There was silence at the other end of the line.
Damn him! Luke had made her feel homesick, reminding her of all the warmth and support she received in Argentina. It made everything here seem bleaker—the wind rattling round the caravan, the freezing cold water, the hideous episode with the concierge which she was doing her best to block out, and then her subsequent high-speed drive through the night, reckless …
And her lousy job at the club.
A dead-end job to end all dead-end jobs.
Her heart sank like a stone. She couldn’t bear for gorgeous, glorious, successful Luke to know her life was a complete and utter mess. And she certainly couldn’t bear for him to share that little nugget of information with her brothers. If they knew what had happened … How they would blame her for her frivolous, careless party-girl lifestyle. She deserved this, didn’t she?
Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, she said briskly, ‘Is this a courtesy call, or does it have some purpose, Luke?’ She needed him to get off the line fast, before her voice broke.
‘I’ve never heard you in this mood before,’ he said suspiciously.
‘Independent, do you mean?’ Her fingers had turned white on the phone. It was one thing acting tough, but when she really wanted to cling to Luke’s disembodied presence like a brainless limpet until all the bad things went away it was far better to end the call as soon as she could.
‘Are you still there, Lucia?’
‘I’m here.’
Luke checking up on her was nothing new. She had been an object of amusement for Luke and her brothers for as long as Lucia could remember. They thought she was a fancy, frilly little joke—a novelty, a pet they would like to keep locked up in a box until they decided to bring her out and coo over her on those rare occasions when they weren’t trying to murder each other on the polo field.
‘Just tell my brothers everything’s fine.’
‘Is everything fine?’ Luke repeated suspiciously. ‘Maybe I should check that statement for myself.’
‘If you’ve nothing better to do. You’ll only make a wasted journey. I’m working all hours.’
‘Is that so?’ he said.
‘I do take a break from partying sometimes.’
And now tears were backing up behind her eyes. She knew what Luke and her brothers thought of her. Flighty Lucia, they had used to call her, flapping their arms and laughing. What a joke that was. And of course little Lucia was always getting herself into trouble, always needing to be bailed out, they used to say, while one of them leaned his forearm on the top of her head. Well, not this time. She was none of those things now.
Steadying her voice, she said, ‘You’re actually quite lucky to catch me—’
‘The club opens at eight in the morning?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know about my second job. I saw you getting cosy with Van Rickter. I’m sure he told you everything you wanted to know.’
And what was Luke doing in Cornwall, having meetings with a man like Van Rickter? Lucia wondered. Was Luke going to buy the club? Her stomach sank. She knew nothing about Luke or his life, Lucia realised.
‘Lucia?’
‘I’m still here,’ she confirmed.
She wished she could tell Luke about Margaret and how things were, talk things through with him. Luke had always had a clear head on his shoulders. But his tone was brisk and impersonal and didn’t invite confidences.
‘Where are you calling from?’ Curling into a small defensive ball, she pictured him relaxing back somewhere warm and luxurious, with his feet up and a coffee to hand as he made this duty call.
‘In transit. Why?’
‘No reason.’ She could hardly ask where he was in transit from or to without seeming unduly interested. ‘You didn’t tell me why you’re in Cornwall …’
‘Didn’t I?’
‘Do you have business with Van Rickter?’ she pried. ‘Are you calling me from the Grand?’
‘So many questions, Lucia.’ The first hint of amusement coloured Luke’s voice. ‘I’m not far away, as it happens.’