love them,’ she agreed with a grin.

‘Does it show that much? I suppose having had to wait so long for them…I must admit I’d just about given up hope.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘Still there are some days when I do genuinely wonder why I ever bothered, and Louise is worse than the two boys put together. She can twist them and her father round her little finger.’

She sat down on the edge of Sarah’s bed and said. ‘What do you fancy doing this morning? I’ve done all the food shopping. The Vicar’s wife is going to take charge of the kids tonight. Ralph will look after them while we’re out this afternoon.’

‘Well, since I’m feeling rather lazy this morning, how about my taking my niece and nephews for a short walk?’

‘Great idea, if you’re sure you don’t mind,’ Jane enthused. ‘It will give me time to whip round with the vacuum before lunch. But be warned, don’t let them persuade you to take them into the village, or you’ll end up in the post office buying them sweets.

‘Oh, by the way, Haughton House has been sold,’ she added idly. ‘I’m not sure who to…but I thought you’d like to know. You’ve always had a thing about the old place, haven’t you?’

It was true, Sarah reflected half an hour later as she set off with a nephew firmly attached to either hand and her niece clinging firmly to the hand of one of her brothers. She had always been drawn to the beautiful Elizabethan manor house just outside the village.

It had been empty now for several months since the death of the last owner, and Sarah turned automatically in the direction of the footpath that led from the river, through a small wood, and then into the private grounds that went with the house.

At the boundary wall which separated the public footpath from the private, Sarah paused. The trees were not yet in full leaf and so she was able to see the house from where she stood. The sharp March sunlight turned the ancient brickwork to rose-gold, glinting here and there on mullioned windows. Apart from a couple of what appeared to be tradesmen’s vans parked outside, there were no signs of activity.

Sighing faintly she responded to Jeremy’s impatient tug on her left hand, and knew that as she obediently turned away from the house and back in the direction from which they had come that she had just said goodbye to a childhood dream.

As a teenager she had often come to this spot. There was a venerable oak tree several yards away, conveniently growing just by the boundary wall and in earlier years she had often hidden in its leafy branches simply daydreaming away a lazy summer’s afternoon, imagining that she owned the house… In those far off days she had played many roles as chatelaine of the house; sometimes an Elizabethan maid of honour, hidden away down here from the Queen’s wrath because she had caught the eye of one of her handsome courtiers; sometimes a secret Jacobite supporter, recklessly hiding one of the doomed Prince Charlie’s wounded supporters; sometimes a be-muslined Regency girl waiting in trepidation to hand over her childhood home to the distant cousin who had inherited it from her father—whatever the setting for her daydreams might have been, they had always had the same conclusion; the male playing opposite her leading role as chatelaine inevitably fell in love with her and they lived happily ever after with the house as their home.