Dangerous Temptation (35 page)

"It sounds delicious," said Marshall, pushing his glasses up his nose as he did in times of stress. God, he thought, what the hell am I doing here? When Matthew found out, he'd been livid. He'd always done his utmost to keep them apart.

Caitlin closed the door behind them, and then hurried ahead into an attractive living room. "If you'll excuse me," she said, giving her husband a speaking look. "I'm sure everything's going to be overdone."

"No sweat." Nathan was deliberately casual, and Marshall wondered again why he'd brought him here. It wasn't as if he hoped to gain anything by it, and in his experience, Nathan had never done anything without having his own agenda. "Can I offer you a drink?"

Marshall hesitated, then decided it might ease his nerves. "Scotch would be nice," he agreed, forcing himself to relax a little. He looked about him. "What a beautiful room this is."

"You haven't seen it before?"

Nathan sounded surprised now, though looking into those dark eyes, Marshall had the feeling he already knew the answer. "No," he concurred, "I've never had that pleasure." He paused. "You and I weren't exactly—buddies in the past."

"No." Nathan seemed to accept this, though there was no trace of censure in his face. He handed Marshall his Scotch, and then smiled expansively. "Perhaps we can amend that in the present."

There was a table laid for two in a dining alcove, and as Marshall was trying to think of something to say in response, Caitlin reappeared from the kitchen. She was carrying another set of cutlery, and as he watched, she laid another place. But her movements were all sharp and staccato, and he guessed she wasn't pleased at all.

"If it's any inconvenience—" he began, but once again, Nathan forestalled him.

"It's not," he said. "Caitlin was just worried because I've been out all day." He looked at his wife. "Isn't that right, Kate? Did you have a good morning at the antique shop. I'm sorry I couldn't join you for lunch, but I had things to do."

"Like going to the office," suggested Caitlin shortly, her eyes flashing. "Forgive me, but don't they have phones at the office these days? You could have given me a call."

"I could," he agreed, his eyes gentling as they settled on her. "Forgive me, but I was tied up with your—with Mar-shall. I've been trying to get a handle on what's been going on."

Marshall realised that Caitlin accepted her husband's words at face value. The fact that he'd stumbled over Marshall's name meant nothing to her. But he was far too sensitive to the situation to ignore any flaw in the conversation, and Nathan's hesitation jarred his nerves.

Was that why he'd brought him here? Because Nathan had guessed who Matthew's right-hand man really was? Was all this
bonhomie
just a facade? Was he wrong about Nathan, in spite of everything? Did he intend to expose him to his wife?

"Oh, well…" said Caitlin now, retreating towards the kitchen. "I suppose you know what you're doing." She paused. "What did Daddy say? I suppose it was his idea to try and jog your memory. I told him it wouldn't work, but you know what he's like."

"Mr Webster wasn't there."

"Matt didn't come into the office today."

The two men answered her simultaneously, and Marshall thought it was just as well that a cooker timer began to ring at that moment. It gave him a moment to consider the fact that Nathan had called Matthew
Mr Webster—
which seemed to confirm his status—and enabled her, he hoped, to think about something else.

Not that he had forgotten Nathan's earlier error, and the look he exchanged with his host at that moment assured him that the other man was aware he'd noticed his
faux pas
. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. A slip of the tongue. It won't happen again, I promise."

Marshall wondered. "How long have you known?"

Nathan's lips twitched. "Well, not long, obviously," he replied, and Marshall was forced to accept that this must be so. After all, if he'd suspected earlier, Caitlin would have known about it. The Nathan he was used to dealing with would have enjoyed putting Marshall on the spot.

So why was he guarding his tongue now? Marshall pondered frustratedly. It didn't make sense. Hell, none of it made sense, that was the truth. Nathan simply wasn't the man he used to be, and if it wasn't so outrageous, he might doubt that's who he was.

He frowned as he considered the situation. Could Nathan have a double? And what would be the advantage of that? Had he suspected they were onto him? Could he have persuaded someone else to take his place?

But he dismissed that idea almost before it had had time to germinate. To start with, Nathan didn't even have a brother, let alone an identical twin. Matthew had all his details on file. Nathan's father was Jacob Wolfe, and his mother, Iris Wolfe, was dead. She'd died when the boy was young, and Jacob Wolfe had never remarried.

He had to accept that apart from having somewhat thinner features—a result of the accident, no doubt—this man
was
Nathan. It was crazy to consider anything else. Dear God, Caitlin had accepted him as her
husband
. She had no doubts about him, so nor must he.

"Just out of interest, why haven't you told Caitlin?" Nathan asked suddenly, and Marshall's eyes widened in dismay.

"I don't think—her father would be very pleased if I did," he replied stiffly, and Nathan looked sardonic.

"He's your father, too, isn't he?" he countered. "You know, it just might be that Caitlin needs a brother. Her parents don't give her much support."

