Marriage On Trial

Quinn had always had a brain as sharp as a razor, she thought with reluctant admiration.

Pointedly ignoring the question, Richard said curtly, ‘Will you excuse us?’ He took Elizabeth’s elbow. ‘If we don’t get moving we’ll have a job to find a taxi.’

Continuing to block their way, Quinn enquired, ‘Where are you heading?’

‘Park Lane.’ Obviously Richard was finding it an effort to remain civil.

‘As it happens, I’m going that way myself…’

Sensing what was to come, and desperate to get away, she froze.

‘I have a car, so I’ll be happy to drop you.’

Tension making her hold her breath, she glanced at Richard’s face, and was cheered to see that he was about to refuse.

Before he could speak, however, Quinn went on urbanely, ‘If you’re still interested in owning the Van Hamel, maybe we could talk about it on the way?’

By her side, Elizabeth felt Richard tense. He badly wanted the diamond. Would he be willing to sink his pride and negotiate?

But why should Quinn be disposed to?

If it was true that he’d come over from the States specially to get the Van Hamel, why should he be prepared to part with it to a rival?

There was something disturbing about the offer, something that put her in mind of, “‘Will you walk into my parlour?” said the spider to the fly…’

She repressed a shiver, and with every ounce of her concentration willed Richard to reject it.

But, after an endless few seconds, to her consternation, he agreed, ‘Very well.’

Her stomach churning, she moved to rejoin the straggle of people still discussing the evening’s events.

As they headed for the main exit, she noticed two women pause in their conversation to glance covertly at Quinn. Without being conventionally handsome, he had the kind of tough, dynamic good looks that attracted and held the attention of most females.

Outside the fog had thickened. On the apron, car doors slammed and engines purred into life as they accompanied Quinn to a silver-grey Mercedes parked nearby.

He produced a key and opened the doors. Before Elizabeth could form any kind of protest she found herself being helped into the front passenger seat, while Richard, looking anything but pleased, was forced to climb into the back alone.

A moment later Quinn had slid behind the wheel and was querying, ‘Quite comfortable, Miss Cavendish?’

In the light from the dashboard his green eyes met and held hers. Just for an instant she fancied both his question and his glance held derision, as if he was well aware of how very uncomfortable she was. But then it was gone, leaving just a polite enquiry from a stranger.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered flatly.

Their headlights like searching antennae in the foggy air, they joined a stream of vehicles following each other through the gates and into Belham Place.

Beyond the quiet square the streets were busy, and as they negotiated the Friday-night traffic Quinn asked, ‘What do you do for a living, Miss Cavendish? Or perhaps you don’t need to actually work?’

Disliking both the question and the way it had been phrased, she hesitated before responding stiffly, ‘I’m Lady Beaumont’s secretary.’

‘Really? Well, if the position is a live-in one—’

‘It isn’t,’ Richard broke in brusquely. Then, with barely masked annoyance, he said, ‘You indicated that you were prepared to talk about the diamond?’

‘Ah, yes, the diamond…’ Quinn mimicked the other man’s cut-glass accent. ‘For a stone of its size it aroused a fair bit of interest.’

‘I heard you came over specially for the sale?’ Apparently Richard also had doubts.

‘Did you?’ Quinn, it seemed, was giving nothing away. Slipping neatly between a bus and a taxi, he added conversationally, ‘In the event, I almost missed it. Due to some last-minute technical fault, our landing was delayed. I only just managed to change, pick up a hire car, and get to Belham House in time.’

If only he hadn’t, Elizabeth thought with a sigh.

Sounding distinctly sour, Richard remarked, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t bid by phone.’

A slight smile tugging at his lips, Quinn responded trenchantly, ‘Bidding by phone tends to be rather tame, don’t you think? I get more of a buzz from actually being there. Especially when there’s some action.

‘I must admit I was expecting rather more excitement in regard to some of the earlier lots…’

Elizabeth knew well that Quinn wasn’t a man for small talk, and, staring straight ahead, listening to his low-pitched, slightly husky voice analyzing the sale, she wondered what he was up to.

It was a little while before it dawned on her that rather than actually getting down to discussing the diamond he was employing delaying tactics.

But why?

When they reached Park Lane, with a glance in the rear-view mirror at his back-seat passenger, he broke off what he was saying to enquire, ‘The Linchbeck, isn’t it?’

Without waiting for an answer, he turned into the fore-court and drew to a stop outside the entrance to the quiet, exclusive hotel.

Aware that just by knowing the exact address Quinn had gained a subtle advantage, Elizabeth bit her lip as he came round to open her door.

Richard climbed out, and, his face expressing his annoyance, asked shortly, ‘Perhaps we could make an appointment to talk about the Van Hamel? Would any particular time and place suit you?’

‘There’s no time like the present,’ Quinn suggested, his voice bland.

Elizabeth felt sure that in the circumstances, and after the evening’s debacle, Richard would choose to wait until he’d fully regained his cool.

But to her surprise he agreed. ‘Then perhaps you’ll join us in the bar for a drink?’

‘Your suite would be preferable,’ Quinn said smoothly. ‘Rather more private.’

So there was the answer to her question, Elizabeth thought uneasily. For some reason of his own, Quinn wanted to see the other man’s apartment.

Convinced now that Richard was being manipulated, she found herself praying that he would tell his tormentor to go to the devil.

But before he could speak the doorman said a cheerful, ‘Nasty evening,’ and held open the heavy glass door.

Richard nodded abruptly and, his jaw tight, led the way inside and across the luxuriously carpeted foyer to the lift.

Elizabeth was five foot seven, fairly tall for a woman, but sandwiched between two men who both easily topped six feet she felt dwarfed, loomed over.