Gil gave her an icy, angry glance, without answering the question, and turned away to give Caro a little bow. 'Goodnight, Miss Ramsgate.' He nodded to her father. 'Mr Ramsgate. I hope you enjoy your evening.'
Caro thought for a second that he was going to leave without saying goodbye to his grandmother, but he bent and kissed Lady Westbrook's cheek. 'Goodnight, dear,' he said levelly, and walked away before she could answer him.
The door closed behind him and Lady Westbrook sighed. 'He is my only grandchild,' she said quietly, without looking at either Caro or her father. Neither of them liked to reply. What could they say? They had the distinct feeling she had forgotten they were there.
Who was he meeting tonight? wondered Caro as she ate a very good dinner, and drank the excellent wine served with it. If the gossip columns were to be believed, he dated any number of women—mostly very attractive ones. It was none of her business, and it was stupid to be curious about him. He would never be interested in her, so what difference did it make to her who he was meeting? But she wished she knew whether he was seeing the Countess again—how serious was that affair? Had her husband had good reason for picking a fight with Gil Martell? Caro pulled herself up, and told herself not to be such a fool, and to think about something else.
It was on their way home that her father said to her, 'She's disinheriting him.'
Caro stared, her grey eyes wide. 'Do you think so? She didn't say that. Just because she sells the store, it doesn't mean she's cutting him out of her will.'
'It means she's taking away from him what he has spent years working for,' Fred Ramsgate drily said. 'You law how he took it.'
'Badly.'
'Precisely. He knows she is disinheriting him, taking the store away from him. Maybe she still intends to leave him her money, but by then it will be too late. He will have lost the store he already thinks of as his own. His Family built the place, after all. They've owned it for generations. No wonder Gil Martell is furious.'
Caro gave her father a curious, sideways look. 'You seem to sympathise with him!'
'I have a sneaking fellow-feeling,' Fred wryly
agreed. He's done a good job with the store. His father left it in a bad way and he's turned it round, only to have his grandmother fly into a temper with him and decide to sell the place over his head. Yes, I sympathise with the man.'
'But you're still going to buy his store?' Caro asked rhetorically; she was certain her father would go ahead and buy Westbrooks. He had never let personal feelings cloud his judgement or influence him in the past—why should he do so now?
'Of course,' said Fred flatly. 'If I don't buy it, someone else will—and I want Westbrooks badly. I learnt long ago, Caro, that when you make a deal like this, the chances are that somebody will get hurt in the process. In business, you can't afford to worry over every little detail of the consequences of a deal.'
Caro grimaced. 'I suppose you're right. Dad, do you think she's doing it because of the gossip in the paper this morning? The fight in the nightclub?'
'Who knows?' Fred shrugged. 'He seemed to think that that was why, didn't he?'
'Yes, but... well, isn't that petty of her? She doesn't seem the petty type, but...'
'There may be other reasons we don't know about, Caro. Who knows why she suddenly wants to sell? Maybe she needs the cash? Maybe she wants to settle money on someone other than her grandson? Perhaps she's in debt? It isn't our affair. That's exactly what I meant about not worrying about the consequences of a deal. Why Lady Westbrook is selling is nothing to do with us. Our only concern is getting the best possible deal for our shareholders. We'll look at their books, study the accounts, make sure the store is worth the price they're asking. The rest isn't our problem.'
'We're going to need Gil Martel's co-operation,' Caro murmured wryly, 'and I don't see us getting it, do you?'
'It will be your team that goes in there to look at the books,' her father pointed out. 'You'll just have to find a way of persuading Martell to play ball.'
'Oh, thanks!' she groaned. 'Thanks a lot!'
Ten days later she sat in her office staring at the phone, nerving herself to ring Gil Martell at Westbrooks. Before real discussions on the take-over could start, her father wanted his own accountants to go over the books and report on the situation in the store, but Lady Westbrook's lawyers had made it clear that Gil Martell was, as Caro had anticipated, being difficult. He wouldn't hand over the accounts and he had ignored all requests to allow Caro and her team into the accounts department at the store.
The market value of the shares was temptingly priced, but wasn't enough to make Fred Ramsgate feel happy about buying a controlling interest without ever getting sight of the actual accounts. He wanted to be sure he was acquiring a valuable property at the right price; he did not want to discover that he had paid more than the store was really worth.
'You talk to him!' he had said that morning. 'We've tried approaching him formally, through his own people. Now try the direct approach. Ring him yourself.'
Caro reached a hand towards the phone and dialled. She got through to Gil's office at once and spoke to a secretary with a remote, indifferent voice.
No, she was informed, Mr Martell was not available. He was in a meeting. No, his secretary did not know when he would be free. She reluctantly agreed to take a message asking him to ring Caro back.
He didn't, of course. Caro rang again, got the same cold, distant voice. He still wasn't available. She left a message. 'You will make sure he gets it? It is important. And urgent.'
The secretary sounded about as impressed as she might have been by a fly buzzing around her office, and no doubt would have liked to deal with Caro the way she would deal with a fly.
Caro felt like yelling down the phone at her, just to make her jump, but could not risk it. She had to pretend to be sweetness and light until she finally managed to get hold of Gil Martell.
He still didn't ring back. She tried again and again over the next two days, getting angrier each time, with the same result. His secretary's cold voice took on a smug note. She was enjoying the process. Probably, Gil Martell was enjoying himself, too. That made two of them. Caro was not having fun.