Wild Justice Page 3

  Half way across the vast room he turned, clearly startled by her presumption, but she gave him no time to protest before she launched her attack.

  'I realise that a gentleman's agreement means very little these days, Mr Devlin. But you asked me to come here and the very least you can do is listen to what I have to say,' Fizz launched herself into an ardent plea as she warmed to her theme. 'Pavilion Radio has given this town real local radio. News, documentary reports, sport, natural history programmes about the local ecology, good investigative reporting. It's given the people a voice and no other independent station has a wider range of programmes. No other station of its size has its own local soap opera, or children's programmes -'

  'I have no children,' he replied, indignantly. 'And if you're so successful I don't see why you need sponsorship at all. If you can't pay your own way...' He made a dismissive gesture, clearly considering the matter beneath his lofty attention.

  Fizz snapped. She had spent three miserable days pouring over her figures trying to cut everything to the bone. But the truth of the matter was that there was only bone left.

  'You might be a brilliant businessman, Mr Devlin,' she said, 'very plump in the pocket. But I have to tell you that you're very thin in the heart.' The man's eyes did not even flicker, but in any case she was beyond stopping. 'Well, I hope you're happy counting your money. That it will keep you company when the Scrooge mentality has won, local radio is reduced to endless pop music and the pier has crumbled into the sea. Because it will be your fault. And I'll make sure everyone in this town knows it.'

  For a moment after she had finished speaking there was utter silence. Then a slow hand clap from the door made her spin around and for a fraction of a second, it seemed, her heart stopped.

  Then it happened. Light the blue touch paper and stand back. Fizz. Woosh. Rockets. Catherine wheels. Roman candles. Her insides lit up like a firework display.

  The man whose square shoulders appeared to fill the opening was somewhat taller than average, six foot two, or three maybe and although still some way short of his fortieth year, there was no doubting the air of authority that sat on his shoulders as easily as the smooth cloth of his elegantly cut grey tweed suit.

  His hair, thick, straight, almost black, was brushed back from his face to expose a wide forehead, dark brows that jutted over a pair of slate grey eyes. His mouth, when it smiled, would be wide and the lines etched into his cheeks would deepen in a way that would warm the coldest heart.

  But he wasn't smiling now. Although a certain sardonic glint in those eyes suggested that he might have gained just a little amusement from her indignant outburst.

  'Don't call us and we promise we'll never call you,' he said, as he moved away from the door and walked towards her.

  Rooted to the spot, Fizz remained seemingly bereft of the power of speech while he walked slowly around her, apparently fascinated by the severity of her business suit.

  'You've dressed for the part, I grant you,' he said. 'But it takes more than a costume to play a part. And someone should have warned you that there's no room for emotion in business. Tell me, Miss Beaumont, what production was that thrilling speech adapted from? Little Nell? Maria Marten and the Red Barn? It certainly had all the elements of melodrama.' He paused and finally looked straight down into her eyes. 'Or do I mean farce?'

  CHAPTER TWO

  'LUKE. Thank goodness. Will you explain to this young woman that I am not interested in her radio station. I tried to explain, but she wouldn't listen.'

  'Don't worry, Phillip. If you'll give us a few minutes, I'm sure I can persuade her to listen to me.'

  Luke? This was Luke Devlin? Fizz paled, shivering despite the warmth from a more than adequate heating system. She had no idea who the small, grey man letting himself quietly out of the office might be, only that he was not Luke Devlin. And that she had just made an exceptionally large fool of herself, a fact the disturbing man at her side immediately confirmed.

  'I'm sorry that the bulk of your performance was wasted on the wrong person but Phillip is using my office while we decide the future of Harries Industries.' He didn't look sorry. 'I have been told that your father occasionally broadcasts drama on Pavilion Radio. If that was a demonstration of the standard he aspires to, Miss Beaumont, then perhaps the sooner the franchise moves into more professional hands, the better.'

