Although it was the first time Jane had actually cooked for Felicity, she had found the other woman warm and friendly; in fact, the other woman had been chattering away to her all afternoon. Some of it through nervousness concerning the success of this evening, Jane was sure, and so she had just let Felicity talk as she continued to work.
Every morsel of food that had appeared on the table this evening had been personally prepared by Jane herself, even down to the chocolates now being served with the coffee, meaning that she’d spent a considerable time at her client’s home before the meal was due to begin. Felicity, aware of how important this evening was—to her husband, to the whole family—had followed Jane about the kitchen most of the afternoon, talking endlessly. So much so that Jane now felt she knew the family—and their problems—intimately. Felicity obviously felt the same way!
‘Nothing has actually been said, of course,’ Felicity continued excitedly. ‘But Gabe has asked to meet Richard at his office tomorrow morning, so that they can “talk”.’ She smiled her pleasure at this development. ‘A vast improvement on just buying Richard out and to hell with him! And I’m sure it’s your wonderful meal that’s mellowed him and tipped the balance!’ She grinned conspiratorially. ‘He told me he doesn’t usually eat dessert, but I persuaded him to just try a little of your wonderful white chocolate mousse—and there wasn’t a word out of him while he ate every mouthful! He was so relaxed by the time he had eaten it that he readily agreed to talk with Richard in the morning!’ she concluded gleefully.
So it wasn’t the other man who had actually asked for the meeting, but Richard Warner who had instigated it. Oh, well, a little poetic licence was allowed on the other woman’s part in the circumstances. Felicity’s husband ran and owned an ailing computer company, and, from what Felicity had told Jane, this man Gabe was a shark: a great white, who ate up his own species as well as other fish, without thought or conscience for the devastation he left behind him. The fact that he had agreed to have dinner with them at all had, according to Felicity, been more than she had ever hoped for.
The man sounded like a first-class bastard to Jane, not a man anyone would particularly want to do business with. But the Warners didn’t seem to have any choice in the matter!
‘I’m really pleased for you, Felicity,’ she told the other woman warmly. ‘But shouldn’t you be returning to your guests…?’ And then Jane could begin the unenviable task of clearing away. She never left a home without first doing this; it was part of the service that none of the mess from her catering would be left for the client to clean up. Paula and Rosemary would leave as soon as they had served coffee, but Jane would be here until the end of the evening.
But she didn’t mind that. She would work an eighteen-hour day, as she had done a lot at the beginning, as long as she was independent. Free…
‘Heavens, yes.’ Felicity giggled now at her own social gaffe. ‘I was just so thrilled, I had to come and tell you. I’ll talk to you again later.’ She gave Jane’s arm a grateful squeeze before hurrying back to rejoin her guests in the dining-room, leaving a trail of the aroma of her expensive perfume behind her.
Jane shook her head ruefully, turning her attention to the dessert dishes. Under other circumstances, she and Felicity might have become friends. As it was, no matter how friendly they might have become today, Jane knew she would leave here this evening and not see Felicity again until—or if—the other woman needed her professional services again.
She readily admitted that it was a strange life she had chosen for herself. Her refined speech and obvious education—an education that had included, thank goodness, a cordon bleu cookery course—set her apart from many people, and yet the fact that she was an employee of Felicity’s, despite being the owner of the business, meant she didn’t ‘belong’ in that set of people, either.
A strange life, yes, but it was one that gave her great satisfaction. Although occasionally it was a lonely life.
‘—really is an absolute treasure,’ Felicity could be heard gushing out in the hallway. ‘I don’t know why she doesn’t open up her own restaurant; there’s no doubting it would be all the rage.’ Her voice became louder as she entered the kitchen. ‘Jane, I’ve brought someone to meet you,’ she announced happily, a thread of excitement underlying her voice. ‘I think he’s fallen in love with your cooking,’ she added flirtatiously.
There was no warning. No sign. No alarm bells. Nothing to tell Jane that her life was about to be turned upside down for the second time in three years!
She picked up the towel to dry her hands before turning, fixing a smile on her lips as she did so, only to have that smile freeze into place as she looked at the man Felicity had brought into the kitchen to meet her.
No!
Not him!
It couldn’t be!
She was successful. Independent. Free.
It couldn’t be him. She couldn’t bear it. Not when she had worked so hard. ‘This is Gabriel Vaughan, Jane.’ Felicity introduced him innocently. ‘Gabe, our wonderful cook for the evening, Jane Smith.’ She beamed at the two of them.
The Gabe Felicity had been chattering on about all afternoon had been Gabriel Vaughan? The Gabriel Vaughan?
Of course it was—he was standing across the kitchen from where Jane stood as if she had been turned to stone. He was older, of course—but then, so was she!—but the granite-like features of his face still looked as if they had been hewn from solid rock, despite the fact that he was smiling at her.
Smiling at her? It was the last thing he would be doing if he had recognised her in return!
‘Jane Smith,’ he greeted in a voice that perfectly matched the unyielding hardness of him.
He would be thirty-nine now. His dark hair was slightly overlong, easily brushing the collar of his dinner jacket, and he had a firmly set jaw, sculptured lips, a long, aristocratic nose jutting out arrogantly beneath the only redeeming feature in that hard face—eyes so blue they were almost aquamarine, like the clear, warm sea Jane had once swum in off the Bahamas, long, long ago.
‘Or may I call you Jane?’ he added charmingly, his American accent softening that harshness.
The black evening suit and snowy white shirt that Gabriel Vaughan wore with such disregard for their elegance did little to hide the power of the body beneath. His wide shoulders rippled with muscle; his height, at least six feet four inches, meant that he would easily tower over most men he would meet. At only five feet two inches tall herself, Jane had to bend her neck backwards to look up into that harshly carved face, a face that seemed to have become grimmer in the last few years, despite the fact that he was directing a charming smile in her direction at this moment.
Oh, Paul, Jane cried inwardly, how could you ever have thought to come up against this man and win?
But then, Paul hadn’t won, had he? she acknowledged dully. No one ever had against Gabe, if the past newspaper reports about this man were to be believed. In fact, now that she knew who Felicity and Richard Warner were dealing with, she believed Felicity might be rather premature in her earlier feelings of celebration!
‘Jane will be fine,’ she answered him in the soft, calm voice she had learnt to use in every contingency over the last three years—although she was inwardly surprised she had managed to do so on this occasion!
This was Gabriel Vaughan she was talking to, the man who had ripped through the fabric of her life as if he were a tornado. She was damn sure he had never looked back to see what destruction he had left behind him!
‘I’m pleased you enjoyed your meal, Mr Vaughan,’ she added dismissively, hoping he would now return to the dining-room with his hostess.