PART FIVE
Stella rearranged the book display in the window for the second time that day. 'Cup of tea, Stella?' Ashton Watson suggested. It was a lashing wet day and there wasn't a customer in the shop. Stella focused on her elderly employer, the kindly concern visible in his lined features, and forced a strained smile.
'Lovely... thanks.' Grateful that the older man would never dream of asking I prying questions, Stella stood behind the counter sipping her tea and watching the rain stream down the window and the door. She had been back home for two days, but what had happened on the island of Chandos haunted her more with every passing hour.
How could she have been such an idiot? Sex was a dangerous fire to play with; she had always known that. She had always believed that physical intimacy belonged in stable relationships. It was embarrassing to accept that she had recklessly gone to bed with a man she had known for little more than a day. She had had a choice and, relying on feelings rather than intelligence, she had made the wrong choice.
She should have kept Dior Harlequin at arm's length. And if that little accident with contraception which Dior had mentioned with such supreme cool had consequences, she would have nobody to blame but herself, she reflected fearfully. Watson went home early. Just before closing time, a delivery man arrived with a large bouquet.
'Eleanor Caroline ?' 'I don't think I'm the Eleanor Caroline you're looking for,' Stella told him drily, never having received flowers in her life, and certainly not an enormous bunch of costly white roses.
"This is the address.' Her heart beating very fast as she thought of the only person she knew who could afford such a gesture, Stella signed for the bouquet and tore the accompanying card out of the envelope.
Three words. 'From the goat-herd.' Stella turned white, and then furious pink. She tore the card into pieces as small as confetti and tossed them in the bin below the counter. The roses were Die's idea of an apology. Her soft full mouth compressed. Had he somehow established that she wasn't the source of the data leak? Someone else must have rammed that reality down his arrogant throat, Stella decided bleakly.
Certainly, Dior himself hadn't cherished the slightest doubt of her guilt. No, Dior had had no trouble whatsoever believing that the sneaky little cleaner had lied to him, deceived him and finally betrayed his precious plans. She hoped he's lost a mint of money on the deal going wrong. He deserved to. The phone rang. She answered it. 'I'd like to speak to Stella...' Stella froze at the startling familiarity of Dior's rich, dark drawl.
Silence filled with static buzzed on the line. 'What do you want?' she inquired curtly. 'I'll be back in London by nine this evening. I want to see you.' 'Nothing doing," Stella said after a truly staggering pause in which to absorb that smooth announcement of intent. 'Stella...' Dior breathed, and the way he said her name made her clench the phone so tight that her fingers ached.
'Is Grace still employed?' she demanded brittly. 'Yes.' 'Fine...' Stella released her pent-up breath in a jerky exhalation of relief. 'I presume that means that I can have my job back too?' 'We'll discuss that later—' 'Dior, we are never going to meet again in this lifetime,' Stella asserted, her temper steadily climbing.