thought you’d be pleased. That you’d be glad to do this little thing for me.’
She looked down at the table. She said quietly, ‘I don’t think I know quite how I feel. But I’ll speak to my father, if that’s really what you want. Although I can’t guarantee a thing,’ she added. ‘You must understand that.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Tara. Your old man’s always given you and your sister anything you’ve ever wanted. Everyone knows that.’
Tara crumpled her napkin into a ball. ‘Then everyone knows more than I do,’ she said stonily. ‘And now I’d like to go home, please.’
The next ten days were a nightmare, with constant pressure from Jack colliding headlong with her own reluctance.
Eventually, wearily, and wanting to avoid their first real quarrel at all costs, Tara agreed to phone her parents and suggest she join them at Silver Creek for the weekend.
Jack, she knew, would not accompany her. He’d been down once, just for the day, in those first ecstatic weeks, but he’d seemed ill at ease in his surroundings.
Afterwards, Tara could see why. He’d expected to find a millionaire’s weekend retreat—a mansion with sculpted lawns sweeping down to the water, probably with its own tennis court and a swimming pool. Instead he’d found a shabby family home with only one bathroom, and an elderly sailing dinghy.
She was on edge all weekend, wondering how to bring the subject up. In the end her father did it for her, mentioning casually over a game of Scrabble that they were drawing up a short-list for Peter Cadham’s job.
‘You’ll miss him,’ Barbara said, frowning over her tiles.
‘God, yes. He’s been like a rock. But young Ritchie has been working closely with him for the past year, and he’s the most likely candidate.’
Later, when her mother had gone up to bed, Tara said, ‘Dad, is it definite about Ian Ritchie? Has he been offered the department?’
Jim Lyndon was fixing the guard in front of the fire. ‘No, not yet. Why do you ask?’ His voice was quizzical. ‘Do you know of a better candidate?’
She swallowed. ‘I thought—Jack.’
‘Did you, my dear—or was the thought really his?’ He waited for a moment, his shrewd gaze fixed on her flushed, unhappy face, then sighed. ‘But I’m afraid I must disappoint you. Jack has yet to convince me and the rest of the board that he has the makings of a top manager. In the short term he hasn’t nearly enough experience, and is inclined to cut corners and take unnecessary risks as a consequence.’
She bit her lip. ‘I know you’ve never liked him...’
‘That’s not quite true. At the moment I’m trying very hard not to dislike him.’ He paused. ‘But I know how much it must have cost you to approach me like this, so I won’t be angry with you.’
He got up, dusting his hands. ‘However, I’ll say this before we drop the subject. Jack is still young, and it’s early days both in the company and your relationship. He has plenty of time to prove himself.’
She said fiercely, ‘And he will.’ She hesitated. ‘Dad—wouldn’t it be possible for him to be shortlisted—given an interview? It would encourage him so much.’
‘Oh, does he need encouragement?’ Mr Lyndon asked mildly. He gave a slight shrug. ‘It seems a pretty pointless exercise to me, but if it will make things easier for you I suppose I’ve no real objection.’
Jack was jubilant when he received the internal memo telling him he’d indeed been short-listed. He brought home a bottle of champagne and an extravagant bunch of red roses, which Tara accepted wanly, feeling like Judas.
He was so confident, she thought anxiously. So sure. She wished now that she hadn’t asked...
And afterwards, when Ian Ritchie’s appointment was announced, Jack seemed stunned, stonily incredulous. But when she went to him, tried to put her arms round him to comfort him, he turned from her almost menacingly, his face a harsh stranger’s.
He curtly
She looked down at the table. She said quietly, ‘I don’t think I know quite how I feel. But I’ll speak to my father, if that’s really what you want. Although I can’t guarantee a thing,’ she added. ‘You must understand that.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Tara. Your old man’s always given you and your sister anything you’ve ever wanted. Everyone knows that.’
Tara crumpled her napkin into a ball. ‘Then everyone knows more than I do,’ she said stonily. ‘And now I’d like to go home, please.’
The next ten days were a nightmare, with constant pressure from Jack colliding headlong with her own reluctance.
Eventually, wearily, and wanting to avoid their first real quarrel at all costs, Tara agreed to phone her parents and suggest she join them at Silver Creek for the weekend.
Jack, she knew, would not accompany her. He’d been down once, just for the day, in those first ecstatic weeks, but he’d seemed ill at ease in his surroundings.
Afterwards, Tara could see why. He’d expected to find a millionaire’s weekend retreat—a mansion with sculpted lawns sweeping down to the water, probably with its own tennis court and a swimming pool. Instead he’d found a shabby family home with only one bathroom, and an elderly sailing dinghy.
She was on edge all weekend, wondering how to bring the subject up. In the end her father did it for her, mentioning casually over a game of Scrabble that they were drawing up a short-list for Peter Cadham’s job.
‘You’ll miss him,’ Barbara said, frowning over her tiles.
‘God, yes. He’s been like a rock. But young Ritchie has been working closely with him for the past year, and he’s the most likely candidate.’
Later, when her mother had gone up to bed, Tara said, ‘Dad, is it definite about Ian Ritchie? Has he been offered the department?’
Jim Lyndon was fixing the guard in front of the fire. ‘No, not yet. Why do you ask?’ His voice was quizzical. ‘Do you know of a better candidate?’
She swallowed. ‘I thought—Jack.’
‘Did you, my dear—or was the thought really his?’ He waited for a moment, his shrewd gaze fixed on her flushed, unhappy face, then sighed. ‘But I’m afraid I must disappoint you. Jack has yet to convince me and the rest of the board that he has the makings of a top manager. In the short term he hasn’t nearly enough experience, and is inclined to cut corners and take unnecessary risks as a consequence.’
She bit her lip. ‘I know you’ve never liked him...’
‘That’s not quite true. At the moment I’m trying very hard not to dislike him.’ He paused. ‘But I know how much it must have cost you to approach me like this, so I won’t be angry with you.’
He got up, dusting his hands. ‘However, I’ll say this before we drop the subject. Jack is still young, and it’s early days both in the company and your relationship. He has plenty of time to prove himself.’
She said fiercely, ‘And he will.’ She hesitated. ‘Dad—wouldn’t it be possible for him to be shortlisted—given an interview? It would encourage him so much.’
‘Oh, does he need encouragement?’ Mr Lyndon asked mildly. He gave a slight shrug. ‘It seems a pretty pointless exercise to me, but if it will make things easier for you I suppose I’ve no real objection.’
Jack was jubilant when he received the internal memo telling him he’d indeed been short-listed. He brought home a bottle of champagne and an extravagant bunch of red roses, which Tara accepted wanly, feeling like Judas.
He was so confident, she thought anxiously. So sure. She wished now that she hadn’t asked...
And afterwards, when Ian Ritchie’s appointment was announced, Jack seemed stunned, stonily incredulous. But when she went to him, tried to put her arms round him to comfort him, he turned from her almost menacingly, his face a harsh stranger’s.
He curtly
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