Page 7 of His Wedding-Night Heir

'But we're going out for a meal.' The champagne she was sipping seemed lo have loosened Tracy's tongue. 'An Italian meal. My neighbour's looking after the baby,' she added beaming.

'Then why don't I join you?' Nick suggested, smoothly and unanswerably. 'You can put forward your point of view’

Tracy stared at him. 'But I was going to have lasagne.'

'Then of course you shall.' He was smiling again, using that charm of his like a weapon. Controlling the tense silence that had descended. 'While you tell me all about Gunners Terrace.'

'It was an idea of our late mother's,' Gordon Hartley butted in, almost desperately. 'Sadly, she died while the scheme was in its infancy, so most of the houses are still untouched. They're dangerous and insanitary, and they should b e pulled down.'

In spite of her mental and emotional turmoil Cally managed to give him a steady look. 'That isn't altogether true, and you know it. Half the terrace has been completed, and work has started on the others.'

'But we won't talk about it here and now,' Nick cut in decisively. He'd released Cally's wrist, but the pressure of his fingers seemed to linger like a bruise. 'I still have things lo do, so we'll have lo postpone the discussion.'

'There's really nothing to talk about. Sir Nicholas,' Neville Hartley blustered. 'I think we've made the position quite clear already.'

'One side of it, certainly,' Nick agreed. He looked at Kit. 'What's the name of the restaurant you're using?"

'The Toscana,' Kit muttered awkwardly. 'In the High Street.'

Nick looked at his watch. "Then I'll meet you there in an hour's time.' He paused. 'All of you," he added softly, hi s gaze resting briefly on Cally. 'I hope that's clearly understood.' Another swift, hard smile and he was gone, and the crowd seemed to close round him.

There was a taut silence, and Cally could see the Hartley brothers exchanging wary glances.

She could understand their problem, she thought wryly. Young Lady Tempest, wife of Eastern Crest's dynamic man, would have been an honoured guest, overwhelmed with obsequious attention. Nick Tempest's clearly estranged wife was a horse of a different colour, and they weren't sure quite how to deal with her.

To be civil to someone who'd encouraged Genevieve Hartley in her reckless foolishness and battled with them openly after her death would be analhema, but neither could they throw her bodily into the street with her companions, a s they obviously wished.

After all, Gunners Terrace was supposed to be down and out, just waiting for the bulldozers to arrive. Now the residents had an unsuspected ace up their sleeve, and for the moment the Hartteys didn't have a strategy to deal with it.

In the end Neville Hartley said thickly, 'You haven't heard the last of this.' And they stalked furiously away.

'Perhaps that should be our line,' Cally called after them, her voice inimical.

Then suddenly the tension went out of her, and she was gasping as if she'd been winded.

Kit was staring at her as if she was a stranger. 'I can't believe this,' he said. 'You are married— to him? It can't be true.'

'It's perfectly true.' Her voice was raw. 'But not for much longer, I assure you. Once I've been separated from hi m—from Nick—for two years, divorce should be easy.'

'Is that how he sees it?' Kit asked sombrely.

'What do you mean?'

'You were the surprised one just now,' he said. 'If you ask me, your husband knew you were going to be here tonight, and he was waiting for you.'

'He's very dishy,' Tracy said on a note of envy. 'I wouldn't mind him waiting for me.'

Cally gave a taut smile. 'Well, at the restaurant you can have him all to yourself. I've had enough surprises for one day, and I'm going home.'

'But you can't," Kit said, dismayed. 'You heard him. He's willing to listen to what we have to say—something we hardly dared hope for. But it has to be all of us or it'll be no dice. Cally, you can't walk away—not when we actually have a chance to put our case.'

She looked down at the floor. 'I think I'd be more likely to damage your cause than help it.'

I should have listened lo that dream the other night, she thought. Accepted it as a warning and gone while the going was good. But I was too complacent. I let myself think that he'd have stopped searching by now— if he'd ever begun.

Unless, of course, this is all one sick coincidence. But somehow I don't think so.

'If you're not with us, I don't think we'll have a cause,' Kit told her grimly. 'You can't give up on it all now. Besides, what point would there be when he knows where you are?'

It was logical—it was reasonable—but it made the situation no easier to accept.

She said, 'I can't just—meet him socially. Too much has happened.'

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