His wife's return with the casserole brought an end to any further private conversation, and Marshall told himself he was relieved. But he couldn't help wondering how Matthew would react when he discovered his son-in-law had found out about their relationship. Until now, he'd considered it a closely guarded secret; though Marshall suspected Daisy Webster wasn't the only one to guess the truth.

"Shall we eat?"

Caitlin's voice, inviting them to join her at the table, put an end to his troubled introspection. It was Matthew's problem, he told himself; Matthew's decision when—or indeed if—Caitlin should be told. But how long could they trust Nathan not to tell her? Particularly if his future was on the line?

Caitlin had prepared a green salad to start the meal, and there was a fine white Sauvignon to accompany it. The casserole that followed was piping hot and delicious, despite her worst fears, and a selection of rich cheeses provided a fitting finale.

Conversation became general as they consumed the food, the wine relaxing each of them in turn. Besides, so long as he could forget his previous dealings with Nathan, Marshall found they had a lot in common, and even Caitlin's attitude seemed to mellow as the evening wore on.

Despite his misgivings, Marshall ate everything that was put in front of him, and he knew that in other circumstances he would have welcomed them as friends. His position at Webster's was so nebulous that he found it difficult to find a niche, and he hoped Caitlin would think more charitably about him from now on.

"It was kind of you to put yourself out on my account," he remarked in a low voice, as he helped her carry the used plates into the kitchen. "I know you were only expecting Nathan, and it must have been a pain to be landed with an unexpected guest. I guess you won't believe me, but I did try to put him off."

Caitlin straightened from stowing some of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and gave him a strangely quizzical look.

"On the contrary," she said, "I do believe you. I don't suppose you wanted to come here, either."

"That's not true." Marshall spoke instinctively, and then meeting her satirical gaze, he pulled a face. "Okay," he said, "I was apprehensive. I knew we hadn't got along in the past. But that wasn't truly my fault, was it?"

"No." Caitlin seemed inclined to be generous. "I know I haven't exactly been polite. But you have to remember, Nathan used to share my father's confidence, whereas now you've kind of commandeered that role."

"Hmm." Marshall nodded. He could hardly tell her why her father had changed his allegiance. "Well—maybe we can work something out in future. Nathan seems more inclined to be conciliatory. For a man who's lost his memory, he's amazingly astute."

Caitlin frowned. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything." Marshall held up a cabling hand. "On the contrary," he added in a hushed tone, "I'd be the first to admit that he doesn't remember a thing about the company. I mean—" he coloured slightly "—I'm sure he'd have given himself away if he had." He pulled a face. "He's just so—different. It's as if he's lost that aggressive edge."

"Do you think so?" Caitlin's hand trembled as she closed the dishwasher door.

"Yes." Marshall pretended not to notice her nervousness. He pushed his spectacles back up his nose. "I guess that blow to his head did more than addle his brain cells. What do you think?"

"What do I think?" Caitlin's voice had risen slightly, and Marshall, watching her, sensed there was more to this than even he had thought. "Tell me," she went on, "do you think he'll ever recover his memory? If this flat—and the office—aren't familiar, if
I'm
not familiar, what can we do?"

"I don't know."

"What don't you know?" Nathan spoke from the doorway behind them, a pair of empty wineglasses dangling from his hands. "You were taking so long in here, I thought I'd better come and help you." He handed the glasses over. "What's going on?"

"Why—nothing," exclaimed Marshall hurriedly, wondering with some misgivings how long the other man had been standing there listening to what was being said. What had been said? he wondered, taxing his brain. Nothing controversial, he was sure, but for all his disability, he still felt as if Nathan held the upper hand.

Excusing himself, he brushed past the other man and gained the comparative safety of the living room with some relief. But as he did so, he heard voices in the kitchen behind him, and although he didn't mean to eavesdrop, he couldn't help overhearing what Nathan said.

"Don't discuss me as if I'm not here," he muttered, and Caitlin made some inaudible denial. "You have no idea what I'm suggesting," he added in a bitter voice.

Marshall left at about half past nine.

Caitlin sensed he would have been quite happy to go sooner, but Nathan had kept him talking, making it difficult for him to get away.

They hadn't spoken about relevant things, like Nathan's loss of memory, or how soon he might be able to get back to work. Nathan had seemed more interested in Marshall's background, and they'd spent some time arguing the merits of nurture as opposed to nature.

She'd guessed what Nathan was doing, of course. So long as Marshall was here, they couldn't have a personal conversation. And after talking to Janie that morning, she'd wanted that. She'd been waiting for him to return all afternoon.

In actual fact,
waiting
was hardly an adequate term. By the time Nathan inserted his key in the lock, she'd been on the verge of calling the police. In all her wild imaginings, she'd never dreamed that he might go to the office. Or if he had, that someone might not inform her. It was the least they could have done.