True Colours Read online

  ‘That’s enough Caroline. Quite enough.’ Sebastian’s voice was steel-edged.

  But it wasn’t enough for her – she obviously found the whole episode highly amusing, ‘it really was his own silly fault, lurking around in the bushes like that.’

  TWENTY TWO

  The Plan. He had to focus on The Plan. Had to get Caroline out of his head and get on with business. Peter pulled his laptop towards him across the bar and re-read the email. It wasn’t good news. He clicked to reply:

  There’s more there if you look. That fire was deliberate – for the insurance – did you check the policies? This will be the scoop of your life if you get it. The guy who died, it was murder, no question.

  Peter didn’t sign it, hit send. It was going from a dummy Hotmail account, linked to a Gmail, linked to a holding site. Not untraceable, but bloody hard for an amateur, and he wasn’t doing anything illegal, so there was no way the big boys would be interested. He knew how to cover his tracks.

  But Christ if the journalist bitch couldn’t find something to start the ball rolling, to get the press going, how the hell could he get the share price down? He’d already told her about the gamekeeper, had been checking the papers every day but there had been nothing. Had someone got to her, persuaded her to keep quiet?

  Peter shook his head half to himself and picked up a biro lying on the glossy mahogany bar. Playing it through his fingers, he banged the tip off the counter top, flipped it over and began again. He’d given the journalist enough to start her own fire, enough hints, paperwork even, but she seemed to have lost interest. What the hell was going on? He flipped the pen again, this time ramming it into the wood so hard it made a mark.

  The barman interrupted his thoughts,

  ‘Can I get you anything else sir?’

  It took Peter a moment to think. Behind him he could hear a group of men coming into the Shelbourne’s famous Horseshoe Bar, jovial after lunch in the Saddle Room restaurant, the scraping of chairs, sighs as they settled down for an afternoon session.

  ‘Another Americano. Better stick a brandy in it.’

  The barman whisked away his empty cup but Peter hardly noticed, his concentration back on the laptop screen.

  He had to find some dirt that would stick to Sebastian, something to really shake him. But what?

  And he didn’t have much time.

  The members of the consortium were starting to make noises, grumbling that if the shares in Wingfield Holdings didn’t take a dip soon, their cash wouldn’t be available. Feck it anyway. Peter threw down the pen, sat back on his stool, biting his lip, scowling.

  The only bloody good thing to come out of this so far was Caroline. They’d had some real fun together, were, he’d felt for a moment or two there, actually soul mates. But he couldn’t let emotion cloud the issue, not at the moment at any rate. Afterwards, when it was all done and dusted, then he’d be able to hook up with Caroline again, with no strings. See if she really was all she seemed to be.

  Christ he hoped this came together – he’d been working on it for so long it just had to. It had to.

  Peter could feel the muscles in his upper arm beginning to twitch. Shit, he was getting stressed – the medics had told him not to get stressed. Post-traumatic stress was unpredictable, could be dangerous they’d said, avoid difficult situations – you don’t know how you will react. Peter felt a twinge of pain in his back, brought on by the muscular contraction. There was still shrapnel buried in his shoulder, pieces of the car bomb that had killed seven of his comrades and left him as good as dead.

  Jesus Christ. The moment he acknowledged the pain, the memories came right back at him. The burning flesh, the petrol, and he could feel the heat of the explosion that had ripped through their SUV all over again. He shook the pictures from his mind. The bone-crunching cold, lying on the frozen ground more dead than alive reliving every scene of his life, reliving the moment he’d woken to the sound of his mother’s sobs, had slipped out of bed to find her at the foot of the stairs, crumpled like a marionette, her strings lying cut around her. He knew he’d passed out then, had woken in the field hospital, a doctor leaning over him, mask already in place, a scalpel in his hand.

  But he was a fighter, and he’d fought back, clawed his way back to consciousness. He had a score to settle before he left this world, and he was going to do his damnedest to make sure it was settled.

