Kissed a Sad Goodbye

She had thought her grief for Annabelle more than she could bear, until Annabelle had been revealed to her as a liar and a cheat; she had thought she and Reg might find some comfort in one another, until she’d learned that he had used her for the most unconscionable sort of revenge.

Yesterday she’d steeled herself to face him, but he hadn’t come in at all, and she’d gone home exhausted after a day spent preparing ever more dire financial predictions for this morning’s meeting.

As she walked down Saunders Ness from Island Gardens Station, she wondered if she could bring herself to work for Reg if they made him managing director, or if she wanted to go on at Hammond’s at all if they brought someone in from outside.

Then she’d stepped into the building and smelled the familiar combination of scents—motor oil and dust overlaid by the rich perfume of the teas—and she wondered how she could possibly bear even the thought of leaving.

William arrived first, looking stern but rather frail; then Sir Peter, dapper and cheery; then Jo; and finally, Martin Lowell, whom Teresa had never met. She stared at him curiously, but couldn’t read the expression on his darkly handsome features.

Reg did not arrive until they were assembled in Teresa and Annabelle’s office, and in spite of everything that had happened between them, Teresa couldn’t help feeling a spasm of concern. He looked exhausted, possibly even ill. As he took his seat in one of the chairs gathered in a semicircle round the desks, he closed his eyes.

William called the meeting to order, and as Teresa read her reports she was conscious of Martin Lowell’s gaze on her.

When she’d finished, there was a moment’s silence. After a glance at William, who nodded, Sir Peter looked round at them and said, “There are obviously many issues that need addressing, but today our primary concern is to decide who will be in charge of the day-to-day operations of the firm. As great as is our loss, we must think of the future of Hammond’s—”

“If there is any future to think of,” Martin Lowell interrupted impatiently. When he knew he had their attention, he went on, “It’s obvious that this firm is facing a financial crisis, and as my children now have a considerable interest, thanks to Annabelle’s generosity, I intend to do whatever I can to resolve this.” He smiled, and they all stared at him as if mesmerized—even Peter Mortimer, whom Teresa had seldom seen lose command of a situation.

Jo was first to recover. “Look here, Martin. You can’t just start in as if you owned the bloody—”

“You have as much at stake as anyone, Jo—your own financial security as well as the children’s. Surely, you’re not willing to see that frittered away through mismanagement—”

“Just a minute, Martin,” broke in Sir Peter. “No one’s suggesting—”

“I’m suggesting that you cannot even begin to consider as the new managing director of this firm someone who has proved himself incompetent.” Martin looked directly at Reg, who paled even further.

“Wait a minute.” Reg pointed an unsteady finger in Martin’s direction. “You’ve no right to—”

“And what’s more, how can you possibly consider giving Annabelle’s job to someone who is accused of murdering her?”

“You bastard! No one’s accused me of anything. If anyone should be suspected of murdering Annabelle, it’s you. Everything that happened that night started with you and the things you told Harry. It was you Annabelle was furious with—” Reg lunged at him.

William and Sir Peter started to their feet, but Jo was already up and shouting, “Stop it, both of you! You’re like two jealous dogs fighting over a bone, and she’s dead, goddamn it! Just leave it alone—”

“That’s enough, all of you.” The others turned to look at Sir Peter. Martin had stayed in his seat, but his color was high; Reg was white and shaking with fury; tears streaked Jo’s face. “This is difficult enough for everyone without indulging in this sort of histrionics,” Sir Peter continued, loudly and firmly. “And Martin, I don’t believe making unfounded allegations about my son benefits anyone.”

Lowell nodded but didn’t apologize. Reg had opened his mouth as if he meant to defend himself, when his father cut him off. “Reg, you and Teresa are both under consideration for this position. You may vote your shares now, but you’re aware your percentages are too insignificant to affect the outcome—”

“Then why bother?” Reg’s face was still pinched with anger.

“As you wish,” Sir Peter said smoothly. “But in that case, I think it would be best if you both left the room until we can come to a decision. Why don’t you wait for us in your office.”

Teresa stood up, catching sight of the grief and shock etched on William’s face as she did so. A wave of weakness invaded her knees, and she suddenly realized how desperately she wanted out of the room, away from emotions so raw they seemed to rip the air.

Straightening her spine, she crossed the office with deliberate steps; at the door she turned and waited for Reg.

He took one last look round the room, as if defying anyone else to speak, then he turned and joined her.

They walked down the catwalk to his office in silence, and as he shut the door behind them, he said, “It’s a bloody farce—may the best man win and all that. I’m fucked without this job, well and truly fucked—did you know that, darling Teresa?”

“I don’t want—I never meant to take anything from you,” she said hotly, angry tears smarting behind her eyelids. “You—”

“Then why wouldn’t you talk to me? You had bloody Fiona ring me to tell me they meant to crucify me—”

“That had nothing to do with this. It was you—you lied to me about what happened with you and Annabelle that last night. You were furious with her because you found out what she’d done with those other men—and then with me.… You used me to pay her back, didn’t you? Even though she was dead.”

Reg stared at her blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“You … you made love to me because you knew Annabelle cheated on you, and I was the first thing that came