An Unequal Partnership Read online

  AN UNEQUAL PARTNERSHIP

  Rosemary Gibson

  "I have no intention of selling."

  Mike had made her position perfectly clear. She could not abandon her share of Kingston Air, the business her grandfather had built. And especially not to a cold, calculating business machine like Luke Duncan.

  She was uneasily aware that Luke was not a man who liked to be thwarted. It was obvious that he wouldn't have left even a minor investment to a girl he regarded as barely competent.

  Perhaps it was time, Mike decided, that Luke learned there was no such thing as an unequal partnership!

  CHAPTER ONE

  'Mr Duncan has arrived, Miss Harrington.'

  'Thank you, John.' Michaelia looked up from the walnut desk, pen poised in her hand, and smiled at the stiffly erect, silver-haired man standing in front of her. Until five weeks ago, she remembered wistfully, she had simply been Miss Mike. But now John had evidently decided that the strictly formal address was more befitting to the new mistress of Rakers' Moon. 'Would you show him into the morning-room, please?'

  She glanced at her gold wristwatch as John departed from the study. Luke Duncan was fifteen minutes early for their appointment. Unhurriedly, she finished the letter she was writing and sealed it in an envelope. There were letters of condolence still arriving and she was determined to answer each one personally.

  She rose to her feet and smoothed the crease-resistant oatmeal linen dress over her hips and crossed the room, moving silently on the thick Persian rugs. She was well above average height, but even as a child had never been gawky, had controlled her long, slender limbs with a natural athletic grace. Her short, wilful curls had been temporarily subdued this morning, smoothed to her head in a silken, gleaming copper cap. Light make-up concealed the band of tiny freckles that dusted the high cheekbones and neat, straight nose; coral lip gloss outlined the perfectly curved mouth.

  She walked the length of the long, tiled hall and opened the door to the morning-room, her eyes instantly drawn to the grey-suited figure standing by the window overlooking the cobbled courtyard, the spring sunshine glinting in his thick dark hair.

  'Mr Duncan.' Mike extended a manicured hand and felt the pressure of strong, lean fingers against her own. Tilting her head, she looked directly into his face, absorbing the aggressively male features, the hard mouth that looked uncomfortable smiling and the dark grey eyes that were assessing her with cool detachment. Assessing her, she realised immediately, as if she were a complete stranger. There was no flicker of recognition in those cold eyes. Neither was there any trace of the appreciation she was accustomed to witnessing in male eyes.

  'I was very sorry about your grandfather, Miss Harrington. I was in Sydney when I learned of his death, otherwise I should have liked to have attended the funeral.' He paused and added quietly, 'I both liked and respected Matthew a great deal.'

  'Thank you,' she murmured, dark lashes dropping over her hazel eyes. Her grief was very personal and private, not something for public display. She'd been shocked to discover after his death that Matthew Kingston, her maternal grandfather, had been advised over a year ago by his medical practitioner to retire and start taking life at a more leisurely rate. It was advice Matthew had refused to heed, his neglect culminating in that last fatal heart attack.

  'Do sit down, Mr Duncan.' Mike indicated a well-worn leather armchair, and sat down gracefully into its matching counterpart, elegantly crossing her long, slim legs. 'I hope you had a pleasant flight from New York.'

  'Yes, thank you.' His voice was equally courteous, but there were lines of impatience etched around the straight mouth. Being kept waiting for fifteen minutes had doubtless been a novel experience for the chairman of Mereton Holdings and one he had evidently not enjoyed. But neither had she particularly enjoyed receiving the curt message from his London office yesterday afternoon, informing her that Luke Duncan was already en route to England and would arrive at Rakers' Moon at ten o'clock the following morning. Apparently Luke Duncan hadn't thought it necessary to ascertain whether the time or the location were convenient for her.

  'Did you drive down from London this morning?' Mike enquired casually, her light tone betraying nothing more than polite interest. She had been surprised that he had elected to drive down to Dorset himself, having assumed that a man in his position would have been collected from Heathrow by a chauffeur-driven limousine.

