The Vengance Affair Read online

  'They failed miserably,' Beau finished disgustedly. 'With your mother. And then with you.'

  She gave a pained frown. 'You're being unkind, Beau. They were good people—'

  'Were they?' He was suddenly standing much too close.

  Overwhelmingly so, Jaz decided as she took a step backwards. 'Yes, they were,' she repeated firmly. 'But they were both already in their forties when my mother was born, had no real idea how to bring up a child of their own. And my mother—' She shook her head. 'I may as well tell you this, because someone else is sure to,' she acknowledged disgustedly.

  'Why are they?' he rasped harshly.

  'Because it's what people do—'

  'Not the people I know,' he assured her hardly.

  She sighed. 'Well it's different here!'

  'You're not wrong about that,' Beau confirmed heavily.

  Jaz looked at him through a haze of tears. 'Did you invite me here to lunch just so that you could upset me?'

  'Far from it,' he assured her grimly. 'But that's what I seem to be doing anyway—isn't it?' he realized self-disgustedly.

  'I'm afraid you'll have to get in line.' Jaz sighed wea­rily, knowing this lunch date wasn't turning out at all as she had wanted it to. If only it had been anywhere but here...!

  Beau became suddenly still, his gaze searching. 'What's that supposed to mean?' he prompted slowly, alerting Jaz to the fact that she had said too much.

  Far to much, to a man as astute as Beau. She was still reeling slightly from receiving that third letter of course, may have ripped it up and thrown it away, but could still see that one accusing word whenever she closed her eyes, could still feel the hurt those letters evoked.

  'Nothing,' she dismissed briskly. 'You're right, Beau; it's this house. It—' She made a dismissive gesture with her hands. 'I'm just being silly,' she told him self-derisively. 'What are we having for lunch?' she prompted brightly.

  'Well, I ought to be eating humble pie after the way I've just thoroughly upset you,' Beau acknowledged ruefully. 'I just—-there should be someone looking after you, Jaz.' He gave an impatient shake of his head at the fact that there obviously wasn't.

  She eyed him mockingly. 'Isn't that rather a chau­vinistic thing to say in this day and age?'

  'I said "looking after you", Jaz,' he said dryly. 'Not patronizing you!'

  She gave a teasing smile, relieved to have the subject changed from that of her mother and grandparents. 'Some feminists might consider that to be the same thing!'

  'Then they would be wrong,' he stated flatly. 'I'm my own person, but I wouldn't mind having someone looking after me. Someone who cared, that is.'

  'Wouldn't you?' she prompted huskily, very much afraid that they were now onto even shakier ground than they had been a few minutes ago.

  Beau seemed to be aware of it too, their gazes locked, the air charged with the sudden tension between them—

  A tension that was abruptly broken as a bell rang intrusively.

  'The timer on the oven,' Beau grimaced in realiza­tion, turning away to open the oven door. 'Damn it!' he muttered as he instantly burnt his hand on the handle.

  'I think you could be right about needing someone to take care of you,' Jaz murmured as she moved to pick up the oven cloth and check the food in the oven.

  'The packet said they needed to cook for forty-five minutes,' Beau spoke from behind her.

  'They' being lasagnes, a lovely aroma filling the air as Jaz moved the baking tray to look at them. 'The packet appears to be correct,' she told him teasingly as she pulled the tray out of the oven and put it on top of the cooker.

  'There's a salad in the fridge, and baked potatoes in the bottom of the oven,' Beau told her challengingly.

  She smiled at his defensive tone. 'I was referring to a housekeeper just now when I said you needed some­one to look after you,' she told him teasingly. 'I'm sur­prised you don't have one,' she added curiously.

  Surely when he'd lived in London he hadn't looked after himself all the time? He must have led a very busy life, would have had little time for things like shopping, let alone cooking his own food.

  'I hate having strangers in my home,' Beau answered firmly. 'My ex-wife, then my wife, insisted that a man in my position had to have a housekeeper, that I couldn't possibly expect her to do the cooking and housework, and so she brought her own housekeeper with her when we got married,' he explained as Jaz raised questioning brows. 'The last bit I can under­stand—maybe, but I never did work out what "a man in my position" was exactly.' He grimaced.

