Out in the side street, Simon hailed a taxi, helped her into it, told the cabbie to head for the Dorchester, and took the other corner of the cab.
There was a sudden awkward silence between them, and after a second Simon cleared his throat several times, finally said, in a hoarse voice, “I think we must get security for M and Larry—”
“Oh, but they have it,” Linnet answered and looked at him quickly, then glanced out of the window. She was so conscious of his close proximity, she could hardly bear it. She had fallen in love with him months ago, much to her amazement. Even though she tried to tell herself it was mostly physical desire, an overwhelming sexual need for this tall, blond hunk, she knew deep within herself that it was more than that. Much more.
Simon Baron was one of the most intelligent and sensitive men she had ever met; she had been drawn to him for years, long before he had worked at Harte’s, always finding his company pleasant. She found him compatible, considerate, and charming. He had a good sense of humor; it was a little dry and certainly self-deprecating. On the other hand, she knew he was catnip to women and that he played the field. So why would he be interested in her, when he could have a twenty-two-year-old hanging on his arm and sleeping in his bed? On the other hand, the reality of the cruel world they lived in had brought her to a decision. Why not let him know how she felt? What did she have to lose?
The cabbie swerved to avoid a car drawing too close, and Linnet was flung across the seat, landing almost, but not quite, in Simon’s lap. He grabbed hold of her, endeavoring to steady her, and she clung to him tightly.
“Wow!” she exclaimed as the cabbie righted the vehicle and drove on. She stared up at Simon. “Sorry about that—” She couldn’t finish her sentence. Her mouth went dry, and her heart started to pound. He was looking at her so intensely, and there was such desire in his light blue-gray eyes, she was in no doubt how he felt. Oh my God! The same way she did. “Oh, Simon, Simon, darling,” she whispered and reached up, brought his head down to hers, kissed him fully on the mouth. He kissed her back and passionately so, then drew away, looking slightly stunned.
She smiled, her eyes dancing with laughter. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months, Simon Baron. And finally I did.”
Staring into those mesmerizing green eyes, Simon realized that she most definitely shared his feelings. He grinned and said, “And so have I, and I want to keep on doing it, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.” Linnet shook her head. “I’m not quite sure how I’m going to get through this lunch with Jack.”
Simon groaned. “I know exactly what you mean. But we have to, there are some very serious matters to discuss.”
“Oh, God, yes.” Linnet sat up straighter but remained close to him, leaned against his body, took hold of his hand, gave him a very pointed look. “Is there any possibility of seeing you later, Simon? Much later, I mean. Like this evening. Could you come to dinner at my house?”
“Try and keep me away. But I do think you should know I have serious intentions.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And, you know what, so do I. Very serious intentions.”
They had arrived at the Dorchester Hotel, and Simon alighted first, paid the cab, helped her out, squeezing her hand as they headed up the front steps together. “We’d better play it cool,” he murmured. “Jack knows us both extremely well, he’ll spot something if we’re not careful.”
“Yes, perhaps he will, but does it matter?” she asked.
Forty
I think I’d like a drink,” Linnet said, once they had been seated in the library area of China Tang, the popular Chinese restaurant downstairs at the hotel.
“What would you like?” Simon asked, reaching out and placing his hand over hers on the table, filled with joy that he could actually touch her.
“A glass of pink champagne, please.”
“Champagne,” he repeated, raising a blond brow.
“Yes. To celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
“Kissing you,” she murmured, looking at him flirtatiously out of the corner of her eye. “As far as I’m concerned, that was something special, and therefore something to celebrate. That’s what champagne is for.”
He laughed, enjoying her, as he always had when there had been occasions for them to see each other on a social level with Jack, her parents, and the rest of the family. He had known her for many years, forever, it seemed like to him, had always found himself attracted to her. But she had only had eyes for Julian, her childhood sweetheart. It was different. At last. Now she was alone and available, and she obviously had strong feelings for him, as he did for her. It was up to him now to make her well and truly his. For always. That was what he wanted.
