Out of Control Read online

  Bruno looked round, smiling. 'Enjoying it?' Then he did a double-take, staring, and she had to hurriedly change her expression.

  'I would if I knew what was happening!' she said, flashing a smile at him.

  'Oh, still confused? I thought you were furious about something. You were scowling!"

  'Was I? Trying to concentrate, I suppose,' she said lightly, and Bruno gave her a running commentary on the game after that, making it hard for her to think. G. K. Clifford had changed horses; he was riding a big, glossy black now and Liza watched, wishing he would get thrown and trampled by some of those curvetting, skirmishing horses. At the very least she would like to see his crisp white clothes muddy!

  The field moved further their way and Liza could see him closer; he was sweating heavily, she saw the damp patch down his side, on his shoulders, and his skin carried a sheen of perspiration, on his face, his neck. The thick black hair glistened with sweat, too. He would have a shower after the game, of course; she stared and suddenly her mind conjured up the image of his naked body under the cool water, the muscled chest and brown skin, black curly hair growing down the centre of his body, above his thighs.

  She shut her eyes, shuddering in angry disbelief and recoil—what was she thinking? She was icy cold, yet she felt the trickle of sweat between her breasts and her throat was hot and raw.

  She hardly knew what happened after that, but the minutes stretched past endlessly while she wished she could walk away, leave this place, be alone to brood. She couldn't face him; the very thought of meeting his eyes made her shiver.

  Then she frowned, pulling herself up—why should she feel ashamed and guilty? Why should she want to avoid him?

  He was the liar and the cheat, not her! She wasn't running away from a confrontation! She'd look him right in the eye and hate him openly. She wanted him to know what she thought of him; not that he would care, of course. He would probably be amused, no doubt he had thought it very clever to lie to her. He'd had his fun and she couldn't do a thing about it.

  'Shall we go and have some tea?'

  Liza started as Bruno turned to smile at her. She hadn't even realised that the game was over, the players leaving the field to enthusiastic applause, taking off their hard hats and laughing as they chatted to each other. Liza's eye followed G. K. Gifford bitterly.

  'He had a good game,' Bruno said to his mother, and Liza listened to them talking about him casually, quite unaware of the explosive feeling Liza was hiding.

  'At least he didn't break anything today,' Pippa Morris said, grimacing. 'One day he'll break his neck.'

  Oh, please, let me be there! Liza thought, following them slowly through the drifting crowds on their way out of the held. Mrs Morris wasn't heading that way at all, though. She was making for a green marquee. A lot of other people were streaming into it, too, but there were free tables left when Bruno, his mother and Liza arrived.

  Under the sloping canvas there was a mingled smell of trampled grass and flowers; tubs of geraniums and hydrangeas, pungent and fragrant, blue and red in white tubs.

  Voices rose all around them; people laughed and chattered. Tea arrived; pots of Indian or China tea, cucumber sandwiches, scones and jam, cream, iced fancies or strawberry tarts.

  'Where do your family live, Liza?' Pippa Morris asked, offering her a sandwich.

  'Liza's parents are dead,' Bruno hurriedly said, his voice heavy with sympathy, and Liza felt herself flushing guiltily because she had never told him that her parents were dead, she had only let him assume it and hadn't corrected his mistake. It was a white lie, a lie of omission; but it was a lie none the less and she ought to so. She didn't, though, she took a sandwich and ate it in one bite because it was so tiny. Bruno's mother took .several and ate them daintily, nibbling.

  Liza drank her tea and Mrs Morris asked, 'So you live alone?' and, 'Why did you stop modelling?' and, 'I'm told your agency is very successful.'

  Liza answered quietly, accepted a strawberry tart, refused a scone, and watched Bruno's mother with reflective eyes. Mrs Morris was hostile at first, very antagonistic, eyeing her with cold dislike and suspicion, but slowly the ice thawed and she became curious. Perhaps Liza wasn't what she had been told to expect?

  By her brother? What had he said about her to his sister? Did Pippa Morris know what he had done? Liza's backbone stiffened at the very idea of that conversation, I flare of red invading her cheeks.