  'Last night. I checked in at the Smuggler's Rest.'

  Her eyes searched his face quickly. His expression hadn't altered; his terse voice merely reflected his increasing impatience with what he obviously regarded as time-wasting small talk. Her suspicions were confirmed. He still hadn't recognised her!

  She lowered her eyes so that he wouldn't see the sparkle of wry amusement. It was hardly flattering to discover that a man who had kissed you only the night before had managed to erase you completely from his memory by morning! Not, she reminded herself forcefully, that she'd found anything remotely amusing about the incident at the time. She'd been furious and resentful, loathing the feeling of utter helplessness as she'd been trapped by powerful arms, at the mercy of that harsh, punishing mouth. And now he couldn't even remember her. Pique battled with the amusement and won. Well, she most certainly wasn't going to remind him of their first encounter. She would dismiss it from her own mind as easily as he had evidently done.

  'Would you like a coffee? Or a drink?' she asked equably, her expression bland.

  'I should prefer to get straight down to business. I have a heavy schedule ahead of me today.'

  Mike arched a fine eyebrow. Was she supposed to feel grateful that he had managed to squeeze her into that schedule rather than letting some lesser mortal from his business empire deal with her?

  'You've had over three weeks to consider my offer which I'm sure you'll agree is more than fair. I'll have the necessary papers drawn up tomorrow and --'

  'Mr Duncan,' Mike interrupted bluntly, 'I have no intention of selling my holding in Kingston Air.'

  Jet-black eyebrows knitted together across his forehead. Grey eyes expressed minor irritation.

  'Perhaps I should make it quite clear that I will not, under any circumstances, increase my offer.'

  Mike looked at him scornfully. Was that what he genuinely believed? That she was indulging in some sort of game, hoping for an improved offer? Matthew had started the small independent airline nearly two decades ago. To him it hadn't been merely a business venture but his whole life. That he had bequeathed his remaining fifty per cent share in the company to her had been an act of faith. Nothing and no one— certainly not this man—would induce her to part with it.

  'Perhaps I should make it equally clear that I will not, under any circumstances, sell my shares.' Deliberately she parodied his own crisp, cold enunciation.

  'I see.' The irritation in his eyes had deepened to an emotion that Mike found oddly chilling. Luke Duncan, she registered uneasily, was not a man used to being thwarted. That he was utterly ruthless she had no doubt. No one who had achieved his success at the age of thirty-two in the cut-throat world of high finance could fail to be.

  She flicked a glance at the grim face. What on earth, she wondered for the hundredth time, had prompted Matthew to sell half his company to Mereton Holdings shortly before his death? It wasn't as if Kingston Air had been in financial difficulties or needed an injection of capital. It simply didn't make sense. Even more baffling was why a huge conglomerate like Mereton Holdings should be interested in becoming financially involved with the small airline. With a total staff of less than fifty, Kingston Air was hardly British Airways. Mike sighed inwardly. For Mereton Holdings, read Luke Duncan, its major shareholder and all-powerful chairman. He was
seldom out of the news these days. Either by accident or design, he seemed to court publicity wherever he went. The quality papers referred admiringly to his business acumen while the tabloids were more interested in promoting a playboy image—Luke Duncan and 'close friend' sharing an intimate candlelit meal in some fashionable Paris restaurant...jetting off to a remote, exotic hideaway. The frequency with which the beautiful, glamorous women in his life changed seemed to suggest that he was as ruthless in his private life as in his business one.

  Mike was conscious that he was appraising her with the same degree of unenthusiasm.

  'Miss Harrington, I can appreciate that you must feel a certain sentimental attachment to Kingston Air. I'm sure we can renegotiate, come to some arrangement whereby you still retain some small interest in the company.'

  His patronising tone flicked her on the raw. 'Mr Duncan, I don't think you quite understand. Not only do I intend to retain all my shares, but I plan to take an active part in operating Kingston Air.'

