The Reluctant Groom

With another small smile, she asked, ‘You work here?’

‘No,’ he denied stonily.

‘But you being here is not a coincidence, is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘What makes you think so?’

A letter, she could have said, but had no intention of doing so.

‘And if your business with Tabiner is legitimate,’ he countered, ‘why so secretive?’

‘Perhaps I’m taking a leaf out of your own book,’ she murmured. ‘You were secretive, weren’t you, Sam? Did you come to the house to look for something?’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh, I don’t know...’ she murmured vaguely, and realised that he was fencing as much as she was. Why? Just what was the connection between him and Tabiner?

‘I came to the house,’ he informed her stonily, ‘to look at your father’s collection of Crimean War memorabilia.’

‘So you said, but I did wonder,’ she lied, ‘when you left so quickly, whether you might not have, um, appropriated something—valuable. A first edition, maybe?’

‘No,’ he denied coldly. ‘I took nothing.’

‘Then why the sudden departure? No explanation, no reasons...’

‘I’d finished my research.’

‘Liar,’ she accused with soft hatred.

Turning away, he dismissed flatly, ‘Go away, Abby.’

‘But I might wish to make an investment.’

He gave a scoffing laugh. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Why? Don’t you think I might be able to afford to do so?’

‘Oh, yes, I imagine you can afford it. How much do you have to invest?’ he derided. ‘One million, two?’

‘No,’ she denied with a brittle smile, ‘but they take lesser amounts, don’t they?’

‘Yes,’ he agreed tersely. ‘What do you want? Roll-up? Five-year investment?’

‘Perhaps,’ she agreed unhelpfully.

‘And you chose this particular fund management because?’

‘Because they’re the best,’ she said reasonably. ‘And I do so like to choose the best.’

‘I believe you.’ Walking past her to the window, he stared down at the marina, much as she had done earlier. ‘And if that’s your car down there,’ he murmured in a voice that grated, ‘it’s illegally parked. Go away, Abby. There’s nothing for you here.’

‘Isn’t there? Now I wonder why I don’t believe that? And I still need to see Nathan Tabiner,’ she concluded.

‘Then do as I said. Make an appointment.’ Glancing at his watch, he added, ‘Tomorrow. His secretary will have left by now.’ Without giving her time to answer, or argue, he walked across to the desk. Pressing the intercom, he asked the doorman to come up, and when he arrived, only seconds later, instructed him in a voice that brooked no argument, ‘Take Miss Hunter back to her car. Straight to her car.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he agreed confusedly.

Elegant and unhurried, she gave Sam one long look of derision, and left. He kicked the door shut behind her.

Returning to the window, he continued his blind contemplation of the yachts moored below.

The door opened behind him, and without turning, without looking, he instructed heavily, ‘Don’t say anything.’

‘No,’ Greg agreed. ‘Who is she?’

‘No one.’ No one, he repeated silently to himself. How he wished that were true. ‘Her name is Abigail Hunter.’

‘A blast from the past?’ he asked cautiously, and with a limp attempt at humour.

‘An old family friend,’ Sam corrected untruthfully.

Joining him at the window, Greg glanced down at the red car parked below. ‘You didn’t seem very friendly.’

‘I was taken by surprise.’

‘That must be a first.’

‘Don’t push your luck, Hanson.’

‘sorry.’

‘And don’t keep apologising.’

‘No, but if she’s a friend of the family,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘how come she doesn’t know who you are?’

‘She does know who I am. She knows me as Sam. Everyone knows me as Sam.’

‘But she was looking for Nathan Tabiner.’

Yes, and she mustn’t find him, because he suspected he knew very well why she was looking.

‘So how come she doesn’t know you’re one and the same?’

He didn’t answer, merely continued his vigil. Eyes bleak, he watched her emerge from the building and walk across to her car. ‘Why was she allowed up here?’