  Professional hands? What the hell did that mean? She made a supreme effort to close her mouth. Devlin was not the kind of man to be won over by her impression of a gold-fish out of water. But the fact that he had managed to deprive her of the power of speech twice in as many minutes was a bonus. She loathed rudeness and this man had studied under experts.

  Rudeness made it so much easier to quell her treacherous body's leaping response to that first elemental power charge.

  'I'm not an actress,' she protested. 'I'm-'

  'On that, at least, we are in total agreement,' he agreed, cutting smoothly across her. 'Although the possibility that you were just being yourself is, if anything, even more appalling.'

  Fizz opened her mouth to protest that every word she had spoken came from the heart. But having paused at the sight of him, that same heart was now galloping in a wild and furious attempt to make up for lost time. The man had simply taken her breath away. Not with his words, although they were bad enough. But there was a rock hard, unyielding quality about the man. And she felt as if she had just run into him at ninety miles an hour.

  'You are Luke Devlin?' It wasn't a question. Merely a gambit, an attempt to gain a moment to catch her breath. She had immediately sensed the man's power and now it was clear that he was a two-fold threat. She buried her fear in attack. 'Then why on earth didn't he say who he was, instead of letting me blather along -'

  'Did you give him the opportunity?'

  Fizz felt her cheeks tingle slightly as they responded to this challenge with a blush. This was getting serious. Furious with herself for betraying her discomfort, for letting the situation run away from her and giving him control of the conversation, she attempted to justify her mistake.

  'When I called him Mr Devlin he responded.'

  'That is because we share the same name. Phillip is my cousin. Like the Beaumonts, we Devlins value family ties.' But the twist to his lips suggested that any similarity between his family and hers was purely coincidental. He glanced at the desk piled high with files and littered with spreadsheets, then gestured to a sofa near the window, indicating that she should sit down. 'You are Felicity Beaumont?' he continued, when she didn't move. 'Fizz,' he added, thoughtfully.

  'Two cases of mistaken identity in one afternoon would be pushing coincidence a little far, don't you think?'

  'Yes, definitely a Beaumont,' he murmured. 'Your manners betray your origins.'

  'And keeping someone waiting for the best part of half an hour is the height of politeness?' she snapped back.

  His sharp look warned her that she was pushing her luck. 'A deputation from the staff asked to speak to me. I took the view that their concerns were more important than yours. Perhaps you disagree with my judgement?'

  Fizz positively cringed with embarrassment. The situation had been bad enough to start with and she had already made it considerably worse by berating some anonymous accountant. No, not anonymous. Another Devlin, as if one wasn't enough. And trying to score a cheap point had only made her look stupid.

  'No,' she said, quickly. 'Of course they were far more important.'

  'I'm glad you realise that. Understanding what requires urgent attention and what can be dealt with at leisure is a skill that anyone in business neglects at their peril, Miss Beaumont. Perhaps you should remind your father of that fact.'

  Beneath the professional smile she cursed her father. Why on earth did he have to choose this particular moment to throw her into the deep end? If he'd come to the meeting he would have distracted Luke Devlin, given her a moment to study the man. Work out what made him tick.

  'As I explain
ed, he is very busy -'

  'Too busy to lift a telephone? Spare an hour of his time?'

  'He's directing a joint schools production of Much Ado About Nothing,' she offered. It was a lame excuse. She knew it. Devlin's expression suggested that he was of the same opinion.

  'A school production? And that takes the great Edward Beaumont every minute of his day? Or am I supposed to be impressed with his altruism? The Harries and the Beaumonts. Public benefactors incorporated, with the town stitched up between them.'

  'It's not like that,' she said, indignant on her father's behalf and Michael's. 'I just meant -' But he wasn't listening to excuses.

  'That's just as well. I know very little about the theatre, but I do know that it isn't a twenty-four hour a day job. He would impress me far more by spending his time managing his business.' His hostility had an astringent quality that stung her, clearing her head like a blast from a bottle of smelling salts.

