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“The day you called me to see you, I found out after our meeting that Adrian had crashed—” she hesitated “—a car.”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t want to tell you because you’d said you were pleased with him.” Miranda spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I was afraid it would jeopardize his chances of getting a great reference from a vacation job.”
“But what does that have to do his job? Or being blackmailed? Was someone killed? Did he fail to report it?” Callum looked bewildered.
“No, no one died.” Thank heavens! “But he’d borrowed the car without permission.” She bit her lip. “It was one of your company’s cars.”
Callum’s eyes turned to slits. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He was scared you would fire him…and have him arrested and charged with theft.”
He didn’t blink.
Unnerved by the relentless stare, she blurted out, “So he found a panel beater who could fix the car in a hurry and managed to get it back into the car yard before anyone noticed.”
Still Callum said nothing.
Miranda started to tremble. “And now the panel beater says if Adrian doesn’t pay him more, the man is going to blow the whistle on Adrian and tell his supervisor.”
“And you’ve known about this all the time?”
The lethally soft tone caused Miranda’s throat to close. She nodded, unable to speak.
His relentless blue eyes bored into hers. “You believed I would have had him arrested?”
She thought about that. Did she really believe he would have Adrian arrested?
“You’ve done it before,” she pointed out in her own defense. But her father’s crime had been so much worse. “And you must remember I believed that you’d had no reason back then. And this time I knew Adrian had actually taken—” she couldn’t bring herself to say stolen “—your car. At the start I didn’t think you’d have any compassion for him.”
Callum turned away. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Had that been pain she’d glimpsed in his eyes?
But that would have to mean that she was capable of hurting him and she knew she wasn’t. He saw her merely as someone who would make his business life easier—a memory from the night before came to her—and someone he desired.
She blinked back the tears that threatened. This wasn’t going to work out. Ever. Better she cut her losses and leave.
“So I suppose that means you aren’t going to marry me after all.” His mouth was compressed.
“I don’t think it would ever work,” she said, and the ache of loss spread through her, drowning her in sadness.
The drive back to London took forever.
Miranda was conscious of Callum’s hands gripping the steering wheel. They’d stopped twice—briefly—but neither lingered; both of them were eager to get back to London.
There was a constant ache below Miranda’s heart. Christmas was over. And so was any brief accord she and Callum had shared. Heaven help her, she’d enjoyed playing Callum’s girlfriend. She had come so close to a chance to make it real. And she suspected the ache eventuated from her knowledge that it could never be real. Any relationship between her and Callum had been doomed before it could get started.
Finally the car turned into the narrow street where she lived. As soon as it drew to a halt, Miranda leaped out. “Thanks—”
But Callum was already at the trunk, taking out her overnight bag and the baskets, now filled with a collection of empty containers and kitchenware.
“Let me take that.” He relieved her of the handle of her overnight bag. At the top of the steps, he paused. “Miranda—”
The door swung open and Flo fell out, her eyes wild. “Oh, darling, I’m so glad you’re here. Adrian is in such trouble. He’s taken my car to sell it because he needs to get his hands on some cash.”
Nosing his car into one of London’s seedier suburbs the morning of Boxing Day, Callum was grateful for being given the opportunity to talk some sense into young Adrian’s head—when they finally found him. They’d driven around London most of last night and been unable to locate Flo’s car, either with or without Adrian in it.
