A Wicked Persuasion

‘Imperative. I need certain facts clarified before I come to River House. Don’t worry,’ he added sardonically, ‘I’m not asking to dine à deux. I’m staying with my sister. The dinner invitation is from Moira.’

Harriet’s eyebrows rose. ‘How very kind of her.’

‘You’ll come then?’

Think of the money, she chanted in a silent mantra. ‘Where does your sister live?’

‘A couple of miles off the Oxford road as you leave town. Her husband recently bought The Old Rectory at Wood End. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.’

‘No—thank you,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sure I can find it.’

Harriet felt oddly baffled as she disconnected. James could hardly intend to taunt her about the past at his sister’s dinner table. Hiring River House would surely be revenge enough for him without that. But for a split second at the office she could have sworn he’d been ready to change his mind when he heard she no longer lived in the house. But surely he would have said he intended backing out while he was in her office, rather than have his sister invite her to dinner. Moira Crawford, Harriet knew, had stood in loco parentis to James and his brother after their parents died, and made a good job of it by the affection in his voice when he spoke of her. It was a surprise to learn that she lived locally now.

James, she thought, depressed, had changed out of all recognition from the charmer she’d fallen in love with. At one time the gravel tones in his voice had rendered her weak at the knees, but during the interview they had acted like sandpaper on her nerves. His hair was more disciplined and the lanky body had gained muscle and hardened, and his dress sense was now impeccable, all as she would have expected. His personality was the big difference. She had adored his smile in the old days, but there’d been no sign of it today. The driving ambition necessary to build up a successful telecom company obviously left no room for the soft option of charm.

Harriet made sure she finished work on the dot the following day, in good time to prepare herself for crossing swords with the client who had once been her sweetheart. But never her actual lover. Knowing he would be her first, he’d indulged her plea to wait until they moved in together. Which, looking back, would have been a recipe for disaster. With James sharing her bed it would have been a wrench to leave it to attend lectures. Even so, if she had been the sole target of her father’s anger she would have dug her heels in and defied him. But his threat to have James arrested had beaten her into the dust.

Harriet thrust thoughts of the past away as she dealt with her exuberant hair, which was neither dark like Julia’s nor fair like Sophie’s, but a shade somewhere between. When it was restrained in the workaday coil it looked quite dark, but newly washed and let loose on her shoulders it took on light and shade and transformed her appearance, as she well knew. She shrugged. It was only common sense to face James armed with the best weapon in her armoury. She tugged on the clinging black dress, hung gilt and crystal drops in her ears, and saw her father coming down the drive as she opened the door to leave.

‘Ah,’ he said, crestfallen, ‘you’re going out. Mrs Rogers left me so much food I hoped you might join me for dinner for once.’

‘Sorry, Father,’ she said politely. ‘I’m having dinner with a friend.’ Sort of.

It was a measure of their relationship these days that Aubrey Wilde didn’t even ask the identity of the friend. ‘Another time then, Harriet. Enjoy your evening.’

The Old Rectory at Wood End dated from the eighteen-hundreds, when families of the clergy were usually large. Harriet’s eyes narrowed as she drove up the tree-lined drive towards the house. It looked more than big enough for a party. Her heart gave an errant thump when James appeared as she parked on the gravel circle in front of the main door.

He came to help her out of the car looking more like the young man she’d once known than the successful tycoon he’d become. His casual garb gave her a moment’s doubt about her dress until she saw that his sweater was cashmere, and the jeans fitted his long legs so faithfully they’d obviously been cut by a master.

‘Good evening, Harriet,’ he said, his eyes on her hair.

She smiled at him serenely. ‘Hi.’ She looked up at the façade of windows as he led her to the door. ‘What a lovely house.’

He turned to the woman hurrying to join them. ‘My sister,’ James informed his guest. ‘Moira, this is Harriet Wilde.’

‘Welcome, Harriet.’ Moira smiled warmly as she took the sheaf of flowers her guest handed her. ‘How lovely, thank you. Come on in. We’re all out here. My husband will give you a drink while I see to the flowers.’

