Kitabı oku: «Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates», sayfa 2

CHAPTER TWO

‘CAN we talk?’ Stark, minimum words that cost her dearly, and incurred a probing look.

‘There’s something you want to discuss?’

His voice was a faintly inflected drawl, and she suppressed an involuntary shiver.

Lara spared him a quick glance and gleaned little from his expression. Assertiveness was the key. ‘Yes.’

‘In that case, let’s do so over lunch.’

Share a meal with him? She really didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary … Time was something she didn’t have!

He sensed her hesitation, and his eyes narrowed slightly. She looked too slender, her features too pale, and she resembled a cat on hot bricks.

Grief, without doubt, had to be taken into account … but why did he have the feeling it was more than that? A broken romance? There had been no boyfriend evident to lend support during the funeral service, nor to attend the gathering afterwards.

He told himself he didn’t care … and knew it to be untrue. For, despite the intervening years, he still retained a vivid recall of her teenage crush, and the method with which he’d dealt with it. The surprising sweetness of her young mouth; her reaction to his touch; the way she’d felt in his arms, and her uninhibited response.

It had affected him more than he’d imagined possible, and left him with a lingering sense of frustration in the knowledge he could have taken her. What had held him back? Remorse? Guilt? At the time he’d refused to contemplate it might be anything else … and he’d grasped opportunity with both hands soon after by relocating to New York, where he’d focused on forging his own fortune.

During the following years he’d met up with Darius in various parts of the world, and during infrequent appearances in Sydney, where he preferred hotel accommodation to staying as a guest in his father’s home. Dinner invitations that had included Lara … who’d stoically refused to ignore him, yet had treated him with such incredible politeness it had made him want to shake her.

Not unlike the feeling he entertained now.

‘We both need to eat,’ Wolfe ventured silkily.

Did she have a choice?

‘A sandwich and coffee,’ she conceded, aware it was all she could afford.

‘When was the last time you ate a decent meal?’

The question came out of left field, and she stiffened at the underlying censure. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, I spend my time in a kitchen cooking professionally for a living.’

‘For clientele.’

‘The nature of the business,’ she responded, and incurred his dark gaze.

‘An hour or two enjoying a leisurely meal in my company is abhorrent to you?’

Difficult. Unnerving. But not abhorrent. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘Of course not.’

They were walking along a busy city-street, and she hesitated as Wolfe indicated a restaurant she knew to be ruinously expensive.

‘Relax.’

Sure. Like she could do that!

The maître d’ took one look at Wolfe, determined an aura of wealth, and ushered them to a well-positioned table.

Within minutes the drinks waiter elicited their order, and Lara opted to stay with chilled water, as did Wolfe.

The menu offered a superb variety, and she perused the selection with care.

‘Do you have a preference?’

Oh God, she didn’t want to do this!

‘I’m not very hungry.’

Wolfe cast her a brief glance over the top of the menu, then went ahead and ordered bruschetta, two entrées, two mains and intimated dessert could wait until later.

She opened her mouth to protest, only to close it again as she incurred his dark, unyielding look.

‘You really want to argue?’

Give it up, a silent voice warned.

The temptation to launch into her request was uppermost, if only to get it out there and be done with it—for the thought of playing polite and conducting a meaningless conversation almost brought her undone.

He looked every inch the man he’d become. Hardened, ruthless, powerful. Someone it would be wise not to toy with … unless you were prepared to face the consequences.

Successful beyond measure, Darius had been known to reveal with pride, with an apartment overlooking New York’s Central Park, residences in London and the south of France, to name a few.

While she was almost destitute and in debt up to her eyeballs.

Some comparison!

Did—could—Wolfe know of her financial circumstances?

Probably not. Unless he’d made it his business to find out. Despite privacy laws, information wasn’t too difficult to elicit if one knew how to circumvent conventional channels.

The mere thought sickened her, and she felt a slight degree of relief as a waiter appeared and placed a platter onto the table.

The bruschetta was tempting, although, given the state of her nerves, forking morsels of food into her mouth would require concentrated effort.

‘Eat, Lara.’

To refuse would be churlish, given a banana followed by coffee had comprised breakfast, and anything she managed to consume this evening would be eaten on the run. If nothing else, she needed food for sustenance and energy to maintain long working hours.

‘How long do you intend to stay in Sydney?’