  'You built the agency all by yourself? Gracious, how very enterprising of you! Weren't you nervous of losing all your hard-earned money?'

  'Terrified,' Liza said lightly, laughing. 'But never venture, never gain!'

  Mrs Morris stared, eyes round. 'I suppose you're right, but I think I'd have been more cautious. Why do you think you've been so successful so soon? Because you've been a model yourself?'

  'And know my market,' Liza agreed. 'I have high standards for my girls and it soon gets about—clients realise they won't get amateurs and they come back when they're satisfied.'

  'Who manages the business for you?' 'I do," Liza said drily.

  'You must be very clever. I don't think I could run a business.' Mrs Morris watched a newcomer walking to a nearby table and exclaimed, 'Oh, there's Lavender—I must just run and ask her how her daughter is. She's bedbound, you know, poor girl. Keeps miscarrying, so with this one the doctor advised total bed rest until the birth.'

  Liza frowned, staring after Mrs Morris. That must be the Countess of Salop's mother. Liza liked the look of her; a small, plump woman in a flowered hat and a flowing pink dress. She had a kind face; her daughter would need that loving kindness. I wonder if she knows about her husband and Tawny? Liza thought grimly. How can he do it?

  'Well, what do you think of her?' asked Bruno eagerly.

  Liza looked blankly at him for a second, then realised what he meant and smiled back. 'She's not as alarming as I'd expected!'

  'It was a bit hairy at first, but you've impressed her,' Bruno nodded. 'She probably envies you—she's never had a job in her life. I think she missed out on a lot, getting married so young and then running Hartwell for G. K.' He grinned at her. 'What about him? What did you think of him?'

  Liza took a deep breath—if she told him the truth Bruno would look appalled and she was half tempted to do just that, but before she could open her mouth a voice drawled behind her.

  'She seems to be lost for words.'

  Bruno looked up and laughed. 'Oh, you changed quickly! Lucky you arrived when you did, before Liza got a chance to commit herself!'

  'Isn't it?' the cool voice murmured and Liza felt him walking round her chair, she looked up—a long way up. His blue eyes were bright with mockery. She had been right—he thought it was funny. He was amused and pleased with himself. Damn him, Liza thought angrily. He had come down to check up on her in person; that was why he had been parked right outside her cottage so that she ran into the back of his car in the mist. He had been spying, and she wished she had made a complete write-off of his estate car. She would never have let him into her cottage if she had known his true identity.

  'Liza, this is my uncle,' Bruno said. 'G. K., this is Liza.'

  Liza considered the extended hand without warmth; for a second she almost didn't take it but at the last instant her nerve failed because she did not want to have any sort of scene. If she told Bruno that his uncle had been the man at her cottage the other night there would undoubtedly be a scene, so she held out her fingers and let his hand grip them, but pulled them away almost at once.

  'How do you do, Mr Gifford?'

  'Call me Keir,' he said, eyes teasing.

  'That's what the K stands for?' she said bitingly.

  'That's right. Didn't Bruno tell you?'

  T didn't ask,' she lied, implying that she hadn't been interested enough, but she had asked Bruno once and couldn't remember what he had said. If he had told her, the name hadn't rung any bells, but then why would it? She hadn't been expecting to find his uncle parked outside her co
ttage in that mist, and a frown pleated her brows as she remembered the way he had looked, the shabby old car he had been driving.

  Her eyes ran over him now with angry irony. He looked very different. He had changed out of his polo gear and was elegantly casual in a smoothly tailored summer suit, a silk shirt, a silk tie. He wore them with panache but Liza had liked him better in the old cord trousers and sweater, in his tweed jacket, driving that broken-down old estate car.

  'Sit down and have some tea,' Bruno urged and Keir Gifford dropped into a chair, his lean body very relaxed. Bruno tried to signal the waitress, but she had stopped to gossip and ignored him.

  'I'll get some fresh tea,' Bruno said, getting up and darting over to get her attention.

  Liza was looking down at the trampled grass; it looked mournful and ill-treated and she knew how it felt!

  'You're very quiet,' Keir said, and she lifted her head then to eye him with glacial dislike.

