Dangerous Temptation (39 page)

Caitlin was seated at the cash desk, trying to make sense of the column of figures on the page in front of her. Janie had gone shopping, and she was in charge of the shop at the moment. And, as it was quiet, she'd decided to try and get a little book-keeping done.

It was useless.

No matter how she tried, no matter how she concentrated on the entries Janie had made over the past three weeks, she kept coming up with a different total time after time. It wasn't as if she was attempting to add the figures up herself. She had an efficient little calculator beside her, but it didn't make any difference. She couldn't seem to key in the figures correctly, and the bottom of the page was already half-worn away with her rubbings out.

If only she could stop thinking about Nathan, she might stand a chance of having some success, she thought frustratedly. But how was she supposed to get on with her life when the man she loved was more than three thousand miles away? If she knew he was all right, if she could believe that his journey was not just another wild-goose chase, she could try and put it all to the back of her mind. But her fears were so self-contradictory, she was living in a constant state of unease.

Her greatest fear was that if—when—he did come back, he might not be the same man who had gone away. It was a crazy thought, and not one she could share with anyone else, but the fact remained, there was always that possibility. He'd changed already before he'd left, and she wasn't entirely convinced he didn't remember some things at least.

Like Lisa Abbott.

She didn't want to think about the other woman, but she couldn't help it. There was no denying that Nathan had been interested to hear her confirm who his anonymous caller had been. She'd been a fool to mention her, to blurt out her name as she had, but she'd been jealous. And whether the name had rung any bells with him or not, she'd played right into the other woman's hands.

Still, Nathan wasn't with Lisa at that moment. He'd left for New York that morning, and she knew—because she'd rung the airline to check on it—that he had been travelling alone.

She'd been quite foolishly pleased at her ingenuity in finding out that Lisa wasn't travelling on the morning's Concorde. She knew airlines didn't give out information about their passengers, so she pretended she was Lisa Abbott and that she was ringing to confirm her booking on the flight. She'd had the foresight to make a provisional booking, also in Lisa's name, on the evening flight instead, so the clerk quite innocently informed her that she'd got the bookings crossed.

It was a small victory, but one which she had clung to in the hours since. She had to believe that Nathan was only going to the States, as he'd said, to try and find his roots. Not just his name, but his identity. And only his father could give him that.

For her part, Caitlin was afraid to think of what might happen in the future. She had the uneasy feeling that nothing was ever going to be the same again. Not that she wanted it to be the same as it was before the accident, she reminded herself unhappily, but she was finding it hard to believe that the man she loved was anything more than a dream.

The door of the shop opened, the bell breaking discordantly into her thoughts. She glanced up, half-hoping it was Janie, despite the other girl's attitude towards what had happened. Naturally, her friend expected the worst, and she was not averse to saying so.

But it wasn't Janie. It was a customer—a blonde woman, wearing decidedly too much make-up, and dressed rather too youthfully for her age. Caitlin estimated the woman must be nearing forty, yet the miniskirt and teetering high heels would not have looked out of place on a teenager.

Contrary to normal practice, the woman didn't seem at all interested in browsing about the shop. Instead of casting even a salutary glance at the merchandise on offer, she swayed purposefully towards the cash desk, halting in front of Caitlin, forcing her to rise politely to her feet.

"Can I help you?"

The woman surveyed her between mascaraed lids, her gaze sweeping down over Caitlin's tight-sleeved T-shirt and ankle-length pinafore with a jaundiced eye. "Maybe," she said at last. "Although I doubt it. My guess is, you're more inclined to help yourself."

Caitlin's jaw sagged. "I beg your pardon?"

"So polite." The woman's lips twisted. "And exactly as I imagined. All milk-and-water innocence and no fire!"

Caitlin blinked. "Look, Mrs—Miss—"

"
Ms
will do," the woman inserted contemptuously, glancing about her. "Ms—Abbott. Does that name mean anything? How about if I mention Nathan? Does that ring a bell?"

