His Personal Agenda Read online

  ‘It might not be very polite,’ Nyssa warned.

  Laura giggled. ‘It just says, “I’ll be in touch. Matt.”’

  Remarkably restrained under the circumstances, but then what else could he say that wouldn’t require the judicious use of the asterisk? ‘Is that all? No telephone number?’

  ‘That’s all.’ There was something slightly unnerving about that kind of self-control. You just knew there was going to be an explosion sooner or later. But you had no idea where or when. ‘I expect he’ll call you about your car.’

  Her car?

  ‘My car?’

  ‘Mr Crosby said you lost your keys last night…’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Well, he must have found them, because he left in it about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Oh.’ What had he done? Jumpstarted it? And if he had? What kind of man did that make him? Resourceful? Well, he’d already demonstrated that. ‘Er, good.’

  Nyssa spoke briefly to the manager, then started the car. About to slide it into gear, she decided it might be a good idea to turn off the telephone. It had nothing whatever to do with the possibility of Matt deciding to call her and give her a piece of his mind, she told herself, simply a safety precaution. Everyone knew how dangerous it was to drive and talk on the telephone at the same.

  The soft burble of the phone cut into her reasoning. She’d left it too late. Of course she could simply turn it off. But then he would know she was there and he would think she was a coward. She couldn’t bear that.

  The phone rang again and she picked it up. ‘Nyssa Blake,’ she said, in her best rounded vowels.

  ‘Good morning, Nyssa Blake.’

  ‘Matt?’ Damn. His name had been startled from her, even though she had known it would be him. And if she could hear the shake in her voice, so could he.

  ‘You were expecting a call from someone else?’

  ‘No…no.’ She just hadn’t anticipated his voice, softly threatening, to make her tremble quite like that. ‘Look, I’m sorry about the car—’ she began. He wasn’t listening.

  ‘I was really looking forward to joining you in the shower this morning. I was lying there, listening to it running and thinking of all the really wicked things I was going to do to you to make up for my restraint last night,’ he said. There was a low, sensuous growl somewhere deep in his throat that told her he meant it. Really meant it. ‘That was a shocking waste of water. You should be ashamed of yourself.’ She was! She really was! But it had been a question of self-preservation. ‘Where are you, Nyssa?’

  ‘Matt—’ she began.

  ‘Or, more to the point, where’s my car?’

  She had been about to tell him. The heat in his voice had sizzled down the phone, burning her up, and she had been about to say, I’m here, parked in a lay-by on the A whatever-it-was. Come and get me. The fact that she would have meant it was seriously worrying. But apparently there was no need to worry, because all that heavy breathing had simply been for effect. The only thing he was interested in right now was his wretched Mercedes.

  ‘What’s your problem, Matt? You’re not short of transport, are you? I understood from the receptionist at the Delvering Arms that you had made other arrangements.’

  ‘Temporary arrangements. This tin can of yours is not my idea of a quality motoring experience.’

  ‘It’s very economical,’ she pointed out.

  ‘What it is, my dear, is very small, very noisy and very slow. And the fuel gauge is on empty. I have to tell you that I am not at all happy with the exchange.’

  ‘You wouldn’t consider it on a permanent basis, then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s a pity. Your car is an absolute dream to drive. No complaints at all.’

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ he demanded. The hot gravel had gone. He was just plain angry.

  ‘Do you want a four-figure map reference?’

  ‘You know what I want.’

  The growl was back, but she refused to be fooled a second time. ‘Somewhere between A and B,’ she said sharply. ‘A is, of course, Delvering. Well, you could work that out for yourself. And, if you’ve done your homework thoroughly, you’ll know the location of B.’

  ‘Nyssa!’

  ‘If you can find me, Matt, I’ll let you read me the Riot Act about wasting water. Maybe we could waste a little more—’

  Whoa!

  ‘Nyssa—’ His voice was shaking now.

  Nyssa dropped the phone onto the handset and switched it off before he could call back, then slumped back against the soft leather upholstery with a groan.

  What on earth had made her do that? Had she quite lost her head? Didn’t she have enough on her mind without inviting Matt to indulge in an idiotic game of cat-and-mouse?

