True Colours Read online

  ‘Hi, I’m Alex. Tom’s my dad. Who are you?’

  Amazed at her audacity, at her brazen directness, Sebastian had faltered for a moment. The girls he’d met, the daughters of the Irish aristocracy and business elite invited by his boarding school to dances and debates, had fluttered their eyelashes and giggled, occasionally argued in strident opposition to the motion of the day, but had never had the confidence to speak to any of the chaps like this.

  ‘Sebastian Wingfield.’

  Before he could say more, her eyes had widened. ‘The Sebastian Wingfield? I thought you were away in France again this summer.’

  She knew that he spent his summers with Cormac’s crowd?

  ‘I was, I came back early. My grandfather wants me to learn how the estate’s run.’ Why on earth was he explaining himself to one of the staff? ‘Are you always this nosey?’

  Pulling an exasperated face, the head had disappeared and he’d heard a scuffling sliding sound as she dragged herself across the few remaining boards to the top of a ladder rather precariously placed where the old staircase had been. The next thing he knew, a pair of mountain boots topped with thick, rainbow-striped socks had appeared, quickly followed by two long slim legs encased in skin-tight jeans, and a very neat bottom, her sweatshirt riding up as she shimmied over the edge of the floor revealing a curvy waist, her skin tanned.

  Then the ladder had started to shake alarmingly.

  Instinct taking over, Sebastian had rushed to grab it, his movement coinciding with her losing her balance, the ladder crashing down in a shudder of dust. Landing neatly in his arms, as if falling off a ladder was something she did every day, Alex had somehow managed to spin in mid-air so that when the dust settled Sebastian discovered her nose was centimetres from his own, the scent of her perfume strong. Surprising. Tantalising.

  ‘Well done. I thought you boarding school boys only caught cricket balls.’ He could still hear the playfulness in her tone.

  Good God…he’d been grand speaking to her from across the wasteland of his desk, had held onto his cool even though his heart had been racing; but the moment she had come close to him, the moment he had caught her scent, his resolve had crumbled…

  Sebastian had thought his heart would stop when Jocelyn had mentioned her name, unable to believe it could possibly be the same Alex Ryan he’d known all those years ago – but his Alex had been passionate about design, had been determined to follow a career as an interior designer even then. So, as he waited for her to come up, biting the nail on his thumb, his forehead creased in a frown, he’d reckoned the odds were fair that it was the same girl. Not that he was a betting chap – the one and only time he’d ever been in a bookmakers had been with her, with Alex, a flutter on the Grand National, a tip from her dad. Their horse Love Match had come romping home that day; surely a sign that their union would endure, would win out over the odds.

  But that was before…before she had disappeared without a word. Before she had left him alone, confused, and totally and utterly in love. Anger seethed inside him like a serpent awakened, its tail lashing. Betrayal. Loss so huge it was like a bereavement. Pain so deep it still ached like an old rugby injury. Thank goodness Sebastian had had a few minutes to prepare himself, to still the hot rush of emotion that had sent his heart rate off the scale when he had heard her name, had taken away his breath for longer than he would have liked.

  And Alex had left at what turned out to be the worst possible time. Only a month later his mother and father had been killed in a traffic accident in South Africa. The tears he had cried had been more for her than for the parents who had sent him away to school at five, his malaise put down to grief. Did she even know they had died? Had her father told her?

  Calling up to the gamekeeper’s cottage every day for a month, in the end Sebastian had given up, Tom Ryan’s sad shake of his head as he answered the door was more than he could take. And whatever about Alex leaving him, how could she leave her father like that? Still grieving over the premature death of his terminally ill wife the year before. Alex had told him that it had always been her mother’s dream to live in the country, a dream that Tom had realised for all of them, convinced that the clean air of Kildare would prolong his beloved Carmen’s life. But her breast cancer had been aggressive, and even after surgery, her prognosis poor. So, she had lived her dream for only a few short months, loving every minute of the tiny stone cottage, sitting out in the spring sunshine listening to the woods around her breathing, living, as they would continue to live after she was gone.