  'And what experience do you have of running an airline—or any other business for that matter, Miss Harrington?' He didn't even attempt to keep the derision from his voice.

  'None whatsoever,' Mike answered calmly, casually examining a polished fingernail. She was perfectly aware of her lack of administrative experience but if he thought she was going to be intimidated, openly admit to her own doubts and anxieties, he was doomed for disappointment. 'This isn't an interview. I'm not a prospective employee.' Any moment now he would be asking for references, demanding to see her curriculum vitae. 'I'm your partner,' she reminded him sweetly. 'Equal partner,' she added for good measure.

  She saw a muscle clench along the line of his jaw. He surveyed her in stony silence for one long moment and then deliberately turned his head, looking out of the window at the silver Porsche parked in the courtyard. It had been a present from her father for her twenty-third birthday, two months ago. He didn't make any comment but he didn't need to. The disdain in his eyes revealed more than mere words. She knew exactly what he must be thinking. Michaelia Harrington, born with a silver spoon in her mouth, the over-indulged daughter of wealthy electronics manufacturer Daniel Harrington, who simply by virtue of being his only living blood relative had now inherited her grandfather's considerable estate. For a brief moment the knowledge that Luke Duncan despised her, had judged her on such a superficial acquaintance, rankled. She had the unusual urge to defend herself, to tell him the truth, to remind him of last night. And then she shrugged. She had nothing to prove to this man. She didn't care what he thought of her. She didn't even like him, considered him coldblooded, humourless and totally devoid of any of the charm he was supposed to possess. His opinion was of no value.

  'And how long do you think it'll be before the novelty of trying to play businesswoman of the year wears off?'

  Of all the arrogant, smug, condescending... Mike looked at him with large, thoughtful hazel eyes. 'We'll have to see, won't we?' she murmured serenely. Did he think he'd be able to goad her into losing her temper that easily? 'And now are you quite sure you wouldn't like a drink? To toast our new partnership?'

  His face was like thunder. 'I hardly think that is a cause for celebration,' he grated.

  She could hardly disagree with that, Mike admitted ruefully. Still, she consoled herself, Kingston Air was only a very small, insignificant part of Luke Duncan's vast empire. He had maintained a low profile while Matthew was alive, seeming content that Matthew should continue running Kingston Air as before. She wasn't naive enough to believe that she would be left as severely alone, but with all the other demands on his time, the amount of travelling he undertook, Luke Duncan simply wouldn't have the time to become involved with the everyday running of the airline. As long as it continued to operate smoothly and at a profit, she doubted whether she would see a great deal of him in person. They would probably have the occasional meeting when he was in England, converse on the telephone, but unless there were any major problems she would probably liaise indirectly with him through one of Mereton Holdings's executives. Her spirits rose. And why should there be any problems? The airline staff were experienced, loyal and enthusiastic. Some of the older members had been with the company since it had first started operating. Mike felt her confidence flooding back. When it came down to it, Kingston Air virtually ran itself anyway.

  'I'd like to visit the airport now.'

  It was more like a command than a request, Mike observed, fighting back the temptation to leap to her feet and salute.

  'I'll fetch my jacket,' she said easily instead.

  She followed him out of the house a few minutes later, slamming the heavy front door shut behind her. She gleaned from the way that he immediately strode towards the red saloon parked on the gravel sweep in front of the house that he automatically assumed that he would drive. It was a minor irritation and not worth making a fuss about, she decided quickly.

  He held the car door open for her and then walked around to the driver's side, slipping in beside her. He didn't turn the ignition key immediately but gazed up at the huge, red-bricked house in front of them.

  'Are you going to sell it?'

  Mike turned her head sharply towards him. 'Rakers' Moon, do you mean?' she said pedantically. 'No.' Was he planning to make her an offer for the house as well? she wondered with a swirl of faint hysteria. The house was far too large for one person, expensive to maintain, cold and draughty in the winter—but the idea of selling it was inconceivable. Her mother had been brought up in this rambling old house. She herself had spent holidays here as a child after her mother's death. And in her adult life she had spent as many weekends down here as possible with Matthew. In the past few months, those weekends hadn't been as frequent as she would have liked—if only she'd known how ill he really was... Quickly she pushed the painful memories to the back of her mind.

