Callum

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Prologue

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Copyright

As Elaine came out of her room, she bumped straight into Calum.

For a moment she didn’t know it was him. He was halfway through pulling off his shirt. “Oh!” Elaine put out her hands to protect herself and found them pressed against a broad, naked chest.

Calum pulled the shirt over his head. His skin was hot under her hands. His shoulders were broad, powerful and well proportioned. Seeing him in his businesslike dark suits, one would never have guessed that his body could be so beautiful.

“Elaine! I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

She blinked and stepped back. “No. It was-it was my fault. Excuse me.” She hurriedly stepped past him and went on her way.

Dear Reader,

The wild and primitive scenery of the Douro valley. The white baroque palaces. What men would live and rule here? Calum came first, a tall and golden god, but then Francesca pushed her way into my mind. Then Chris, very much a man of the world. A family, then—outwardly tamed, but with hidden emotions as deep and hot-blooded as the land they lived in. Three cousins who filled my imagination—fascinating, absorbing, clamoring to come alive. And three wishes that had to come true. Then I thought of an anniversary, and saw a girl, sitting entirely alone on the riverbank.…

Sally Wentworth

Calum

Sally Wentworth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THEY were all there—the Brodeys—gathered together in the beautiful gardens of their magnificent baroque palácio near Oporto. All of them had come to celebrate the two hundredth anniversary of the House of Brodey.

Celebrating with them were a hundred and fifty or so guests, standing in groups around the lawn, drinking aperitifs before lunch was served, talking, laughing. The spring sky was an unclouded blue; there was just the faintest breeze from the nearby coast. The gardens were looking beautiful, carefully tended and full of flowers: a perfect day and a perfect setting. For the guests the lunch party was pure pleasure. For Elaine Beresford it meant work.

She stood as unobtrusively as possible in the background, making sure that the waiters were going to every group with their trays of drinks, that no one was left out. In the far garden the tables were already set for the exact number of guests who had accepted invitations. They would make their way to the tables in another halfhour or so, then she would have to oversee the serving of the food and wine, the clearing, and so on to the next course. A difficult enough task in England where she had staff that she hired frequently and knew and trusted, who spoke English. Here in Portugal she, and the two senior staff she had brought with her, had to cope through interpreters, dealing with supplies which hadn’t arrived on time, with temperamental chefs who wanted to do things their own way, and with a thousand other things which could, and usually had, gone wrong.

And mostly, of course, she’d had to cope with the Brodeys.

Things were running smoothly at the moment and she was able to watch them as they moved among their guests. They were something else, the Brodey family. The first of them she’d met had of course been Francesca, or the Princess de Vieira, to give her full title. They had known each other in London, before Francesca had married her Italian prince, and when Elaine, too, was married. Now neither of them was. Francesca’s marriage had ended in an ugly divorce, Elaine’s in the plane crash that had killed Neil, her husband, three years ago. They had become unlikely friends, the jet-set lifestyle that Francesca lived a million miles away from Elaine’s quiet country life. But after Neil had died, leaving little money, she’d turned a hobby into a business and started catering for weddings and parties. Francesca had asked her to organise her own wedding and that in turn had led to a whole lot more commissions and eventually to Elaine’s organising and catering for this whole week of celebrations that the House of Brodey had laid on to mark their bicentennial.

Elaine had seriously considered refusing the commission; there were so many difficulties involved, not least the language. But she was ambitious for her company, wanted to see it grow, and, when it came down to it, she was unable to resist the simple challenge of seeing if she could do the job successfully.

Francesca’s grandfather, old Mr Brodey, who was in his eighties, was the nominal head of the family and had taken a keen interest in the arrangements. But it had been to his grandson, the one they called Young Calum, that Elaine had sent her estimates and plans, had had long discussions with on the phone and pages of correspondence via the fax machine. Calum and Francesca were cousins; Elaine could see them both as they moved among their guests. Francesca was tall and beautiful in a brilliantly coloured outfit, Calum Brodey taller still, dwarfing most of the people there; both of them were fair-haired and English-looking among so many Portuguese. Francesca had a man in tow, some French count, but then, when didn’t she have a man around?

Calum, it seemed, wasn’t married, although he must be over thirty, Elaine guessed, and was very good-looking, in a hard, arrogant kind of way. She moved to direct a waiter towards a group with empty glasses, passing the circle round Calum as she did so. He was speaking to the guests in fluent Portuguese. Resuming her post on the steps leading to a door of the house where she could see easily, Elaine thought how strange it was to find this family who had been living and working in Portugal for the last two hundred years and yet still seemed so very English. They all spoke English as naturally and fluently as she did; their children were sent to England to school, and they all seemed to have married English people. Especially each heir: there was some strange kind of tradition that he should always marry an English blonde, so Francesca had told her.