  Suppose he caught her?

  She tucked the towel more firmly around her waist, wrapped his shirt protectively about her. That was a mistake too. It was impregnated with his scent. But she didn’t take it off. She just slipped Matt’s lovely car into gear and drove away.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NYSSA drove the Mercedes around to the back of her stepfather’s imposing Georgian mansion. She hoped to slip in through the back door and up to the top-floor ‘daughter’ flat without being seen.

  She’d been given the key when Sophia and James had married and, although she spent very little time there, she was grateful for the chance to be private and gather her thoughts before facing her mother.

  It was not to be. She ran lightly up the back stairs and had just reached the first floor when her mother emerged from her bedroom. Sophia Lambert’s silver-blonde hair was curved into an immaculate pageboy style, her slender figure draped elegantly in a pair of softly pleated grey linen trousers, a wickedly expensive silk shirt. She was busy fastening gold clips to her ears and for a moment didn’t spot her daughter. But Nyssa knew there was no escape.

  ‘Hello, Sophia.’

  Her mother’s head turned in her direction and for a moment she seemed riveted to the spot. Then, ‘Nyssa, darling, we were so worried about you,’ she said, stretching out her arms in greeting. ‘What happened? Where on earth have you been?’ Having hugged her daughter, she held her shoulders and stood back, regarding her unconventional travelling clothes from beneath a pair of finely arched brows. ‘Or is it indiscreet to ask?’ 69

  ‘I take it from all this motherly concern that we made the ten o’clock news?’ Nyssa had tried, really tried, to come to terms with her widowed mother’s marriage to James Lambert.

  ‘Did you doubt it?’ She heard the sigh in her mother’s voice and longed, somewhere deep inside, to reach out and hug her the way she’d used to. But always between them lay the grave in the little country churchyard up on the Downs where her father lay. That bitter sense of betrayal. Her father had been a hero while James Lambert was a property developer. All right, he wasn’t like Parker, all quick profit and no added value. But still. ‘You really might have thought of ringing to let us know you were safe. No one seemed to know where you were. I rang the hotel, but they said you hadn’t come back.’

  ‘Actually, I was there. I took the back way in to avoid reporters and spent the night hiding out—’ She flipped the corner of the towel she was wearing as a skirt and managed a grin. ‘In the linen cupboard.’

  ‘Really? How enterprising. On your own, or did you share it with the owner of the shirt?’

  ‘Oh, we shared,’ she said carelessly. Then found herself blushing. ‘He’s my self-appointed minder.’

  ‘Is that what they’re calling it these days?’ Sophia smiled as she put a gentle hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘Why don’t you take a shower and then come and have some lunch with us? You must be starving.’ About to decline on automatic, Nyssa heard her stomach rebel noisily and Sophia laughed. ‘Was that a yes?’

  ‘Well… Now you mention it I haven’t had anything but a chocolate biscuit since some time yesterday.’

  ‘That’s the trouble with linen cupboards. N
o Room Service. It’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.’ She turned away, then hesitated and looked back. ‘It’s lovely to have you home, Nyssa. We see so little of you.’ Then, as she passed a window, ‘Have you got a new car? What happened to the pram on wheels?’ She turned anxiously. ‘You haven’t had an accident?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. I had to make a quick getaway from Delvering, and as I lost my keys in the scuffle in the Assembly Room I borrowed that one.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a brute. I always think those big Mercs are more of a man’s car.’

  ‘You’re right. And if the man who owns it is half as bright as I think he is, it won’t be long before he comes looking for it.’ She flipped her brows. ‘And his shirt. You see, I didn’t actually ask him before I borrowed them.’

  Sophia Lambert raised her own brows the barest fraction in response. ‘You have been having an interesting time. Will he be very cross?’

  Cross? That wasn’t a word that quite matched Matt Crosby. Altogether too wishy-washy… Then she realised her mother was still waiting for an answer.

  ‘The words “wet” and “hen” leap to mind,’ she confessed.

  Sophia laughed. ‘You don’t seem particularly worried about it.’

