No sooner had she begun walking down the corridor than a door opened a little way along and a tall, broad-shouldered man strode out, swiftly followed by a flashy-looking brunette dressed in a purple trouser-suit.
‘But Vaughan, darling,’ she was saying, the name bringing Carolyn up with a jerk. Her startled gaze snapped back to the man, who had spun round to be half-turned away from her.
This was the present-day Vaughan Slater? she gaped. This conservative male person with short back and sides and dressed in a crisp pale blue shirt and casual cream tailored trousers? Admittedly, the back of the shirt collar was turned up as though he’d dressed in a hurry, but on the whole he presented a smart, well-groomed image—a far cry from the bronzed, shirtless, bejeaned figure all her girlfriends had drooled over.
Quite without warning, he twisted to glance over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowing, straight dark brows bunching into a frown.
Carolyn steadfastly ignored the way her heart started pounding. Nerves, she realised, and steeled herself for the fray. At least his almost sullen expression was still the same, she grumbled to herself. Pity he’d cut his hair, though. She would have liked to have more to remind her of the Vaughan of old. But there wasn’t much evidence of those once wild chestnut waves in the dark, damp-looking, semispiked hair that covered the top of his head.
When he kept on staring at her, a breathless anticipation seized Carolyn. Any second now the penny was sure to drop.
But it didn’t! Oh, yes, there was a split second when something hovered behind his eyes, but he lost it, and, shrugging, returned his attention to the brunette.
‘Anthea,’ he said in a deep male voice, ‘I can’t talk to you now. I have a client due at eleven...’
The brunette tossed a glance of her own down the corridor to where Carolyn had frozen on the spot.
‘Look, I’ll ring you later and let you know,’ he went on impatiently.
‘And turn me down, no doubt,’ the brunette huffed. ‘Truly, Vaughan, what have you got against parties? Oh, please do say you’ll come this time, darling. I’m only putting it on for you. I want to show you off to my friends.’
Carolyn actually saw him shudder. ‘Good God, I’m not one of your prized poodles, you know. As for the crowd you mix with being your friends—huh! They’re more your husband’s friends than yours, dear heart,’ he finished with a snort. ‘Especially the women.’
The woman laughed and made the tellingly intimate gesture of straightening his collar. ‘True,’ she murmured, and traced a fingernail along his jawline. ‘That’s just the point. I want all those bitches to see what I’ve finally snared for myself. They’ll be as jealous as sin.’
Carolyn’s whole insides contracted with distaste. He hadn’t changed. Not one iota. She’d had a fleeting worry the other night that she might have misjudged the situation with her mother. But no...he was going along in his usual despicable fashion. At least now he wasn’t seducing lonely, vulnerable single women. He’d moved on to tacky, wealthy married ones. Though if what Julian suspected was right, this Anthea was not the only string to his sexual bow. There was the interior decorator as well. My, but he was a busy boy!
Her lips curled with contempt as she walked right up to them.
‘Mr Slater?’ she said archly.
His companion looked irritated at being interrupted. Vaughan turned and stared hard at her again, as though still trying to place her. Once more his memory failed him, shown by a flicker of frustration in his expressive brown eyes.
You’ll know who I am soon enough, she thought tartly. Then you’ll wish you didn’t, you immoral bastard!
‘Yes?’ he said, a faint frown remaining on his undeniably handsome face.
Carolyn was rather startled at finding herself admitting to this. When she was fourteen, she’d never thought him all that handsome. Attractive, yes. But only in a sexily brooding fashion. Either his facial features had matured favourably in the intervening years, or she’d changed her ideas on what was handsome and what was not. She certainly couldn’t find any fault in the way his face was assembled, from his wide clear forehead to his strong straight nose to his classically chiselled jawline. His eyes, she conceded, had always held some appeal, but she was perturbed to find her own locking with those rich brown depths for an uncomfortable period of time.
‘I’m Julian Thornton’s stepdaughter,’ she said somewhat stiffly at last. ‘I believe you’re expecting me?’
He glanced at his watch which showed right on eleven. As he raised his eyes, Carolyn was subjected to a fleeting but decidedly dismissive sexual scrutiny.
‘I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Miss Thornton,’ he said coolly. ‘If you’ll just go into my office, my secretary will show you a seat.’
Piqued at being made to wait—or was it because he’d found her not worth a second glance?—Carolyn swept on into Suite Three, her face burning. What on earth was wrong with her? Fancy even caring what he thought of her looks! So he was drop-dead handsome. So what? Handsome is as handsome does, she believed. And she knew exactly what Mr Casanova Slater did with the women in his life!
The middle-aged lady behind the reception desk looked up with a ready smile. ‘Miss Thornton?’
Carolyn’s returning smile felt decidedly false within her flushed cheeks. ‘Mr Slater said for you to show me into his office. He’ll be joining me shortly. He’s just saying goodbye to his—er...’ She bit her bottom lip, aware she’d been about to make an uncharacteristically catty remark. ‘I didn’t quite catch the lady’s name,’ she finished lamely.
‘Mrs Maxwell,’ the secretary supplied, and stood up. ‘She’s one of Mr Slater’s best clients.’
Oh, how typical, Carolyn thought, and almost laughed. Well he certainly hadn’t lost his touch when it came to seducing the right women, the ones who were to his financial advantage.
‘Are you sure Mr Slater said you were to wait for him in his office, Miss Thornton?’ the secretary enquired on a puzzled note.
Carolyn blinked her confusion. ‘Yes... I... I’m certain that’s what he said.’
The woman shrugged resignedly. ‘Very well, but I must warn you not to touch anything. Oh, and—er—don’t mind the mess. Mr Slater was working most of the night on a new project, and when he does that he’s inclined to be...um...untidy. He went home a short while back to shower and change and was about to clear everything away in readiness for your visit when Mrs Maxwell arrived unexpectedly. He hasn’t had time since.’
I can imagine, came the caustic thought. ‘I don’t mind a little mess,’ Carolyn lied.
Even so, when she was shown into the room, she was shocked into a wide-eyed silence. Papers and sketches and plans covered every available surface, which included several desks and cabinets, not to mention every chair and sections of the floor. One of the corners contained a pile of screwed-up paper. Several empty coffee-mugs seemed to be being used as paperweights at strategic points. The litter from a couple of visits to McDonald’s was sitting on an old plastic chair beside the main desk.
The secretary picked this latter up with a disapproving ‘tch-tch’. ‘Truly, it’s a wonder that man doesn’t have a weight problem,’ she muttered. ‘The rubbish he stuffs into himself. You’ll have to sit here,’ she added with an apologetic grimace, and indicated the now empty plastic chair. ‘I don’t dare touch any of the rest of it. It might cost me my job if I disturb any of Mr Slater’s papers.’
Carolyn, who was the neatest, most organised person both at work and at home, could only sink down into the seat and stare at the shambles in bewilderment. The whole