  'He's an actor, Mr Devlin. That is his business. The radio station is mine.'

  His eyes flickered over her, missing nothing. 'I'm afraid it will take more than padded shoulders to convince me that you know what you're talking about.'

  She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. She hadn't come here to argue with the man, but to impress him with her business acumen. So far she had made a lousy job of it. As if to confirm this, Luke Devlin continued irritably.

  'For goodness sake sit down, Miss Beaumont. Now you're here, you might as well say your piece. I'm sure you've been rehearsing for days, but I won't be performed at.'

  Despite the lack of warmth with which it was offered, this wasn't an invitation Fizz was about to refuse. Presented with a second chance to state her case there was no point dwelling on the bad start she had made. Instead she made herself smile. It wasn't as hard as she had expected.

  'If I had thought you wanted a performance, Mr Devlin, I would have sent my sister. She's the actress.'

  'So I understand.' There was a slightly ironical twist to his voice. 'I look forward to meeting her some time soon.'

  Meeting her? That sounded promising. And the sooner the better. Claudia would pull out all the stops for a man like Luke Devlin. In the meantime Fizz wasted no time in obeying his instruction to sit down, quickly lowering herself onto one end of the sofa.

  Its smooth leather exterior was deceptive. The horrid thing swallowed her up, leaving her struggling for her dignity with a skirt that in the mirror had seemed demure enough, but was suddenly far too short. Or maybe it was just that her legs had rather more thigh than she realised.

  Luke Devlin relieved her of the portfolio she was still clutching awkwardly and occupied the far corner of the sofa, settling back with the ease of a man perfectly at home with himself and his surroundings.

  Fizz, struggling with her skirt, wished that she was still wearing her comfortable cords; the suit certainly hadn't made the hoped for impression. Quite the opposite. As he flipped through the contents of the folder, outwardly oblivious to her difficulties, she could have sworn that behind that detached expression Mr Devlin was positively enjoying her discomfort. But when he looked up, eyes the colour of rain-soaked slates levelled at her expectantly, his thoughts were unreadable and Fizz made a mental note never to play poker with the man.

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her mind was wandering again. She didn't have the faintest clue how to play poker. And the idea of playing anything with Luke Devlin was so immediately disturbing that she switched the thought off before it could get out of hand.

  'Mr Devlin, you know why I'm here,' she said, dismayed to discover that suddenly her voice was more breath than substance.

  'You're here to part me from my money,' he said, matter-of-factly.

  'I'm here to convince you to continue this company's support of Pavilion Radio,' she replied, evenly, refusing to be put off.

  'Right now this company doesn't have any money spare to support anyone or anything but itself.' He glanced at his watch. 'But you have fifteen minutes of my time so I suggest you don't waste any more of it.'

  Despite his lack of encouragement, Fizz felt the tiniest surge of optimism. Luke Devlin was clearly not a man to prevaricate. If he had decided to cut their sponsorship completely, he would have said so and shown her the door.

  No.

  He wouldn't have wasted even fifteen minutes of his time. He would have simply stated the position in a letter and told his secretary to keep her out of his hair.

  Hope blossomed and she resisted the urge to give her skirt another sharp tug. Saving the station from financial disaster was far more important than her dignity. And if a couple of extra inches of thigh would help, she wasn't about to begrudge it.

  Instead she briefly outlined the history of her family's involvement with the pier, the disastrous storm that had put its viability in doubt and Michael Harries determination to save it, calling on his old friend Edward Beaumont for support when it seemed that it might have to be demolished. And the idea of reviving the pavilion, giving it new life as the studio for a local radio station.

  'The idea was dreamed up by the two of them?' he asked.

  Public opinion subscribed to that view. There didn't seem any point in disabusing him.