All? Harriet followed her hostess across a wide hall and into a conservatory looking out over the back garden. A large smiling man got to his feet, followed by two young women, one with opulent curves and sheets of straight blonde hair, the other a less spectacular brunette.

‘Marcus Graveney,’ said her host, shaking her hand. ‘These are my stepsisters, Claudia and Lily.’

‘Hi,’ said the sultry Claudia without enthusiasm, leaving Lily to make up for it with the sincere warmth of her greeting.

Marcus gave Harriet the glass of tonic she chose, and led her to one of the comfortable cane chairs. ‘James says you’re a native of these parts.’

She nodded. ‘I’m an accountant with Barlow & Greer in the town.’

Claudia made a face. ‘Isn’t that deadly dull?’

‘It would be for you,’ said James indulgently.

‘A closer relationship with figures wouldn’t do you any harm, Miss, dull or not,’ said her brother.

‘Do you enjoy your job?’ asked Lily.

‘Yes,’ said Harriet with truth. ‘It’s a very busy practice, and I meet a lot of interesting people in the course of my work.’

‘It’s good of you to spare the time to come this evening,’ said James as he sat down next to Claudia.

‘I often dine with clients as part of the job,’ Harriet assured him.

‘Surely you’re not going to talk business over dinner, James,’ said Claudia, pouting.

‘Not over the meal.’ He slid a consoling arm round her waist. ‘I’ll borrow your study for a few moments afterwards if I may, Marcus. Harriet and I can have our talk in there without boring your sisters.’

Moira Graveney was a cook of considerable skill, and in other circumstances Harriet would have enjoyed the meal and the lively conversation, during which she learned that Marcus had recently joined the legal chambers near her offices in Broad Street. But with James’s arm brushing hers from time to time, and waves of hostility sizzling across the table from Claudia, it was a relief when Moira finally suggested they all adjourn to the conservatory for coffee.

‘Harriet and I will have ours in the study, love,’ said James.

‘Thank you for a delicious meal, Mrs Graveney,’ said Harriet, surprised to see a look of sympathy in Moira’s distinctive hazel eyes.

‘Do call me Moira. But you weren’t hungry, were you?’

‘On a diet?’ said Claudia sweetly.

‘No. Just a bit tired.’

‘Unlike some people, lazybones, Harriet’s been slaving away all day,’ said Lily in typical sister fashion. ‘And you’re the one on a diet—not that it’s working.’

‘Now then, girls,’ said their brother, and waved them away. ‘You carry on, James. I’ll send coffee in for you.’

James led Harriet to a very masculine panelled room. ‘This is Marcus’s retreat, where sermons were written in the past. When they moved here shortly after their marriage earlier this year, a study was his top priority. Moira’s was the large garden we never had when we were young.’

Harriet sat down in the big leather chair he held out for her and got to the point. ‘So have you brought me in here to read me a sermon, James?’

He held up a hand and went to the door to let in Claudia with a tray. ‘Thanks, sweetheart.’

She reached up and tapped his cheek with a red-tipped finger. ‘Don’t be long.’

Harriet smiled politely as James handed her a cup of coffee. ‘Thank you. So what did you want to talk about?’

He sat behind the desk, the dark-rimmed hazel irises spearing hers. ‘No sermon, but I want some information before I meet your father—for the first time, incidentally, even though he tried to get me sacked from Combe Computers. Does he know who he’s dealing with?’

Harriet raised an eyebrow. ‘Tried?’

He nodded. ‘George Lassiter didn’t actually sack me all those years ago, Harriet. He merely transferred me up to his Newcastle outfit, which got me far away from you, as your father wanted, but kept me very firmly on George’s payroll. He even gave me a rise. I was really good at my job, remember. Or had you forgotten?’

‘No. I hadn’t forgotten.’ Anything. She looked at him steadily. ‘I haven’t told my father who you are other than the client paying good money to hire River House for a party.’