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Pride stiffened her spine—she would not admit her fear to Mr Fearless over there. She would work this out. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’
Daniel’s blue eyes watched her with a scrutiny way too deep, whilst his lawyer instincts were no doubt limbering up.
‘Something I’ve said has bothered you big-time and I want to know what it is. I am responsible for this project and I want it to work. So—spill.’
‘It’s not a problem, as such, but I’ve never kayaked before and I don’t want to make an absolute fool of myself.’ Or expose her panic attacks to the eyes of the world. ‘The thought of the press catching a candid camera shot of me tumbling into the water fills me with horror.’
‘That hardly warrants your reaction.’
Think.
‘Actually. it does. I told you. Image is everything.’
The Lady Kaitlin Derwent persona she’d built for herself relied on poise—she projected self-possession and people believed she was filled with an abundance of self-confidence. She couldn’t afford a chink in that façade.
‘I’d like to maintain mine.’
Because it was all she had. And if that made her look shallow so be it.
Twirling a forkful of linguine, she glanced down at her notebook. ‘Next question—which hotel are we staying in?’
‘We’re not. One of the directors of the Caversham Foundation owns a cottage in Inverness—it happens to be empty now, so we’ll stay there. It saves on costs and in actual fact will give us more privacy than a hotel.’
Just freaking fabulous. As if she wasn’t sufficiently all over the place.
‘That’s a problem.’ She’d been idiot enough to utter the words aloud. Clearly a breakdown was underway, because Lady Kaitlin did not blurt out foolish statements. ‘I mean...from the perspective of the press, the less privacy the better. The whole point of this exercise is to scotch any hint of a rumour.’
‘Exactly. In which case staying in a property offered to us for free makes sense. Declining it to stay in a hotel would look as if we did have something to hide. It’s all arranged—to change it now would arouse way more suspicion.’
Kaitlin picked up her wine glass and took a healthy slug—this whole scenario got worse and worse as each course progressed.
‘OK. Fine. But, for the record, I believe it is a mistake.’
‘Noted. Next question...’
And the next and the next...
By the end of dinner her hand threatened to cramp but hopefully she had enough information to stave off panic.
‘Thank you for this. It has really helped.’
She scraped up the last bit of tiramisu from her bowl, savoured the gossamer lightness of the lady’s fingers kissed with the tang of espresso.
‘You’re welcome. I’ll walk you home and then pick you up tomorrow to take you to the airport.’
* * *
Fifteen hours later Daniel observed Kaitlin’s study of the private jet. ‘I didn’t realise we would be travelling by private jet.’
‘A company perk. I can’t tell if you disapprove or if you are relieved.’
‘A bit of both. It does seem morally wrong that we’ll be taking these teenagers into the wilds and yet we’re imposing this massive carbon footprint on the environment. On the other hand we will avoid the crowds and the publicity, and today that suits me.’
Presumably because she was tired, Daniel thought. Despite her trademark elegance, showcased in a patterned dress that combined turquoise and red and was worn, he suspected, to divert attention from the smudges under her eyes—eyes that had dulled to a flat, almost lacklustre green.
Yet he sensed that if they had been on a chartered flight she would have sparkled, chatting with ease to anyone who recognised her, flight attendants and squalling children alike.
‘The way I see it is that this brings us privacy and convenience. I like it.’
