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Don't you see that I have guests? Let me introduce you—
this is Mr Ramsgate and his daughter Caroline '
T know who they are,' Gil snarled. 'What I want to know is what are they doing here?'
'I invited them to dine with me.' Lady Westbrook was rigid with offence, a spot of dark red in each withered cheek.
'Why?' demanded Gil through his teeth, and his grandmother coldly answered him, drawing herself up in her chair.
'I don't have to explain myself to you, Gilham, but if you really must know, I am discussing selling Westbrooks to Mr Ramsgate.'
Gil Martell's teeth met and dark red surged up his face. 'Over my dead body!'
CHAPTER THREE
'Gladly,' Caro jumped in, unable to resist the temptation, and Lady Westbrook looked at her in astonishment, as if she had never heard anyone talk to her grandson like that, then she began to laugh. Gil wasn't either so surprised or so amused. He had met Caroline Ramsgate before.
'You keep out of this!' he told her with dislike.
'You deserved that, Gilham, and don't be rude to Miss Ramsgate!' Lady Westbrook said, stifling her laughter. 'And will you kindly leave? I didn't invite you to join us.'
'Because you knew I would never agree to selling the store!'
'Your agreement is not necessary, fortunately. I own the majority of the shares.'
'You haven't even consulted the board!'
'I don't need to consult anyone. The shares belong to me. If I choose to sell them, that's my business. And you can't say I didn't tell you my intentions, because I told you this morning that I had made up my mind to sell the shares. If you didn't believe I meant it, that is not my fault. I made myself quite clear, surely! I have never suffered from an inability to express myself with clarity.'
Thickly, Gil Martell said, 'For heaven's sake, think! You know what it will mean! Whoever owns those shares controls the firm—you can't seriously want Westbrooks to go out of the family! It's crazy! Just because you're angry with me over some stupid little ' He broke off,
remembering that Caro and her father were there, threw them a brief, angry look, his flush deepening, and muttered in an offhand voice, 'Look, I want to talk to my grandmother alone—would you mind leaving? This is a private matter, a family matter.'
Fred Ramsgate mumbled, 'Of course...' and got up to go, and Caro rose as well, rather reluctantly, since she had been fascinated by the argument which had been raging. It was very revealing and explained a lot about Gil Martell. He obviously loved his grandmother; she had brought him up when his mother died, and they must be very close—but did he resent her domination, too?
After all, she owned the shares which controlled the company, yet Gil had been managing the store for quite a time now, always subject to his grandmother's will, constantly reminded to whom the power finally belonged. He was not the sort of man to like that situation. He was far too arrogant and assertive.
As Caro moved, her full-skirted tawny skirts rustled, brushing her slim legs. She loved the dress she had chosen to wear; it came from her favourite English designer. Made of taffeta, it was the colour of good sherry, the style a modern version of an Edwardian dress, with a high neck, a smooth-fitting bodice which emphasised her rounded breasts, a tight little waist and long, full skirts beneath which were hidden layers of crisp lacy petticoats. It made her feel very feminine.
Gil Martell watched her, his gleaming eyes briefly flicking up and down her body with an assessment that made her skin hot. It wasn't that she felt he was at-n acted to her, only that he was the sort of man who always noticed women, was aware of their sexuality even if he disliked them.
Caro understood that because she didn't like Gil Martell, either, yet she couldn't help being very conscious of his masculinity. All the same, she prickled under his gaze.
'How dare you ask my guests to leave?' flared Lady Westbrook. 'Sit down again, Mr Ramsgate, take no notice of my grandson.'
'We can't talk about this in front of strangers!' Gil bit out.
'This is no time and place to discuss the matter at all,' his grandmother said. 'I am giving a dinner party, not conducting a business meeting. I merely asked Mr Ramsgate if he was still interested in buying the store, and he says that he is, so we can start having talks with him.'
'We?' retorted Gil. 'I have no intention of having talks with him—or anyone who wants to buy my store.'
'Your store?' the old lady repeated coldly, her eyes remote. 'You are forgetting—it is my store, Gilham. That is something you have overlooked all along. I own the store, and I can do what I like with it. It is time you realised that. I employ you to run it for me, you earn a very good salary for doing so, too, but you do not own it, nor will you be a party to the take-over discussions. If I decide to sell, Mr Ramsgate will be negotiating with my lawyers.'
'If?' He seized on the word like a cat on the tail of a vanishing mouse. 'So you haven't actually made up your mind yet?'
She shrugged. 'I am investigating the possibilities, let us say, of selling to Mr Ramsgate. My lawyers will handle it at first, since I dislike getting involved in business dealings, but I will make the final decision, and before
I do, I promise, I will consult you, although I can't promise to accept your advice. You will have your chance to say what you think, though. Now, I won't have you ruining my dinner party. These are my guests, and you are embarrassing them. Would you please leave?'