  Then he was the only one that hadn't, Jaz acknowl­edged ruefully.

  'But it was like being a visitor in my own home,' Beau continued disgustedly. 'Veronica and the house­keeper worked out the menus between them, and con­sequently I was often served food I didn't want to eat. I wasn't even allowed to relax on my own furniture, in case I "made a mess"; I never quite worked that one out either! I did know that I felt like a stranger in my own home. I made sure that when Veronica left me the housekeeper followed her out the door!' He gave a scathing shake of his head.

  He made his marriage sound like a battleground! 'Were you together for very long?' Jaz asked casually.

  'Ten months, three days, and six hours!' Beau came back grimly.

  Definitely a battleground if he had the timing pinned down so accurately!

  Jaz had to hold back a smile at his vehemence. 'It doesn't sound like much fun,' she said noncommittally.

  'About as much fun as a trip to the dentist!' he ac­knowledged disgustedly. 'Which is why I decided I was never going to put myself in that position ever again,' he added frowningly.

  And he obviously hadn't. Although Jaz had a feeling this last comment was as much a warning to her as it was a statement of fact...

  'After what you've just said, I can't say that I blame you,' she said brightly, determined not to show how affected she was by the comment.

  Not that she had ever, in her wildest dreams, consid­ered that Beau would ever consider marrying someone like her. But to hear him state his aversion to marriage in such blunt terms was a little disheartening, to say the least.

  'No,' he confirmed broodingly, before turning away to busy himself taking the warm plates out of the oven and begin serving the food onto them.

  Jaz stood ineffectually to one side, unsure what to do; the table was laid, the food was obviously ready to eat, and she—

  The telephone began to ring on the wall, Jaz turning enquiringly to Beau as he swore under his breath at the noisy intrusion, the reason for his irritation becoming obvious as she saw he was in the middle of serving up the lasagne.

  'Get that for me, will you, please?' he prompted im­patiently.

  Jaz frowned, not sure that having her answer Beau's telephone was a good idea; what if it were one of his friends from London, maybe a particular friend, how was she supposed to explain her presence here in his home...?

  'Jaz!' Beau frowned across at her pointedly as the telephone continued to ring.

  She gave a shrug before moving to pick up the re­ceiver; if Beau didn't mind her answering his call, then why should she?

  'Yes?' she prompted lightly into the receiver.

  Silence.

  'Hello?' Jaz enquired encouragingly. Again silence.

  Jaz felt a shiver of apprehension run the length of her spine, knew that there was someone on the other end of the telephone line, could hear them breathing; who­ever it was just didn't want to speak to her!

  'Hello?' she repeated more firmly, not in the least surprised when she heard the gentle click of the receiver being replaced at the other end of the line.

  'Who is it?' Beau glanced across impatiently.

  She swallowed hard. 'No one now,' she dismissed, her hand shaking as she replaced the receiver on the wall bracket. 'I guess they must have had a wrong num­ber,' she added with a brightness she was far from feel­ing.

  Because she didn't believe for a moment that the caller had got the wrong nu
mber; it had simply been the wrong person who had answered the call.

  Because she was utterly convinced that whoever the person was who was sending her those anonymous let­ters, it was someone who knew Beau well enough to feel comfortable telephoning him, was convinced she had just spoken to the person who was sending her those letters.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  'Sit down!' Beau instructed firmly. 'Put your head be­tween your knees,' he added grimly once Jaz had sat down on one of the kitchen chairs.

  It was either sit down or fall down!

  Reaction had set in almost immediately Jaz realized she had actually been talking to her tormenter, the col­our draining from her face, her legs beginning to shake. Beau had taken one look at her before dropping the tray containing the lasagne onto the draining-board and rush­ing over to her.

  He came down on his haunches beside the chair, looking at her with concern as she began to straighten from her bent position; these jeans were still new enough not to be too comfortable for bending in!

