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‘He’s gone,’ Michael relayed blithely as he walked to the door. ‘No worries—he said to tell you goodbye and thanks.’
Goodbye? A final goodbye? And thanks? For what? A few sessions of out-of-this-world sex?
Her heart plummeted down through the soles of her shoes and the butterflies in her stomach went into panic mode. ‘Gone where?’ she demanded hoarsely, pattering after Michael as he crossed the main hall.
He’d promised they’d talk before she left. He couldn’t have simply gone. Unless he’d been so disillusioned and disgusted by her lack of trust he’d decided he never wanted to have to set eyes on her again, much less to have to listen to her accuse him of being a liar.
Michael shrugged. ‘Couldn’t say. He said he’d just remembered an appointment and shot out. And we’re not to worry about locking up. Apparently he was going to ask the site manager to do it before he leaves this evening.’
This evening? Did that mean she could sit around waiting for him all night and he still wouldn’t turn up?
Probably, she conceded numbly. If he really had suddenly remembered an appointment too important to cancel, if he really had wanted to thrash things out with her—as he’d intimated much earlier—then he would have left a different message, something along the lines of getting in touch at a later date.
He’d invented that appointment, she was sure of it, she decided, feeling limp and sick to her stomach. He just couldn’t be bothered to argue his case with a woman who’d made it plain what she thought of his morals.
And Michael confirmed it when he joined her in the car. ‘Dexter asked me to invoice him for your time, but you’re not to bother with an evaluation. He can d
ecide for himself what’s worth keeping and what’s not.’ He fastened his seat belt and turned the key in the ignition. ‘I don’t know why he wanted you up here in the first place. Still, if he wants to waste his money, that’s his affair.’ The car drew smoothly away. ‘Was there much of interest around the place?’
‘Not much.’ Automatically, Caroline mentioned the pieces that would be worth keeping as an investment, her mind functioning on a different level entirely.
Was there a hidden meaning behind his statement that he could decide what was worth keeping and what was not? Meaning she was not worth keeping?
Probably. But there could be no doubt that his instruction regarding her written evaluation meant he wanted no further contact.
Ben Dexter had washed his hands of her and, looking at the sorry mess from his point of view, she couldn’t blame him.
He had finally done what he’d set out to do. Got her out of his system.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SITTING opposite Michael in the small but elegantly appointed restaurant on the outskirts of Banbury, Caroline wondered miserably how she could ever have imagined that their close and friendly working relationship could have developed into something so very much more. Marriage, home-building, children—leading eventually to a companionable old age.
She would never have been able to love him. How could she love him, or any other man for that matter, when Ben had captured her heart and had never let it go? Michael deserved far better than that.
She stared unseeing at the plate of green salad she’d ordered, bleakly looking into a lonely, loveless future and Michael said, ‘Aren’t you going to eat that? I must say, it certainly looks pretty boring to me—you should have gone for the duck, it’s brilliant.’
‘Sorry.’ Caroline gave him a wan smile and picked up her fork and speared a dressing-slicked leaf without any enthusiasm. ‘I’m tired, I guess.’
Although drained was more like it. Drained of energy and hope. Too listless to have been able to tell Michael she’d much prefer to get straight back to London rather than take an early supper break. Besides, that would have been selfish. Michael must have been ravenous if the way he’d demolished his meal was anything to go by.
‘Tired? What brought that on?’ A sandy brow lifted enquiringly as he laid down his cutlery and relaxed back in his chair. ‘From the little of real interest you say you found at Langley Hayes, I wouldn’t have thought you’ve been overworked exactly.’
There was no getting around that. It was time to be honest and open, to explain why his suggestion that they get to know each other better on a personal level was a non-starter. She owed Michael that much at least.
Caroline laid down her fork and confessed numbly, ‘I don’t want this to go any further, but Ben—Mr Dexter—and I go back a long way, Mike. We had an affair twelve years ago. It ended after a couple of months or so. I didn’t see him again until he came to look at the Lassoon painting.’ She pulled in a breath then went on doggedly. ‘The last few days have been pretty traumatic.’
‘Good God!’ He looked stunned. He stared at her for long, assessing moments then stated bluntly, ‘You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?’
Her throat too tight to allow her to speak, Caroline nodded and Michael said slowly, ‘If it’s lasted that length of time, with nothing to feed on, it has to be the real thing.’ He gave her a twisted smile. ‘I guess that puts me right out of the frame.’ He lifted his shoulders then slowly let them drop. ‘But then, I don’t suppose I was ever really in it, was I? And you were too polite to tell me. Still friends, though?’
‘Of course,’ she answered, on a rush of gratitude, glad he was taking it like this, even more relieved to know that his feelings hadn’t taken a thorough battering. As hers had done. She wouldn’t wish that on her worst enemy.
But she wasn’t going to think of that, of bruised and battered feelings; she wouldn’t let herself. If she allowed herself to think of what she had almost had and thrown away with her lack of trust, she would put back her head and howl like a dog and embarrass both of them. But then Michael asked, ‘Does he feel the same?’
An iron fist clenched around her heart, the pain unbearable, her voice a ragged whisper as she got out, ‘Once, perhaps. Not any more.’
‘I thought I detected a bit of an atmosphere. Had a fight, did you?’
