Rumours: The Legacy Of Revenge. Cathy Williams

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      Oh, God. A surge of panic seized Kat’s chest. Road rage. Was she to be beaten senseless? Dragged out of the car and kicked and shoved and stomped on and then thrown to the gutter like a bit of trash? She could see the headlines: Struggling actor beaten to a pulp over traffic incident. She could see the social media footage. It would go viral. Millions of people would view her demise. She would finally be famous but for all the wrong reasons.

      Kat turned to face her opponent with a bravado she was nowhere near feeling. This was the upside of having gone to acting classes. She could do ‘affronted driver’ down pat. But the man wasn’t growling and swearing or shaking his fists at her. He was smiling.

      She rolled down her window and glowered at Flynn Carlyon’s amused expression. ‘I would ask you what the hell you’re doing here but I’m not sure I want to know the answer.’

      He leaned down so his head was on a level with hers. Kat dearly wished he hadn’t. This close she could see the bottomless depth of his glinting eyes. The cleanly shaven jaw of this morning was gone; in its place was the dark shadow of late-in-the-day, urgent male stubble peppered all over it. And, if that wasn’t enough to make her heart come to a juddering stop, some strands of his ink-black hair fell forward over his forehead, giving him a rakish look. ‘Want me to park it for you?’

      ‘No, thank you,’ Kat said, doing a prim schoolmistress tone straight out of her actor’s handbook. ‘I’m perfectly capable of parking my own car.’ Not quite true. She had always had trouble with reverse parking, especially in busy traffic. She had failed her driving test three times because of it.

      His smile stretched to tilt one corner of his mouth. ‘It looks like it.’

      Kat clenched her teeth hard enough to crack a walnut. And to add insult to injury two more cars tooted. Flynn straightened and turned, flattening his back against the side of her door as he waved the traffic through. The fabric of his coat—one hundred per cent cashmere, if she was any judge—was close enough for her to touch. She gripped the steering wheel like her hands were stuck there with superglue and wondered why the planets had conspired against her to have Flynn Carlyon witness her humiliation in a busy Notting Hill street.

      He turned back and tapped the roof of her car. ‘Watch out for the car behind,’ he said. ‘It’s mine.’

      She double-blinked. ‘Yours?’

      ‘Yeah, didn’t I tell you?’ That annoying smile again. ‘We’re neighbours.’

      Later, Kat didn’t know how she’d parked that car without ramming into his. She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. Nothing would have given her more pleasure than to smash up his pride and joy. To reverse her car at full throttle time and time again.

      Crash. Bang. Crash. Bang. Crash. Bang.

      She got out of her car and pretended she didn’t notice how out of place it looked sandwiched between his showroom-perfect BMW and the silver Mercedes. It looked like a donkey at the starting gates at Royal Ascot.

      Kat joined him on the footpath. ‘Just answer me one question. Did you have something to do with my appointment at the Carstairses’ next door?’

      ‘They were looking for a house-sitter. Your name came up.’

      Kat narrowed her gaze. ‘Why me? You know nothing about me.’

      ‘On the contrary, Miss Winwood,’ he said with a slow smile that had a hint of imperiousness, ‘I know quite a lot about you.’

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘Your father is Richard—’

      ‘Apart from that.’

      ‘Why don’t you want to meet him?’ Flynn said.

      ‘The first time we spoke you wanted to stop me meeting him. Now you want me to come to his stupid party. How do I know what he’ll want tomorrow or the next day?’

      He gave a loose shrug of a very broad shoulder. Did he row for England? Work out? Lift bulldozers in the gym? ‘He’s changed his mind since then,’ he said. ‘He wants to make amends. He feels bad about the way things turned out.’

      Kat gave a scoffing laugh. ‘“Turned out”? Things didn’t “turn out.” He was the one who tried to get rid me as a baby. He treated my mother appallingly. The only thing he feels bad about is my mother finally telling me of my origin. That’s what he’s upset about. He thought his dirty little secret had gone away. His agent is probably only doing this as some sort of popularity stunt. I bet Richard couldn’t care less about meeting me. He just doesn’t want his adoring public to see him as a deadbeat dad.’

      ‘The rest of the family would like to meet you. They haven’t done you or your mother any wrong.’

      There was a part of Kat that conceded he was right, but she wasn’t ready to join them for family get-togethers, because it would pander to Richard Ravensdale—not to mention Flynn, who was acting for him. ‘What about his wife, Elisabetta Albertini?’ she said. ‘I bet she isn’t waiting for me with open arms to welcome me to the bosom of the family.’

      ‘No, but she too might change her mind when she sees how sweet and lovable you are.’

      Kat shot him a withering look. ‘But I thought she was going to divorce him. Who will you represent if she does? Don’t you act for both of them?’

      ‘I’m hoping it won’t come to that. A divorce would be costly to both of them.’

      ‘Why should you mind?’ she said. ‘Either way, you’d still get paid bags and bags of money.’

      ‘Contrary to what you might think, money is not my primary motivation in representing my clients,’ he said. ‘The Ravensdales are people I admire and respect and am deeply fond of. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get in out of this rain.’

      Kat had barely noticed the rain but now that he mentioned it she could feel it dripping down the back of her coat collar in icy shards. God knew what her hair looked like. She could feel it plastered to her scalp and over her shoulders like a Viking helmet. Not that she cared a fig for how she looked in front of Flynn Carlyon. She didn’t care for his opinion one way or the other. So what if he only ever surrounded himself with beautiful people?

      She. Did. Not. Care.

      She balled her hands into fists. ‘What do you possibly hope to achieve by having me installed next door?’

      His look was inscrutable. ‘If you’re so uncomfortable with the notion then why not call the agency and be transferred?’

      Kate would have done so if it hadn’t been for the money. The Carstairs family was paying extra for her to Skype them each day with the cat. Weird, but true. She only hoped Monty would agree to sit on her lap long enough to look at his family on the other side of the globe. ‘Once I commit to something, I don’t like to let people down,’ she said.

      ‘Nor do I,’ he said and, giving her another one of those annoying winks, he turned and went inside his house.

      * * *

      Flynn was enjoying a quiet drink in his sitting room, with his little dog Cricket snoring at his feet СКАЧАТЬ