Conditional Surrender Page 3

  Their relationship had altered subtly since their scene a few days before. Despite his effrontery in stealing that kiss, Kate felt she had been allowed a glimpse into the private side of Gregory Courtney, and had seen a much more human person than she had heretofore perceived.

  He had continued to call her by her Christian name, a fact which had not gone unnoticed by Toby Marchant, although he knew better than to comment on it. And Kate was only now beginning to realise that she had been putting on an act with Gregory Courtney for the past two years, trying to fit into the cool efficient role she felt was expected of her.

  The past few days had found her acting far more naturally towards him. Except when she remembered that kiss. It was a source of great irritation to her that the feel of his lips—so much softer than she had ever thought possible—had never entirely faded away. That apart, he had enabled her to prove her trust in her father by handing over the sixty pounds immediately upon her arrival home that evening. And that meant a great deal to her.

  Although it had been many years since she had viewed her father as a cross between Superman and God, her love and respect for him were an integral part of her. Which was why she so hated the atmosphere currently pervading the McNaught household.

  An uneasy truce was in place at the moment, but Kate could not shake off the awful presentiment that they were merely experiencing the eye of the storm; something confirmed a lot

  sooner than she expected by the flustered entrance a little while later of her deputy, Susan Henshaw, to tell Kate that her mother was on the telephone—sounding very upset.

  Kate paled, looking automatically towards Gregory Courtney for permission to take the call. He rose immediately and helped her to her feet.

  Put the call through to my office, Miss Henshaw. Sam, I think it may be as well to adjourn these talks until after the weekend. Gentlemen?'

  There were murmurs of assent around the table, but Kate was unaware of the periphery activity, of Tom Nichols and Sam Goodis' concerned glances and Toby Marchant's narrowed eyes resting on the hand propelling her through the door.

  `Mom?' Kate could only hope she sounded a lot calmer than she felt.

  'Oh, Katherine! I'm so sorry. I know you said you had a meeting, but . .

  `It's OK. Just calm down, Mom, and tell me what's happened.'

  `Your father, he's—he went to the bank this morning, to see about a second mortgage.'

  Kate felt as though a giant hand was squeezing her chest—tight. 'And?'

  `And he hasn't come back! It's nearly four o'clock now. He should have been home hours ago. And, Katherine, I found some adverts cut out of the paper—you know, those noquestions-asked loans?'

  `Oh, glory!' Kate closed her eyes in despair. So he had finally cracked!

  `Do you need to go home, Kate?'

  Her boss's harsh but concerned voice pulled her together faster than a bucket of cold water. She looked up and nodded, unable to even think of hiding her anxiety, as she might have done only a few days ago. 'Then I'll take you.'

  `But . .

  `Don't argue, Kate!'

  She spared him a grateful glance before reassuring her mother, 'I'll be there in about half an hour, Mom. Mr

  Courtney is giving me a lift. Please try not to worry. Is Terry with you? What about the boys?'

  `They're at the Baxters'. Terry is feeling awfully responsible, Katherine.'

  `Well, tell him to make himself useful and put the kettle on. I'll be with you soon.'

  Kate replaced the receiver and turned to thank Gregory Courtney, but he spoke quickly as if he had already anticipated and dismissed her thanks.

  `I take it no one is actually hurt?'

  `No, my father . . .' Kate cleared her throat and tried again. `It's a long story,' she warned.

  `Then we'll talk about it on the way.'

  Kate strapped herself into the sumptuously comfortable front seat of his Mercedes and stretched back lazily, appreciating the luxury. She could not help the ironic imp of black humour touching her lips.

  `Something amusing you?' Gregory Courtney asked with something of a snap as they drew out of the car park.

  `No,' she exclaimed instantly. 'At least . . . Well, if you must know, I was simply thinking that this is much better than a number eleven bus—not that you'd know much about that!'

  `Do you resent my wealth, Kate?' he asked quietly.