There were few blondes here today; she could see only half a dozen among the women. And there was certainly no one with auburn hair like her own.

Glancing at her large-faced, practical watch, Elaine saw that it was close to the time they had arranged for the guests to go in to lunch. Again she approached the circle round Calum. Someone made way for her, thinking she was a guest, and she was able to say, ‘I think it’s time.’

‘Of course.’ Calum spoke to those near him, while Elaine moved to another group, saying her carefully rehearsed, ‘Por favor, senhor, senhora. Almoço,’ and gesturing towards the other garden. It was more difficult because she spoke some Spanish and tended to use that accent instead of Portuguese. So she added, ‘Lunch is being served,’ for those who could speak English.

There was an awkward moment when it was found that there was one too many guests and an extra place had to be hurriedly laid, but the little incident was soon forgotten as the first course was served and wine was poured. Elaine kept in the background as much as possible, making sure that all was well in the kitchen as well as in the garden, trying to be in two places at once and succeeding well enough. She’d had enough experience of catering for buffet parties to know how much food to provide, which dishes would be the most popular, which centre-pieces would attract the most comment. Today she had chosen, after consultation with Francesca and Calum, a large model of the Brodeys’ barco rabelo, a boat that was moored on the nearby River Douro, and which had once, long ago, carried the barrels of wine down from the vineyards further up the valley to their wine-lodge in Oporto.

The guests exclaimed at the boat, set on a bed of blue flowers to represent the river, with its sail emblazoned with the single word ‘BRODEY’. It was a name that signified the pride of the company and that of the family which bore it. And they were a proud lot; Elaine had soon found that out. Especially Calum. She had suggested one or two ways they could cut the costs of the celebrations, ways that many of her customers had been happy to accept, but Calum had vetoed the suggestion with a brusque refusal: only the best was good enough for the Brodey company’s guests.

The rest of the meal passed without incident, and afterwards Elaine was able to escape to the cloakroom for a few minutes. While she was there another girl came in, petite and blonde, one of the people who had been talking to the Brodey cousins before lunch, Elaine remembered.

Back outside in the garden, a post-prandial glass of port was being offered. Some of the guests had already gone, but there were still quite a few enjoying this last drink. Suddenly there was a sharp cry and the distinct sound of someone’s face being slapped. An astonished silence fell as everyone looked in that direction. Elaine started to hurry over, but saw with relief that no waiter was involved. It appeared that the blonde girl she’d seen in the cloakroom just a few minutes ago had taken exception to something one of the other guests had said. Chris Brodey had already taken the man’s arm and was escorting him out of the garden. Calum, too late, was standing in front of the girl protectively. Then Francesca went over and took the girl inside the house.

There had been a fascinated silence as everyone watched what was happening, but then people began talking again, many of the men giving rueful smiles and shrugging, evidently thinking it could have happened to anyone. Old Mr Brodey had been inside the house when it happened, but he came into the garden now, looked round and, seeing Elaine, beckoned her over. She started towards him but Calum came swiftly to her side and murmured, ‘Please don’t tell my grandfather what happened just now. I’ll explain later.’

Elaine gave him a surprised look, but nodded and walked over to the old man. Anyone seeing her might easily have mistaken her for one of the guests, come over from England for the party perhaps. She was wearing a well-cut but simple and practical suit, a silk shirt and low-heeled shoes, but there was something about her slim figure, her carriage and the way she walked that suggested good breeding and gracefulness of manner. Although she never pushed herself forward, she had an air of class and quiet dignity that made her stand out in any circle. Anyone seeing her at this party would immediately think that she came from a background of wealth and position.

It was partly true: she had been well-educated and did come from such a background, but it wasn’t her wealth, her position. Her father had been the youngest son of rather staid parents—a rebel who had loved life and lived it to the full, usually in direct opposition to his parents. He had met Elaine’s mother, an aspiring actress, while he was at college, and only a hasty marriage, again against his parents’ wishes, had made Elaine legitimate. He had been killed in an accident not long afterwards, and her mother, who had no money of her own, had appealed to his parents for help. It was they who had paid for Elaine’s education at a good school, who had let her visit them for several holidays. They had given her what they felt duty-bound to give, but no more, because they had always disapproved of her mother, who never rose above bit parts and commercials.

Old Mr Brodey gave her a smile of welcome as she walked up to him. ‘The party went off exceedingly well, my dear. You’re to be congratulated.’ He spoke with warm kindness, a man who knew how to treat the people who worked for him, in whatever capacity. He was a charming old man, one it was impossible not to like, not to warm to, but Elaine guessed that he could also be ruthless if necessary—how else could he have held together and widely expanded what had been just a wine company into the large business empire it had become?