  'Michael was excited by the idea. Did you know that it was the founder of Harries Industries who built the pier in 1835? He used it originally to ship the goods made in his factory to the continent. Before that everything, passengers and merchandise, had to be ferried out to the cross-channel packets in rowing-boats,' she pointed out, but this attempt to win his sympathy made no impression on Luke Devlin's lean, hard features and she quickly ducked her head, leaning across to point out the projections for the next three years.

  'What is this?' Luke Devlin pointed to a figure and their hands collided, his cool touch setting off a minor earthquake in her midriff.

  Fizz almost leapt back and his curious look at this overreaction did nothing to calm the after shocks that continued to reverberate through her body.

  It was ridiculous. Stupid. He might exude the kind of sexual magnetism that could be bottled, but she knew what that was worth. She didn't even like the man for heaven's sake.

  'Well?' he asked, apparently tired of waiting for her answer.

  For a moment her mind went a complete blank. Then she dropped her eyes to the point where his fingertip rested lightly on the plan.

  'Oh,' she said, collecting herself. 'That's new since we made our original projections to the bank. When we started the restaurant conversion we had to clear the storage area of a century of accumulated junk. We discovered we had far more space than we needed so we've leased part of it to a dance and fitness centre.'

  'You've had to spend money on repairs and decoration,' he said, picking up the costs. 'You're not charging enough.'

  'It's a new venture. The rent will be revised next year if it's successful.'

  'And if it's not?'

  'The initial response has been very good.'

  He didn't seem impressed, but half a rent was surely better than none? It brought people onto the pier to spend money even in the middle of winter and the chef had ensured the lunch time buffet in the restaurant included the kind of food that health conscious women were looking for. Not that there was any shortage of takers for the calorie laden puddings. Expensive calorie laden puddings.

  'What do you intend to do with the rest of the space?'

  'I'm working on it.' She had hoped that the restaurant would be successful enough to expand into it, but it was too soon to voice that idea. She needed to see how the summer season went first.

  He nodded, thoughtfully. 'You don't appear to have missed anything.' He tossed the portfolio onto a nearby table. 'Except, of course for the possibility that your cosy relationship with Michael Harries might not last.'

  'I ... that is, we ... my father and I ... hope that you will want to continue to support us for the coming year, or at least until we can find other sponsors.'

&n
bsp; 'I'm sure it is rather more than a hope. If you don't fulfil your programme commitments, the Radio Authority are not going to look favourably on the renewal of your franchise,' he said.

  She was surprised he knew about the Radio Authority, or the way it worked. She was equally surprised that he was interested in the running of a very small radio station. But then she supposed a man didn't reach his dizzy heights of success without taking the smallest detail into account. And it was the small details that got you every time.

  'Our programme commitments were made before you took over our sponsors,' she reminded him. 'The Radio Authority will understand our problems.'

  'Will they?' He knew she was bluffing. 'Let us hope for your sake they do because the repayments on the bank loan for the new restaurant must be making heavy inroads into your profits. You have no experience of the restaurant business?'

  The question was purely rhetorical. He knew the answer. It was clear that he knew all the answers. She had assumed he would be too busy with Harries to worry about the details of the radio station it sponsored, but it had been a mistake to underestimate the man. He wasn't too busy for anything that interested him. But why on earth should he be interested in Pavilion Radio?

  He was either going to support them or he wasn't. It couldn't be worth so much of his time.

  'It's a little early in the season to start counting profits from that direction,' she replied, answering the question he hadn't asked, 'although local reaction so far has been good.'

  'Didn't it occur to you to lease it to someone who knew what they were doing? Let them take the risk.'

  Of course it had. Once planning permission for the restaurant had been granted she had been inundated with offers from every kind of fast food chain wanting to install pizza parlours and burger bars. She had wanted more than that.

  'I wanted to keep it under my control, to provide something more than a repeat of every other cheap and cheerful seaside cafe. I've a first class chef, an excellent staff -'