He met her gaze and held it. ‘As long as it takes.’

An ambiguous answer that didn’t commit him to anything.

Would he comply with the conditions of Darius’ will?

It really was no concern of hers whether he did or not.

Lara moved the food around on her plate, and was so caught up with nerves she didn’t trust herself to lift her fork.

‘You wanted to run something by me?’ Wolfe prompted, and caught her sudden look of anguish.

This was hard, but she couldn’t prevaricate, wouldn’t pretend. Only explain … and ask.

Which she did, as briefly as possible, whilst outlining only the pertinent facts and her desperate urgency for funds.

The spectre of the loan shark hovered over her like the sword of Damocles, ever threatening, and poised to fall any time soon. Fear consumed her, stretching her nerves to breaking point.

There was nothing to be gleaned from his expression, making it impossible to discern whether he’d view her request favourably or not.

‘What amount do you have in mind?’

She mentioned a sum, and he didn’t even blink.

‘You perceive it as a gift?’

‘No.’ Genuine shock widened her eyes, and her hands shook slightly as she replaced her water goblet down onto the table. ‘A loan.’ She closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘Using the shares bequeathed me under the terms of Darius’ will as collateral.’

She’d done the maths, had agonized and lost sleep over the figures, minimizing them to bare essentials in order to clear accumulated debts and purchase a vehicle. ‘I’ll pay you back every cent, with interest.’

‘Over what time frame?’

Lara relayed an estimation. ‘Less,’ she assured him quickly. ‘I can utilize the annuity from Suzanne’s estate and transfer it directly to you.’

Wolfe surveyed her carefully, then offered a silky negative. ‘No.’

Her features paled, and her eyes became large stricken pools. She had nowhere to go … no one else she could ask.

Loan sharks lent money on a strictly short-term basis, and non-payment wrought dire consequences.

She could feel the germ of anger begin to seed and take hold, sparking into flames that owed much to the past.

Uppermost was the desire to pick up the salt-shaker and hurl it at him. She consciously placed her hands onto her lap in an effort at control.

Any hope Wolfe might honour Darius’ verbal assurance of financial help died a natural death, and she rose to her feet, unable to bear so much as another minute in his company. ‘Go back to New York and have a nice life.’

‘Sit down.’ Dark slate-grey eyes seared hers. ‘I’m not done.’ ‘I am!’

Lara turned away from the table, and in the next instant a hand closed over her wrist, manacling her as securely as steel restraints.

‘Let me go.’ The words husked from her throat in a low growl, and her eyes flared with brilliant sapphire chips.

This close, she was supremely conscious of his height and breadth of shoulder, the clean, laundered smell of his clothes and the faint, teasing aroma of his cologne.

‘Sit down … please.’

The ‘please’ did little to appease her anger as she glared at him. ‘Give me one reason why I should.’

His gaze didn’t waver, and a muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw. ‘I have a suggestion.’ One he had no hesitation in making … having reached the decision with split-second decisiveness.

Lara stilled, and her glare became tinged with wariness. ‘I’m not sure I want to hear it.’

She was hardly aware of being manoeuvered down into her seat until Wolfe released her wrist and resumed his position opposite.

‘I’ll settle your debts.’

The wariness increased. ‘You just gave me a categorical no.’

‘To providing you with a loan,’ Wolfe corrected, adding, ‘Or accepting a transfer of Suzanne’s annuity.’

Why did she suddenly have this icy chill feathering the length of her spine?

‘As it stands, the future of the Alexander Conglomerate is at risk. Your bequeathed half-share is projected into the next generation via issue of your children. While mine, should I not relocate to Sydney and assume directorship, will disappear entirely.’ His gaze seared her own. ‘Not something, I think you’ll agree, Darius intended for his billion-dollar conglomerate?’

She knew Darius had accumulated immense wealth … but that much?

Only a fool would allow an investment of that size to slip through their fingers. And Wolfe was no fool.

‘So you’ll base yourself in Sydney.’ It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

‘I’ll honour my father’s wishes,’ he informed her silkily, pausing as the waiter removed their plates and intimated their main course would soon be served. ‘A stable consolidation is essential for the future of the conglomerate, don’t you agree?’

There could be only one answer. ‘Yes.’