Caitlin's knees trembled. She'd been trying to identify the woman's accent, and now she knew. Lisa Abbott. As she lived and breathed, this was Nathan's mistress. The girl-friend he'd risked his marriage for. Why didn't she feel more impressed?

"Of course," she managed now. "Ms Abbott." She forced herself to be polite. "How nice of you to call." She hesitated. "Did you get tired of phoning Nathan? Well, I'm afraid he's not here, if that's what you thought."

"I didn't think he was," replied Lisa, with a sardonic expression. "As far as I know, the bastard's still in the States. What I want to know is what you're going to do about it. Or is sleeping with his brother just your way of keeping it in the family?"

Caitlin prayed her father wasn't at the office. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to explain her visit to him. She only hoped Marshall was there and not out on some assignment; or even down at Fairings, explaining the evening he'd spent at the flat to Matthew Webster.

The receptionist soon put her fears to rest.

"I'm afraid Mr Webster's not here," she exclaimed, naturally assuming Caitlin was there to see her father. "I'd ask if there was anyone else who could help you, but I expect it's a personal visit, isn't it?"

"I—well, perhaps," said Caitlin nervously, feeling the doubts she had had about what she was about to do surfacing once again. It was all very well telling herself that she had to talk over what had happened with someone, but why was she so convinced she could trust Marshall and no one else?

The truth was, she was still in a daze, and nothing she had done since Lisa Abbott departed seemed quite real. She had the distinct feeling that this was a dream—or perhaps a nightmare—and that everything the other woman had told her was just her imagination working overtime.

Yet, for all her ambivalence about her physical state, there was no doubt that Lisa's explanation had made an awful kind of sense. Caitlin had known Nathan was different—but how different even she found it hard to accept. That he might be another person—his twin brother, in fact—was the cruellest kind of irony. Had she conceivably fallen in love with another man?

If she allowed herself to think about it, alone, she was afraid for her own sanity. Not because she didn't believe Lisa, but because she was very much afraid that she did. But how long had Nathan—no,
Jake;
she must remember his name was Jake—known about the deception? Not long, she hoped painfully. She didn't want to believe he'd deliberately seduced his brother's wife.

The ramifications of the situation were almost too numerous to mention. Why had Jake been on the plane? Why had he been carrying his brother's passport? And where was Nathan? Why hadn't he come back and set the matter straight?

"Kate—Caitlin?"

The voice behind her seemed to solve her immediate problem. As she turned somewhat reluctantly from the desk, she saw Marshall walking towards her across the veined marble floor. He had evidently just entered the building, and she guessed he was just coming back from lunch. And as he walked towards her, she felt that disturbing ring of recognition she had once felt before.

But it disappeared as soon as he reached her. She was too aware of how incongruous her arrival must seem to him, particularly as until that evening at the apartment, they had hardly exchanged more than a couple of words. He must know she hadn't liked him, that she had resented his intervention in their lives. Consequently, he must be wondering what she was doing here; even more so, when he discovered it was him she'd come to see.

"Hello, Marshall," she responded now, aware of the receptionist's interested gaze behind her. And, because she suddenly found she hadn't the guts to speak directly, "I understand Daddy's not here."

"No." Marshall frowned. "Did you expect to see him?"

That was more difficult.

"Well—yes and no," she said, feeling awkward. Then, "Do you think you could give me a few minutes of your time?"

"My time?" Marshall was understandably taken aback. "I—why, of course," he exclaimed confusedly. "Um—do you want to come up to the office?"

Caitlin shrugged. "Anywhere would do," she murmured, and something in either her voice or her eyes warned him that this was no ordinary visit.

"How about the boardroom?" he suggested. "There'll be no one using it today. We can be—private there. If that's what you want."

"It is."

Caitlin was grateful he didn't ask her to explain there and then, and going up in the lift to the fourteenth floor, she was grateful also for his understanding. He spent the entire time making small talk about the weather, and Caitlin was able to calm the nerves that had flared up when he appeared downstairs.

The boardroom at Webster Development was an impressive room, with a long table made of solid teak, and a dozen matching chairs upholstered in crimson leather. There was a painting of Matthew Webster high on the wall above her father's chair, and a long row of windows overlooking the roofs of the city below.