  Peter’s mouth twitched into a smile. He was going to get Sebastian Wingfield back once and for all.

  This was personal. One on one. And Caroline was the icing on the cake. Literally.

  Wouldn’t he just love to see Sebastian’s face when he found out who had been fucking his fiancée?

  TWENTY THREE

  ‘I cannot believe you just said that.’ Sebastian’s voice was low, dangerous.

  Caroline half-turned from the French windows overlooking the lake – the moment he’d pushed her, literally, still laughing, into the room, she’d raced over to see what the wedding planner and her assistant were up to, watching them with their measuring tapes and notebooks, pacing and gesticulating, working out the logistics of making her dream wedding a reality. Hooking her long hair behind her ear, the huge Wingfield Sapphire on her ring finger catching the light, reflecting the cerulean panels in the blue parlour, Caroline was only half- listening as he spoke, her imagination alive with images of the wedding party, of glittering guests raising their glasses as fireworks rained down over the lake.

  ‘Said what darling?’

  Watching her, incredulous, Sebastian didn’t respond, was fighting to control his anger. Guilt and embarrassment and pure shock at her crass comments spun together boring a dark hole in his gut, a hole spilling over with disappointment, regret.

  How could Caroline not know? How could she not see that she’d just made a momentous blunder? He’d just bustled her in here, physically propelling her up the hall to the room furthest from the study, as far away from Alex as he could decently move her, and here they were, and she was asking him what she had said that was wrong. How could she be so utterly clueless? And as soon as they’d got through the door she’d shot over to the window to see what was happening outside, blissfully unaware of the devastation she had left in her wake. Didn’t she understand? Now, standing in the middle of the room, his hands hand buried in his trouser pockets, his jaw set, Sebastian was struggling not to explode.

  ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘Moi? Don’t be silly it’s still only 11.30.’ Pouting, finally dragging her attention away from the activity outside, Caroline fired him a flirtatious look of disapproval, was surprised to see that he didn’t react but stared back at her, his face cold. Usually, he found her petulance irresistible – she had expected to see that indulgent half-smile of his, feel his eyes undressing her. But not this time. This time he seemed preoccupied, irritated even.

  Whatever was the matter with him? He just couldn’t see the funny side sometimes, and the whole business had been quite farcical – even Peter had thought it was funny when she’d recounted it to him. There they were, sneaking through the heather (taking the whole thing way too seriously in her opinion), the deer grazing in a clearing on the other side of the valley. Then Sebastian had taken aim, and then that revolting rat thing had run across her foot, she shuddered even now, and she’d yelped, and he’d missed. Well not exactly missed, he’d hit something all right, just not what he’d intended.

  Caroline battled to keep her face straight, an irrepressible smile creeping to the corners of her mouth. It must be the damp. Sebastian could be great fun when they were up in Dublin, but as soon as they came here, to this mausoleum of a house, he got all boring and serious. It might be the perfect spot for the perfect wedding, the sketch of the façade, complete with turrets making the wedding invitations just, well, perfect – but when they were married Caroline knew she’d be spending as little time as was decently possible here. Not that she was going to let Sebastian know that just yet.

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nbsp; Spring sunshine flooded through the paned windows, bringing to life the brilliant blues, peacock greens and silver woven into the heavy brocade covering the sofas surrounding the fireplace. Caroline sashayed across the rich blue carpet, exaggerating the swing of her hips in her skin-tight jeans which, she knew, made it obvious that she was wearing very little underneath. Conscious that he was watching her, she worked her large brown eyes, meeting his in a cunning blend of coyness and reproach, pulling him towards her by the lapels of his jacket as she reached him, smoothing the fine wool with her long slim fingers. But he hardly seemed to notice, his face was blank, stony. Like his mind was somewhere else.

  She was going to have to notch it up.