He was playing a delicate game, one that required verbal skill and the power of persuasion. Something he was particularly noted for in the business arena, together with his ruthless ability to win against incredible odds.

Darius’ will had set out a deliberate plan in an attempt to achieve in death what he hadn’t been able to bring to fruition during his lifetime.

Wolfe observed Lara’s expressive features, divining the wariness evident, the faint curiosity … and closed in for the kill.

‘I’ll ensure the funds you require are transferred into your bank account within twenty-four hours.’

Her relief was palpable as the horrendous weight of her liability to the loan shark was seen to disappear, and her voice shook a little.

‘Thank you.’

‘Together with an equal amount to ensure any outstanding bills are paid, any temporary reduction in your staff’s wages are reimbursed.’

The waiter delivered their main course, and she didn’t speak until he was out of earshot.

‘You’re being unbelievably generous.’ An instinctive wariness began to unfold, together with suspicion.

‘I’ll clear the restaurant mortgage-debt, and cover all necessary refurbishment.’

There had to be a catch. A price she’d have to pay.

How many possibilities were there? Too few, she acknowledged silently, and in reality, only one.

Yet she had to ask. ‘In return for what?’

One dark eyebrow slanted, and his voice held an edge of mockery. ‘Occupying my home, my bed.’

Her eyes blazed blue fire. ‘As your mistress?’

‘No.’

He sounded mildly amused, and at that moment she truly hated him.

‘Then … what?’ Lara demanded.

‘My wife.’

CHAPTER THREE

FOR a moment Lara lost the power of speech, and she felt the blood drain from her cheeks.

‘If this is a joke,’ she began shakily, ‘it’s in very bad taste.’

Wolfe observed her in silence, noting the way her eyes dilated and became dark, her slightly parted mouth as she unconsciously held her breath.

‘You can’t be serious?’ she managed at last. The concept was ludicrous. Beyond belief. Impossible.

‘Very serious,’ Wolfe assured her solemnly.

‘Why?’ It was a strangled, heart-wrenching cry from the depths of her soul.

‘Children.’

It took a few seconds for her to get it, and even then Wolfe chose to spell it out.

‘Our equal shares in the Alexander Conglomerate are consigned in trust to the issue of children from your marriage, and from my own. Something which will create complex difficulties, and ultimately cause the conglomerate to disintegrate in the next generation.’ He waited a beat as his gaze speared her own. ‘It won’t happen if you and I wed each other and the children stipulated in Darius’ will issue from our marriage.’

‘You’re offering me a business deal that will tie up a few loose ends and keep everything in the family?’ Lara deduced with deceptive quietness. ‘Does that bother you?’

The thought of being a ‘loose end’ didn’t sit well.

‘Yes, damn it!’ She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Aiming for cool, calm and collected was proving difficult when there was an internal battle going on. ‘You’re proposing a convenient marriage?’ She was on a roll. ‘Which will entail …?’

‘Sharing a home, a partnership in bed and out of it. A generous allowance.’ He lifted a shoulder in a negligible shrug. ‘An enviable lifestyle. Children, eventually, God willing.’ He paused fractionally. ‘Is that sufficiently specific?’

He was still. Too still, like a predator indolently waiting to pounce.

‘And, if I refuse, you’ll withdraw your offer to transfer funds.’ Her voice shook with the effort it cost her to speak.

‘Yes.’

She picked up her water goblet, and barely restrained the urge to throw the contents in his face.

For a few timeless seconds her eyes blazed with anger as they collided with his, and it took all her control to restore the goblet onto the table.

‘A wife, bought and paid for.’

His expression hardened a little at her succinct summation, and his grey eyes assumed the colour of dark slate.

A silent war rose to the fore, and she battled against the unbearable need to hit him.

It didn’t help that he knew.

‘Don’t discount the offer, Lara,’ Wolfe warned with dangerous silkiness. ‘You have no other option.’

Wasn’t that the truth! Yet the fact rankled unbearably.

‘You expect me to meekly comply?’

Meek and Lara didn’t feature on the same page, he mused idly. The smitten teenager of ten years ago had grown in spirit and attitude to become the fiercely independent young woman seated opposite him today. Who, despite being down and almost out, could still attempt to do battle with him.

Wolfe leaned back in his chair. ‘The choice is yours.’

Some choice.

A deal with the Devil … or the Devil to pay. It was no contest.

