LITMIR.BIZ

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eyes—no hot air!

      Lee swallowed. Then she began to outline her grandparents’ plight, coolly and simply. She concluded by saying, ‘It was your reputation that got them in, Mr Delaney.’

      Cyril Delaney lay back in his wheelchair. ‘Piffle,’ he remarked.

      ‘Now look here—’ Lee began, but Damien put his hand over hers.

      Cyril noted this, as well as noting how Lee Westwood looked up at Damien Moore with a stubborn light in her green eyes, and how, when she transferred that stubborn green gaze back to himself, and repeated herself, Damien Moore’s expression became tinged with a sort of wry affection rather than exasperation. All of which caused him to make a mental note concerning Evelyn Moore’s good-looking son who as yet, he believed, had not been snared and taken to the altar.

      Then he closed his eyes and overrode what Lee was saying so hotly.

      ‘Young lady, tell me a bit about yourself.’

      Lee stopped, open-mouthed. ‘Why?’ she got out at last.

      ‘You interest me, that’s all. And since I’ve been confined to this accursed wheelchair a lot of interest has gone out of life for me, I can assure you.’

      This time Lee responded to Damien’s pressure on her hand. ‘Well…’ she said a little confusedly, but didn’t seem to know how to go on.

      ‘Miss Westwood was brought up by her grandparents after her parents were killed,’ Damien put in.

      ‘Where?’

      Lee told him, and received a suddenly acute look from the old man. ‘Is that a fact?’ he said slowly. ‘And what do you do with yourself?’

      Lee told him.

      ‘You could be looking at the next Capability Brown,’ Damien put in at the end of Lee’s recital. ‘Her tenacity is little short of amazing.’

      ‘Don’t tell me she camped out on your doorstep too?’ Cyril hazarded.

      ‘I did not,’ Lee intervened, and pulled her hand out from Damien’s. ‘I would also appreciate it if you two would stop talking over me as if I didn’t exist.’

      Damien shrugged and looked down at her with a faint smile. ‘There’s little likelihood of that.’

      ‘Hear, hear,’ Cyril contributed, but in a curiously meaningful way that caused Damien to suddenly eye him curiously.

      But Cyril seemed to tire abruptly. ‘When’s this damn document dated?’ he asked testily.

      Damien told him.

      ‘I was in hospital. Someone was using my name and forging my signature. It’s the only explanation, Miss Westwood. I’m sorry, but…’ He paused, and frowned, then said almost to himself, ‘No. Uh, I can certainly prove I was in hospital at the time, but you’re welcome to inspect my bank accounts, Damien Moore.’

      ‘That won’t be necessary, sir,’ Damien said.

      ‘Just a minute,’ Lee said desperately. ‘I’m sorry, sir—I can see you don’t feel well—but the man they described to me looked a lot like you!’

      There was a sudden silence. And for a moment Cyril’s gaze was electric blue on Lee. Then it became hooded and he said to Damien, ‘Take her away, my boy, and look after her. And call the nurse on the way out.’

      ‘Feeling better?’

      ‘Yes. Thank you.’ Lee put away her handkerchief. They were in a hotel bar not far from Cyril’s house, and she had taken several sips of a strong brandy and soda. She hadn’t quite dissolved into helpless tears on Cyril’s doorstep, but there was no doubt she’d had tears in her eyes and been inwardly distraught. To such an extent that Damien had put her in his car and found this dim and quiet lounge bar.

      ‘Sorry,’ she said, taking another sip. ‘It’s the disappointment—and on top of that I feel guilty. He seemed so old and frail—I don’t think it could have been him but there I was accusing him…’ She ran out of breath and could only shake her head helplessly.

      ‘I quite understand,’ Damien murmured, ‘but you’re right, Lee. It couldn’t have been him, although you weren’t to know that.’

      ‘So who was it?’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘And why did I get the feeling at the last moment that…I don’t know…something I said made him stop and think?’

      Damien studied his own drink with a frown. ‘I got that impression too, but…’ He shrugged. ‘We may never know what it was.’

      ‘So what now?’ she asked.

      ‘Lee, there’s only one thing we can do now—hand it over to the police.’

      ‘I tried that,’ she said barely audibly. ‘I told you.’

      ‘Yes, but we’ve now established that even if the contract was watertight someone was masquerading under a false name, which could nullify it.’

      Her shoulders slumped.

      ‘I’ll do it for you,’ he said.

      She looked at him and smiled painfully as a beam of late-afternoon sunlight came through a high window and formed an aureole of light around her auburn head. She was still pale, he noted, which caused her freckles to be more noticeable. Then she straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. ‘Thank you. But the truth is I can’t afford you any longer, Mr Moore, so I’ll do it myself.’

      ‘Damien,’ he responded. ‘And I won’t charge you.’

      ‘I couldn’t accept charity,’ Lee said with another painful little smile, ‘but thank you for the offer.’

      ‘There’s nothing you can do to stop me.’

      Her eyes widened on him, seated across the small round table from her. At three in the afternoon the bar was empty except for themselves. So apart from the barman, who was energetically polishing glasses, there was no one to witness her reaction to the high-handed statement Damien Moore had just made.

      ‘What do you mean?’ she asked carefully.

      He twirled a cardboard coaster between his long fingers. ‘Every citizen has a duty to report a felony. That’s what I’ll do.’ He shrugged, as if to say ‘simple’, but there was something in his eyes that indicated he wouldn’t take no for an answer anyway. ‘So there’s no need to feel beholden to me in any way, Lee.’

      She opened her mouth to argue this, but he grinned suddenly with so much humour that she literally felt herself going weak all over beneath the sheer attractiveness of it—and couldn’t think of a thing to say.

      ‘Well, that’s sorted, then.’ He looked at his watch. ‘If you’re feeling better now, I’ll take you back to your car.’ He paused and studied her intently for a moment. ‘All is not lost yet, Lee. Hold on to that.’

      She found her voice at last. ‘Are you doing this because Cyril told you to take care of me? And why would he say that anyway?’

      He raised an eyebrow. ‘Who knows? I’d say he admired your pluck and felt for your grandparents’ plight.’ He hesitated, then, ‘That’s all.’

      He stood up and Lee followed suit, looking dazed.

      It was as he took her arm to usher her out of the bar that Damien Moore examined his slight hesitation and realised he was not at all sure that what he’d said was the whole truth. True, most people would admire this girl’s pluck, even a sick old man. But he’d sensed something more behind Cyril’s parting remarks; he’d almost sensed a judgement being made, on himself and on Lee, but what the hell it could have been he had no idea.

      Unless… He posed a question to himself. Unless Cyril had divined that a slightly protective feeling had wormed its way into his relations with this client?

      Out

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