  This wasn’t the time for him to be getting grumpy – he’d weathered the news about the gazebo, but she hadn’t even told him yet about her idea for the dozen white horses and wedding carriage, or the champagne fountain Tiff had suggested when they’d been Tweeting last night. Caroline knew Sebastian needed to be focusing on other things before she could slip that one in. Her hands under his jacket, running her palms over the soft cotton of his shirt, massaging the taught muscles of his back, she pressed her breasts through the silk of her blouse against his chest, reached up to kiss his throat. It didn’t help. Caroline could feel the tension radiating from him like a heat lamp.

  ‘So why on earth didn’t you shut up? Why did you have to go and tell her about Tom?’ Sebastian’s voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.

  ‘Tom who?’ Caroline’s hands were heading down to his waist now, intent on pulling the shirt out from his trousers. ‘You know you really have been working very hard, you need to relax,’ she kissed his throat again, breathing in his aftershave, ‘I’m sure no one would miss us…’ But Sebastian stopped her, his hand gripping hers before she had a chance to slip it inside the waistband of his trousers.

  ‘Not now Caroline.’

  ‘Spoilsport.’ She brushed her mouth over his, catching his bottom lip in her teeth, whispering into his neck, ‘You just look so delicious in that suit, and I’m really in the mood…’

  Sebastian pushed her away from him, ‘Will you listen for one minute? Tom Ryan is our gamekeeper.’ He turned his back on her, grasping for the right words, taking the moment to still the emotions raging inside him, ready to erupt at any moment.

  How could she have done it? How could she have blurted out private estate business to someone who, as far as she was concerned, was a complete stranger? Worse, a complete stranger who had a vested interest in the estate, in the very incident she had mentioned. And, worse, much worse, she seemed to think it was funny that he’d almost killed Tom. The shock of the accident hit him all over again; blood everywhere, Tom’s leg a mess of shattered bone and tissue, his face deathly white; Sebastian fought the urge to retch as his stomach turned over alarmingly, images snapping back into his head like freeze-frame stills of a war zone. Steadying himself, plunging both hands back deep inside his pockets, Sebastian spun around to face her again, his brow knotted in a frown,

  ‘Tom’s a vital asset to the estate. We couldn’t do half of what we do without his hands-on management, the income he generates on the estate covers almost all the running costs of the house, is vital for Wingfield Holdings.’ He paused. Caroline was looking at him with wide eyes, apparently taking in every word.

  But he knew she wasn’t.

  With a bang like his own shotgun discharging, Sebastian suddenly realised that she hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, had absolutely no concept of the responsibilities that came with being his wife. His anger fizzling out like a firecracker landing in a bucket of water, he felt something else seeping in to fill its place. Disappointment. It sat like a weight across his shoulders, wrapping him in a bitter black cloak.

  Sebastian had always assumed she would be perfect for the role, would slip into the void left by his mother’s death, filling the space, the house, with beauty and culture, with her sparkling wit. Christ, he could recruit a director for one of his companies better than he could find himself a wife. Where had he gone wrong? He’d thought he was in love with her…well, maybe not truly, madly, deeply, or whatever that film was called, but there were different types of love weren’t there? He wasn’t nineteen any more…

  Sebastian watched her flick her hair over her shoulders and head for the window again. She looked fabulous today – always looked fabulous. There was no question that he was attracted to her physically – very strongly attracted to her, had been positively besotted when they’d first started dating. And Caroline had, he’d thought, unlike most of the other girls he’d been involved with, ticked all the boxes. She loved entertaining, schmoozing his clients, had no problem looking the part, no problem getting involved in the charity ball circuit, even representing him on the boards of the charities he was involved with. But there was obviously a box he’d missed. The big one that should have been top of the list. The one marked Kilfenora.

  Sebastian tried again, ‘Look, I need you to get to know the staff here. You’re going to be the next Lady Kilfenora and a large part of that title is taking on the running of the household, managing the staff.’

  Caroline spun around, almost interrupting him, ‘I know darling, Caroline Audiguet-O’Reilly-Wingfield, Lady Kilfenora. Sounds wonderful doesn’t it?’

