True Colours Read online

  Now wouldn’t that be a coincidence, a ‘mutual’ friend?

  Finding common ground was the way to build trust.

  And with trust came information.

  THREE

  Alex was still kicking herself as she buttoned her jacket in the lift on the way up to the fifth floor of Venture Capital Ireland. Jocelyn had been about to accompany her when the telephone rang, had instead mouthed her apologies and, her hand over the receiver, whispered that one of the girls would show her to the lift.

  Intrigued by the man whose voice she had heard on the speakerphone, Alex wished she had had a chance to find out more about the company. She was sure she had read in the Sunday Times that Venture Capital Ireland had shares in everything from London City Airport to hotels in Shanghai, but she had never had a chance to finish the article, so quite who was on the board of directors, or who held the controlling interest, remained a mystery. And she hadn’t even had time to quiz the girl at Reception when she had arrived, as Jocelyn Blake had obviously been waiting for her and had swept her into her office the moment she had walked into the building.

  As the lift doors slid open effortlessly to a melodious chime, Alex was surprised to find the top floor of the landmark building apparently empty. She stepped into a lofty hall surrounded by closed dark oak doors. The space was dominated by a circular antique table with an ornate central pedestal, the scent of beeswax polish jostling with the perfume from a riot of lilies and roses spilling out of a massive arrangement at its centre. Like the lower floors, the colours were uniform: beige and more beige, broken only by white gloss skirting boards and dado rails. Pausing for a moment to take in her surroundings, Alex wondered who was responsible for the several large paintings dotted between the doors, all Victorian hunting scenes set in heavy gold frames. Recalling the sound of his voice, she found herself creating a mental picture of the man she was about to meet. If he had had any influence over the décor outside his office at all, the managing director must be in his early fifties, was probably greying, and no doubt was a golfer fond of country pursuits who had been brought up by nannies, which would explain his relationship with his PA.

  Alex’s instincts were usually good, but this time she couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Turning back to take a final glance in the mirrored lift doors, ensuring she looked her best, Alex headed across the hall to the only set of double doors, and knocked gently. Hearing a muffled sound that could have been ‘come in’, she pushed, surprised that the door opened easily. The thick carpet of the hall was replaced inside the office with glistening marble tiles. Dazzled by the space and light of what looked more like a hotel suite than a working office, Alex took in a pair of cream leather sofas to her left, a glass coffee table between them, and what appeared to be a matching glass boardroom table to her right, lit by an enormous twisted copper and crystal chandelier, floor-to-ceiling windows giving an enviable view of the city skyline. The boardroom table was sleek and modern, completely different in taste and style from the hall, and the contrast threw her for a moment. Her surprise must have been obvious.

  ‘Not what you expected?’

  Startled by a voice from beyond the sofa arrangement, a voice that appeared to emanate from behind a magnificent walnut desk partially obscured by a small forest of potted palms, Alex turned on her professional smile and made her way into the room.

  She didn’t get far.

  A couple of steps inside the door the desk came into full view, as did the man sitting behind it. But he wasn’t a greying senior executive in his fifties. Far from it. Alex felt her eyes widening in pure shock, and then cold dark horror. Her stomach did a complete back flip as she felt the colour rush to her face, burning, she was sure, like a beacon. Summoning every reserve of self-control to remain where she stood, to resist the urge to turn and run, for a second her knees wobbled alarmingly beneath her. Fighting for control, Alex tried to steady her breathing, suddenly terrified that she might hyperventilate or worse, pass out.

  Behind the desk sat a man she knew, a man who had rarely left her thoughts in the past sixteen years, the man who was the very reason she had left Ireland to study in Spain, and the very reason why she had been so reluctant to come home.

  Sebastian Wingfield. Sole heir to the infamous Lord Kilfenora. Sole heir to the Wingfield banking fortune, and the rambling Gothic castle ridiculously misnamed Kilfenora House, with its one-thousand-acre County Kildare estate.

