What did he want?
Whatever it was, she wasn’t interested. Not on a personal or professional level. On a personal level, he was the last man she wanted anything to do with, and the same applied on a professional level. For the same reason. The less contact she had with Gabriel Vaughan—on any level—the better she would like it.
That decision made, she decided to totally ignore the call, pretend it never happened. After all, he hadn’t left a name or contact number, just those few words of angry impatience.
Having so decided, she reached out to switch the machine back on. After all, she had a business to run.
‘Jane! Oh, Jane…!’ There was a short pause in the fourth message, before the woman continued. ‘It’s Felicity Warner here. Give me a call as soon as you come in. Please!’ Felicity had sounded tearful enough at the beginning of the message, but that last word sounded like a pleading sob!
And Jane didn’t need two guesses as to why the other woman had sounded so different on the recording from the happily excited one she had left the evening before; no doubt Richard had been to his meeting with Gabriel Vaughan!
Maybe she should have tried to warn the other woman last night, after all, once she had realised who Richard was dealing with? But if she had done that Felicity would only have wanted to know how she knew so much about the man. And it had taken her almost three years to shake off the how and why she had ever known a man like Gabriel Vaughan.
But Felicity sounded desperately upset, so unhappy. Which really couldn’t be good for her in her condition—
‘Don’t you ever switch this damned thing off, Jane Smith?’ The fifth message began to play, Gabriel Vaughan’s voice sounding mockingly amused this time—and just as instantly recognisable to Jane as on the previous message. ‘Well, I refuse to talk to a machine,’ he continued dismissively. ‘I’ll try you again later.’ He rang off abruptly, again without actually saying who the caller had been.
But Jane was in no doubt whatsoever who the caller had been, remembered all too well from last night when he had called her ‘Jane Smith’ in that mocking drawl. Two calls in a hour! What did the man want?
Some time in the last hour—if Felicity’s cry for help was anything to go by—he had also spoken to Richard Warner!
The man was a machine. An automaton. He bought and sold, ruined people’s lives, without a thought for the consequences. And the consequences, in this case, could be Felicity’s pregnancy…!
Once again Jane switched off the answer machine. She didn’t want to get involved in this, not from any angle. And if she returned Felicity’s call she would become involved. If she wasn’t already!
She didn’t really know the Warners that well. She understood they had been guests at several other dinner parties she had catered for, which was why Felicity had telephoned her for the booking last night.
Over the years Jane had made a point of not getting too close to clients; she was employed by them, and so she never, ever made the mistake of thinking she was anything else. But somehow yesterday had been different. Felicity had obviously been deeply worried, had desperately needed someone she could talk to. And she had chosen Jane as that confidante, probably because she realised, with the delicacy of Jane’s position working in other people’s homes, that she had to be discreet, that the things Felicity talked to her about would go no further.
Jane never had been a gossip, but now there was a very good reason why what Felicity had told her would go no further: she simply had no one she could possibly tell!
Her life was a busy one, and she met lots of people in the course of her work, but friends, good friends, were something she had necessarily moved away from in recent years. It was an unspoken part of her contract that she never discussed the people she worked for, and Jane guarded her own privacy even more jealously!
Her life had taken a dramatic turn three years ago, but determination and hard work meant she now ran her own life, and her own business. Successfully.
That success meant she could afford to rent this apartment; it was completely open-plan, with polished wood floors, scatter rugs, antique furniture, and no television, because not only did she not have the time to watch it, but she didn’t like it either, her relaxation time spent listening to her extensive music collection, and reading the library of books that took up the whole of one wall. It was all completely, uniquely her own, and her idea of heaven on an evening off wasn’t to go out partying as she would once have done, but to sit and listen to one of her favourite classical music tapes while rereading one of her many books.
But somehow those last three messages on her answer machine seemed even to have invaded the peace and tranquillity of her home…
Much as she liked Felicity and felt sorry for the other woman, she simply couldn’t return that beseeching telephone call.
She just couldn’t…!
She was tired by the time she returned to her apartment at one o’clock the following morning. The dinner party had been a success, but the reason for her weariness was the disturbance in her personal life over the last twenty-four hours.
The answer machine was flashing repeatedly—one, two, three, four, five, six, she counted warily. How many of those calls would be from Gabriel Vaughan?
Or was she becoming paranoid? The man she had met the evening before did not look as if he had to chase after any woman, least of all one who cooked for other people for a living! And yet on the second of those last recorded messages he had said he would ‘try again later’!
Jane sighed. She was tired. It was late. And she wanted to go to bed. But would she be able to sleep, knowing that there were six messages on her machine that hadn’t been listened to?
Probably not, she conceded with impatient anger. She didn’t like this. Not one little bit. She deeply resented Gabriel Vaughan’s intrusion, but at the same time she was annoyed at her own reaction to it. She was not about to live in fear ever again. This was her home, damn it, her space, and Gabriel Vaughan was not welcome in it. He certainly wasn’t going to invade it.
She reached out and firmly pushed the ‘play’ button on the answermachine.
‘Hello, Jane, Richard Warner here. Felicity wanted me to call you. She’s been taken into hospital. The doctor thinks she may lose the baby. I—she—Thank you for all your help last night.’ The message came to an abrupt end, Richard Warner obviously not knowing what else to say.
Because there was nothing else to say, Jane realised numbly. What had Gabriel Vaughan said to Richard, what had he done, to have created such—?
No!
She couldn’t become involved. She dared not risk—dared not risk—She just didn’t dare!
But Felicity had called her earlier today, feeling that in some way she needed Jane. And, from Richard’s call just now, the other woman had been proved right! Could Jane now just ignore this call for help? Or was it already too late…?
She couldn’t change anything even if she did return Richard’s call. What could she do? She would be the last person Gabriel Vaughan would listen to—even if she reversed her own decision about never wanting to speak to him again.
But what about Felicity…?
It was almost one-thirty in the morning now—too late to call either Richard or the hospital; she doubted the nurses on duty at the latter would volunteer any information about Felicity, anyway. She would go to bed, get a good night’s sleep, and try calling Richard in the morning. Maybe Felicity’s condition would be a little more positive by then.
Or maybe it wouldn’t.
She absently listened to the rest of her messages, curious now about the other five calls.
They were all business calls, not a single one in the Transatlantic drawl