  Sebastian was renowned for being tough in business, had inherited a poker face from his grandfather, the ruthless Guy Wingfield, learning how to disguise his thoughts from a master. But whereas the current Lord Kilfenora was cold steel through to the core, his only pretence at emotion reserved exclusively for his grandson, and that only a pat on the back and a half smile when he had received his MBA - Sebastian knew he was human in the middle. Soft. Too soft. And right now, as he sat at his desk, his soft core was molten, heaving like a volcano about to explode.

  What on earth was she doing coming back now? When he was getting married in eight weeks. The news had been in all the society rags, was hardly a secret. What did she want?

  And why had she looked so shocked when she saw him? Surely she must have known this was his company? Massaging his temples, Sebastian stared blindly at the gold fountain pen he kept on his desk. All my love…She’d never been a good actress, had never been able to hide her emotions, had sobbed her heart out every time Bambi’s mother died until the video tape had stuck in the machine and they had both fallen about with laughter, waiting for the tears.

  With images of the past and present careering around his head, Sebastian didn’t hear the door open and Jocelyn sweep in, her soft soles silent on the marble. He jerked his head up with such force when she spoke that she almost took a step back.

  ‘The Minister’s delayed. Emergency cabinet meeting. He wants to reschedule.’

  Only half-listening, Sebastian waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Whatever. Book him in sometime towards the end of the week. I’m in Cannes on Friday.’

  ‘Are you alright? You look a bit pale.’

  ‘Me?’ Sebastian looked at Jocelyn, momentarily confused. ‘Of course. I’m fine. What am I doing now?’

  ‘Wedding invitations.’ Jocelyn placed a fan of glossy cream card on his desk. ‘I think the gold’s the best. The others are a bit…well gaudy. And you’ve lunch at twelve. Caroline’s on her way.’

  Still focused on his fountain pen, Sebastian picked it up, playing it through his fingers, caressing it, rocking it from side to side, weighing it up. He nodded, obviously distracted.

  ‘Joss, how did you find that design company?’

  ‘Impromptu Design? I told you, I was having coffee with Daphne; she’s Senor Marquez, the Spanish Ambassador’s new PA. She was raving about them. They’ve done fantastic work all over Spain and in Italy too. Senor Marquez insisted they do the new Spanish Cultural Institute, and, well, if they’re good enough for him, I thought they could help us here. Get rid of all that awful...’

  ‘Brown . I know. I’m sick of it. But Alex, the girl who came to see you, did she ask about me?’

  ‘You?’ Jocelyn almost laughed, ‘why on earth would she have asked about you? Unless you feel the need for a coat of paint you’d hardly be within her remit.’

  Finally snapping out of his reverie, Sebastian smiled sheepishly. ‘You’re right, and I’m sorry if you wanted to look after the colour scheme, but it turns out that I knew her a long time ago…’ he paused, not wanting to go into detail, ‘and,’ he winced, ready for a verbal onslaught, ‘I suggested she went with the purple colour in our logo.’

  Jocelyn’s face creased in a smile. ‘I’ve given her the samples. That will be lovely don’t you think? A few feature walls and some nice paintings...’

  Sebastian heaved a sigh of relief. ‘That’s what I suggested.’

  ‘Exce
llent. Now you’ve letters to sign and Jackson needs your okay on some elements of the New York deal before lunch.’

  Raising his hand to his forehead in a mock salute, Sebastian pulled his chair back into his desk. A widow at twenty-five, Jocelyn had been recruited by his grandfather for her steely resolve and ability to manage staff, but she had a gentle side as well, as Sebastian had discovered early on, and a penchant for Belgian chocolates. They had quickly found their own level, a mutual understanding that made them a powerful team.

  A voice from the door made them both jump.

  ‘Darling aren’t you ready yet?’ The high-pitched tones of Sebastian’s fiancée, Caroline, brought him back to earth with a bump. Paris meets Buckingham Palace, her Rs rolling like a Bateau Mouche down the Seine. ‘The girls downstairs said you were only talking to Joss so I thought I’d whiz up and move you along.’

