LITMIR.BIZ

      Matt landed in London at about seven p.m. He’d used the company jet to fly to England, rather than try to book a seat on the scheduled flight, but he hadn’t been able to relax. Too much was going on, both in his business and his personal life. His pilot hadn’t been too pleased at being hauled out of bed in the early hours of the morning either, but he’d known better than to cause a fuss.

      Matt had received the divorce papers from Joanna’s solicitors a few days ago, and since then he’d been agitating to get away. But he had responsibilities. Since his father’s second stroke, he’d had to take over again as CEO of the company, and it had been impossible for him to drop everything to fly to London.

      A company car was waiting for him at the airport, and he gave the driver Joanna’s current address. Although he still owned the apartment they had shared in the city, she didn’t live there. After their break-up, she’d found her own apartment not far from the gallery. With Bellamy’s help, no doubt, Matt thought dourly, as the limousine transported him swiftly through the busy streets.

      Colgate Court was a small development of one-and two-bedroomed serviced apartments, with the amenities common to such accommodations. Matt scowled when he got out of the car, reflecting that if Joanna had been willing to use the money he’d deposited regularly in her bank account, she could have afforded somewhere a lot better than this.

      But it was adequate, he conceded, bending to inform his driver that he’d ring him if he needed him again. Then, fastening a couple of buttons on his cashmere jacket, he strode quickly towards the entry.

      Matt had never been inside the building before, but he had checked the place out after attending her father’s funeral. He’d wanted to know where she was living, particularly as Joanna had apparently changed the number of her mobile phone so he couldn’t reach her that way.

      A man was standing in the lobby of the building, looking out at him. The door to one of the ground-floor apartments was ajar and Matt wondered if he was the caretaker for the building. The outer door was locked with the usual keypad beside it, and after ascertaining which apartment was occupied by Mrs—no, Ms—Carlyle, he scowled at the anomaly and pressed her bell.

      There was no response and his scowl deepened. He’d been fairly sure she’d be at home at this hour of the evening. Perhaps the man would know. He hesitated only a moment before knocking at the door, and after a second’s hesitation the man came to open it.

      However, he regarded Matt rather suspiciously, as if he wasn’t used to dealing with visitors after dark. Especially a tall, intimidating visitor, who was regarding him with a definite air of impatience.

      Matt’s skin was darkly tanned, too, after his convalescence in Florida, and he had an unconscious arrogance that apparently aroused the man’s defences. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked offhandedly, and Matt got the feeling that he was hoping he’d say no.

      ‘You already have,’ Matt replied, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, causing the man to back up in alarm.

      Adopting his most unthreatening tone, Matt continued, ‘I’m here to visit with my wife, Mrs Novak? Um, that is—Ms Carlyle,’ he amended shortly. ‘Do you know if she’s at home?’

      The man frowned, and tucked the newspaper he’d been carrying under his arm. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, with evident satisfaction. ‘I’m only the caretaker here. Sorry.’

      Matt knew an almost uncontrollable desire to swear, but instead he said stiffly, ‘I’ll go up and see for myself. The third floor, isn’t it?’

      The man took a heavy breath. ‘I can’t let you do that. You can ring her bell again, if you like, but—’

      Matt controlled his annoyance with an effort. ‘She might have been in the bathroom when I rang,’ he protested.

      ‘She might indeed.’ The man sniffed and Matt sucked in an impatient breath.

      ‘Mrs—Ms Carlyle is my wife,’ he said curtly. ‘I need to speak with her.’

      ‘Do you now?’ The man cleared his throat. ‘Does she know you’re coming?’

      Matt’s hands curled into fists in his pockets. He wasn’t used to being treated in this way. ‘No,’ he snapped tersely. ‘Not that it’s any business of yours. Now, if you’ll—’

      But before he could go on, the door to a lift he’d barely noticed before swept open at the other side of the lobby. Footsteps crossed the faux marble floor, halting uncertainly when he turned.

      ‘Matt!’

      Joanna was standing just a few yards from the lift. She was carrying what appeared to be a basket of laundry, and he guessed she’d been on her way to speak to the caretaker. Why else bring a basket of laundry down to the ground floor?

      But now she’d halted and was staring at him with disbelieving eyes.

      She was so beautiful, he thought. Her streaked blonde curls shone like gold, as if the sun were hidden in their heavy masses. Her eyes were wide and startled as she gazed at him, twin orbs of a deep blue, surrounded by long darkened lashes.

      ‘Hello, Joanna,’ he said, resisting the urge to glance triumphantly at his companion. ‘Perhaps you would tell our nervous friend here that we’re acquainted?’