When the waiter appeared at their table, Simon ordered two glasses of pink champagne, and once they were alone again, he leaned into her, kissed her neck, muttered against her ear, “Got to make the most of it before Jack gets here.”
“Yes, we do,” she replied and stared at him, her face turning serious. “We’re in danger, aren’t we, Simon? From Ainsley?”
“Yes, and we have to pinpoint his whereabouts as fast as we can. I agree with Jack, though, who thinks it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“These last few years have been so peaceful, not having to look over our shoulders all the time. Now it starts again.”
The waiter returned with their drinks, and Linnet lifted her flute, as did Simon. They touched glasses, and Linnet said, “Here’s to that very special kiss I’ve waited so long to give you.”
He smiled at her, his eyes loving. “It was special for me, too.” After taking a swig of the champagne, Simon said, “Before Jack gets here, I would like to ask you something.”
Linnet nodded. “Yes, ask me.”
“Did you mean it when you said you had serious intentions?”
“I did. Why?” She frowned, her auburn brows drawing together.
“Because I know how I feel about you, and I have known for a very long time . . . I’m serious about you.”
“I’m glad we feel the same. Aren’t we a couple of fools? Harboring the same feelings for each other for so long and never saying a word.”
“We’ve wasted a lot of time, Linnet.”
“But we’ll make up for it, and then some—” Linnet stopped abruptly, removed her hand, placed it in her lap, and murmured, “Here comes Jack.”
A second later he was being shown to the table, greeted them both, and sat down. “That looks good,” Jack said, eyeing the champagne. “Very refreshing. I think I’ll have a glass.” Motioning to the waiter, he ordered and then said to Linnet, “M got James Cardigan on his cell, told him about me, and yes, we did meet in Hong Kong. But this is the thing, when she was talking to him she said the Hartes had a serious problem and did he know any hackers. I couldn’t believe my ears, she’s very clever.”
Simon exclaimed, “That’s what I said to you this morning. I had the same idea. Let’s get some hackers working. Maybe it would be tough to hack into Ainsley’s computers, but they might be able to get into the computers of some of those chaps he does business with. Possibly we could get information about him through a few leads.”
“That is exactly what I discussed with Zhèng in Hong Kong last week. However, it sounds a lot easier than it is, and remember one thing, the Hartes can never be involved in anything criminal.”
“But we can break a few rules, don’t you think?” Linnet said. “I bet Emma broke some, and what about my great-grandfather Blackie O’Neill? I’m sure he must have stretched things a bit at times. And David Kallinski, their willing partner, too. M is prepared to break the rules all the way, and so am I.”
Jack laughed. “But that was then, and this is now, and we’re going to toe the line. Understood?”
Linnet nodded and winked at him.
Smiling, Simon said, “For the time being anyway.” He moved his leg closer to Linnet’s, slipped his hand under the table, and found hers r
esting on his thigh. He removed it gently, since he felt the first signs of arousal, an unexpected reaction at a lunch table for him. He was usually in control of himself in every way.
“Linnet, I want to discuss something,” Jack began. “But I decided to wait. And it’s about the things we can do through Wen Li.”
“What things? How can he help?” she asked.
“He has a grandson, Richie Zhèng, a wonderful-looking young man, a Eurasian of about twenty-five. He went to the Wharton School of Business and spent some time in the States. Anyway, he’s very Americanized and a computer genius, also a brilliant banker, according to Wen Li. Extraordinarily talented with figures. Wen Li is going to propose to Ainsley that Richie Zhèng work with Ainsley as Wen Li’s representative.”
“But why would Ainsley agree to have Richie Zhèng in his company?”
“Because Wen Li is planning to invest a hundred million dollars—American dollars—with Ainsley. The proviso is that Richie be brought into the company. In a sense, he would be looking after Wen Li’s money, although Wen Li’s not saying that.”
“Good God!” Linnet exclaimed. “That’s a fortune.”