‘If … if I agree,’ she continued in a voice stiff with latent anger, ‘When do you envisage the marriage to take place?’ ‘As soon as it can be arranged, by special licence.’

That soon.

‘Provide me with all the relevant paperwork involving your debts, and I’ll take care of them.’

‘When?’ It sounded so mercenary, but she was past caring.

‘The funds you so urgently need will be available in your bank tomorrow. The balance authorized immediately after our signatures appear on the marriage certificate.’

This is business, she reminded herself bitterly, with no sentiment or trust where money was involved.

However, it rankled … badly. Her chin lifted a little and her eyes assumed a deep sapphire-blue.

‘I want to continue running my restaurant.’ It was her pride and joy … more. And she refused to give it up.

Wolfe’s expression hardened. ‘You can retain the restaurant as an investment,’ he allowed equably. ‘But your continued involvement will be minimal.’

She suddenly had trouble regulating her breathing. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard.’

No quarter given in those obdurate words, and she barely resisted the temptation to tell him exactly what he could do with his proposal.

Think, a tiny voice prompted in silent warning.

She had everything to lose if she walked away from him.

What price pride in the face of wisdom?

Besides, marriage didn’t have to mean for ever.

If she gave him an heir …

Yet how could she walk away from her own child?

The whole scenario was fraught.

‘You can’t expect me to give you an answer now?’

‘Tonight.’

‘I’m due at work.’ She spared a glance at her watch, and stood to her feet. ‘Oh hell, now.’ Staff were at a minimum, and she could ill afford to be late. ‘I finish somewhere between eleven and midnight.’

Wolfe signalled the waiter, extracted his wallet and paid the bill. ‘I’ll drive you.’

She was walking quickly. ‘I can take a train.’

‘But you won’t.’

What was the point in arguing? A car would reach her destination more quickly than public transport.

Minutes later he disabled the locking mechanism of a top-of-the-range black Lexus, saw her seated, then he slid in behind the wheel and eased the car into the stream of traffic.

The Rocks area held numerous cafés and restaurants, and Lara directed him to double-park outside her own.

Wolfe handed her a card with his mobile-phone number. ‘I’ll expect your call.’

She slipped it into her purse, inclined her head, then sped quickly down a side alley to the back entrance, and used her key in the lock.

In the small back-room space she discarded her outer clothes, donned her chef’s uniform, tied on an apron, wound the length of her hair beneath a protective cap … and went to work.

They were one staff member down, which made for chaos in the kitchen, with delays and short tempers as three pairs of hands attempted to do the work of four.

Shontelle acted as maître d’, taking reservations, welcoming patrons, ensuring they were seated.

Sally held the position of head waitress, and both girls had been with Lara’s from the day the restaurant had opened. Long-time friends who were equally as dedicated to the success of the restaurant as Lara herself.

Together they’d enjoyed the good times, and had stayed on to help Lara battle through the financial mess left by her business partner.

Around ten the rush began to ease as customers lingered over dessert and coffee, and by eleven the numbers had dwindled down to a few.

It was a relief when the last patrons left, the doors closed, the kitchen staff finished up, and all that remained was the nightly cleaning. Something which didn’t take long as Sally lifted chairs onto tables while Lara vacuumed the floors.

There hadn’t been time to give Wolfe’s suggestion much thought, except in fleeting moments which in no way encompassed the big picture of marriage, children … intimacy.

How was she going to deal with that?

Being so aware of the man, his sensual chemistry and the way it affected her. His sexual partner … and knowing, to him, it would just be sex.

That love didn’t enter the equation, and never would.

Could she live with him and pretend?

Lara moved the vacuum cleaner with increased speed in an attempt to expend some nervous energy.

For heaven’s sake!

Wolfe was offering a way out.

What other option did she have?

Disappear and assume another identity? Contact the police and report the loan shark for harassment?

Sure … like either of those scenarios would work!

Besides, it wasn’t part of her nature to run from anything.

Marry a billionaire, enjoy an enviable lifestyle, and bear him a child or two.

A hundred … oh, why not go for broke and make it a thousand … women would jump at the chance.

So what was the big deal?

Just a little matter of emotional engagement … hers.

Wolfe Alexander affected her like no other man she’d met. At seventeen, she had melted at the initial moment of introduction, almost frighteningly aware of the degree of raw sexuality he exuded. A teenage crush that had lingered long and almost brought her undone.