It was imposing by any standards, but today Caitlin paid little attention to her surroundings. Even the niggling thought that she had once harboured the belief that this would all be hers someday didn't trouble her any more. Indeed, she no longer felt any great desire to control anything except her own life, a circumstance that at this moment seemed almost as remote.

Marshall closed the door behind them, and then asked if she would like some coffee. "Not right now," replied Caitlin, pressing her lips together. She loosened her long cashmere overcoat. "It's very warm in here."

"Is it?"

Marshall seemed surprised at her comment, and Caitlin guessed that she was generating her own heat. But since Lisa Abbott left the antique shop, she'd been unable to control her emotions, and her blood felt almost feverish as it raced along her veins.

Marshall himself looked much as he had done when he had come to the flat for supper. His dark suit was smart, without being obviously expensive, its double-breasted styling accentuating the impressive width of his shoulders. He wasn't as tall as Nathan, and she found herself in the unusual position of meeting him almost eye to eye, but his steel-rimmed spectacles made reading his expression less easy to achieve.

"Is something wrong?" he asked now, watching as she paced somewhat agitatedly about the boardroom. "Why don't you sit down? And take off your coat."

Caitlin hesitated, and then, realising she would feel cooler without the heavy coat, she slipped it off her shoulders and draped it over a chair. But although Marshall pulled out a chair, she didn't immediately take it, linking and unlinking her fingers as she sought to find a way to begin.

It seemed easiest to approach the subject by a less-than-direct route, and realising he would probably think she was crazy, she chose a circuitous path. "Um—did you know that—that Nathan had a
—has
a girlfriend?" she ventured offhandedly, and was not surprised when Marshall threw her a wary look.

"A girlfriend?"

"As in—another woman," agreed Caitlin uncomfortably. She paused. "A—mistress, or is that an old-fashioned term? In any case, it doesn't matter." She hesitated again. "Did you know?"

Instead of answering her question, Marshall offered one of his own. "Did you?"

Caitlin sighed. "All right. Yes. Yes, I did." She pressed her lips together. "It's just as well, in the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

Caitlin licked her lips now. "She came to see me."

Marshall looked stunned. "When?"

"Just this morning, actually." Caitlin wished she could be more casual about it. "She—she apparently had a visitor yesterday."

"Nathan."

"Well, I thought so," said Caitlin, swallowing. And then, unable to withstand the pressure any longer, she collapsed into the chair and burst into tears. Sniffing, she sought the pockets of her coat, searching for a tissue, and then gulped when Marshal pressed a white handkerchief into her hand.

Marshall waited until she had calmed herself before attempting to find out what she was crying about. He had a great aptitude for calmness, she thought, aware that her embarrassment at breaking down had been greatly reduced by his patience. He made her feel secure, comforted, cared for. That he was a friend she could rely on. If nothing else, she had Nathan—
Jake—
to thank for that.

When she was in control of herself again, she wiped her eyes one last time with his handkerchief, half offered it back to him, and then, realising she couldn't return it in such a state, she crushed it between her palms. "I'll let you have it later," she said. Then, "I'm sorry. I don't usually make a fool of myself like this."

Marshall lifted his shoulders. "Think nothing of it," he assured her gently. "Now—are you sure you want to go on?"

"Oh, yes." Caitlin was fervent. "I have to talk to someone, or I'm afraid I'll go mad!" She swallowed. "That woman—Lisa Abbott—said Nathan wasn't Nathan after all. He'd apparently admitted to her that he was really Nathan's twin brother, Jake, and that they had changed places before he boarded the plane."

Marshall stared at her. "Are you saying he's recovered his memory?" he exclaimed, slipping into the seat next to her. "Or that he'd never lost it?"

"Recovered, I think." Though Caitlin didn't feel she could be absolutely sure of anything at this moment. "In any case, he knows who he is. Like us, she thought he was Nathan at first, but he apparently convinced her otherwise."

Marshall frowned. "And you believe her?"