She turned her head and stared out deliberately over the scope of the racecourse while he wrestled with it. After a few minutes he asked, “How long have you known?”
She turned back, found him watching her intently, leaning forwards in his chair. She was almost unnerved by the intensity of those dark grey-green eyes.
“As long as you have, probably,” she said. “She was your wife after all. You’d have known her best.”
His mouth twisted in a derisive smile that held no amusement. “Knowing Vee wasn’t easy,” he said. “Very little pierced that icy façade. Trust me—I tried. Eventually I had to accept that we had signed a contract not a marriage licence. I gave her wealth and she gave me a certain . . . respectability. Anything more wasn’t on the table.”
She heard the frustration and the sadness, opened her mouth but before she could speak another voice broke in.
“Matt! Thought I’d find you up here.”
Kelly heard the annoyed hiss of Lytton’s escaping breath. She twisted in her chair to see a man weaving towards them between the largely empty tables. Fair-skinned and blond he was shorter and more squat than Lytton but in no way running to fat. He wore an expensive suit with careless elegance, one hand stuffed into the jacket pocket.
Trailing behind him was a dowdy woman who seemed to walk with her eyes permanently downcast and her shoulders rounded defensively so that she was almost crabbing. She was so plainly dressed it was hard to put an age on her. Kelly guessed forties but she could have been ten years out either way—it was hard to tell. With her face devoid of make-up and her dark hair pulled back severely from her face the woman seemed completely over-matched by her surroundings and company.
With obvious reluctance Lytton rose and shook the newcomer’s hand. The woman presented her cheek meekly for his kiss. Kelly got the fleeting impression she did so because she knew Lytton expected it but took no pleasure in the greeting herself.
“Steve Warwick,” the man said turning to Kelly and bending over her exaggeratedly as he took her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Kelly pushed her chair back and got to her feet as much to put some distance between them as for politeness. She gave him a purposely limp grip knowing he was the type to take anything else as a challenge.
“No we haven’t,” she agreed smiling sweetly. “Nice to meet you Steve.”
Warwick looked her up and down like he was gauging the price and frowned, glancing at Lytton.
“My business partner,” Lytton said shortly. “And his wife Yana.”
Kelly disengaged herself and reached round Warwick towards the woman hovering in his shadow. “Hello Yana.”
“Am pleased meet you,” Yana mumbled her English heavily accented. She barely touched her fingers to Kelly’s before dropping back as if trying very hard not to be noticed.
“Won’t you join us?” Lytton said with more than a hint of sarcasm as Warwick was already plonking himself down next to Kelly, ignoring his wife. It was left to Lytton to wave Kelly back to her seat and pull out a chair which Yana slunk into.
“So, who are you?” Warwick asked more baldly, something of his bonhomie disappearing. “Only I couldn’t help noticing Matt had signed you in as his PA and I’m fairly sure I know all our staff pretty well.” His eyes wandered up her lower legs in leisurely inspection. “So what kind of tasks do you personally assist Matt with, hmm?”
“Kelly is simply a friend,” Lytton said quickly as if he knew how she was likely to react to this kind of innuendo. Kelly briefly considered smacking Warwick’s legs for him like the snotty child he was. She snuck a quick peek at Yana while all this was going on but the woman kept her gaze firmly on the table linen, frowning as if deep in thought.
“A friend eh?” Warwick said with something close to a leer. “You dark horse you.”
“Steve—” Lytton began warningly but Kelly interrupted him with a bright smile.
“OK let’s get this out in the open,” she said. “I am not shagging your business partner and have no desire to do so—certainly not within days of his wife dying. Nor, if you’ll forgive me for being blunt, do I find you remotely attractive either. And no I’m not a lesbian, since that’s bound to be your next question.” She caught the eye of a lurking waiter. “Now that’s out of the way shall I order more tea?”
Warwick opened and closed his mouth a couple of times then said faintly, “Erm coffee for me.”
Lytton quietly saluted her with his glass. Yana continued to stare mutely at the tablecloth.
Kelly ordered from the waiter. Silence formed around his departure and she cursed inwardly. Such an outburst was not going to help her stay below the radar but she’d lost patience with oafs like Steve Warwick a long time ago and learned that life was too short to suffer them when she no longer had to.
She grabbed the handles of her bag, sitting next to her chair, and got to her feet.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Lytton, “but I think I need to get back. Thank you for showing me round the place. And for lunch.”
“You’re welcome,” he said rising. “I’ll drop you wherever you need to go.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at Yana, receiving no response, and gave Warwick a cool stare. “Goodbye. Meeting you has been . . . interesting.”
“Likewise,” Warwick drawled recovering something of his poise.
She nodded to Lytton and hefted the bag. “I’ll just get changed. I’ll meet you in the car park.”
45
Lytton watched her walk away from the table fascinated by the way the heels emphasised the definition in her calves. All that climbing certainly had an effect.
Warwick leaned in towards him. “For God’s sake Matt are you out of your tiny mind?” he demanded in a savage whisper. “I know who she is. I recognise her from the other day at the house never mind the news reports. What the hell are you doing bringing her here of all places?”
Lytton eyed the other man’s anxiety without concern. How did he explain? It was probably best not to try.
“She was determined to investigate,” he said instead, keeping his voice even, dispassionate. “And in that case it seemed preferable by far to have her on the inside.”
“One phone call and she’d be on the inside all right,” Warwick muttered, “of Wormwood bloody Scrubs.”
Lytton linked his hands on the tabletop, put his head on one side. “Isn’t that a male prison?”
Warwick made an irritated gesture as if flipping away an annoying insect. “You know damn well what I mean,” he complained.
“Of course—but this way she’s keeping me informed every step she takes.”