  'What is it?' Beau demanded sharply.

  She shook her head. 'I—it was—'

  'It was the telephone call,' he rasped shrewdly. 'I thought you said the call was a wrong number?' he prompted abruptly.

  She swallowed hard, her mouth feeling very dry. 'It was,' she confirmed huskily.

  His frown deepened. 'Then why have you gone the colour of wallpaper paste?'

  She gave a humourless smile. 'Are you always this complimentary?'

  'I'm usually even less effusive,' he assured her dryly. 'You must just bring out the best in me!'

  He was attempting to make her laugh, and, despite her inner misery, he succeeded, her smile genuine this time, if a little shaky. 'I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. One minute I was fine, the next—'

  'It was the telephone call,' Beau repeated grimly. 'Who was it? Did they say something unpleasant to you?' His eyes narrowed questioningly.

  Not a word. Not one word. But, then, they hadn't needed to...

  'I told you, it was a wrong number,' she dismissed, turning away, her attention caught—thankfully!—by the tray of lasagne. 'Our lunch is getting cold,' she re­minded lightly.

  'Damn the lunch,' Beau bit out harshly. 'Jaz, you almost fainted just now, and if you think I'm just going to calmly carry on eating our lunch without first being given some sort of explanation for it, then you're sadly mistaken!'

  'That's a pity; it's probably because I'm hungry that I almost fainted,' she said brightly, really not sure she would be able to eat when she still felt so sick, but determined not to give Beau the truthful explanation for her behaviour.

  Because it wouldn't stop there. Beau would then de­mand to know everything that had happened the last couple of weeks. And goodness knew what he would do when he realized someone had been sending those horrible letters to her. And that her friendship with him was the reason for it...!

  'Jaz...?' He gave her a warning look.

  She opened innocently wide eyes. 'Beau?'

  He sighed his frustration with her silence. 'There's something you aren't telling me,' he said slowly.

  'A woman of mystery, that's me,' she agreed self-derisively.

  His mouth tightened. 'Jaz—'

  'I really am hungry, Beau.' She gave him a rueful smile.

  He continued to look at her for several tense seconds, and then he gave an impatient sigh before straightening. 'Okay, I'm going to feed you,' he conceded. 'But then I'm going to demand an explanation rather than ask for one!'

  She knew him well enough to believe him, but the time lapse might give her a chance to try and think of some sort of explanation for her near faint that he would accept. Not the truth, of course—

  'A truthful one,' he added grimly—as if he had just read her thoughts!

  Which he probably had, Jaz inwardly acknowledged; she wasn't too good at hiding her feelings!

  But she did try very hard to do just that over the next half an hour or so, giving every impression of enjoying her meal as Beau continued to watch her closely—even though she had a feeling she was going to be extremely ill once she got away from here!

  'Okay, that's it,' he finally announced impatiently, standing up to remove both their plates from the table, neither of them having done justice to the food on them. 'Explanation time,' he told Jaz grimly as he turned back to face her, his expression unmistakably uncompromis­ing.

  She drew in a deep breath. 'But we haven't finished our lunch,' she delayed.

  His mouth twisted humourlessly. 'Probably because neither of us is enjoying it! Stop prevaricating, Jaz%' he added determinedly as she would have spoken again. 'I want to know what's going on,' he told her softly, his tone gentle.

  It was that gentleness that was her undoing, her vi­sion suddenly blurred by tears, tears that fell hotly down her cheeks before she could do anything to check them.

  'Jaz...!' Beau groaned.

  She heard him move across the room, felt herself pulled up to be cradled protectively in his arms. Which only made her cry all the harder!

  She rested her cheek against his shirt-front, her arms about his waist as she leant into him, knowing she had only been delaying this reaction, that the silence earlier on the other end of that telephone call still haunted her.

  Finally the tears slowed, and then stopped, and Jaz found herself held tightly in Beau's arms, one of his hands lightly smoothing her hair from temple to nape as he murmured to her soothingly.