  'I'm going to live here,' she said quietly, almost as much to herself as the man by her side.

  'You're planning to move down from London permanently?' He raised a dark, sceptical eyebrow.

  'Naturally,' she returned coolly. 'I can hardly operate Kingston Air by remote control.' Briefly her eyes encountered the dark, cynical grey ones. He still didn't believe she was serious in her intention, she realised, but was perversely determined to regard her as little more than a spoilt child who had just been given an expensive new toy to play with—a toy of which she would quickly become bored. 'Besides,' she added, 'I happen to want to live at Rakers'.'

  'Don't tell me, let me guess.' Mockingly he appraised her carefully made-up face, her varnished nails, the deceptively simple designer dress and jacket with the toning, elegant court shoes. 'You're just a simple, old-fashioned country girl at heart.'

  'I have a standing order at Harrods for my green wellies.' She smiled sweetly and turned her head away, staring out of the window as the car began to move smoothly along the daffodil-lined drive, and turned into the narrow lane at the bottom. To the left stretched rolling green meadows, dotted with black and white Friesian cows; in the distance lay the Dorset coast. On a clear day it was still possible to glimpse the sea from the attic windows at Rakers' Moon, despite the ever-encroaching building development in the path.

  Over to the right, concealed in a copse of trees, lay the dew pond from which the name of the house had originated. In bygone days, smugglers had hidden their contraband from the Excise Men in that pond, returning on moonlit nights to rake it out. Usually Mike enjoyed relating the tale but she felt no compunction to do so today.

  'If you go left at the end of the lane, then left again at the crossroads, you'll come to the main road. It's a short cut. Saves going through the village,' she advised the silent man beside her.

  He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath and followed her instructions.

  Mike flicked him a sideways glance as they joined the dual carriageway and headed towards the small provincial airport where Kingston Air was based. He wasn't the most scintillating of conve
rsationalists, she thought drily. Was he by nature this taciturn and uncommunicative, or was he ignoring her deliberately? Her eyes brushed over the decisive mouth and the tenacious, square jaw. He was undeniably attractive, she admitted unwillingly, or would be if he deigned to smile occasionally and the expression in his eyes weren't so cynical. Her gaze dropped to the lean hands resting lightly on the steering-wheel. A sprinkling of fine hairs covered the tanned wrists visible below the cuffs of the brilliant white shirt. His fingers were long and misleadingly sensitive. Sensitivity, she was convinced, was not one of Luke Duncan's dominant traits. Through her father, she had encountered numerous men of his ilk—wealthy, ruthless, influential men whose lives were governed solely by ambition. Had circumstances been different, she doubted whether she would have spared Luke Duncan a second thought. Men like him had no appeal for her. She averted her head dismissively but found it wasn't quite as easy to block him from her mind as she'd imagined.

  She couldn't seem to relax. His continuing silence was making her feel uncomfortable and edgy, sensations normally alien to her, and it was with something very akin to relief that she saw the airport entrance approaching.

  Leaving the car in the staff car park, they walked across to the passenger terminal, Mike finding that even with her long legs she had difficulty in keeping up with the loping strides of her companion. The glass doors slid open in front of them and, as if on cue, the Tannoy crackled into life.

  'Kingston Air,' a female voice began hesitantly. 'This announcement is for—er—passengers travelling on Kingston Air flight...' A hysterical giggle echoed around the terminal and the Tannoy went dead.

  The expression of grim disapproval on Luke Duncan's face was so predictable that, try as she might, Mike found it impossible to hide her involuntary grin.

  'You find that amusing?' the cold voice enquired.

  Her eyes darkened with exasperation. No one could accuse him of having an overdeveloped sense of humour.