Mistaken Mistress. Margaret Way

her friend, Eden did a little leisurely shopping then returned to the hotel late afternoon. Owen should be back from the coast by now. No doubt the new owner of a luxury motor yacht. Later in the evening they were to dine with Lang Forsyth. A dinner at which Owen proposed to reveal her true identity. That should put the arrogant judgmental Lang Forsyth very nicely in his place. Strangely enough she gained no pleasure from the thought. Owen thought the world of him.

      Lang Forsyth looked what he was, a man from a privileged world who nevertheless knew what it was like to fight to survive. Physically he was very striking. Well over six feet, very lean but powerfully built; she had noted the wide shoulders. A highly individual face; dark, very definite features, arrogant high-bridged nose, the mouth quite sensuous, hollows under the high cheekbones. The whole impression was one of tremendous vigour and vitality, the excitement coming from the ice-grey eyes. A total surprise when his hair was near black and his polished skin was tanned to dark gold. She was sure that Lang Forsyth would never be her friend. Not in a lifetime. But he was Owen’s close friend and partner. She had to remember that.

      The sound of the phone in the quiet suite surprised her. She picked it up, murmuring, “The Gold Suite.”

      “Miss Sinclair?”

      She drew a sharp breath, already aware of the caller’s identity. “Yes, Mr. Forsyth.”

      “I’m in the lobby,” he said, his tone almost flat. “I’m coming up.”

      Suddenly the air-conditioned room seemed cold. Unease entered Eden’s mind. What was it he wanted? This wasn’t the time for confrontation.

      She went to the door at his knock, opening it and standing back. His striking face was drained of all expression though she thought there was a pallor beneath his tan.

      “Sit down.” He spoke more gently than she had yet heard.

      “What is it?” She was so used now to unhappiness and grief she instantly caught his mood. “Is it Owen?”

      His dark brows contracted. “I don’t know a good way to tell you this. Owen has been involved in a three-car pile-up on the Pacific Highway. It seems the driver of one of the cars suffered a seizure of some kind, ploughed into the first car, while Owen’s ploughed into him.”

      Her knees went from under her and her eyelids flickered. “Oh My God!”

      The next thing she knew she was lying back in an armchair with Lang Forsyth tapping her wrists. “Are you okay?”

      “I knew something was wrong.” She kept her head down, unaware he was standing over her with an expression of concern, not unmixed with worry about the difficulties she now presented. Delma had to be informed. Owen had been conscious for a good part of his ordeal, giving the police his name and particulars and the person to be contacted.

      Owen, as in so many other things, had left it to Lang to break the news. To Owen’s wife. And his mistress. He hadn’t rung Delma yet. Indeed he was with this girl, even trying to protect her.

      “Where is he?” she raised her dark head to ask; her violet gaze resting on him.

      He named the hospital, hearing her heartfelt sigh. “I’m sorry. I should have told you it wasn’t fatal.”

      “My mother’s was.” She spoke very quietly.

      He steeled himself not to react. “I beg your pardon?”

      “My mother was killed in her car just over six months ago,” she told him from the depths of her grief.

      “I’m very sorry.” Her news appalled him. “That must have been a great grief and a great shock to you. Now this. I’m going to the hospital now.” He could no longer delay.

      “I’ll come with you.” She rose from the chair, trying very hard to calm herself.

      “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He couldn’t hold off his frown.

      “I don’t care what you think,” she said, without challenge. “If you don’t take me I’ll get a cab. I want to find out exactly how Owen is. I love him. I’m not going to lose him now.”

      Her intensity was such he believed her, yet he had to chide her. “You must remember he has a wife and child.”

      She looked at him as if that had no significance. “What has that got to do with me?”

      Oddly he felt no anger. Just a quiet despair. “You don’t look callous.” In fact she looked the most sensitive of creatures, her beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears.

      “Owen had intended to tell you all about me tonight,” she said, as though she pitied him.

      That restored his hostility. “Frankly, Miss Sinclair, that fills me with dismay. You must realise this is going to be a very difficult time. I have to contact Delma, Owen’s wife.”

      “I know.”

      There was a secrecy to her, to Owen, he couldn’t fathom.

      “Why haven’t you done it before?” she asked. “Why not before telling me?”

      Why indeed. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he answered with more force than he intended. “We both know I have concerns about you. You’ll have to get out of this suite. I’ll attend to everything.”

      “Of course.” She inclined her dark head. “I’m so grateful you’re here with your odd combination of condemnation and concern. Are you going to take me to the hospital?”

      Her insistence left him reeling. “If I can trust you to keep perfectly quiet. I feel sure Owen’s accident is going to be reported. There could be news people about. Owen is quite a celebrity. Most certainly in the North.”

      “And I’m someone second rate?” she asked with gentle irony, fixing him with her soulful eyes.

      He couldn’t bear to think of her and Owen together. “You’re a young woman who’s happened to make a bad mistake. I can’t claim to understand Owen’s motives in not telling me about you long before this. We’ve shared so much over the years I’ve worked with him.”

      “He thinks very highly of you,” she said. “My identity will come out soon enough. If not while Owen is ill then sometime in the future. Should anything happen to him, God forbid, I’ll quietly disappear.”

      He found he didn’t want this to happen, yet he spoke curtly, cursing himself, but driven by shock and anxiety. “You may think that now.”

      “What are you so afraid of? Do you think I’m after Owen’s money?”

      “Forgive me if I believe Owen’s money is a factor.”

      She shook her dark head. “You couldn’t be more wrong. My mother left me financially secure. There’s my grandfather, also. You know nothing about me, Mr. Forsyth.”

      “Except you’ve got my friend, Owen, spellbound. Anyway, what good’s talk? If you’re coming with me, come. If you’ve got belongings here, get them. I assume if you’re so financially secure you have a good home?”

      She flushed, the sheen of tears in her beautiful eyes. “You’re making far too many assumptions as it is, Mr. Forsyth. If you give me a moment I’ll pack what I have. We were to have had dinner with you tonight, instead Fate has stepped in yet again.”

      They never spoke a word throughout the fifteen-minute journey to the hospital though Lang found himself watching her continually in case she started to crumble. He even had to stop himself reaching for her hand. Such a slim wrist, a network of delicate blue veins beating there. Two gold bracelets. He knew gold. Both were unmistakably heavy eighteen carat. Patek Philippe watch with diamonds and a mother-of-pearl face. All very expensive items. Had Owen given them to her? He rarely gave Delma presents though he allowed her to buy whatever she liked. For herself. There was a huge difference. He was beginning to feel more and more sorry for Delma. She would take it very badly when she found out about