  Sebastian Wingfield. Her first love. The man she had innocently thought, aged seventeen, that she would spend the rest of her life with, until… and the man who was very obviously now the managing director of Venture Capital Ireland.

  The past sixteen years had been kind to him. His shoulders still broad, there were a few more lines around his eyes perhaps, but his hair was still the colour of melting chocolate, cropped short, his jaw just as determined as it had been back then. And just below the dimple in his right cheek, the half-inch scar she had traced with her fingertip was still there, faded with age, but still visible. He wore his yacht club tie knotted loosely at his throat, the top button of his shirt undone, his cuffs rolled back to reveal the strong wrists she remembered so well, a prelude to a pair of strong arms that had once held her as if they would never let her go. And his eyes were just as blue; the blue of a summer sky glimpsed through the thick canopy of trees as they lay laughing on their backs in the long grass of Kilfenora Woods, limbs entwined.

  Sitting back, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair, one hand casually supporting his chin, Sebastian Wingfield watched Alex’s reaction, drinking her in, absorbing every detail from her blonde curls to her long slim legs. She had blossomed into a beautiful woman – her hair was shorter, her crazy curls now smoothed into a sophisticated ponytail, her suit unmistakeably European. She was just as alluring as when he’d last seen her – more so now – her sallow skin tanned, caramel brown eyes clearly showing her surprise. And that dark mole just to the left of her full mouth, like a beauty spot, exactly as he remembered it, its twin, he knew, a finger’s width from her navel. Good God, what was he thinking?

  Masking the maelstrom of emotions churning inside him with a façade of disinterest, Sebastian felt like he was in some sort of bizarre dream. Could it really be her? After all these years, here she was, just waltzing into his office as if nothing had happened.

  Sebastian knew he hadn’t been listening properly when Jocelyn had told him about the fantastic interior design company she had found, had completely forgotten about the meeting. But the moment Jocelyn had said Alex’s name he had felt a surge of emotion second only to the tidal wave of despair he had felt the day he had called to her father’s cottage to discover that she had left. Without a word. Without even a note. Without even sending him a postcard from wherever it was she had gone to. And at that stage, even her father had had no idea what she was doing, had been just as mystified as he was at her abrupt departure.

  And, as he looked at her now, a flash of resentment lit the slow burn of anger that had festered inside him over the years. He had concealed it, had got on with his life; had channelled all the negative energy into taking up a position in the family business. At his grandfather’s insistence he had switched from first year architecture to a business degree. But Alex’s departure had changed the course of his life, and he wasn’t about to thank her for it.

  It was the not knowing why that had really cut him, and it was a wound that still ached whenever he saw a blonde head bobbing ahead of him in a crowd. Sebastian had lost count of the times he’d raced after strange women on a train, in a theatre, convinced every time that he’d found her, that she would turn and smile and love him again as she had before. But every time he’d been shattered by the truth, the knife twisting deeper into his heart until at last he’d learned to live with the loss, learned to push thoughts of her to the back of his mind. Now here she was. Dear God where did he start?

  Sebastian’s gaze made Alex feel horribly vulnerable, exposed. It wa
s as if it was trained on her like a spotlight, like she was the leading lady who had forgotten her lines. Thoughts tumbled through her head, a dark chasm gaping in her stomach as her eyes locked with those of the very man she had spent the last sixteen years avoiding. Perhaps she could just back out, smile casually and apologise – say she’d stumbled into the wrong office? Perhaps if she focused hard enough she might be able to vanish completely and teleport herself back into her car where she could lock all the doors and crawl under the seat.

  Massaging his chin, Sebastian finally spoke, breaking the silence that was building between them like a wall of ice, his voice rich with sarcasm.

  ‘Alex Ryan. Goodness me, I didn’t really think it could be you, but here you are. Alive and well after all.’ Sebastian paused, glacial eyes penetrating her very core. His voice was calm, too calm. Alex thought it held a hint of a sneer. She couldn’t blame him.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down Alex Ryan and tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself for the past sixteen years?’

