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'At first I thought, Idiots! But when the girl gazed up at me, with great big green soulful eyes, I recognised her as Morris's dinner date. Beth is not the type I usually go for. She's young, and quite small, but there's something about her. I could see why Morris fancied her. And it gave me the perfect opportunity to help Anna without breaking my promise to her. The rest, as they say, is history. I decided to take her from Morris and give Anna a chance to get him back. It wasn't difficult; I let her know I was disgustingly rich, and, like all women, she was hooked.'
'But why on earth would you consider another gold- digger after Caroline? And, more importantly, why get engaged to the girl if you have no intention of marrying her?'
'I never actually said that, Bob. After all, I'm not getting any younger, and I would like a son and heir. I think Beth is young enough, and eager enough, to become quite an obedient wife.'
Beth had heard enough. More than enough. She stood up and swayed slightly. She put her hand down on the communication console to steady herself and ironically succeeded in doing what she should have done in the beginning: the voices stopped.
She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. So, she was 'young enough, and eager enough, to be an obedient wife'. Now she knew what Dex really thought of her. A travesty of a smile contorted her lovely face. And it certainly had nothing to do with love! He had taken her out to stop her dating Paul Morris. But why? Why lie? Why go to such an extent for his sister?
She glanced down at her hand, still on the console. The diamond ring on her finger winked back. A token of love and commitment, she had thought; straightening, she wrenched the ring off her finger and stuffed it in her purse—she couldn't bear to look at it.
She needed to think, but not here, not now. Later she would feel the pain, the heartache, but her first priority was to get away without meeting Dex.
Silently she walked across the room, and, grasping the door handle, she hesitated and looked around the office. Streamlined, high-tech functional—a suitably sterile environment in which to lose one's dreams, her artistic mind thought bitterly. Opening the door, she left.
She ran down the stairs, oblivious to the casino's customers and out on to the street without being challenged. When she finally stopped running she collapsed against the railings of a smart townhouse, and with her arms wrapped around her waist she doubled over in pain.
'Are you all right, miss?' A voice broke into her anguished thoughts, and she looked up into the concerned face of a policeman.
'Yes, yes, I'm fine.' She forced herself to straighten up, and glanced around. A bus stop caught her eye.
'Are you sure?'
'Just out of breath. I was running for a bus,' she lied. But the policeman seemed to accept her statement.
Which was why, five minutes later, she was actually seated on a bus, staring vacantly out of the window as it chugged very slowly through the rush hour traffic. She had no idea where it was going and didn't care; she had simply shown the bus pass she used for work to the conductor and he had accepted it.
Wearily she laid her head against the window, the enormity of what had happened finally hitting her. Her so-called fiancé, the man of her dreams, didn't even like her, let alone love her. With her new-found knowledge of his real reason for taking her out, suddenly a lot of little things Dex had said and done made sense.
On their first date he had insisted on telling her how wealthy he was, something she had found uncomfortable. Now she knew why: he considered her, and apparently every other woman in the world, a gold-digger. Their first passionate kiss at the casino had simply been Dex's reaction to her talking to Paul Morris. Dex had been staking his claim, nothing more. His cynical comments about young women with old men suddenly made perfect sense. They had all been directed at Beth personally; it was how Dex actually saw her. She recalled the picnic, when he had said she was just like. . .and had stopped; he hadn't been comparing her to his sister, but to his ex-wife and the games she'd played.
He obviously considered his precious sister perfect. He would do anything for the woman—even get engaged to a girl he cared nothing about if he thought it would help his sister get her man.
Engaged. That was a laugh! The cost of a ring was nothing to a man of Dex's wealth. Mary had been right to warn Beth. Dex really was a bastard in every sense of the word. And Beth, fool that she was, had spent all day anticipating falling into his arms and into his bed tonight.
The tragedy of it all, Beth thought with a bone-deep anguish, was that it had all been so unnecessary. If Dex had just once been honest, had asked her a simple question, she would not now be sitting on a bus with a black void where her heart used to be. . . She could see it all so clearly now, could pinpoint the exact two days, when the farce that had led her to this point had begun. Gazing with sightless eyes at the darkness beyond the bus window, she relived the whole episode in her mind. . .
Beth looked around her with delight, then sent a beaming smile to her dinner companion. 'Paul, this is fabulous! I can't thank you enough.' Her green eyes sparkled in the small oval of her lovely face. 'Dining on Park Lane makes me feel quite deliciously decadent.'
'Unlike your mother, Beth, you couldn't be decadent if you tried.' Her strikingly handsome silver-haired companion responded with an indulgent smile.
He was so right, Beth mused. Her mother had married for the fifth time the year Beth turned eighteen. Beth hadn't seen her since, but she didn't care. She had long since given up any hope of a mother-daughter relationship.
But Paul Morris had been the one constant adult throughout her twenty-one years. He had been a friend of her father, and was her godfather. He had managed the small trust fund her father had settled on her for her education, and had supported her ambition to become a graphic artist, encouraging her to go to the local college in Torquay.
She'd quickly discovered, after graduating last May, that the scope for a budding graphic artist in her home county of Devon was limited. But Paul had stepped in and used his not inconsiderable clout to find her a job in the London advertising firm his own company used. He'd also helped her find a small apartment to rent in Docklands. She had been in London for over two months, and was so far loving every minute of it—and dining at one of the poshest restaurants in the city certainly helped!
Grinning back, she dismissed her musing and said jokingly, 'Oh, I don't know.' Eyeing the plate of exquisitely arranged noisettes of lamb, with accompanying vegetables, that the waiter was placing in front of her, she continued, 'I think I could very easily get used to this lifestyle.'
Paul raised his glass and Beth reciprocated. 'To you, Beth, and your future success as the greatest graphic artist ever. I might have pulled a few strings to get you i
n to Canary Characters, but according to Cecil, the art director, you're a natural—and nice with it. Which I always knew, anyway," he said with great satisfaction.
He was the father she had never really known, and probably the kindest person she had ever met. Emotion clogged her throat but, swallowing hard, she replied, 'To you, Paul; your help and understanding over the years have made me what I am today.'
They both sipped their champagne, a look of pure love and understanding passing between them. Then, all hell broke loose. . .
Out of the corner of her eye Beth saw a very attractive dark-haired woman approach the table. To her amazement, the woman picked up Paul's dinner plate and tipped his meal over his head.