  `No, I don't think so. Not consciously, anyway.' She grinned faintly at him as he took his eyes off the road for an instant. `Seriously, though, I don't think it's your wealth I resent as such. After all, you've worked hard for everything you've got.'

  `Thank you so much.' The dry note in his tone gave Kate the audacity to continue.

  `It's what you do with that wealth which concerns me.' His features did not alter for a moment, then he threw her a surprised glance. The eyebrows were slanted downwards! 'Not that it's any of my business, of course.'

  `I'm glad you realise it,' he snapped. 'Do go on, Kate—I'm fascinated.'

  Kate doubted that! 'It's just—well, take this car, for instance . .

  `Ah, the trappings, I see. Would you prefer me to trade it in

  for a bicycle? Is that more environmentally acceptable?'

  She pulled a face at his sardonic inflection. 'I'd take a bet that after a ten-minute lecture from my father on the subject of foreign cars, you'd be happy to trade it for a Mini!'

  She fell silent, wishing she had not mentioned her father, and let her eyes drift to her employer as he concentrated on the road. He showed no impatience at the heavy traffic. Kate liked that. She had been driven by too many foot-tapping men in the past. Gregory Courtney simply rested his strong hands on the steering wheel and waited. He had rather nice hands, she noted irrelevantly. Long, lean, sensitive fingers .. .

  `So, are you going to tell me the problem, or do we have another round of Twenty Questions?' He spared her a cursory glance before turning his eyes back to the road. Their earlier exchange had restored some colour in her face at least, he thought, but heavy frown lines were still pleating her brow.

  Eyeing him discreetly, Kate felt her reluctance to confide in him begin to drain away. He no longer appeared to be her imposing, emotionless boss, but more a concerned—friend? Well, that was going a little far, perhaps, but she did know there was no better person to advise her. Business-wise, his senses were acute. He was also totally objective, something Kate could not hope to be, torn as she was between her father's need to grab at the chance to restore his pride and her mother's fears for the family's security.

  Slowly the words started forming, and before long, she felt the tremendous burden she had been carrying for weeks begin to lighten.

  Almost four weeks ago, Alissa McNaught had opened her front door to find a smiling, suntanned Terry Walsh leaning on the doorbell, having newly returned from Australia.

  The whole family had been thrilled to see him again. Although Ian and Andy were too young to remember him, Kate had been reminded non-stop of the days when she was a youngster, and her father and Terry had taken her on their long jaunts around the country when they worked together on car deliveries.

  Callum had trained Terry, moulding the then enthusiastic but hotheaded youth in the discipline of long-distance driving.

  Once he had saved Terry from certain dismissal, and Terry had never forgotten his old mentor.

  Long hours on the road had a tendency to forge strong bonds between people, to make them open up to each other with surprising candour. Callum and Terry had shared many a pipe dream, but none more beckoning than starting their own haulage business.

  Inevitably, the dreams had fizzled out as they have a habit of doing, and Callum and Terry went their separate ways, Callum to driving petrol tankers at the height of the oil boom, as Terry headed for Australia to make his fortune.

  Which he had—a pittance to a man with Gregory Courtney's wealth, but a fortune none the less to Kate.

  Enough to buy himself a truck and se
t himself up as a freelance haulage driver. Assuming Callum had received a fair amount in compensation on being made redundant, he'd invited the older man to join him.

  Kate refrained from going into details to her boss, but it had been her father's union activities, coupled with his strong principles, which had manoeuvred him into his present position. His employers at the time had attempted to pay him off in an attempt to get him on their side, but, as Callum had later explained to Kate, 'I like to be able to sleep at night when I put my head on the pillow. I'd never again be able to do that if I were to sell my workmates down the river.'

  And so they had let him go with scant recognition for all his years of service. Terry had understood immediately the position was explained to him. He was saddened that Callum would be unable to join him at present, but promised he would be the first man taken on when he was in a position to expand.

  And that, Kate had thought, had been that. But for over two weeks Callum had brooded on his lost opportunity. His mood, generally mellow, became volatile. It had been an echo of the early days after he had been made redundant. The fear, the insecurity, the rage before, finally, acceptance of his fate. There was no acceptance now.