“However, he won’t invest that amount if Ainsley says no deal regarding Richie being part of the company.”
“A piece of cheese to catch a rat, eh?” Linnet laughed grimly.
“You could call it that, Beauty. Anyway, Wen Li wants Richie to work at Belvedere, that’s Ainsley’s new company in Hong Kong, and it can’t do us any harm.”
“I understand everything,” Linnet said, “and it’s an awful lot of money to invest. Wen Li must believe he can double or triple it with Ainsley.”
“I believe he does think that, although one of his chief motivations was finding a way to get Richie inside Ainsley’s organization. Belvedere is a holding company, and although it’s based in Hong Kong, it’s an umbrella for Ainsley’s worldwide investments. And there is another reason.” Jack paused. “He wants to help us.”
Linnet stared at Jack in disbelief. “M is going to be really surprised when I tell her all this. Why would he risk all that money for us, Jack? That I don’t understand.”
“He isn’t risking it, not really. Wen Li knows what he’s doing, he’s a shrewd banker. Anyway, let’s hope the rat eats the cheese, to borrow a phrase from you.”
Simon said to Linnet, “Shall we order?” And turning to Jack, he added, “Actually, Jack, I think it might be a good idea if we let you order lunch, since you’re such an old Hong Kong hand.”
Picking up the menu, Jack scanned it and said to Linnet and Simon, “How about wonton soup to start with? Soup’s nice on a damp day, comforting, wouldn’t you say? Then I love their minced squab wrapped in lettuce leaves. They also make delicious shrimp dumplings, and another thing I enjoy are the spring rolls. Any preferences?”
“Whatever you say, Jack,” Linnet answered. “But I do happen to like wonton soup and minced squab.”
Simon said he’d have the same, and that Jack should order whatever else he thought they would like. As Jack conversed with the waitress, who had come to take their orders, Simon squeezed Linnet’s hand under the table and gave her a long, loving look.
Paula O’Neill stared at herself in the cheval mirror, straightened the skirt of her tailored, navy blue silk dress, and adjusted the string of pearls around her neck. Satisfied with the way she looked, she went over to her dressing table, where she picked up her pearl earrings and put them on.
She smiled to herself as she turned away from the dressing table, thinking that she was dressed in what she termed one of her “uniforms”: Today it was the simple dress in a dark color.
When she had run Harte’s, she had always worn a well-cut black suit with a white shirt or blouse. Her daughters Linnet and M had followed in her footsteps, choosing similar “uniforms” to wear during the day. Not Tessa, of course. She had her own inimitable style, favoring white mostly.
Paula’s mind focused on M, her youngest daughter, and the one who looked the most like her. She was proud of her, the way she had gone off to New York and done it on her own, without their help. But then that was a Harte characteristic, wasn’t it? In many ways M had always been the most independent of her three daughters, sure of herself and what she wanted to do with her life. And to think the world’s new top supermodel on every magazine cover had once protested about putting on makeup and washing her hair, had had no desire to look smart, preferring instead to muck out the stables and care for the horses.
Seating herself at the desk, Paula opened her appointment book and looked at the day’s engagements. Tea with Jack was the most important date. He was coming at four o’clock. She hadn’t seen him for a few weeks and was curious about the impending visit. Was he simply coming to catch up with her on certain matters? Or was he about to impart bad news? After the bombing at the store, she was certain he was not the bearer of good tidings. On the other hand, he had been in Hong Kong, and perhaps he was bringing gossip and greetings from mutual friends he might have seen on the trip.
Well, whatever the reason for his visit, she was pleased she was going to see him. They had been friends for over forty years. She frowned. Where on earth had all that time gone? It just disappeared in the blink of an eye . . . it didn’t seem possible to her.
She had first met Jack Figg when she had gone to work for her grandmother at the store. Emma Harte had adored the young Jack, had seen enormous potential in him, and as usual, Emma had been right. He had turned out to be a superlative head of security, loyal and devoted. He had also become her best friend, and a member of the family as well, loved by all.
