The Bedroom Surrender

It was a lovely, bright, inviting room. The furniture was white, the furnishings yellow, and long windows overlooked a rose garden in full summer bloom. The pristine white cloth on the oval table showed off the centrepiece bowl of yellow rosebuds, and yellow linen serviettes in silver holders added their splash of colour. Rosalie sat between the boys, directly across from Adam Cazell who was flanked by the girls, Rebel and Hugh at the two ends.

Adam looked totally bemused as he watched the boys remove their serviettes from the holders and spread them on their laps. No doubt, in the company he usually kept, little children were segregated from the adults, not part of his world at all. Welcome to a real family, Rosalie thought, and wondered if he’d learn anything from it.

The girls dominated the conversation, telling Adam about their last school term—teachers they liked or disliked, hockey matches, tattle about other girls in their class. He indulged their eager chatter, smiling, laughing, frowning quizzically in all the right places. It seemed effortless on his part—no act—no hint of condescension.

He was charming.

And very, very attractive.

Possibly putting himself out to be so because she was observing him.

He shared flashes of amusement with her but made no concerted attempt to engage her in personal conversation. Biding his time, she thought, probably hoping the happy casual atmosphere at the table would lower her guard enough to let him slide inside it later. Having been on the international model circuit since she was eighteen—eleven years now—Rosalie was too experienced with men of his ilk not to know how they made their moves.

When the first strike didn’t produce a warm response, set up more favourable circumstances and try a more subtle approach. Few gave up at the first knock-back. Most of them simply didn’t believe it. Why would any woman reject such a prize? Only to increase her value and force a chase. But the chase didn’t last long. If the desired result wasn’t fast in coming, there was always another beautiful woman for such men. Much better for the ego to be appreciated than feel defeated.

Adam Cazell’s next move came after lunch. Coffee had been served in the sitting room. The girls had gone upstairs to complete Cate’s packing for her departure. Rebel had taken Malcolm up to the nursery for an afternoon nap. Geoffrey was occupying Hugh’s attention.

Adam rose from his chair, saying, ‘Would you mind if I went for a stroll in your grounds, Hugh? Stretch my legs before driving back to London.’

‘Not at all.’ Being the thoughtful host he was, his head instantly swung to Rosalie. ‘Will you show Adam around?’ A rueful smile. ‘I doubt Geoffrey has the legs for two long walks.’

Trapped by courtesy.

A clever manouvre from Adam Cazell.

But she was safe in the grounds of Davenport Hall, Rosalie swiftly reasoned, pushing up from her chair to oblige her brother-in-law’s guest. And suddenly the silver-bullet eyes were dancing wickedly at her, jolting her confidence and quickening her pulse.

‘Is there a maze we can get lost in?’ he tossed at her.

‘No. But there’s a lake you could drown in,’ she flipped back at him.

He laughed, his face crinkling, turning up the wattage of his attraction. Rosalie felt her hands clenching in an instinctive need to fight the power that flowed so strongly from him. She had to make a conscious effort to relax her muscles, pretend she was unaffected.

‘We’ll go out the back way,’ she said, and led out into the hallway where he quickly stepped up beside her.

‘Are there canoes?’ he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Didn’t you say you wanted to stretch your legs?’

He grinned. ‘Canoeing is very physical. You could sit at the other end while I do all the work.’

‘The canoes are all one-seaters.’

‘You’re dashing my romantic dream. Here I am in an old-world setting, in the company of a beautiful woman…’

‘And you have a daughter who doesn’t want you to be distracted from her,’ Rosalie reminded him.

‘Ah! The carer of children’s needs. I guess this comes from having been orphaned yourself.’

He could turn on a pin. Of course, he had to have an agile and astute mind to be so successful at what he did, and his focus was all on her at the moment, driving to win. Somehow she had to force a refocussing if she was to achieve anything for Cate.

‘A child needs to feel someone cares enough to be there for them. Do you think your daughter feels that, Adam?’

‘At last she uses my name,’ he lightly mocked. ‘But does this mean she’s warming to me? No. She’s using it to emphasise the point that’s important to her.’

His accurate analysis made her respect his brain even more. She slanted him a challenging look. ‘You haven’t answered me.’

‘Nor have you, me, Rosalie James,’ he swiftly countered, his eyes stabbing her with that truth.

Tit for tat.

Having walked through the hall, they stepped out into the afternoon sunshine and started down the path that led to the ornamental lake. The lawns on either side of it were a lush green. Banks of rhododendrons lent spectacular colour. Waterlilies added their exotic charm. It was a very English scene, Rosalie thought, and knew Rebel had found her home here with Hugh.

She felt completely rootless, herself. No city or country had any special call on her heart. People, yes, but not a place. She wondered if the jet-setting Adam Cazell considered one place home. According to Cate he had residences in London, New York, Hong Kong, and on a Caribbean island. The latter was probably for some taxation alleviation.

‘Do you live here with your sister?’ he asked.

‘No. Just visiting this past week.’

‘Where do you call home?’

Rosalie shrugged. ‘Nowhere in particular. There are places I can stay whenever I want to.’

‘You must have a base from which you work.’

Trying to pin her down. Wanting to know where he could find her. Rosalie wasn’t about to make it easy for him though he was right. She had a base in London, the Mayfair apartment owned by Joel Faber, her sister Tiffany’s husband. Joel had insisted any one of the James family could use it whenever they wanted to. He’d appointed her the apartment-sitter, knowing full well where most of her money went and wanting to help her in her mission.

‘I don’t have many possessions,’ she said. ‘I have no need of them.’

‘Are you telling me they can be kept in a suitcase?’ he asked sceptically.

‘Just about.’ She threw him a taunting look. ‘I probably fly around the world as much as you do, Adam Cazell.’

‘Which gives us something in common.’

‘The difference is, I don’t have a daughter who’s left alone.’

‘Cate is not alone. She has her school, as Celeste does. Her mother and stepfather never leave England. She can be with them, call on them…’

‘They have other priorities,’ Rosalie cut in, shooting him a look that told him he should know that. ‘Just because they’re here does not mean they are readily available to her. Any more than you are.’

His mouth twisted sardonically. ‘You’re accusing me of neglect.’

‘I’m telling you how it is for her.’

‘You’ve known my daughter for what…all of one week? A bit presumptuous, don’t you think, Rosalie?’

‘I’m sure you’d like to believe that. Much easier to dismiss what I’m saying.’