  Bustling in through the office door, the flounces and layers of her extravagant mocha silk skirt rustling, Caroline glanced at her reflection in the coffee table as she passed, smoothing her waist-length ebony hair behind her ears, pursing her lips, glossed blood red, before beaming an expectant smile at her fiancé. Sebastian looked back at her, lost in thought for a moment. In the light from the chandelier her pale skin was almost translucent, typically Irish, her dark hair and eyebrows classically French, favouring her mother. It had always amazed him that her brother Cormac, his best friend for as long as he could remember, shared none of her traffic-stopping Gallic looks; instead, he took after his father, a Kerryman born and bred, with a shock of red hair to prove it. The only red-headed vigneron in St Emilion, Cormac Audiguet-O’Reilly would be taking over the family chateau when his father retired.

  Sebastian took a look at his watch. ‘But it’s only 10.30.I thought we weren’t meeting until 12.00?’

  ‘That’s for lunch darling, but we’ve lots to finalise before we tee up with Sylvia. She can hardly plan the wedding on her own now, can she?’

  ‘Will it take long?’ Sebastian frowned, one eye on his desk diary, trying to work how he could juggle the morning to compensate for the lost hours, it was bound to be hours…’I’ve got a load on.’

  ‘Oh darling, how can you say that?’ Caroline pouted, ‘I’ve got so much to go through. I really want to finalise the colours for the flowers and the tables. And the wine. Daddy needs to know whether you want the ’96 or the 2000 so he can get it shipped over. They’re terribly busy at the moment. Did you look at the invitations? We need to send them out by the end of next week at the latest and we haven’t even agreed the final list yet.’

  ‘Do we? Good God. I’ve had a quick look at them. The gold’s good,’ Sebastian paused, then raced on...’But the invitation is so important. It needs to be right…’ shooting Caroline his guaranteed-to-make-women-cave-in smile, Sebastian continued, ‘can I think about them for a few days?’

  Caroline’s snort was like a racehorse objecting to going into the stalls. Tactfully ignoring it, Sebastian’s voice became smooth, cajoling.

  ‘You’re putting so much work into this darling that I want it all to be right. Surely a few days won’t make any difference. Most of your friends already have the date marked and their flights booked; they’re dying to see what marvels you produce.’

  Flattery worked every time with Caroline, and Sebastian knew it. Smiling modestly, she sashayed over to the desk, the ultra-high heels on her suede boots skidding on the smooth floor like nails on a chalkboard. Leaning on the edge of his desk, she blew him an exaggerated kiss.

  ‘Just don’t take too long deciding darling. Now chop chop...’

  Reaching for his jacket, slung over the back of his chair, Sebastian grinned back at her, catching Jocelyn’s surprised expression Feeling the need to explain he said, ‘I’d just like the old man to have a look, he might have something to say about them. Half the guests are his business associates. Wouldn’t want to offend him, would we?’

  FIVE

  ‘Room service?’

  The man who had hated Sebastian Wingfield for as long as he could remember cradled the phone on his shoulder as he wrestled his navy silk tie loose.

  ‘Yes sir, what can we get you?’

  ‘Steak sandwich, blue. Bottle of red, something good, you choose. Fast as you can.’

  Putting the phone down with a clatter, he pulled the tie free from his collar and threw it onto the crisply made bed, rubbed his hands over his face. It didn’t matter how often he flew, he always found it exhausting. He could feel the stubble already pricking at his palms, a dull ache developing behind his eyes. He needed to hit the gym, was already getting out of shape. And he hated that feeling. That puffiness, the fatigue. So different from when he’d been in the Marines. He’d been at his peak then, training every day.

  But soon enough he’d be able to call his time his own. Soon enough. A slow smile lit his face. Soon enough he’d be the one calling the shots.

  It had taken a lot of planning, but the Wingfields had pissed off enough people over the years, enough people who, when brought together, had the capital to move in on their company. It was just a matter of getting them all organised. And he was almost there.