Sometimes Shane teased Paula about Jack and his extraordinary devotion to her, and hinted that Jack might have been carrying a torch for her for many years. She always shrugged off that suggestion, because there had never been any indication of it. Jack was always the perfect gentleman.
Sitting back in the chair, Paula thought of what had happened in all those years which seemed to have passed with such speed: her marriage to Jim. The birth of the twins, Tessa and Lorne, and then the slow but terrible disintegration of her marriage to Jim Fairley. It was her love for her childhood friend Shane O’Neill that had been a wondrous revelation. And then had come a terrible sorrow and a mantle of guilt when Jim and her father had been killed in a fatal air crash in France. But this tragedy had been followed, eventually, by her marriage to Shane. From this she had drawn great peace as well as immense joy. The birth of their sons and daughters, Patrick, Linnet, Emma, and Desmond, had brought untold happiness.
She suddenly remembered the way she and Shane had ruefully admitted to each other that there could be only one Emma in the family. They had belatedly understood that her famous grandmother completely overshadowed the baby Emma. And so she had become Emsie, then Em, and finally M. Paula smiled in delight, thinking of her grubby little horse-loving child, who had become this startlingly beautiful supermodel. And Larry. What a blessing he was, and M was safe with him.
She sighed, and a sadness crept into Paula’s heart as memories of her darling Patrick rose to the surface . . . their beloved little boy born with brain damage, who had been the sweetest and most loving child, beloved by all. When he had died, and so suddenly, everyone in the family had been devastated.
Ah, yes, so many losses over these years, which she and Shane had shared: the death of his grandfather Blackie O’Neill, and of her grandmother Emma Harte; then Shane’s father, Bryan, had passed, as had so many other family members. She thought of Great-Aunt Edwina, Emma’s firstborn child, and then laughed, remembering her. They had all likened her to a general, but they had truly loved her, the genuine eccentric in the family.
And what of the terrible mistakes she had made in business? Paula cringed at the thought. Once she had put the stores at risk. To think that she had almost lost them to her cousin . . . but she had outwitted and defeated Jonathan Ainsley. And so very cleverly, thanks to Ronnie Kallinski, the man she had always addressed
as Uncle Ronnie, referred to as her wise rabbi. Ainsley was dead and buried, and she had survived those troubles and moved on.
Despite all the mistakes, the losses, the deaths and tragedies, there had also been marriages and births, and new beginnings . . . more children to carry the banner of the famous name of Harte, to run her grandmother’s empire. There had been so many blessings, as well as troubles.
The happiness she had shared with Shane all these years, and still shared, that was truly something to treasure and to enjoy. How lucky she had been to be part of this man’s world. Life had often punched her in the face, but never mind that now. She had so much to be thankful for, had had more than most.
Rising, Paula left the bedroom and went downstairs to wait for Jack, still thinking of all the happenings that had marked the years.
Sometimes she had wondered if the Hartes were cursed, but she had inevitably dismissed this idea. They were truly a large family, and life had spared none of them, and that was all there was to it. She didn’t believe in curses. Like her grandmother, she was far too much of a pragmatist for that nonsense.
“You’ve come to tell me we have more trouble, haven’t you, Jack?” Paula said as she walked across the sitting room to welcome him.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied. Coming to a standstill next to each other, they embraced; Jack kissed her on the cheek, held her away, his eyes searching her face. “No matter what’s happening, you always look wonderful, and you’re positively blooming today.”
“Thanks, darling, and I’m feeling very well, although Linnet fusses over me far too much. Well, never mind, she means well, and I must say I’m proud of the way she runs the store, takes everything in her stride.” Sitting down on the sofa, giving him a questioning glance, Paula said, “So give me the bad news.”
Blowing out air, shaking his head, Jack took the chair opposite her. “Steel yourself for this. . . . Jonathan Ainsley is not dead and buried as we believed. He’s alive.”