Out of Control

'A country house!'

'With a few farms attached to it!'

'Don't smile,' Liza said furiously. 'It isn't funny, I'm not in the least amused. You deliberately set out to deceive me and I call that lying, whatever you may have told yourself.'

He looked penitent, but his blue eyes were blindingly bright and mocking. 'I'm sorry,' he said in dulcet tones and she screwed her hands up into fists, hissing at him, because she did not want anyone else to overhear.

'You're nothing of the kind! You had a lot of fun at my expense and you're still amusing yourself, but I can't imagine why you were prowling around my cottage, anyway. Surely you weren't that scared about me? I'd have expected you to hire a private detective to check me out, not come all that way yourself! What were you planning to do? You must have had some scheme at the back of your mind. What was it?'

He leaned back on his chair, tilting it, his body totally languid and his eyes half-shut in sleepy amusement. T had been visiting friends, just as I told you. As I was staying just outside Maldon it suddenly occurred to me to take a little detour on the way home to Somerset. I drove over to your village to take a look around, see if I could pick up some gossip locally. I'd had a report on you, but ...'

'You've had me investigated?' Her voice rose and several people at other tables looked round, eyes startled.

'What else did you expect?' Keir asked in sudden harshness, his blue eyes surprisingly cold. 'Bruno is my sister's son and could inherit an enormous fortune one day—of course we have to protect him, investigate any stranger he starts to see frequently. Don't be unrealistic, Liza—money has to protect itself.'

She stared at him numbly, appalled by the new note in his voice, the ice in his stare. This was the real G. K. Gifford, the ruthless player of an international game, the one who meant to win and would ride over anyone who got in his way. He had pulled the wool over her eyes at her cottage; charmed and deluded her into thinking he was someone very different, someone she liked, someone to whom she was very attracted and above all someone she might be able to trust in a tight corner. He was none of those things. He was her enemy, and she must never lose sight of that fact again.

CHAPTER FIVE

Bruno came back two minutes later, and as she saw him coming Liza said coolly, 'Well, I must be going, it's getting late.'

'But, Liza, I thought we'd all have dinner,' Bruno said, hearing her, and looking from her to his uncle with dismay.

'That would have been nice, but I must get back,' Liza said, getting to her feet.

'Don't run away,' Keir drawled and Liza picked up the hidden meaning even if Bruno didn't. She could have kicked him, and her green eyes burned secretly behind lowered lashes.

'I can get a taxi, you don't have to tear yourself away,' she told Bruno, not bothering to answer Keir. But of course Bruno insisted on driving her back.

'I must say goodbye to your mother,' Liza said and turned to walk away. Keir said softly, 'See you,' and she answered in a remote tone, 'Goodbye.'

His sister seemed distinctly surprised and unasham­edly relieved. She shook hands again and said, 'You're still dining with your uncle, aren't you, Bruno?' in a voice which promised trouble if he did not turn up obediently. Bruno gloomily replied that he would be there.

There were far fewer people in the marquee now; most guests had eaten their tea and left, and many tables were empty. The waitresses were no longer running about like scalded cats, they stood gossiping, watching the ladies in the flowery hats, some famous faces half-hidden by those wide brims, the flash of diamonds and rubies on those Angers as a woman reached for a sandwich, or a cup of tea. Liza felt very out of place, despite her own carefully chosen dress. She could mimic the style, but she knew this was a world to which she did not belong—this was Keir Gifford's world, of mone

y and class, and she was strictly a working girl from nowhere. She had money, but she had earned it herself, and she didn't belong among these girls in pretty, summery dresses with their high, drawling voices and restless eyes. He was right about that. She might resent the idea that he had had her investigated, she might be angry with the arrogance that saw her as a threat and an interloper, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she was uneasy with these people, she did not belong here.

Before they left, she glanced back towards the table where Keir sat and felt an odd little jerk of shock as she saw that he was no longer alone—a tall, slender brunette had taken the chair in which Liza had been sitting. She was wearing a designer dress; Liza recognised the style immediately and priced it with a grimace. An expensive lady! With good taste, thought—Liza wished she could always wear that label; she had one dress made by the guy, but he cost the earth.

The brunette had a hand on Keir's sleeve, her long, coral-tipped nails trailing down his arm as she smiled into his eyes, her face animated. She was beautiful and very sure of herself, and Liza had a feeling she had seen her before, although she couldn't remember where.

'Good lord,' Bruno said, following her eyes. 'There's Louise, talking to G. K., I didn't even know she was back in England!'

'Who?' Liza asked casually and he put a hand under he elbow to guide her out of the marquee, talking as they picked their way through the crowds still drifting towards the exit.

'Louise Bresham, her father's one of our board of directors—well, she isn't Bresham any more, I forget her husband's name. She and my uncle were an item a couple of years ago, all the columns were predicting an engagement, but then she met a South American cattleman and married him out of the blue and went to live in the Argentine. From the way she was looking at G. K. just now she still has a soft spot for him, wouldn't you say? I wonder if she's tired of her marriage? She was always restless. Mind like a grasshopper; kept changing boyfriends and jobs, not that she ever needed to work, she was born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, but of course everyone does get a job when they leave school, they can't just sit about waiting for marriage these days.'

'How old is your uncle?' Liza asked, wondering if she had seen pictures of Louise Bresham in the newspapers at some time in the past. If she had and if Keir Gifford had been in the same photograph, he hadn't impinged upon her memory.

'G. K.'s a good bit younger than my mother,' Bruno said, and she laughed shortly.

'I was beginning to suspect as much!'

'He's thirty-seven, I think—or is it thirty-eight now? He's probably not too keen to tell. It will be funny if Louise does get a divorce and marries him—she came pretty close last time, my mother says. Mind you, G. K. has had several near misses—I can remember several girls who looked like becoming Mrs Gifford for a while, but I think he gets cold feet at the last moment. I suppose you can't blame him; he has a busy social life and women do flock when he's around. Must seem a pity to give all that up to settle down with just one woman.'

Liza settled down in the passenger seat of his car without answering, but all the way back to her flat she kept remembering the way the brunette's hand had strayed possessively along Keir's arm without him doing anything to stop her. Had they been lovers?

What's it to me if they have? she thought aggressively, her green eyes fixed on the road as Bruno drove fast, weaving in and out of traffic. Normally she would have turned a little pale, asked him to slow down, for heaven's sake, was he trying to get killed? Today she hardly noticed; her mind was too busy elsewhere.