A Bad Enemy. Sara CravenЧитать онлайн книгу.
gone to get his car.’ She zipped the case shut and held it out to Lisle. ‘You’ll need a jacket or something.’
‘Yes.’ She had a new one, dark brown supple suede with a deep fur trim on the collar and cuffs, and now seemed as good a time as any to wear it. She needed the reassurance that something new, expensive and glamorous could give her.
She swung her bag over her shoulder, draped the coat over her arm and picked up her case. Janie followed her out of the room and along to the front door. Lisle gave her a taut smile.
‘Perhaps you should get back to our guests,’ she said, ‘before they drink us dry and start wrecking the place.’
Janie nodded, biting her lip. She said gently, ‘Take it easy, love. Remember what I said.’
‘I’m not likely to forget it,’ Lisle said ruefully.
As she pushed open the glass door and emerged on to the street, the car pulled up at the kerbside, and Jake Allard got out. He opened the passenger door, and stood impassively, waiting for her to cross the pavement to his side, the slight chill of the breeze ruffling the thick blackness of his hair.
Lisle had to force herself to move. She felt drained of strength so that walking became almost an effort of will alone. The only thing which kept her from falling down was the sure and certain knowledge of who would pick her up again, because, crazily, the prospect of being touched by him was suddenly the worst threat of all.
When he reached for her case, to stow it in the boot, she pretended she hadn’t seen the gesture, and put it down on the pavement in front of him instead. She was so uptight that even an accidental brush of fingers could well make her fall apart.
The car was capacious, the front seats well spaced, but when he closed her door and came round to take his place behind the wheel, she felt claustrophobic. She lifted a hand and eased the high collar of her sweater away from her tight throat, making herself breathe deeply.
Jake Allard gave her a frowning glance. ‘You should have had that brandy,’ he said curtly. ‘There’s a flask in the glove compartment.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said off the top of her voice, then added, ‘Thank you.’
‘You look like hell,’ he informed her brutally. ‘What good is it going to do Murray to see you like this? Or is he used to it?’
Lisle set her teeth. ‘If we could just go?’
She’d hoped, childishly, that he would turn out to be a lousy driver, flashy, aggressive and impatient with other motorists, but of course, he was none of those things. Of course. She sat, hating him, across London, glad to be able to build on her anger because it kept the anxiety at bay.
He didn’t say much. Once he asked her if she had any preference as to the route they took, and later, if she wanted some music.
She said, ‘The quickest, preferably,’ to the first question, and, ‘Yes, please,’ to the second. Otherwise there was silence, only faintly disguised by the music.
In other circumstances, in other company she would have enjoyed the tapes. They were obviously of his own devising, and expertly done, and she couldn’t fault the choices he’d made either, although she wasn’t familiar with them all. Jack Jones, she recognised, and Carly Simon and Judy Tzuke. With any other man, that could have been a talking point, the first tentative stage in an acquaintance that might or might not develop into a relationship. But not with this man.
Every word he had said to her, every look he had given her was etched on her mind, and the acid had bitten deep.
Darkness had closed around them, and the street lights dwindled as the roads narrowed into lanes.
Lisle sat up suddenly, peering around her. ‘This isn’t the way to the Priory.’
‘He isn’t at the Priory,’ he said shortly. ‘He’s in intensive care in hospital.’
Lisle’s hand stole to her lips, stifling a sharp sound of distress. She said, ‘He hates—machines.’
‘So I gathered.’ His tone was dry. ‘But this time it wasn’t up to him to decide. And considering it was a matter of life and death, it was probably just as well.’
She said sharply, ‘If Murray is going to die, which I don’t necessarily accept, then he’d rather it was with dignity in his own bed than strapped up to some—electronic miracle.’
‘And if the electronic miracle were to live up to its name and save him—how would you feel then?’
She sank back in her seat, biting her lip. In a low voice she said, ‘He’s an old man, and this isn’t the first attack he’s had. I don’t think I—believe in miracles.’
‘I’d be interested to know what beliefs you do hold, if any,’ said Jake Allard. ‘But that can wait. In the meantime, perhaps you could control your most obvious doubts, especially in front of Murray.’
‘Of course I will!’ she said indignantly. ‘What do you take me for?’ As soon as the words were spoken, she could have kicked herself.
She didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling.
‘Another point for discussion at a later date, Miss Bannerman.’
Her hands clenched in her lap, the nails curling involuntarily into her palms. Was it possible that Murray could trust this man, like him—even tolerate him?
She saw the lights of the hospital in the distance with a strong feeling of relief. She would soon be rid of him, she thought. No doubt he had come to fetch her to Murray’s bedside out of consideration for the older man, but as Murray’s collapse had necessarily curtailed the discussions they had been having, there was no reason for him to linger, as she was prepared to make more than clear.
As the car turned in between the tall gates, she said, ‘I’d be grateful if you could drop me at the main entrance.’
‘I hate to pass up a novelty like your gratitude,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t do as you request. I’m putting the car in the car park, and then we’re going in to see Murray together.’
Her voice shook with temper. ‘Forgive me, but aren’t you taking this togetherness thing a little too far? I’m sure you—intend to be kind,’ she added with heavy irony, ‘but from here on in, I’m sure Murray would prefer to see only members of his immediate family.’
‘Namely you and your brother, whenever he turns up.’ Jake Allard swung the car deftly into a spot between two other vehicles, and braked.
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’
He shook his head, as he switched off the lights and the ignition, and pocketed the keys. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as that, Miss Bannerman. There are other factors to be taken into account.’
‘Such as your overweening desire for control of Harlow Bannerman,’ Lisle asked sarcastically. ‘You can hardly badger Murray with business propositions now.’
‘I never did,’ he said flatly. ‘All the initial approaches have been made by him. Whatever your brother may choose to think, it’s Harlow Bannerman that needs Allard International at this juncture, and not the other way round. You’re a member of the company, Miss Bannerman, and a shareholder, presumably. Don’t you ever look at reports and balance sheets? I recommend that you do so, and in the near future. It could be instructive.’
She fumbled for the door catch, and the door swung open.
‘I don’t want to hear any more of this,’ she said, as she got out. ‘I’m going to see my grandfather. He’s all I need to know about right now.’
She had long legs and she strode out, hoping that he would take the hint and stay where he was, but when she reached the electronically operated sliding doors to the main foyer, he was beside her.
Lisle