The Millionaire's Revenge. Cathy Williams

would be. There was simply no money to deal with anything.

      ‘I have in front of me an article in the Financial Times about your company, Miss Jackson. It doesn’t make pretty reading.’

      ‘I…I admit that there are a few financial concerns at the moment, Mr Grant, but I assure you that—’

      ‘I gather you’re broke.’

      The bluntness of the statement took the wind out of her and Laura shakily sat on the old wooden chair by the telephone table. With the phone in one hand, she stared down at her scuffed brown boots and the frayed hem of her jeans. In the past four months she felt as if she had gone from being a carefree twenty-six-year-old girl to an old woman of eighty.

      ‘Money is a problem at the moment, yes, Mr Grant, but I assure you—’

      ‘That you will miraculously be able to lay your hands on enough of it to clear your debts, Miss Jackson? When, Miss Jackson? Tomorrow? The day after? Next month? Next year?’

      ‘My accountant is—’

      ‘I have already had a word with your accountant. He’s managing your company’s death rites, from what I gather.’

      Laura gave a sharp intake of breath and felt her body tremble. ‘Look, who are you? You have no right to make phone calls to my accountant behind my back! How did you get hold of his number? I could take you to court for that!’

      ‘I think not. And I have every right to contact your accountant. The demise of your company is now public knowledge.’

      ‘What do you want?’

      ‘I am proposing a rescue package, Miss Jackson…’

      ‘What do you mean by a “rescue package”? Look, I really don’t know a great deal about finances. Perhaps it would be better if you contact Phillip again and then he can explain to me…’

      ‘On behalf of a very wealthy client, who wants to meet with you personally to discuss what he has in mind.’

      ‘M-meet with me?’ Laura stammered in confusion. ‘Phillip has all the books. It would be extremely unorthodox to—’

      ‘The sooner you are able to arrange a meeting with my…ah…client, the quicker your problems will be resolved, Miss Jackson, so could I propose…’ he paused and down the end of the line she could hear the soft rustle of paper ‘…tomorrow? Lunchtime?’

      ‘Tomorrow? Lunchtime? Look, is this some kind of joke? Who exactly is this so-called client of yours?’

      ‘You will have to travel to London for the preliminary meeting, I’m afraid. My client is an exceptionally busy man. If the deal shows promise, then, naturally, he will want to see the stables for himself. Now, there’s a small French restaurant called the Cache d’Or just off the Gloucester Road in Kensington. Could you be there by one?’

      ‘I…’

      ‘And if you have any doubt as to my client’s financial worthiness or, for that matter, the reliability of this proposed deal, then I suggest you call Phillip Carr, your accountant, and he should be able to set your mind at rest.’

      At rest was the last place her mind was one hour later, after she had called Phillip and plied him with questions about the identity of the apparent knight in shining armour who wanted to buy one desperately ailing riding stables in the middle of nowhere.

      ‘He can’t be serious, Phillip. You’ve seen the place! Once glorious, now a destitute shambles. Not even a good reputation left to trade on! Just an empty, sad shell.’ Laura felt the prickle of tears welling up when she said this. She could hardly bear to remember the place when it had been in its heyday, when her mother had still been alive and everything had been all right with the world. When everything had been all right in her world, a lifetime ago it seemed.

      ‘He’s certainly serious at this point in time, Laura, and, face it, what harm is there in checking it out?’

      ‘Did you manage to find out who exactly this man is?’

      ‘I have simply been told that his estimated wealth runs into several million, if not more, and I’ve been given a succinct list of his various companies.’ Phillip sounded unnaturally sheepish and Laura clicked her tongue in frustration. She and Phillip went back a long way. He was now about the only person she could trust and the last thing she felt she needed was his reticence.

      ‘Why the secrecy?’

      ‘Because he is considerably powerful and he says that it’s essential that no one knows of this possible deal.’

      ‘I don’t understand.’

      Phillip sighed, and she could imagine him rubbing his eyes behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. ‘Look, meet the man, Laura. He might just save the day and you have nothing to lose. The fact is, without some kind of outside help you’ll lose everything. The lot. House, contents, your precious horses, any land you have left. It’s far worse than I originally thought. You’re standing on quicksand, Laura.’

      Laura felt a shiver of fear trickle down her spine. Thank heavens her father had not lived to see this day. However much he had squandered everything, she refused to hate him for it. He had been caught up in one long vortex of grief after her mother had died, and what had followed, the gambling that had been exposed, the addiction to alcohol that he had always been able to hide beneath his impossibly cheerful veneer, all of it had been his own sad response to emotional turmoil.

      She became aware that Phillip was talking to her and she just managed to catch the tail-end of his sentence.

      ‘…and the worse is yet to come.’

      ‘What do you mean? How could things get any worse?’

      ‘You could be held liable for some of his debts. The banks could descend on you, Laura, claim your earnings. If this man seems genuine, then be more than open-minded about his offer. Entice him into it. It could be your last chance. I frankly don’t see anyone else taking it on.’

      Twenty-four hours later, with those words ringing in her ears, Laura dressed carefully and apprehensively for what could turn out to be the biggest meeting of her life. Her wardrobe sparsely consisted of a mixture of working clothes, which she wore to the office where she held down an undemanding but reassuring job three days a week as secretary for an estate agency, and casual clothes, which took the brunt of her work with the horses and showed it. Sensible dark skirts, a few nondescript blouses and then jeans and baggy jumpers. She chose a slim-fitting dark grey skirt, a ribbed grey elbow-length cardigan with tiny pearl buttons down the front and her high black shoes, which escalated her already generously tall height to almost six feet.

      Hopefully, this powerful businessman would not be too short. Towering over a diminutive man would do her, she conceded wryly, no favours at all.

      Her nerves were in shreds by the time she arrived at the restaurant, after two hours of monotonous travel during which she’d contemplated the gloomy future lurking ahead of her.

      As she anxiously scanned the diners, looking for an appropriately overweight, middle-aged man reeking of wealth, Gabriel, removed to the furthest corner of the room and partially out of her sight behind an arrangement of lush potted plants resting on a marble ledge, watched her.

      He had not known what to expect. He had awakened this morning positively bristling with anticipation. Not a sensation he had experienced in quite a while and he had relished it. Money and power, he had long acknowledged, didn’t so much corrupt as they hardened. Having the world at your beck and call produced its own brand of jaded cynicism.

      He sat back in his chair, watching her through the thick, rubbery leaves of the plants alongside him, and a slow smile curved his handsome mouth. Seven years and this moment was well worth waiting for. Yes, she had changed. No longer did she have that waist-length hair, which, released, had always been able to turn her from innocent young thing into something altogether more sexy. No, but the blunt, straight, shoulder-length hair suited her. His eyes