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Regan’s jaded feeling vanished in the instant it took for the deep voice to reach down inside her chest and caress her heart into violent action. Her swivel chair was spun on its pedestal and braked to a stop with one immaculate, custom-made Italian leather shoe.
Joshua crooked his finger at her. ‘Come on. It’s quitting time, and you and I are going for a little ride.’
It sounded like something a Mafia Don would say to a double-crossing Capo. Just how much had he overheard?
‘I—I’ve never had anything to do with horses,’ she said, feebly resisting the inevitable. ‘I wouldn’t know how to ride.’
His eyelids drooped. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Riding a horse is just like staying on top of any other form of mount—you grip with your thighs and allow your body to follow through with the motion of your hips. I’m sure you’d be a natural…’ As she crimsoned he continued smoothly, ‘But actually I was talking about a boat ride.’ He turned to his son. ‘We’re going on a short cruise out into the gulf, and, since Carolyn has frequently reminded me that Regan hasn’t yet had a sail, I’m taking her with us. I presume you can amuse yourself here for another hour or so, since there seem to be a few others working late—otherwise you can use your key to the condo…’
Ryan couldn’t help his eyes darting triumphantly to Regan. ‘Sure!’ he said, bounding to his feet.
‘I’ll just have a word with the office manager before we go. WadeCo has someone coming in to look at the books next week as part of the discovery process, and I just want to make sure that he’s happy with the arrangements…’
As soon as Joshua was out of earshot Regan stumbled out of her chair and grabbed Ryan by the sleeve of his T-shirt. ‘Promise you won’t do anything stupid about my—’ she dropped her voice even lower ‘—my problem while I’m gone!’
He squinted down at her anxious face, thoughtfully chewing his lip.
‘I mean it, Ryan.’ She made her voice as stern as possible, considering that she had nothing with which to back up her threat. ‘No dumb and misguided attempts at chivalry. Promise?’
He nodded slowly, something like relief shimmering behind the glasses. ‘OK, I can certainly promise that.’
She released him and smoothed his wrinkled T-shirt back into place. ‘Sorry, but I don’t want you getting in trouble on my account. This isn’t a game, understand?’
‘Sure.’ He pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘I understand.’
She was too busy worrying about Joshua’s motives to hear the lilt of resolution in the breaking voice. ‘You notice he didn’t ask me if I wanted to go on a cruise. I wonder who else is going to be on board?’ she wondered nervously. So far she had managed to keep away from the twenty-five-metre luxury motor vessel. On board, she felt Joshua would have a home territory advantage.
‘Well, there’ll be the crew for a start—that’s at least five. It’s really cool, Regan, and has a spa pool and sauna. Uncle Chris and Carolyn used to say it was better than a posh hotel and they were going to use it for their honeymoon cruise!’
Regan frowned at him. ‘You mean your father and Carolyn—’
‘No, I mean when Uncle Chris and Carolyn were like…you know—together…’
‘When they were what?’
He blinked at her vehemence. ‘Uh—didn’t you know?’ he said, speculation rife in his face. ‘Carolyn was Uncle Chris’s girlfriend for ages. They even got engaged, but a couple of months ago there was this big blow-up between them and then suddenly it was Dad she was marrying…’
The tense atmosphere between the brothers, Carolyn’s attitude and the Harrimans’ odd manner whenever Chris was mentioned—all were suddenly explained…
Regan emerged from the coolness of the office into the dazzle of the hot, late-afternoon sun in a zombie-like mental fog. She trotted alongside Joshua’s tall, striding figure as they crossed the cobbled paving, weaving around the clover-leaf arrangement of shops and cafés on the graduated series of curving terraces which descended to the edge of the circular head of the canal. Most of the bars and cafés had outdoor tables, shaded by umbrellas, and were doing a good business from the tanned boaties and residents and sunburned tourists who were starting to wind down, or up, from their day’s activities.
Joshua led Regan along the wide wooden boardwalk past the first few berths to where the Sara Wade lay snoozing at her moorings. She was sleek and white, her streamlined cabins rising two storeys above the main deck, the roof bristling with antennae and electronic gadgetry.
‘Sara was my stepmother’s name,’ explained Joshua, as he motioned her ahead of him up the short gangplank. He had slipped off his jacket and pocketed his yellow knitted silk tie as they walked, opening his collar and rolling up the sleeves of his white linen shirt to look the epitome of laid-back style.
‘What about your real mother?’ murmured Regan, still grappling with the impact of Ryan’s words.
‘She died when I was two—of breast cancer. I don’t remember much about her. Dad married Sara when I was five. Careful.’
Regan had tripped on a wooden slat on the gangplank. ‘I don’t think I’m dressed for boating,’ she said, looking down at her high-heeled sandals. The trim, lightweight tailored navy suit she was wearing was also more suited to an office than a quarter-deck. Regan hoped she wouldn’t feel out of place amongst a crowd of people in smart-but-casual nautical gear.
‘You can slip into something more comfortable on board.’ She slanted him a suspicious look over her shoulder and he chuckled. ‘We have lots of non-skid boat shoes on board in most sizes. There’s sure to be a pair to fit you.’
His manner seemed so relaxed and unthreatening now that they were on board that Regan felt even more disorientated. Where was the implacable sense of urgency that she had sensed when he had swooped down on her at the office?
A fit, grey-headed, middle-aged man dressed in white shorts and short-sleeved shirt
stood stiffly at the top of the gangplank, a white yachting cap tucked under his arm.