  'Are you surprised ? Don't you dare even to talk to me!'

  He still looked amused, as though the fury in her voice hadn't had any effect on him, and she broke out again, in a low, shaky whisper, because she didn't want to attract any attention from the tables around them.

  ' I ought to slap your face! What did you think you were doing? What a charade—the old clothes, the broken-down old car? All the lies you told me! The stuff about being a trained psychologist!'

  'I am! That wasn't a lie. I took a degree in psychology.' He had linked his hands behind his gleaming black head and was watching her with narrowed blue eyes, a smile lurking in them, as if she was giving him a lot of entertainment, and Liza bristled from head to toe.

  'Oh, I see, that's how bankers train these days? Forget the economics and the business course, the modern way is to study psychology! I suppose the idea is to find out how to talk people into handing their money over!'

  'Something like that, but I read economics, too.'

  'Did you take a degree in detective work? I'm surprised you didn't put on a false beard—after all, I might have recognised you if I'd seen a photograph in the papers!' She took a deep breath, then suddenly caught

  Bruno's eye and stopped, dragging a false smile on to her face. He gave her a thumbs up and grinned encourag­ingly, apparently under the impression that she and his uncle were getting on like a house on fire. There were flames, all right, but Bruno couldn't be more wrong, otherwise. Keir turned his head to follow the direction of her gaze and Bruno gave him a smile, too, then dived away towards the table where his mother was talking to her friend.

  The waitress came over and Keir ordered some more tea and sandwiches. There were plenty of cakes left. Liza sat demurely in silence until the waitress had vanished again; her face ached from the strain of having to smile when she wanted to scream.

  'You look very cool and elegant in that dress—I suppose I should say chic, that's the word, isn't it?' Keir said softly and she flashed him a hostile glance through her lashes.

  'Funny what a difference clothes make,' she bit out. 'You looked like a scarecrow in the shabby old coat and cords—where on earth did you get them? And the car?'

  'You don't think I dress like this when I'm out fishing or shooting?' he asked lazily, watching the waitress laying out the fresh pot of tea, the milk jug, the plate of tiny, bite-sized sandwiches. The woman smiled and Keir smiled back, charm glimmering in those blue eyes. Liza watched bitterly; she had seen that smile, he had turned it on her, and you couldn't trust it. He was a very deceptive man.

  When the waitress had gone, he considered Liza again, the glint lingering in his eyes. 'I've had the estate car on my farm for years. It's very handy when I'm driving across country and taking fishing-rods and guns and dogs. Nobody drives a Rolls in muddy boots, you know.'

  Liza was not to be coaxed into submission. She snarled at him, 'You lied to me!' 'I'm guilty of a little omission!' 'You lied, Mr Keir Zachary!'

  'They're both my names—I was given the names George Keir Zachary Gifford, to be precise. As I said, I just omitted a few things. I do have a family farm, for instance.'

  'Hartwell!'

  'Exactly,' he said, watching Bruno talking to his mother now.

  'A country house!'

  'With a few farms attached to it!'

  'Don't smile,' Liza said furiously. 'It isn't funny, I'm not in the least amused. You deliberately set out to deceive me and I call that lying, whatever you may have told yourself.'

  He looked penitent, but his blue eyes were blindingly bright and mocking. 'I'm sorry,' he said in dulcet tones and she screwed her hands up into fists, hissing at him, because she did not want anyone else to overhear.

  'You're nothing of the kind! You had a lot of fun at my expense and you're still amusing yourself, but I can't imagine why you were prowling around my cottage, anyway. Surely you weren't that scared about me? I'd have expected you to hire a private detective to check me out, not come all that way yourself! What were you planning to do? You must have had some scheme at the back of your mind. What was it?'

  He leaned back on his chair, tilting it, his body totally languid and his eyes half-shut in sleepy amusement. T had been visiting friends, just as I told you. As I was staying just outside Maldon it suddenly occurred to me to take a little detour on the way home to Somerset. I drove over to your village to take a look around, see if I could pick up some gossip locally. I'd had a report on you, but ...'

  'You've had me investigated?' Her voice rose and several people at other tables looked round, eyes startled.

