There was no point waiting and hoping that things would work out his way; he had to make them happen.
Clara was still looking at him, that green gaze of hers intent. He didn’t know what he had expected. Shock? Disapproval? Horror? It was hard to remember sometimes that to other people Rafferty’s was no more than a place to buy beautifully gift-wrapped socks or get an expensive but perfect afternoon tea. It wasn’t the centre of everyone’s world.
What was it about this woman that made him want to confess, to spill all the secrets that he preferred to keep locked away so tightly? Was it her directness, her transparency? The unexpected way she lit up when she smiled?
Their eyes were locked, the colour rising faint on her cheeks, her breath coming a little quicker. The full mouth parted slightly. Heat rose through him, sudden and shocking. The walls of the room seemed to contract; all he could see was her. The red-gold hair tumbling around her creamy shoulders, delicate tempting shoulders exposed by the deceptively demure halterneck dress, shoulders that were begging for a man to touch them, to kiss the triangle of freckles delicately placed like an old-fashioned patch.
Raff swallowed, blood thrumming round his body, his heartbeat accelerating. She was so very close, green eyes darkening until they resembled the storm-tossed sea. Just a few short steps...
‘That suits you.’ Raff jumped as Susannah heeled in a third rail. ‘Although I don’t think those are the right shoes.’
Clara pulled her eyes from his, pulling at the hem of the dress. The room felt a good ten degrees colder and suddenly a lot bigger. ‘No,’ she agreed, throwing Raff a faint, complicit smile that warmed him through. ‘After ten minutes in these shoes I am completely convinced that they are absolutely not the right shoes.’
‘Have you made any decisions yet? I’ve brought a few formal evening gowns as Mr Raff instructed.’ Susannah gestured towards the rail. ‘He didn’t specify but with your colouring I thought greens, blacks and golds might be most suitable. Do you want me to stay and help you try them on?’ She picked up a long, dark dress and carried it into the curtained area, hanging it onto one of the silver rails that hung between the floor-length mirrors.
‘That’s very kind but I think I’ll manage, thanks. They all look lovely.’ Clara threw the rail a helpless look. ‘I’m only on my third dress. I’d better hurry up or I’ll never get my reward.’
Cake, she meant cake, Raff reminded himself, fingers curling into a fist as other, equally sweet ways of rewarding her flashed through his head.
Clara took a step back, retreating behind the curtain as Susannah left. Raff paced around the room trying not to interpret every sound he heard. The rustle of a button, the slow, steady zip as the dress was undone, the faint slither of material falling to the floor.
Maybe he should have some more water.
‘Have you ever tried to tell them how you feel?’ Her voice floated through the curtain.
It took a few seconds for the words to penetrate through his brain, for him to remember the conversation they had been halfway through before time slowed, before his brain had gone into lockdown and his body into overdrive.
‘No,’ he admitted, running one hand through his hair. It was a relief in some ways to spill the feelings he had carried around for so long, locked inside so tight he barely recognised them himself. Clara was unconnected; she was safe.
In this context at least.
And she was invisible, hidden away behind the curtain; it felt as if he had the seal of the confessional. That he could say anything and be absolved.
‘Rafferty’s means everything to Grandfather, to Polly too. But it bores me. Merchandise and pricing and advertising and thinking about Christmas in June,’ he said slowly, trying to pick his words carefully as he articulated the feelings he barely admitted to himself. ‘Polly and I owe my grandfather everything and all he wanted, all he wants, is for me to take this place over. To take my father’s place by continuing his work, accepting my great-grandfather’s legacy. I didn’t know how to tell him I didn’t want it. Not ever. What kind of spoiled brat breaks his grandfather’s heart?’
She didn’t reply. How could she? But her silence didn’t feel hostile or loaded.
‘I tried.’ He leant back against the wall and gazed unseeingly at the ceiling, the long years of thwarted hopes and unwanted expectations heavy on his conscience. ‘I really, really tried, worked here after school and every holiday, gave up my dreams of studying medicine and struggled through three years of business management instead. I even did an MBA and I took up the role awaiting me here—and every day, for six years, I hated coming to work.’
He sighed. ‘But ironically Polly loved it. I hoped that if Grandfather saw how well she did then he would switch his attention to her. But he’s old-fashioned. He doesn’t even realise how much he’s hurt her by leaving the company to me.’
‘You have to tell him.’ She sounded so matter of fact. As if it were that easy.
‘I know. Unfortunately last time I tried he ended up in hospital.’ Raff tried to make his voice sound light but he knew he was failing.
‘What’s your plan? To spend another six years here hating every moment, you miserable, Polly miserable?’
‘No!’ he protested. Her words cut a little deeper than he liked. After all, he had taken the path of least resistance, hoping it would all work out somehow. He had only postponed the inevitable.
He had run through every possible conversation in his head. None of them ever ended well. If he had to he would just walk away, refuse to be involved, but the old man had lost one son already. If only there was a way to keep the family together and live his own life.
If only he could make his grandfather see...
Unless...
‘I could invite him to the ball,’ he said, his brain beginning to tick over with ideas. ‘Let him see for himself what I’ve been up to.’
‘Will he be fit?’ She didn’t sound convinced.
There was the flaw. ‘It’s five weeks away. He’ll be back home this week and resting. If I make sure he’s escorted at all times, order a special low-fat dinner and keep him away from the wine he should be okay. He never was the sort to dance the night away. I could take a table, fill it with business cronies. He’d enjoy that.’
‘And then what?’ She still sounded doubtful.
He was over thirty. It was time to be a man, banish the guilt-ridden small boy, eager to please whatever the cost. ‘Then, after the ball, when he’s seen the difference we make, the difference I make, I’ll talk to him again. Honestly and firmly.’
It wasn’t a foolproof plan by any means. Nor was it an instant answer. Raff would have to stick around for nearly two months—but he’d planned for that after all, booked Clara for up to six weeks.
It felt like the best shot he had. And regardless of whatever his grandfather decided his own decision was made.
It was only now that he realised just how heavy his burden had been: guilt, expectations, responsibility weighing him down. He wasn’t free of it, not yet, but freedom was in sight. It was strange how talking it through with someone, sharing his burden, had helped.
Would anyone have done or was it Clara herself? Raff wasn’t sure he wanted to explore that thought any further.
‘It could work.’ She sounded a little more enthusiastic. ‘You better make sure your presentation is spectacular.’
‘Our presentation,’ he said silkily. ‘You’re the one who promised we’d be there, agreed to all this.