  As if hypnotised by his voice, Alex felt herself drawn towards his desk, could hear her heels clicking across the marble before she fully realised what she was doing – why didn’t she just turn around and leave? Run while she still had the chance? But the rational part of her brain wasn’t working, was paralysed by shock, running on automatic. He hadn’t changed one bit and everything that had attracted her to him all those years ago, his broad shoulders, his startling blue eyes, his very magnetism was reeling her in all over again. Alex found herself standing in front of his desk like a child brought before the headmaster.

  ‘Sebastian…I didn’t…’ Alex blushed again, even more furiously this time, if that were possible. Her voice cracked, her throat suddenly dry; she could feel her whole body trembling. Gripping her briefcase, Alex prayed the nerves wouldn’t show. What should she say? What could she say? Not the truth, that was for sure. Too much was at stake. The past lay like a minefield between them, and at any moment she could put her foot down and destroy him utterly and completely. Whatever else had happened, she didn’t want that. She had left to protect him, to protect herself and her family, and the vows she had made all those years ago still held strong.

  Alex had rehearsed this meeting in her head a million times over the years, her subconscious mind taking her back to him whenever she least expected it. How many times had she woken sweating and gasping for air, the memory of his kiss on her lips, her body sending her red hot messages, yearning for his touch? How many times had she imagined herself here, searching for the words to explain? And how stupid was she? How many seconds would it have taken her to do a search on Venture Capital Ireland, to find out who was on the board of directors?

  ‘It was a preliminary meeting. I didn’t expect…’

  Sebastian interrupted, lolling casually in his chair, as if nothing mattered in the world, as if he didn’t give a damn that she had just walked right back into his life.

  ‘You didn’t expect what? You didn’t expect to see me?’ His thick eyebrows rose in question, the long dark eyelashes she remembered so well framing those blue eyes, their colour deepened by the blue of his shirt. ‘That seems rather unlikely. You were always so organised Alex, so thorough. How did you expect to do business with my company and not meet me?’ Sebastian left the question hanging. Alex wanted to cry out, explain that for once in her life she hadn’t been thorough, that really, honestly, he was the last person she had expected to see. But she knew that would make things worse, would make her look even more stupid than she already felt. He’d probably laugh in her face. She was quite sure he wouldn’t believe her – and she wasn’t about to add lying to his list of grievances against her.

  ‘So, you’ve been living in Spain have you? And you followed your dream and studied design. Very good.’

  Matter of fact, cold, he spoke to her as if they had no connection, had only just met, answering his own question, his face impassive. She would much rather he shouted, screamed all the questions she was sure he wanted answers to across the desk – what happened, why did you go? What about our plans, what about our dreams?

  Alex opened her mouth to speak but Sebastian cut her off. ‘I hope you’re as good as Joss says. We only employ the very best here.’ Confused for a second, she suddenly realised he was talking about the contract, about redecorating his offices. She had expected the proverbial third degree, to be called to account at the very least and yet from the way he spoke, the matter seemed to be closed, and after everything, he wanted her to do the job! How could he be so detached?

  ‘Our logo has this purple colour in it. Aubergine Joss calls it.’ Sebastian picked up a business card lying beside his diary and tossed it towards her. ‘I want the building to reflect our corporate image. Crisp and business-like, lots of white and this purple. Maybe purple carpets and some feature walls. And I’d like some decent pictures. Modern, cutting-edge stuff. Show our visitors that we’re leading the field. Joss will discuss the budget with you. I want to move on it quickly. I’m sick to death with all this brown , makes us look dowdy, out of touch. It’s Thursday today, we’ll have a look at your ideas on Monday morning.’

  Before Alex could either reach for the card or reply, the phone on Sebastian’s desk buzzed. She jumped as he casually leaned forward to depress the speaker button.

  ‘Yes Joss?’

  ‘Caroline’s just been on. The wedding planner is dropping in sample invitations. She wants you to choose which one you like so you can discuss it over lunch.’

  A wave of irritation passed across his face, as Alex felt her heart contract into a sharp painful lump in her chest. Wedding?