  She didn't move, relishing this time in his arms, knowing that when it stopped he would once again de­mand an explanation. One she was no further forward towards giving him than she had been an hour ago!

  'Okay, Jaz,' he finally murmured dryly. 'I know you've stopped crying because I can almost hear the cogs of your brain ticking over as you try to think of some explanation that I will find acceptable!'

  She raised her head to frown at him. 'I really don't have to explain anything to you, acceptable or not.'

  He nodded. 'You really do,' he assured her mildly.

  'No—'

  'Yes, Jaz, you really do.' He enunciated clearly and firmly, holding her at arm's length to hold her gaze unblinkingly.

  Jaz frowned her frustration with his determination. There was always the possibility that she had made a mistake, that it was just because of her earlier tension about receiving that third anonymous letter that had made her jump to the conclusion that Beau's telephone call wasn't a wrong number. Which would make telling Beau about those letters completely unnecessary.

  None of which, she could see by Beau's grimly de­termined expression, he would be willing to accept...

  She gave a dismissive shrug. 'I thought perhaps the call was from—from a woman, someone who found it rather odd that another woman should be answering your telephone, and that was the reason they hung up.'

  Beau's gaze narrowed. 'And if it was? Why should that upset you?'

  Yes, why should it? Unless she was in love with him herself. Which, of course, she was, but she didn't want Beau to know that!

  She swallowed hard. 'I—you've been so kind to me, I—I wouldn't want to cause any problems between you and—and—'

  'A woman who hangs up when another woman an­swers my telephone,' Beau finished dryly.

  'Exactly!' she agreed gratefully.

  He gave a decisive shake of his head. 'I don't know any women who would do that.'

  Her eyes widened. 'You don't?'

  'No,' he assured her positively.

  Did that mean that there wasn't a woman in his life who might do that? Or did it mean that the woman currently in his life, as far as he was concerned, didn't have the right to do that?

  The trouble was, she was so inexperienced in these things, had no idea how a man like Beau might conduct his private life.

  'Oh,' she grimaced awkwardly. 'In that case—'

  'It wasn't anyone I know—or want to know!—who ended the call in that abrupt way.' His gaze was nar­rowed shrewdly. 'So who do you thi
nk it was, Jaz?'

  She had a feeling she knew what it was, if not exactly who. But she was still loath to discuss those anonymous letters with Beau. Although, she accepted that after to­day, she would have to discuss them with someone.

  She made a dismissive gesture. 'It's your telephone, Beau,' she reminded him wryly.

  His hands dropped down from her arms as he stepped away from her. 'So it is,' he accepted lightly. 'Okay, Jaz, let's try approaching this from a different angle; you were going to tell me something about your mother when you first arrived...?'

  Reminding her that the investigative reporter in this man was far from retired!

  She managed a dismissive laugh. 'You're being a little unfair now, Beau,' she rebuked ruefully. 'Besides—' she glanced at her wrist-watch '—it's time I was going.' She collected her jacket. 'I can't leave poor old Fred alone at the garden centre all day.'

  Beau crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at her. 'This prick of conscience concerning poor old Fred is a little late in coming, isn't it?' he drawled.

  'I had two customers this morning, I'll have you know,' she told him primly.

  'Wow,' he mocked.

  Yes, wow. One of them had wanted a dozen bedding plants, and the other two bags of fertilizer, not exactly the thing successful businesses were made of. Which was why she was giving leaving Aberton some serious thought...

  She shrugged. 'It's a start,' she dismissed. 'Thank you for lunch, Beau, it was—'

  'A dismal failure,' he finished harshly.

  She raised dark brows. 'In what way?'

  Despite her emotional wobble earlier she had recov­ered—just. Lunch had been more than edible—in fact she was sorry she couldn't have done it more justice. Their conversation as they ate had been pleasantly im­personal. And, once again, just now she had fended off his interest in her earlier emotional wobble, so in what way did he think it had been a failure?

  He gave a shake of his head. 'You don't want to know,' he rasped.

  Jaz frowned now. 'But I do. I admit that I was a little silly earlier, but—'