  'What else did you expect?' Keir asked in sudden harshness, his blue eyes surprisingly cold. 'Bruno is my sister's son and could inherit an enormous fortune one day—of course we have to protect him, investigate any stranger he starts to see frequently. Don't be unrealistic, Liza—money has to protect itself.'

  She stared at him numbly, appalled by the new note in his voice, the ice in his stare. This was the real G. K. Gifford, the ruthless player of an international game, the one who meant to win and would ride over anyone who got in his way. He had pulled the wool over her eyes at her cottage; charmed and deluded her into thinking he was someone very different, someone she liked, someone to whom she was very attracted and above all someone she might be able to trust in a tight corner. He was none of those things. He was her enemy, and she must never lose sight of that fact again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bruno came back two minutes later, and as she saw him coming Liza said coolly, 'Well, I must be going, it's getting late.'

  'But, Liza, I thought we'd all have dinner,' Bruno said, hearing her, and looking from her to his uncle with dismay.

  'That would have been nice, but I must get back,' Liza said, getting to her feet.

  'Don't run away,' Keir drawled and Liza picked up the hidden meaning even if Bruno didn't. She could have kicked him, and her green eyes burned secretly behind lowered lashes.

  'I can get a taxi, you don't have to tear yourself away,' she told Bruno, not bothering to answer Keir. But of course Bruno insisted on driving her back.

  'I must say goodbye to your mother,' Liza said and turned to walk away. Keir said softly, 'See you,' and she answered in a remote tone, 'Goodbye.'

  His sister seemed distinctly surprised and unasham­edly relieved. She shook hands again and said, 'You're still dining with your uncle, aren't you, Bruno?' in a voice which promised trouble if he did not turn up obediently. Bruno gloomily replied that he would be there.

  There were far fewer people in the marquee now; most guests had eaten their tea and left, and many tables were empty. The waitresses were no longer running about like scalded cats, they stood gossiping, watching the ladies in the flowery hats, some famous faces half-hidden by those wide brims, the flash of diamonds and rubies on those Angers as a woman reached for a sandwich, or a cup of tea. Liza felt very out of place, despite her own carefully chosen dress. She could mimic the style, but she knew this was a world to which she did not belong—this was Keir Gifford's world, of mone
y and class, and she was strictly a working girl from nowhere. She had money, but she had earned it herself, and she didn't belong among these girls in pretty, summery dresses with their high, drawling voices and restless eyes. He was right about that. She might resent the idea that he had had her investigated, she might be angry with the arrogance that saw her as a threat and an interloper, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she was uneasy with these people, she did not belong here.

  Before they left, she glanced back towards the table where Keir sat and felt an odd little jerk of shock as she saw that he was no longer alone—a tall, slender brunette had taken the chair in which Liza had been sitting. She was wearing a designer dress; Liza recognised the style immediately and priced it with a grimace. An expensive lady! With good taste, thought—Liza wished she could always wear that label; she had one dress made by the guy, but he cost the earth.

  The brunette had a hand on Keir's sleeve, her long, coral-tipped nails trailing down his arm as she smiled into his eyes, her face animated. She was beautiful and very sure of herself, and Liza had a feeling she had seen her before, although she couldn't remember where.

  'Good lord,' Bruno said, following her eyes. 'There's Louise, talking to G. K., I didn't even know she was back in England!'

  'Who?' Liza asked casually and he put a hand under he elbow to guide her out of the marquee, talking as they picked their way through the crowds still drifting towards the exit.

  'Louise Bresham, her father's one of our board of directors—well, she isn't Bresham any more, I forget her husband's name. She and my uncle were an item a couple of years ago, all the columns were predicting an engagement, but then she met a South American cattleman and married him out of the blue and went to live in the Argentine. From the way she was looking at G. K. just now she still has a soft spot for him, wouldn't you say? I wonder if she's tired of her marriage? She was always restless. Mind like a grasshopper; kept changing boyfriends and jobs, not that she ever needed to work, she was born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, but of course everyone does get a job when they leave school, they can't just sit about waiting for marriage these days.'