  ‘Do you honestly think I’ll have an opinion Joss? Good God as if I’ve got time for that – I thought that’s why I was paying the bloody woman in the first place. You decide will you? Just make sure you send it up so that I know what it looks like.’

  Suddenly pushing his chair back, Sebastian stood up, abruptly terminating their meeting, rounding the desk in one fluid movement that reminded Alex of a leopard stalking its prey. But then, he always had been a great mover, spinning her across the dusty moonlit ballroom in Kilfenora, his tape deck no match for the size of the room. ‘The Wind Beneath my Wings’. ‘Wishing on a Star’. Bryan Adams’ ‘Everything I do, I do it for you’. Alex felt her knees buckle.

  ‘Joss has all our corporate print downstairs. She’ll give you copies of the brochures and get the colour references for you.’ Now only feet from him, Alex was suddenly aware of his aftershave, a delicate blend of sandalwood and spices, of the heat of his body. Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. ‘That will be fine. I’ll get everything together for Monday.’

  But Sebastian was already heading across the room to the door.

  Taking a deep breath, Alex slipped her briefcase strap over her shoulder, spun around and focused on crossing the room. It felt like a walk to the gallows. Ahead of her Sebastian was holding one half of the double doors open, one hand casually in his pocket, his brow furrowed, eyes on the floor, mind already absorbed in the next challenge. Reaching the door without disaster, Alex hesitated for a second, grasping for something intelligent to say, failing miserably. His very presence, the scent of him so close after so long left her utterly, hopelessly tongue-tied. Avoiding his eye, focusing on the flower arrangement in the hall, she managed, ‘So nine o’clock Monday?’

  But Alex didn’t get any further. Suddenly, Sebastian’s arm was around her waist, her body pulled forcibly to his as his lips met hers, hungry, demanding. With her hands on his chest, instinctively Alex began to push him away, but the impulse didn’t last, her body responding to his as she melted into his embrace, just as she had all those years ago. Stars shot behind her closed eyes as the old fire was rekindled. Alex felt like she was on a train hurtling out of control, towns and cities, faces flashing past the windows so fast they blurred together. Ireland, Spain, her father, his grandfather.

  Then it was over.

  Pulling a
way from her, dropping her like an unwanted toy, Sebastian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, regarding her surprise with disdain, the ice back in his eyes. Stumbling backwards, her own fingertips covering her bruised lips, Alex didn’t wait for him to speak but spinning on her heel headed straight for the lift. Behind her she heard the door close but she kept her eyes trained on the lift doors, her emotions churning like the downdraught from a helicopter rotor, her dignity in tatters.

  FOUR

  Why on earth had he kissed her? Sebastian Wingfield sat down heavily at his desk and put his head in his hands, his stomach churning with what? Anger – without a doubt; confusion – definitely, and…desire? But he wasn’t ready to admit that, even to himself.

  He’d been wound up so tight at the sight of her after all these years, and then he’d caught the scent of her perfume. Spicy, exotic. Cinnamon and what? He’d never been sure. Something sexy and strong that brought images of the past hurtling back. Cinnabar wasn’t it called? How could he forget?

  It seemed so long ago now…a memory captured like cine film, the colours fading over time. Sent by his grandfather to find Tom Ryan, the gamekeeper, pushing open the peeling door… wandering into the gloom of the ruined Mill House. A disembodied voice had made him start.

  ‘He’s not here. There’s a poacher reported up by the dam. He won’t be long, reckons it’s Shamie from the village again.’ Bold, confident, a convent school accent.

  Momentarily taken aback by the overly familiar tone, Sebastian had looked around to identify the source of the voice. It was then that he’d caught a waft of her scent, surprising him like the shaft of sunshine that penetrated the rotting thatch, pouring into the dusty interior of the abandoned two-storey building, its stone-flagged floor littered with rotten wood from the floor above and piles of autumn leaves that had blown into the corners. Suddenly an upturned mass of golden curls had appeared through a hole in the floor above, rosebud lips grinning cheekily as the girl regarded him with unconcealed interest.