intimate and somehow immeasurably comforting. ‘I’m right behind you,’ he heard himself saying. ‘Every step of the way.’
Miss Pritchard-alias Attila the Hun, Charles’s secretary-was her normal appalling self. Peta stepped out of the lift and she saw her coming and sighed. She didn’t even pretend to be courteous.
‘What do you want?’
‘I’m here for my appointment,’ Peta said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘It was for ten this morning.’
‘Mr Higgins had a moment free at two,’ the woman said, her disdain obvious in her intonation. ‘But you weren’t here. He has no more appointments available until late next week.’
‘Then could you ask Mr Higgins if he’ll make an appointment free for me,’ Marcus said, his lazy drawl making the woman’s face jerk from Peta to the man following behind. The man who, until now, had stood in the background and had not been noticed. Marcus. ‘I believe the lease for this office space is soon up for renegotiation,’ Marcus drawled. ‘As landlord I expect a certain professional standard of my tenants. Peta had an appointment at ten this morning and she’s still waiting. To have disgruntled clients hanging around my office space is not what I wish in my buildings.’
He motioned to a chair. ‘Peta, if you’d like to sit down…’ He gave the secretary a glimmer of a mockery of his smile-the sort of smile that had made many a business opponent come close to bursting a blood vessel in entirely appropriate anxiety. ‘We’ll wait,’ he told the woman. ‘Tell Mr Higgins that we’re here and we’ll wait for as long as it takes.’
Attila’s eyes had been flat and cold before. Now, suddenly, they looked like those of a goldfish. A goldfish that was swimming over an unplugged hole. There were very few people in this city who weren’t aware of Marcus’s power. It was legendary. ‘But…’
‘Just tell him,’ Marcus said wearily. ‘I’d like to get this over quickly. I hope Mr Higgins feels the same.’
It appeared Mr Higgins did. Five minutes later they were ushered apologetically into the great man’s presence.
To say Peta was tense was an understatement. This interview was overwhelmingly important to her, Marcus thought. The look on her face as she walked into Charles’s office said she intended to be calm, practical and efficient.
She obviously hadn’t counted on the store of anger that must have been walled up for so long that the moment she saw her cousin it could do nothing but burst.
Charles was seated behind a vast mahogany desk. Before he could stand, Peta had stalked across and slammed her hands palm downward on the gleaming surface, so hard she made the in-tray jump.
‘You uncaring toad,’ she spat, and Marcus blinked in astonishment. But Peta was obviously past caring.
‘You brought Hattie over here and she came because she thought you loved her. She hoped you loved her. But you didn’t. You abandoned her.’ Peta’s voice was loaded with contempt and with icy rage. ‘She could have died at home. With me. With Harry. With people who loved her. But you told her you wanted her here. You conned her into coming where she knew no one. How could you?’
‘My relationship with my mother has nothing to do with you,’ Charles snapped. The man was in his late thirties, florid, wearing a three-piece suit that was as sleazy as it was expensive, and he was obviously deeply disdainful of the woman before him. ‘I have no idea what you want from me, Peta, or why you’ve bothered with this appointment.’ He cast an uneasy glance at Marcus and then looked back at Peta. It was apparent that Marcus was the only reason he’d agreed to see her-the only reason he didn’t get up now and push her out the door. ‘Or how you’ve dragged Mr Benson into this.’
‘No one drags me anywhere,’ Marcus said softly. He hauled up a chair and sat, with the air of a man who was here for the entertainment.
‘This is family business,’ Charles told him, and Marcus gave him his very nicest smile.
‘Consider me Peta’s family. I’ve just elected myself. Peta, I hate to mention it but I don’t think haranguing Charles on his mistreatment of his mother-justified as it may be-is going to achieve a lot. Let’s just cut to the chase and get out of here. This place makes me nervous.’
Charles flushed. ‘You don’t have to stay.’
‘I’m with the lady. Peta, say what you need to.’
Peta bit her lip. She half turned towards him and Marcus was waiting for her. He met her look and he sent her a silent message.
Settle. Anger’s not going to achieve anything. What’s important?
Peta caught it. She fought for control, taking a deep breath. Moving forward.
‘The will…’ she began.
‘Ah, yes.’ Charles had had time to do a regroup, too. ‘The will.’ With another nervous glance at Marcus, Charles settled deeper into his leather chair. His huge desk was guaranteed to intimidate the most influential of clients, and he clearly had no intention of moving from behind its protective distance. ‘What on earth do you have to say about my mother’s will?’
‘Hattie meant to leave her half of the farm to me.’
‘Not so, cousin.’ Charles even smirked.
Why do I want to hit him? Marcus thought, and he had to force himself to stay still. To stay an uninvolved bystander.
‘Hattie lived at the farm for all her life,’ Peta was saying. ‘We all have. Everyone except you. You left twenty years ago. But the farm paid for your education. For your travel.’ She gazed around the opulent office. ‘I bet it subsidised this. Your costs have already bled us dry. You’ve taken half our profits for ever. It’s crazy that she left her half of the farm to you.’
‘I’m her son.’
‘But we’ve subsidised you with so much already and she knew I can’t afford to buy you out. That it’d force me to sell.’
‘That’s not my problem.’
‘No.’ She took a deep breath, obviously forcing herself to stay calm. ‘No, it’s not. And it shouldn’t be. All I’m asking… All I’m asking is that you’ll hold on to your half of the farm-let me keep farming it-until Harry’s of age.’
‘Harry being…’ He almost sneered but then appeared to remember that Marcus was watching and turned it somehow into a vaguely supercilious smile. ‘Harry being how old?’
‘Twelve.’
Twelve. In the background Marcus frowned, absorbing the information. It didn’t fit-did it? Surely Peta wasn’t old enough to have a twelve-year-old son?
Maybe he should have asked more questions.
‘We need to stay on the farm until Harry’s eighteen,’ Peta was saying, almost pleading. ‘Charles, you know how important the farm is to us all.’
‘It was never important to me.’
‘It paid for your education. It let you be what you wanted and I want Harry to have that choice, too. And it’s a really good investment,’ she told him. ‘I’m more than happy for you to keep taking half the profits, and the land is growing more valuable all the time.’
‘I’ve checked,’ he told her. ‘It’d sell for a fortune now. Because it’s near the sea it can be cut up into hobby farm allotments. You own half. We both stand to make a killing.’
‘We love the farm.’
‘Get over it. I’m selling.’
‘Charles-’
‘Look, if that’s all you have to say…’ He eyed Marcus with disquiet, obviously still wondering how on earth Marcus came to be involved. ‘You’re wasting my time.’
Peta swallowed. Her hands clenched and unclenched. But, looking on, Marcus saw the moment she realised the futility of pleading. He saw her shoulders sag.
He saw her accept defeat.
And it hurt. It hurt him as well as the girl he was watching. Why did he want to hit someone? Not just someone. Charles. The urge was almost overwhelming.