  ‘To be honest, the angrier he is the better I’ll like it.’ If he were too nice she’d know he was a fake.

  ‘More and more interesting. I confess I can hardly wait to meet him. I take it you are expecting him to turn up some time during the weekend?’

  Nyssa gave another tiny shrug, unwilling to betray just how much she was hoping he would turn up, angry or not.

  ‘Blame Gil. He said it was about time I brought someone home. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you by bringing someone boringly conventional.’

  Sophia Lambert’s smile was a touch rueful. ‘I think we can rely on you not to disappoint us in that direction, darling.’

  He didn’t turn up for lunch. Well, what had she expected? That he would come racing after her, ventre à terre, like some lovelorn swain? The idea was patently ridiculous.

  But he would want his car back. And he’d want his story. Correction. She’d handed him a story on a plate. Would he be able to resist it? It would be a story the tabloids would love and would probably pay well for, but would Matt Crosby be angry enough to write it?

  If he did it would give her the answer to one question. It was what a freelance journalist would do.

  And if he didn’t? What did that make him?

  Suspect? Or clever? Or just kind? Or any combination she might care to choose.

  In the meantime, she reminded herself, she had more to worry about than one man and his car. She picked up the phone and called Sky.

  ‘Nyssa! For heaven’s sake, what happened to you? We’ve all been worried sick. And I’ve been plagued by reporters all morning.’

  She buried the rush of guilt in irony. ‘Really? I’d have thought they’d have got enough news and photographs last night to fill their newspapers.’

  ‘All right, maybe I exaggerated. One reporter. But a tall, dark and distinctly dishy one, if you like that well-lived-in look…which I do.’ Matt Crosby. The guilt evaporated in a cloud of euphoria. ‘I thought I’d got him hooked last night, but, as always, once he’d seen you no one else would do.’ Sky laughed, but didn’t quite manage to disguise the edge in her voice. ‘Maybe if I coloured my hair red I’d get some attention.’

  ‘You’re welcome. It’s wildly overrated.’

  ‘I’d like the opportunity to find that out for myself. Now, to business.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Crosby.’ Parker briefly glanced at the cheque Matt had tossed onto his desk then stared up at him with disbelief. Maybe no one had ever flung his money back at him before.

  Matt knew his mistake had been to take it in the first place. But principles did not come cheap and the rent still had to be paid. ‘You expect me to believe that?’

  ‘Believe it not; it doesn’t bother me. But I didn’t organise the break-up of Nyssa Blake’s little party for the press. It wouldn’t have made sense.’ Parker leaned back in his chair. ‘I do have to admit, though, that I did rather enjoy seeing the tables turned. How did she like having her plans upset for a change?’

  Matt refused to be sidetracked. ‘What about kidnapping?’ he demanded. ‘Would that have made sense?’

  ‘Kidnapping?’ He laughed. ‘Tell me, Crosby, did you take a crack on the skull in that skirmish?’

  Matt, infuriated by the man’s continued pretence, reached across the desk and, grabbing hold of the lapels of his expensive Italian suit, lifted him clear out of his chair. ‘Answer my question,’ he demanded, with quiet insistence.

  Charles Parker’s mouth abruptly stopped smiling. Instead it opened and then closed again in a pretty fair impersonation of a goldfish. Then he blinked nervously and said, ‘What kidnapping?’

  ‘Innocence doesn’t suit you, Parker. But if the lady gets hurt, I promise you I’ll be back.’ Then, disgusted with himself for ever getting involved, he dropped the man back into his chair and turned to leave.

  ‘Crosby!’ Matt didn’t stop, but strode across the acres of ankle-deep carpet towards the door. ‘Crosby, wait. Please.’ The ‘please’ had practically choked him. ‘What kidnapping?’ he repeated.

  ‘You tell me. You were the one who wanted Nyssa Blake locked away in some deep, dark dungeon.’

  ‘In my dreams.’ Then, ‘For heaven’s sake man, if the girl is missing I’m not going to weep crocodile tears, but I’m hardly about to jump for joy either. Don’t you think I’m the first person everyone will suspect? Has she been kidnapped?’

  ‘No. But not for want of trying.’

