A Virgin For The Taking. Trish Morey

he had more pressing problems to turn his mind to now. There would be all kinds of things to deal with: a funeral to arrange, the future of the business. Naturally he’d be expected to fill Laurence’s shoes for the time being, but plans would have to be made for the longer term. He might as well make a start on it before Ruby could interfere. She might have held a high place in Laurence’s ‘affections’, but, now he was here, things were going to change.

      Kyoto was waiting for him in the kitchen when he emerged, finally feeling more human after a long hot shower and fresh clothes.

      ‘Mister Zane!’ Kyoto shouted in welcome as he approached, his wrinkled face contorted between half-toothless smile, half anguish. ‘It’s so good you’re home. I make you breakfast, “special”.’

      Sinewy arms suddenly wrapped tightly around him in a rapid embrace before releasing him just as quickly and returning to the task of scrambling eggs as if they’d never touched him. Zane smiled to himself. Kyoto’s broken English was just the same, but he could never remember a time when he’d ever been so physically demonstrative. It was strangely touching.

      ‘It’s good to see you again, too,’ he said sincerely.

      ‘Your father,’ Kyoto said, shaking his head as he heaped a plate full. ‘I am so sorry.’

      ‘Thank you,’ he said, right now feeling Kyoto’s loss more than his own, as hot coffee and a heavily laden breakfast plate with a stack of toast on the side was placed in front of him.

      Kyoto disappeared, muttering sadly to himself as Zane made a start on breakfast in the large, airy room. It was hours since his last real meal and Kyoto’s cooking had never been a hardship to endure, least of all now. He’d almost made his way through the mountain when Kyoto returned and something else appeared on the table before him. He blinked in cold hard shock as he recognised the small padlocked wooden chest.

      The old pearler skipper’s box had always sat in pride of place on his father’s desk and now it sat in front of him, bold and challenging. Mocking.

      A relic of a former era, when natural pearls were real treasure and the rare bonus discovered while collecting the mother-of-pearl shell itself, any such pearls were deposited through a small hole in the lid and so kept secure during the lugger’s time at sea.

      But it was hardly pearls he knew the box contained. More like dynamite.

      ‘Your father said you were to have,’ Kyoto said in response to Zane’s unspoken question.

      Zane set his plate aside and drained the last of his strong coffee, never taking his eyes off the chest. The wood had aged to an even richer golden patina than he remembered, the metal handle and lock scratched and scarred by the passage of time, the tiny key clearly in place. Inviting. Taunting. Because it was hardly the chest his father wanted him to have. It was the contents. And Zane knew exactly what was inside.

      Did his father honestly not realise Zane knew, or was he merely trying to press the point home—a bitter reminder of the circumstances of his leaving? No question, Zane decided. Of course he would have known. Clearly his father hadn’t asked to see Zane in order to settle their differences. He’d called for him to rub them in!

      His mind rankled with the stench of the fetid memories. He’d been just a young boy home on school holidays when he’d sneaked into his father’s office under the cool verandah and had been exploring through the desk drawers until he’d come across a small battered key. Instantly he’d thought of the box on top of the desk, the box that had been locked as long as he could remember and which had always intrigued him. So he’d scrabbled up on to his father’s wide jarrah desk and tested the lock. It had clicked open on the second scratchy attempt. With a thrill of discovery he’d removed the lock and the metal plate from the catch. He remembered holding his breath as he’d lifted the lid to peer at whatever treasures lay inside.

      And he remembered the crush of disappointment when he’d found it only contained a stash of old letters. Barely half-interested by then, he’d picked the first from the top of the pile. He’d opened the folded sheet, only to stare at a letter from his father to his so-called Aunt Bonnie, his mother’s best friend. There was a list of numbers and something about a house and a monthly payment that made no sense at all to his young mind. But there’d been no time to linger over it once his nanny had discovered him in the room he’d been forbidden to enter and warned him never to look in places he shouldn’t in case he learned something he never wanted or needed to know.

      For a while he’d wondered what she’d meant but then he’d found a new game to play and gone back to school and he’d forgotten all about it. Until that day, nine stark years ago, when he’d been reminded of the letter and its contents and suddenly it had all made perfect sense!

      He heaved a sigh as he considered the box, the stain of bitterness deep and permanent in his mind. What was his father really playing at, leaving him the box like this? Did he expect him to read the entire contents—no doubt their love letters—making sure Zane knew the whole sordid truth? Was this all Laurence thought Zane deserved after walking out nine years before? Was this to be his inheritance? Zane couldn’t help but raise a smile ironically as he contemplated the box. He wouldn’t put it past him. His father had never been known for his subtlety.

      But he wasn’t playing into that game. He’d read enough all those years ago to last him. The box could stay closed.

      Kyoto whisked away his plates and swept around the kitchen, cleaning everything he touched until it gleamed.

      ‘More coffee?’ he offered, interrupting Zane’s thoughts.

      Zane responded with a shake of the head, giving the box a final push away as he stood. He didn’t need any reminders of the past. He had Ruby to do that.

      ‘Thank you, Kyoto, but no. I need to get started on a few things. Is there a car I can use while I’m here?’

      ‘Yes, yes.’ He nodded. ‘But you are home to stay now, for good?’

      Zane dragged in a breath. His immediate plans for the company included making the long-term arrangements that would ensure his speedy return to London and his businesses there. Of course, there would be ramifications of his father’s sudden death to deal with—someone would have to take over the running of the pearl business; he’d source a manager somehow—but staying wasn’t an option right now. ‘We’ll see, Kyoto,’ he replied noncommittally. ‘First, I just need to make sure the company gets through this difficult stage, without my father’s hand to guide it.’

      ‘Not a problem,’ Kyoto offered, waving away his concerns with a flick of his tea towel. ‘Miss Ruby take care of all that, no worry.’

      Zane stilled, a knife-sharp feeling of foreboding slicing through his thoughts. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Miss Ruby already at the office. She take care of everything.’

      If indigestion came in a colour, it would be red. If it came in the shape of a woman, it would take the form of Ruby Clemenger.

      She sat now in his father’s office, behind his father’s desk, like she owned it, making notes on a laptop computer as she studied an open file on the desk.

      ‘You haven’t wasted a minute, I see,’ he said, announcing his presence in the same sentence.

      She looked up, momentarily startled, before the shutters clamped down on her eyes again, turning them frosty blue. Guarded.

      ‘I expected you’d sleep longer.’

      He smiled. ‘So you thought you’d get a head start on running the company before I woke up?’

      She frowned. ‘And why would you possibly think that?’

      He gestured around the spacious office. ‘Because you’re here, barely twenty-four hours after my father’s death, in his office, occupying his desk.’

      She put down her pen and leaned back in her chair—his father’s