  Sebastian looked at her, incredulous. How hadn’t he seen this before? Caroline was hearing him all right, but the message just wasn’t getting through. How on earth was he going to explain to her the importance of her role, the fact that she was following in the footsteps of generations before her, that she had a responsibility to the past as much as to the present. Most of the staff had been with them for years, had started in their teens, had made Kilfenora House their life. Did she have any notion of the vital role that Kilfenora played in the local economy? How could she have been brought up on her father’s estate, one just like this one, and not see the full picture?

  Grasping for some sort of an explanation, Caroline’s brother’s face appeared before him. Cormac – his best friend – laughing, confident. After seven years of boarding school they were like brothers, had learned to rely on each other, could almost read each other’s minds, understood each other. And with his parents travelling so much, they had ended up spending the holidays together too, strengthening their bond until it had become unbreakable. Cormac knew what was involved in being a Wingfield, so why didn’t Caroline?

  Maybe it was because her family, at the end of the day, were new money. Their vineyard was a business pure and simple, an incredibly profitable one that Cormac and Caroline’s father had begun to turn around from the day he had married their mother, learning the trade from his new wife’s vigneron father, bringing in modern methods and a savvy Kerry business strategy that had brought them to the forefront of the French wine market. His success had afforded his children the best education, the best opportunities, but, while he and Cormac had spent their summers helping in the fields, tending the delicate vines, Caroline had been at their summer house in Antibes, working on her tan.

  ‘Honestly darling, you mustn’t worry; I know I’m going to fit in here perfectly. I know there’s a lot to learn, but you’re going to help me so much. I’ve just got a lot on my mind at the moment with the wedding and everything. It’s so important to me that it’s perfect for you, and for your grandfather, he’s so proud of you.’

  Believing the lecture was over, she threw Sebastian a devastating smile and reached for her handbag, tossed on the sofa, rooting through it, searching for her cigarettes. She wasn’t in the mood to talk about the estate today, and if her charms weren’t working as well as usual, she was going to have to come up with another strategy to get Sebastian to agree to the finer touches of her wedding plan. And to do that, she needed a cigarette.

  ‘Please don’t smoke in here.’

  ‘I’m not going to,’ her cigarettes in one hand, a diamante-encrusted lighter in the other, Caroline nodded towards the window, ‘I’m going o
nto the terrace. Through the French windows – see, out there,’ she gesticulated with the cigarette box, ‘is that okay?’ She made it sound like she was asking his permission. Sebastian nodded tersely.

  With the French doors open, half in, half out of the room, Caroline drew deeply on her cigarette and blew a smoke stream out into the spring sunshine. Sebastian winced inwardly. He’d always hated cigarette smoke, had tried innumerable times to persuade her to give up, but to no avail. He’d even had a go at Cormac to get her to stop.

  ‘So what’s the problem about my mentioning the accident anyway? That Tom chap’s fine isn’t he? And you have to admit it does have its funny side.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Watching her, Sebastian felt a void widening inside him, how could she not understand, how in God’s name was she going to learn between now and June? ‘You mean apart from my potentially being charged with GBH?’ The sarcasm came before he could stop it.

  ‘Oh, he’s hardly going to do that is he? Now you’re being silly.’

  One arm folded across her stomach, balancing her elbow in her cupped hand, Caroline pursed her lips, frowning at him like a petulant child. She didn’t like being told off.

  ‘Who knows? He’s every right to.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. And that designer girl won’t give two hoots, she doesn’t know him does she? I was just making conversation.’

  Just making conversation? Sebastian paused, cringing inwardly, acutely conscious that as he’d hustled Caroline along the hall and into the blue parlour, the study door had slammed, Alex’s heels reverberating down the hall as she headed for the front door, Dodo’s barks echoing behind her. And, as Caroline, still unaware that she’d made any sort of faux pas, had headed for the window to see what the wedding planner was doing down by the lake, he’d heard the roar of an engine and the hiss of gravel as Alex had turned her car for the gate. She wouldn’t be staying for lunch. But maybe that was a blessing…