She’d moved on, matured, indulged in a brief relationship or two … but there was no one who’d come close to Wolfe, or the emotions he roused.

‘That’s it, we’re done.’

The sound of Sally’s voice brought Lara back to the present, and she switched off the vacuum cleaner, stowed it in the cupboard, then changed into her outdoor clothes.

‘I need to make a phone call.’

She had three choices: use the phone here, a phone booth, or the phone in the hallway at her boarding house.

‘I’ll plug in some music and wait,’ Sally directed, removing her earphones.

They had a steadfast rule—no female staff left alone this late at night.

‘I won’t be long.’ Lara extracted Wolfe’s card and crossed to the phone, all too aware the nerves in her stomach had twisted into a painful knot.

Seconds later she cursed beneath her breath as she keyed in a wrong digit and had to start over.

Wolfe answered on the third ring, intoning, ‘Alexander,’ in a voice that sounded deep and slightly more accented over the phone.

‘Lara.’ She identified herself at once.

‘You’ve reached a decision?’

It was hardly the time or the occasion for small talk, and she didn’t even try. ‘Yes.’ ‘And?’

Heaven help her. She gripped the handset a little tighter. ‘Yes.’

Lara wasn’t sure how she expected him to respond.

‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow with relevant details.’ There was a click and the line went dead.

It took a second or three for her to realize he’d cut the connection, and her fingers tightened momentarily before she replaced the handset.

He at least could have acknowledged her acceptance!

Oh, get real, a silent voice chastised. What did you expect?

Forget sentiment … there was none.

So what did she care?

Even thinking about Wolfe in the role of husband accelerated her pulse and did strange things to her equilibrium.

Oh, for heaven’s sake … get over it! He’s just a man, like any other … And she knew she lied.

Ten years down the track she still retained a vivid recollection of his erotic kiss … Worse, the oral foreplay he’d metered out as a stark warning, and the way it had affected her.

What would he be like as a lover?

Don’t go there. At least not now, not yet.

For, if she allowed herself to go down that path, she’d never make it to the wedding.

Best not to think too deeply … and keep busy!

It was time to check the windows, external doors, set the alarm, lock up, then pull down the security grill and padlock it.

A nightly routine they executed in tandem before walking briskly to the nearest train station.

Lara took a deep breath, turned and collected her bag, then she signalled Sally she was ready to leave.

It wasn’t until they’d boarded the train that she remembered a vital phone call she should have made to the loan shark, begging a further twenty-four-hour extension, and the promise payment of the total funds would be made in cash.

Something twisted painfully in the region of her stomach as she checked the time, and her heart began to pound.

The week’s loan extension ran out at midnight.

She needed to make that call … fast. Explain, give Wolfe’s name as verification the money would be paid.

Please hurry, she bade silently as the train sped towards their station, and as they disembarked she had to restrain herself from running to the boarding house.

The inner-city suburb of Darlinghurst contained some less-than-salubrious streets where numerous bedsits and boarding houses existed in old converted homes. The dark of night and dim street-lighting hid their daytime grime and general state of disrepair.

Definitely not an area in which to linger long, and as far removed from Lara’s former apartment as chalk from cheese.

Lara’s relief was palpable as she entered the house via the front entrance, and she extracted the requisite coins from her purse to feed the pay-phone.

Seconds later the phone rang out, and she redialled, hoping, praying, for an answer. But there was none, and a second later a male figure appeared out of nowhere, a hard hand angled beneath her jaw, and she was lifted off her feet, then slammed against the wall.

Fear, stark and terrifying, almost made her pass out as the man’s face came within inches of her own.

‘Pay up by midnight tomorrow. Or else.’ His grip tightened. ‘Blink if you’ve got the message.’

Lara instantly obeyed, almost choking beneath his relentless grip, then he released her and disappeared out the front entrance as she subsided to the floor in a state of shock.

‘Hey. You OK?’

She looked up in dazed terror, recognized a male tenant, and tried to speak … except no sound came out. ‘You need help?’ Like you wouldn’t believe! ‘Want me to call someone?’

There was only one person who could handle this mess, and Lara reached into her purse, withdrew Wolfe’s card and indicated the mobile-phone number written on the back.

