Elaine gave him a surprised look, but nodded and walked over to the old man. Anyone seeing her might easily have mistaken her for one of the guests, come over from England for the party perhaps. She was wearing a well-cut but simple and practical suit, a silk shirt and low-heeled shoes, but there was something about her slim figure, her carriage and the way she walked that suggested good breeding and gracefulness of manner. Although she never pushed herself forward, she had an air of class and quiet dignity that made her stand out in any circle. Anyone seeing her at this party would immediately think that she came from a background of wealth and position.
It was partly true: she had been well-educated and did come from such a background, but it wasn’t her wealth, her position. Her father had been the youngest son of rather staid parents—a rebel who had loved life and lived it to the full, usually in direct opposition to his parents. He had met Elaine’s mother, an aspiring actress, while he was at college, and only a hasty marriage, again against his parents’ wishes, had made Elaine legitimate. He had been killed in an accident not long afterwards, and her mother, who had no money of her own, had appealed to his parents for help. It was they who had paid for Elaine’s education at a good school, who had let her visit them for several holidays. They had given her what they felt duty-bound to give, but no more, because they had always disapproved of her mother, who never rose above bit parts and commercials.
Old Mr Brodey gave her a smile of welcome as she walked up to him. ‘The party went off exceedingly well, my dear. You’re to be congratulated.’ He spoke with warm kindness, a man who knew how to treat the people who worked for him, in whatever capacity. He was a charming old man, one it was impossible not to like, not to warm to, but Elaine guessed that he could also be ruthless if necessary—how else could he have held together and widely expanded what had been just a wine company into the large business empire it had become?
They talked for a few minutes, but then the last of the guests came up to say goodbye, and afterwards Calum came over and urged the old man to go up to his room to rest. When his grandfather had gone, protesting only a little, Calum said, ‘I’m sorry I had to warn you, but I didn’t want Grandfather troubled. He hasn’t been too well lately.’
‘Of course. I quite understand.’
He nodded and walked away. Elaine watched his tall figure, wondering if he was worried about taking over as head of the Brodey empire. Some men might have been, but somehow she couldn’t see Calum being at all anxious; he seemed perfectly capable of doing anything he set his mind to, and doing it with imaginative, ambitious efficiency. And the ruthlessness that she suspected in his grandfather? Yes, she rather thought he had that too.
After the lunch, Elaine checked that everything had been cleared in the kitchen and that it had been left pristine clean, that the hired staff had been paid and the left-over food and opened bottles of wine distributed between them. Only then did she relax and go to her room.
It had been arranged that she should stay in the palácio while she was in Portugal, and had been given a pleasant room in a side-wing which overlooked a courtyard. One that had probably been used in former times by the upper-class servant of an upper-class guest, Elaine had thought with amusement when she was shown into it for the first time. It had no air-conditioning or heating, but there were shutters which could be closed to keep it cool in the summer and a fireplace for the winter, beneath one of the many pepper-pot chimneys which adorned the roof. It had a modern single bed and furniture, a hand-basin and a built-in shower, and was adequate for someone in her position, she supposed.
The two staff members she had brought over with her, both men, one a chef, the other an ex-head waiter, had been given similar rooms, and were having a siesta after their hard work that morning. Grateful to relax for a while, Elaine showered and changed into a casual skirt and shirt, then took a chair into the courtyard to sit and read in the sun for a while. She didn’t see any members of the family again until the internal phone in her room rang and Calum asked to see her.
She found him in his study—a large businesslike room fitted up with all the latest communications technology. A room which he had put at her disposal and where she kept all the paperwork to do with this week. He was leaning back against his desk and gave her a rueful smile. ‘I’m afraid there will be an extra guest for dinner tonight. I hope it doesn’t throw you out too much.’
‘Not at all.’ She went over to the small desk he had put in the room for her and took out the file for the family dinner that evening. ‘Is the extra guest male or female?’
‘Female.’ He came to stand beside her and look at the seating plan. ‘Now, where shall we put her?’
She was aware of his closeness, aware of his strong masculinity, but pushed it out of her consciousness, as she had trained herself to do over the last three years.
‘Here, I suppose, at the end of the table. Near Chris.’ He pointed with a long, well-manicured finger. ‘It’s the young woman who was involved in that incident earlier,’ he explained. ‘Francesca—we—have invited her to dinner.’
‘What’s her name? I shall have to do a place-card for her.’
‘Tiffany Dean.’
Elaine made a note of the name, then went over to the desk to write out a card in her elegant script, learnt specially for this kind of job at calligraphy classes. She expected Calum to leave, but he went back to stand at his own, very large desk and picked up some messages that had come in over the fax. When he’d looked at them, he said, ‘The lunch went well, except for there being one too few places.’
Elaine felt like telling him she strongly suspected that there had been one too many guests, but refrained from doing so. It was the smallest thing and not worth arguing about, although she rather resented having her efficiency rebuked. But she remembered the traders’ maxim—that the customer was always right—even though on this occasion she knew darn well that the customer was wrong.
‘The party at your vineyard—’ she began.
‘The quinta.’ He gave it the Portuguese translation.
‘Yes. Do you have any more information on the numbers for me?’
‘I haven’t, but I expect Francesca may have.’ He smiled at her. ‘Let’s go and ask her, shall we?’
She walked beside him through the cool corridors of the house, not quite sure yet which room was which, which door led where. They came to the big sitting-room that all the family seemed to use more than any other, but Francesca wasn’t there, or out on the terrace that overlooked the garden.
‘Let’s have a drink while we wait for her, shall we?’
Calum went inside and she sat at the table on the terrace, watching him through the open doors as he expertly opened a bottle of sparkling wine. He was, she realised, a very attractive man—not only to women, because of his handsomeness, but in the way that he drew people’s eyes, their attention. His arrogance should have been off-putting, could quite easily have created a barrier between himself and those he wasn’t close to, but he also had charming manners and a friendly smile which dispelled the hardness. This afternoon she had seen both men and women eager to meet and talk with him, not just because he was the heir to the Brodey Corporation, but because it was a pleasure to do so. Her eyes still contemplating him, Elaine wondered why he wasn’t married, and whether the social face that he showed to the world was his true personality.
He turned with the glasses of wine in his hands and caught her gazing at him. His left eyebrow rose slightly. Embarrassed at being caught, she flushed a little, then was angry with herself for doing so.
‘Your gardens are beautiful,’ she said hastily as he came out to join her.
‘They’re my grandfather’s pride and joy.’