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'Dreaming won't get the dozen or so orders done—which we have to deliver before noon,' Jemma said dryly.
'Okay, okay,' Liz agreed. 'You look like you need some help.' She frowned. 'Are you sure you're all right?'
'Yes, fine. But I drove down to Eastbourne and back yesterday, and then with the early start this morning…' She explained with a shrug.
'Say no more. That explains everything—you've visited Alan's parents and his grave.' Liz put her arm around Jemma and gave her a consoling hug. And Jemma felt the biggest fraud imaginable.
The mid-morning sun glinted on the Thames as Jemma drove across Tower Bridge. It was the last day in August—a perfect summer's day and, as it happened, her father's birthday. A contented sigh escaped her. She had spent the last hour in a meeting with the purchasing manager of an upmarket department store on Kensington High Street, and had secured a contract to supply the floral displays for the premises—subject to Liz checking the fine print. Ray would have to concentrate more on floristry, and they would probably have to employ a full time van driver, but already Jemma could see Flower Power gaining much bigger contracts.
Work was going great, and Jemma was looking forward to a private lunch with her father. She had booked a table at an exclusive restaurant as part of his birthday present, and she was picking him up at noon. She would still have to show her face at the party Leanne had organised for tonight, but she wasn't worried—no one would notice if she left early.
She grimaced as she parked the car and glanced up at the impressive facade of the house in Connaught Square. Jan's birthday party here over two months ago had been a disaster as far as she was concerned, but that was all behind her now. She hadn't seen Jan since, but that wasn't so unusual, and Jemma did keep in touch with the family by telephone.
Dismissing the past from her mind, she slid out of the car. She straightened the lapels of the short sleeved cream silk jacket, which fitted neatly over her shoulders and nipped in at her narrow waist, and smoothed the fabric of the slim-fitting skirt down over her hips. It wasn't often she dressed up, preferring casual clothes, but over the years she had built up a collection of classic clothes for when the occasion arose—like today. Brimming with confidence, she knew she looked good, and with purse in hand she ran lightly up the stone steps to the front door.
She let herself in, her high heels clicking jauntily on the marble-tiled floor as she walked down the hall. 'Good morning, Maggie,' she greeted the housekeeper, who was at the foot of the staircase with an empty tray in her hands. 'Where is Dad—still in his study?' she asked, and got the strangest look back.
'No. Yes. I mean he is upstairs, in the first floor drawing room, waiting for you.'
Jemma glanced at her wristwatch: it was only eleven thirty. 'I don't believe it—Dad's early for once What do you think. Maggie, is the big six-0 finally getting to him?'
She smiled at Maggie, but got no answering smile back.
'Don't ask me. I only work here.' And she walked away.
What's rattled her cage? Jemma wondered as she walked up the stairs and opened the drawing room door. Maggie was usually the most affable of women.
Her father was sitting in his favourite high-backed chair at one side of the ornate fireplace, a cup of coffee in his hand. 'Happy birthday, Dad.' Jemma grinned and took a couple of steps in his direction.
'Thank you,' he muttered, giving her a weak smile back and then lowering his eyes. Not the most enthusiastic reception she had ever had, Jemma thought, and then stopped, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Warily she glanced around the room, and realised they were not alone…
The man was standing with his back to the window. Silhouetted by the morning sun. She wasn't able to see his face clearly, but she didn't need to. It was Luke Devetzi. Her heart leapt, her amber eyes widening to their fullest extent in shock.
'Good morning, Jemma.'
'G…G… Good morning,' she stammered, and simply stared as he moved towards her. He was dressed in a tailored charcoal-grey business suit, white shirt and blue tie. His hair was longer than the last time they had met, but otherwise he was still the same darkly handsome, arrogant man she remembered. She wished she didn't.
'It's a pleasure to meet you again,' he said silkily, and smiled.
She glanced up, and he returned her look with eyes that held no trace of humour, just a remorseless intensity that set warning bells ringing in her head. Her confidence took a nosedive, and she just knew Luke was a danger to her peace of mind.
Jemma shot a nervous glance at her father, but he was no help—he was staring into his coffee cup as though his life depended on it. Something was seriously wrong…
No, she was letting her imagination get the better of her. Luke was no danger to her. He was Jan's friend, she reminded herself. She had always known she might bump into him again in that capacity, and now it had happened—no big deal. Her confidence restored, she broke the lengthening silence. 'Nice to see you again, Luke. But I'm taking my father out for lunch so we can't stop and chat,' she said lightly. 'But do take a seat, make yourself at home; I'm sure Jan won't be long.' Congratulating herself on the cool, mature way she had handled the situation, she did not see the glance that passed between the two men.
'Jemma doesn't know, Sutherland?' At the sound of her own name Jemma glanced up at Luke. He was staring at her father, an expression of disgust on his face. 'You haven't told her?'
'Told me what?' Jemma asked, totally confused.
Granite-grey eyes flicked her way. 'I'm not here to see Jan. I am here to see you—among other things.' Luke offered by way of explanation, before turning his attention back to her father. 'Well, have you, Sutherland?'
'I hadn't the heart, Luke. I told you. Jemma knows nothing about the business, and she wouldn't understand anyway.'
'What wouldn't I understand?' she demanded, turning her puzzled gaze to her father, surprised and hurt that he had demeaned her intelligence in front of Luke so casually.
'I think you'd better sit down, Jemma.' Luke's hand closed around her forearm and she nearly jumped out of her skin at his touch.
'No!' She tried to shake him off, but his grip tightened, and rather than start an ungainly struggle in front of her father she allowed him to lead her to the sofa facing the fireplace.