She was dimly aware of a brief one-sided conversation, then the tenant led her into her room, sat her down and applied a dampened towel to her throat.

Lara had little recollection of how long it took Wolfe to appear … only that suddenly he was there, looming large in the small room, his features grim as he took in her pale features, the darkness apparent in her eyes.

He didn’t say a word as he took the few steps necessary to reach her, and her gaze never left his as he hunkered down in front of her.

With care he removed the damp towel, and a muscle bunched in one cheek as he saw the reddened marks apparent, noted the pain it caused her to swallow, and trailed gentle fingers along the underside of her jaw. He was close, too close, she registered … and she hated that he appeared to swamp her.

She was aware of him thanking her rescuer, then closing and locking the door as the tenant left, and she watched as he returned to her side.

‘Give me the contact number.’

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand, and she retrieved a card from her pocket and gave it to him, watching as he made the call on his phone.

There were terse, hard words as Wolfe made arrangements to pay her debt in full at a mutually agreed time and place.

He slid the phone into his jacket pocket, and retrieved his wallet. ‘What do you owe on this place?’

The rent was paid in advance and up to date. It had to be, or personal belongings were held for a week, then both tenant and belongings were out on the street.

She attempted to speak, heard the croaking sound, and resorted to hand signals, watching as he anchored a large bill beneath her room-key on the scarred dresser.

The room was spartan, comprising a single bed, a dresser and chair, and a tiny wardrobe. There were shared bathrooms, a shared kitchen at the end of the hallway and a communal lounge. A laundry was situated in a separate building out back of the house.

‘You have a bag?’

Lara spared him a startled look.

‘For your belongings,’ Wolfe elaborated. ‘You’re not staying here.’

She was tired, jumpy with nerves, and she shook her head in a defenceless gesture. Where could she go at this time of night?

‘My hotel,’ he informed her as if she’d spoken, and her eyes blazed as she opened her mouth, then closed it again, aware that anything she said would emerge as an indistinguishable refusal.

He opened the small free-standing wardrobe, removed a capacious sports bag and placed it on the single bed.

Lara rose to her feet as he began opening drawers, refusing to have him go through her things.

Not that it had the slightest effect, as she battled with him in transferring contents from the wardrobe and dresser-drawers.

It didn’t take long, and when they were done he took hold of the bag, indicated the door, and followed her out to the Lexus.

Any words seemed superfluous, and they rode the arterial route into the inner city in silence, reaching the Darling Harbour hotel, where the concierge organized valet-parking while Wolfe collected her bag.

Lara accompanied him as he bypassed Reception and headed towards a bank of lifts, and when the doors of one slid open he indicated she precede him, then he hit the button for a high floor.

She prayed that he didn’t intend her to share his suite. Or, if he did, she hoped it contained two beds, or at least a sofa.

‘Relax.’ His voice held a drawling quality minutes later as he swiped a keycard into the slot.

Sure, and she could do that?

‘I’d prefer a room of my own.’ The words were hopelessly husky, even to her own ears.

‘Accept it’s not going to happen. Your security is paramount until the loan shark is paid off.’

‘But—’

‘It isn’t subject to negotiation,’ Wolfe said hardly.

‘I don’t want to share with you,’ she attempted to convey.

His gaze lanced her own, his eyes darkly obdurate. ‘Deal with it, Lara. At the moment seduction isn’t on the agenda.’

That was supposed to be reassurance?

It was a large suite, Lara registered as he flicked on the lights, with two queen-size beds … a minor concession in the scheme of things.

A fleeting glance revealed there were two comfortable chairs positioned close to a wall of glass, shaded by floor-to-ceiling drapes. A small table and two serviceable dining chairs, a desk containing a fax machine, internet connection, the requisite television console, mini-bar.

Wolfe deposited her bag, then he crossed to the bedside phone, dialled Reception and requested medical assistance.

Lara shook her head and croaked a definitive, ‘No,’ only to be subjected to a raking appraisal.

‘A doctor on call, or the accident-and-emergency ward of a private hospital. Choose.’

The thought of attending the latter—the form-filling, the inevitable questions—held little appeal, and she shrugged, too wound up to argue with him.

‘Sit down.’

She watched as he removed his jacket, collected a hand towel, extracted ice from the mini-fridge, assembled a cold-pack and placed it along her jaw line.