  What none of the family had recognised until the last few days was Callum's desperation. Not until the day he had asked

  Kate to sign away their home.

  `It was signed over to me so I could claim the tax relief on the mortgage, you see,' Kate continued, almost oblivious of Gregory Courtney's presence by now in the relief of sharing the problem. 'They started buying the house over twenty years ago, so its value has increased immensely. But we're having difficulty finding the present mortgage payments. If there were to be a second mortgage too . . .' There was no need to go further. Instead she explained what had happened to precipitate her mother's urgent summons.

  `The bank obviously refused to consider a second mortgage without my signature, so now he's approaching the loan sharks. It's not that I don't believe in my father's ability to make a go of it with Terry,' she was anxious that he should not misconstrue her misgivings, 'but it has to be a risk, doesn't it?' It was a hypothetical question. She did not expect or wait for a response. 'I'm not much of a gambler, I'm afraid.' She gave a slight smile 'I still get panic attacks every year when the Grand National is run—and that's only for a five-pence bet—each way at that!

  `It's just—I feel completely split down the middle. Either Mom loses the security of her home, or Dad loses the last chance to restore his pride as the head of the family.' Her voice quavered. `It's—hard to watch a man be slowly stripped of the one thing to give him any dignity.'

  A strange, painful expression crossed Gregory Courtney's hard features for a moment, a moment so fleeting it was lost before Kate could decipher it.

  `Yes,' he agreed curtly, his voice harsh, 'I can understand that. I can also understand your reluctance to get into debt. I'm wary of debts myself, but . . . How old is your father?'

  `Fifty-four.' Kate had no trouble deciphering his grimace this time. It must have been a look her father had seen a thousand times on his search for work.

  `You'll probably find that's the main reason the bank turned him down. Just how long have you been supporting your family single-handedly?' he asked quietly, cornering her into a defensive position.

  `We all do our share.'

  `Sheath your claws, Kate,' he drawled, shooting her an amused though admiring glance. 'Believe me, I envy your father your loyalty. I'd be the last to attack it.' His mouth twisted a little as he said that, and suddenly Kate felt immensely curious for the first time about his background.

  She knew so little about him personally that it had only been an innocently overheard conversation which had told her that he and Sam Goodis had been friends for considerably longer than she had realised.

  Watching him now, Kate could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, though his concentration on the road did not waver for an instant. She would normally have felt embarrassed at having offloaded her problems in this way. A week ago she would not even have considered it. It was, perhaps, an indication of how very near the end of her tether she was that she had spoken so freely.

  `What about Walsh?' Gregory Courtney asked some time later, once the heavy traffic was behind them. 'How old is he?'

  Kate had to think about that for a moment. 'He must be—oh, early thirties, by now. He certainly has the drive and enthusiasm.'

  `I see. And your father was to supply the experience?' `Something like that,' Kate agreed, pointing out the next turning as they neared her home.

  He parked the car immaculately in a space Kate would not have attempted to back her old Mini into. She looked up at him as she unbuckled her seat-belt, but before she could speak he was out of the car. He walked with such economical grace, she thought idly, thanking him as he helped her out.

  She looked up at the house. A curtain twitched—a sure sign her mother was looking out for her—and Kate was suddenly unsure whether or not to invite Gregory Courtney to stay. For some strange reason, she was beginning to think of him as a sort of lucky mascot, as if his mere presence could set her world to rights in the blink of an eye. Until she thought, with horror, of the meeting she had dragged him from, the hundred and one things awaiting his attention in the office.

  But once again he took the decision away from her by the simple expedient of placing a hand in the small of her back and

  ushering her unresisting body forwards. The door opened before they were halfway up the path, and Terry came out to greet them.

  He was a tall man, almost as tall as Gregory Courtney, his hair as blond as Gregory's was dark, his sunny face again a direct contrast to her employer's remoteness, Kate thought as she performed introductions. Terry became friends with everyone he met, but his famous smile was sadly absent today.