  Parker had been smoothing out his rumpled silk tie, but something in Matt’s voice caught his attention. ‘Good God, you rescued her, didn’t you?’ And he laughed. ‘Priceless. You deserve a bonus for that alone. You’ve saved me no end of trouble.’ For the first time, doubt entered Matt Crosby’s mind. ‘Tell me, Crosby, does she know that you’re working for me?’

  ‘I’m not. You’ve got your money back, although you don’t deserve it. I told you, Parker, no dirty business.’

  ‘And I heard you. I want the lady stopped, but I’m well aware that violence is not the answer. If it were I wouldn’t need to pay for your kind of help.’ He sat back down in his oversized chair and indicated the one in front of his desk. ‘Come and sit down, man.’

  Matt retraced his steps, but didn’t take the chair. ‘Are you absolutely sure that everyone who works for you understands your point of view?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t there just a possibility that you might have muttered something along the lines of—Who will rid me of this troublesome female?’

  ‘I can see where you’re headed, but, no, I don’t want anything bad to happen to Miss Blake. It’s her reputation that I want to see in shreds.’

  ‘Well, someone grabbed Nyssa last night when the lights went out and I can assure you that he wasn’t asking her to dance.’

  Parker was thoughtful. ‘You seem to be taking this rather personally, Crosby. Was she very grateful?’

  It took all Matt Crosby’s self-control not to hit the man. Protecting Nyssa Blake was getting to be a habit. A bad habit. She was quite capable of taking care of herself. If the casual manner in which she’d hijacked his car was not enough to convince him, the bruises on his shin were developing like an out-of-focus Polaroid. ‘I don’t like men who frighten women,’ he said, refusing to rise to Parker’s bait.

  Parker made a dismissive gesture, as if the whole idea was really too ridiculous to contemplate. ‘No one who works for me would be that stupid. And neither should you be.’ He had obviously recovered from his shaking. ‘You’ve got enough money troubles without throwing the stuff away, so if you’ve quite finished bawling me out for something I didn’t do I suggest you pick up that cheque and get on with the job I’m paying you for, before I change my mind.’

  ‘Keep your money,’ Matt said
, turning to leave. ‘I’ve already changed mine.’

  ‘I think you’re making a mistake, Mr Crosby.’

  Matt grasped the handle of the door, unimpressed by his sudden elevation to mister-hood. ‘The only mistake I made was in taking this job in the first place. I’m not that desperate.’

  ‘But you’re angry. It’s clouding your judgement.’ Matt Crosby didn’t need Parker to tell him that. His judgement had flown out of the window the moment he had set eyes on Nyssa Blake. Held her in his arms. Being made a fool of, then driving fifty miles in her rattlebucket of a car hadn’t done a great deal for his temper, either. When he caught up with her… When he caught up with her they would exchange car keys and he would walk away. End of story. ‘Think for a moment,’ Parker said, just a touch desperately.

  ‘Well?’ Matt demanded irritably. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Simply this. If I didn’t order the meeting broken up last night, and Miss Blake carried off who knows where, then you have to ask yourself one question…’ And quite suddenly Parker had got all of Matt Crosby’s attention. ‘Who did?’

  His eyes narrowed. In truth he hadn’t given the matter any thought because Parker had been his only suspect. Was still top of the list, despite his denials. But nevertheless the man had a point.

  He shrugged. ‘Supposing I believe you? What then?’

  ‘Supposing you do, Mr Crosby. I’ve spent a lot of money on public relations, and now someone is going out of his way to make me appear in a less than sympathetic light.’

  ‘That’s not exactly difficult.’

  ‘No, it’s become unfashionable to provide people with the built environment they want and need, which is why you won’t be the only one to jump to all the wrong conclusions about last night.’

  ‘My heart bleeds for you.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, because I’d like to know who’s behind it, Crosby. And something tells me that with your new-found concern for the lady’s safety you’re just the man to find out.’ He sat back in his huge black leather chair. ‘It might even be Miss Blake herself,’ he added, as an afterthought. ‘She, after all, would have the most to gain from making me appear a black-hearted villain.’