leave the tray of coffee and fresh scones Ellie had baked on the small table beside him. Billy, Charlie’s nephew, who was overseeing the central heating, was sitting at the bureau with a pen in his hand. Charlie stood beside him and had probably already signed as a witness.
She apologised for disturbing them and hurried from the room. Victor would have to continue enduring his uncle’s unpredictable moods but he would be well rewarded when Jack died.
He was in London on business and had sounded stressed when he rang her that previous evening. An unfamiliar edginess to his voice as he spoke about the demanding meetings he had to attend. He was working on an important property deal. She had seen his office on Upper Main Square. The sign Victor Coyne, Property Analyst and Developer was displayed in large lettering on the front of the building.
What does a property analyst do, she had asked him once? He had talked at length about property trends and financial forecasts that could be the deciding factor for property developers and investors.
The girls were in bed and she had settled Jack for the night when he called to Hyland Hall on his way home from the airport.He removed a bottle of wine from a carrier bag and filled two glasses.
‘How is Jack?’ he asked.
‘Recovering well.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Have you settled back since your return?’
‘It’s difficult,’ she admitted. ‘You spoiled us.’
‘It was my pleasure. The house seems much emptier now that you and the girls have left.’
‘They loved living there.’
‘And you?’ He held a glass up to the light and studied the burgundy hue before handing it to her.
‘Yes, of course I did. You have a fabulous house.’
‘That’s not what I’m asking you.’
‘What are you asking me?’
‘That first night… you remember?’
She nodded and waited for him to continue.
‘I was afraid you might think I was taking advantage of you. That’s why I didn’t… well, you know?’
Unable to meet his gaze, she bent her head. Was she falling in love with him? The consequences, what would they be? But why must she always think ahead, plan, consider, endeavour to make the right decisions?
‘I wanted you,’ he said. ‘Every time you brushed past me, I had to stop myself reaching out to you. At night, lying in the room next to yours was torture. You’ve no idea how often I stood outside the door willing you to open it and come to me. I’ve never felt like this before, Sophia…’
Spent passion, how easily it was forgotten. But passion still to be released was a dangerous lure. Uncaring of the consequences, she stopped his words with kisses. The girls were sleeping on the other side of the corridor. Jack was probably still awake but desire blasted such thoughts from her mind. He carried her to the sofa. Her tunic, unbuttoned, was flung to the floor, and, then, they were moving together, lips and fingers exploring, zips opening, hooks unhooked, elastic snapping and yielding. Her legs lifted to encircle him but their breathless, stifled gasps were not loud enough to silence the determined thud from above.
She stopped, aware that she was naked and exposed. Jack Hyland was demanding her attention and reminding her that she was his employee.
‘Ignore him…’ Victor pressed his hands to her ears but she was already struggling to be free, grabbing her discarded underwear, her hands shaking as she tried to fasten her bra. With her cheeks flaming and her lips swollen, how could she face him?
Somehow, she stumbled up the stairs and into his bedroom. The bed was empty. She found him at his desk in the living room, his dressing gown loosely tied around his gaunt frame. The gleam in his eye was fierce.
‘Send my nephew away,’ he said. ‘I don’t want him sneaking around my house behind my back.’
She resisted a wild desire to laugh out loud and pulled at the edges of her tunic, how she hated its crisp whiteness, now creased and buttoned askew. She pushed her hair back from her forehead. Pulled loose by Victor from the ties that that held it in place, it tumbled over her shoulders and veiled the colour on her cheeks. She tensed as the front door slammed. Victor was leaving without saying goodbye.
‘You should be in bed, Jack,’ she said. ‘You’re still very weak. Leave your writing until you’re stronger.’
‘Are you still in love with your husband?’ His rasping voice was harder than ever to understand.