  `I'm sorry about this, princess!' he declared, draping a casual arm about her shoulders. He had called her princess for as long as she could remember. 'You must all be wishing I'd stayed in Australia—in fact, I'm thinking the same myself. He's back, love—turned up about ten minutes ago.' His blue eyes clouded. 'He's got forms from loan sharks all over the bloody Midlands! I think he's decided it's showdown time.'

  `It's not your fault, Terry. You weren't to know,' Kate sighed, and led the way into the house.

  The hall seemed to shrink in size as the two men entered, forcing her to see the house through Gregory Courtney's eyes. Not exactly the sort of place he would-be used to, that was for sure. But, despite the slight shabbiness of her surroundings, Kate loved her home just as much as her mother did, right down to the faint fingermarks on the wallpaper. It was a haven to her, exuding the same unaffected welcome to all comers, be they Ian and Andy's schoolfriends or millionaire heads of multi-national companies—a 'take us as you find us' attitude Kate had practised all her life.

  But the house, these days, also reflected a hint of the gloom which had pervaded since Terry's arrival. One look at her mother's face confirmed Kate's worst fears. Her father was obviously in one of his 'I'm the head of the household' sort of moods. The Women's Lib movement never had and never would make the slightest dent in Callum McNaught's way of thinking.

  `Alissa McNaught—Gregory Courtney.' Kate tried to smooth her mother's agitation by reminding her of her manners. 'I've been explaining to Mr Courtney . .

  `Oh, so you don't trust your dad's judgement these days? This is no one's business but ours, Kate . .

  Kate whirled, stricken, as her father's voice, full of hurt pride and sheer pigheadedness, sounded behind her.

  `Not at all, Mr McNaught,' Gregory Courtney stepped smoothly into the breach before Kate even had time to feel embarrassment at her father's attitude. 'Kate had the good sense to make use of my experience in these matters. There are any number of pitfalls ahead of you both . .

  `If you think you can talk me out of it . .

  `On the contrary, sir.' One eyebrow rose—and Callum relaxed. It was extraordinary, Kate
thought, how charming Gregory Courtney could be when he put his mind to it. It had been a stroke of genius to add that touch of deference, even as he took complete control.

  In no time at all, it seemed, Courtney, Callum and Terry were seated at the dining-room table, surrounded by a mountain of paper. Kate, of course, had witnessed such scenes before. But Alissa McNaught had never yet met a man capable of quieting her husband with one lift of an eyebrow.

  `Well,' she muttered now, still a little shell-shocked, `do you think . . .?'

  Kate studied the closed door thoughtfully. 'What I think, Mom, is that Dad has finally met his match. Come on, I'm dying for a cup of tea!'

  The next day, a Saturday, Kate spent mooning around the house, in a state of utter confusion concerning her feelings towards Gregory Courtney.

  He had stayed for over three hours the previous evening, only leaving then because he had a business engagement that evening, as she had had to remind him.

  Of the top of her head, Kate would have sworn there was no meeting ground between her father and her boss. But as the evening had progressed, she was forced to witness just how wrong she had been in her thinking.

  Gregory Courtney had a very blunt 'take it or leave it' approach to business, something her father was not able to resent because he was equally blunt. And she knew she could trust her boss to tell her father straight out if the deal he and Terry had planned was feasible. He did so very much more.

  For the first half hour or so, Kate had remained in the kitchen reassuring her mother, even though she was burning with curiosity.

  Alissa McNaught was a very pretty woman still, though her grey hairs were now outnumbering the black. Her face was comparatively unlined, but her habitual smile had been absent for a while. Kate was glad to see it had not been lost altogether.

  Kate always remembered vividly the day she had walked into the maternity hospital on her father's arm to see her brand new baby brother. Her mother had been sitting up in bed, her face radiant with the bloom of childbirth, looking impossibly young for someone who had just passed her fortieth birthday. The then nine-year-old Kate had almost burst with pride at seeing her mother look so beautiful.