  The next move was the key one. The trickiest bit – finding that one thing that could be exploited to discredit them. It didn’t need to be big or even completely true, just something that the press could get their teeth into. Then he could drip in the stuff about the factory and the fire, really shake the market’s confidence in the company’s leadership. With any luck, that would be enough for the shareholders to call for Sebastian Wingfield’s resignation, would definitely cause the share value to take a dip, leaving Wingfield Holdings wide open for a takeover.

  A sharp rap on the door interrupted his thoughts. Room service. He nodded half to himself, impressed. They knew him well at this stage. Knew he didn’t like to be kept waiting. But then you got what you paid for in this life and he’d learned a long time ago that not much could better a five-star hotel.

  ‘Afternoon Felix.’

  He held the door open as the waiter, his skin ebony against the pristine white of his shirt, pushed a trolley into the room and flashed him a broad grin.

  ‘Afternoon sir.’

  A moment later the waiter was gone. No chat, no fuss, exactly how he liked it.

  Pulling the trolley over to the side of the bed, he sat down heavily, lifting the domed silver covers, the lids reflecting the soft glow from the sidelights behind him. Steak sandwich and a salad. It had some fancy name if you read the menu. He rarely did. He knew what he liked. The rich scents of perfectly cooked food made his stomach growl. Picking up the bottle of red wine he gave the label a cursory glance before splashing it into the waiting glass. After the week he’d had, this was heaven, or close to it.

  Heaven would be when he saw the look on that spoilt prick Sebastian Wingfield’s face, when he brought him down. Him and his bastard of a grandfather.

  He had waited a long time for this. He took a sip of the rich red wine, watching the tear drops form on the side of the glass, enjoying its oaky bouquet.

  Getting even with the Wingfields had been a given since the night when he’d woken up to find his mum sobbing at the bottom of the stairs, a pretty guard trying to comfort her. The guard had looked old to him that night, but in the picture he held locked in his head, he could see now that she had been young, would never forget the look of pain on her face at the sight of him stumbling down the stairs rubbing his eyes, his faded cotton hand-me-down pyjamas baggy with wear.

  Some things you couldn’t forgive. And now it was time to get even.

  SIX

  ‘Why do you have to go back to the office so soon?’ Caroline pouted, her dark eyes beseeching Sebastian to stay. ‘I thought we could do a bit of shopping after lunch...’

  ‘I’m sorry but that took way longer than I thought,’ Sebastian glanced at his watch, ‘it’s almost three...’ Only half concentrating on her, his face troubled, Sebastian stood up from the table, pu
lling on his jacket, the white linen tablecloth dragging at the fine wool of his trousers as he did so. He hardly noticed, continued shaking his head, talking more to himself than to her. ‘I don’t know who’s feeding this damned journalist but I’m going to have to talk to her once and for all, knock these stories on the head.’ He shouldered his jacket on. ‘The last thing we need is the FT spreading a load of rot about the company. The shares will take a hit and I can’t afford that right now, with this deal in New York finally coming together.’

  Caroline nodded like she understood what he was talking about and threw her napkin on the table, standing up herself. If only he switched his phone off at lunch like everyone else, he wouldn’t even have known about this damned journalist person who had so neatly wrecked her entire afternoon. There were definitely a few things that were going to have to change when they were married, and Sebastian’s umbilical link to his office had just shot to the top of the list. Caroline caught her blast of irritation just in time and replaced it with a coy smile.

  ‘I’ll see you later though...?’

  The restaurant was already almost empty, the last of its clientele of predominantly dark-suited businessmen pulling out their own phones to turn them on and check their messages as they headed back to their offices, drowning the oriental music playing softly in the background with incoming text message bleeps and ring tones.

  Sebastian kissed her lightly on the lips, his eyes already on the door. ‘I’ll have to see how it goes, I might be working late.’ Then, focusing back on her for a moment, ‘have we got everything worked out now for the wedding then?’

  ‘I knew you weren’t listening to Sylvia! There’s a still load to do...’