They talked for a few minutes, but then the last of the guests came up to say goodbye, and afterwards Calum came over and urged the old man to go up to his room to rest. When his grandfather had gone, protesting only a little, Calum said, ‘I’m sorry I had to warn you, but I didn’t want Grandfather troubled. He hasn’t been too well lately.’

‘Of course. I quite understand.’

He nodded and walked away. Elaine watched his tall figure, wondering if he was worried about taking over as head of the Brodey empire. Some men might have been, but somehow she couldn’t see Calum being at all anxious; he seemed perfectly capable of doing anything he set his mind to, and doing it with imaginative, ambitious efficiency. And the ruthlessness that she suspected in his grandfather? Yes, she rather thought he had that too.

After the lunch, Elaine checked that everything had been cleared in the kitchen and that it had been left pristine clean, that the hired staff had been paid and the left-over food and opened bottles of wine distributed between them. Only then did she relax and go to her room.

It had been arranged that she should stay in the palácio while she was in Portugal, and had been given a pleasant room in a side-wing which overlooked a courtyard. One that had probably been used in former times by the upper-class servant of an upper-class guest, Elaine had thought with amusement when she was shown into it for the first time. It had no air-conditioning or heating, but there were shutters which could be closed to keep it cool in the summer and a fireplace for the winter, beneath one of the many pepper-pot chimneys which adorned the roof. It had a modern single bed and furniture, a hand-basin and a built-in shower, and was adequate for someone in her position, she supposed.

The two staff members she had brought over with her, both men, one a chef, the other an ex-head waiter, had been given similar rooms, and were having a siesta after their hard work that morning. Grateful to relax for a while, Elaine showered and changed into a casual skirt and shirt, then took a chair into the courtyard to sit and read in the sun for a while. She didn’t see any members of the family again until the internal phone in her room rang and Calum asked to see her.

She found him in his study—a large businesslike room fitted up with all the latest communications technology. A room which he had put at her disposal and where she kept all the paperwork to do with this week. He was leaning back against his desk and gave her a rueful smile. ‘I’m afraid there will be an extra guest for dinner tonight. I hope it doesn’t throw you out too much.’

‘Not at all.’ She went over to the small desk he had put in the room for her and took out the file for the family dinner that evening. ‘Is the extra guest male or female?’

‘Female.’ He came to stand beside her and look at the seating plan. ‘Now, where shall we put her?’

She was aware of his closeness, aware of his strong masculinity, but pushed it out of her consciousness, as she had trained herself to do over the last three years.

‘Here, I suppose, at the end of the table. Near Chris.’ He pointed with a long, well-manicured finger. ‘It’s the young woman who was involved in that incident earlier,’ he explained. ‘Francesca—we—have invited her to dinner.’

‘What’s her name? I shall have to do a place-card for her.’

‘Tiffany Dean.’

Elaine made a note of the name, then went over to the desk to write out a card in her elegant script, learnt specially for this kind of job at calligraphy classes. She expected Calum to leave, but he went back to stand at his own, very large desk and picked up some messages that had come in over the fax. When he’d looked at them, he said, ‘The lunch went well, except for there being one too few places.’

Elaine felt like telling him she strongly suspected that there had been one too many guests, but refrained from doing so. It was the smallest thing and not worth arguing about, although she rather resented having her efficiency rebuked. But she remembered the traders’ maxim—that the customer was always right—even though on this occasion she knew darn well that the customer was wrong.

‘The party at your vineyard—’ she began.

‘The quinta.’ He gave it the Portuguese translation.

‘Yes. Do you have any more information on the numbers for me?’

‘I haven’t, but I expect Francesca may have.’ He smiled at her. ‘Let’s go and ask her, shall we?’

She walked beside him through the cool corridors of the house, not quite sure yet which room was which, which door led where. They came to the big sitting-room that all the family seemed to use more than any other, but Francesca wasn’t there, or out on the terrace that overlooked the garden.

‘Let’s have a drink while we wait for her, shall we?’

Calum went inside and she sat at the table on the terrace, watching him through the open doors as he expertly opened a bottle of sparkling wine. He was, she realised, a very attractive man—not only to women, because of his handsomeness, but in the way that he drew people’s eyes, their attention. His arrogance should have been off-putting, could quite easily have created a barrier between himself and those he wasn’t close to, but he also had charming manners and a friendly smile which dispelled the hardness. This afternoon she had seen both men and women eager to meet and talk with him, not just because he was the heir to the Brodey Corporation, but because it was a pleasure to do so. Her eyes still contemplating him, Elaine wondered why he wasn’t married, and whether the social face that he showed to the world was his true personality.

He turned with the glasses of wine in his hands and caught her gazing at him. His left eyebrow rose slightly. Embarrassed at being caught, she flushed a little, then was angry with herself for doing so.

‘Your gardens are beautiful,’ she said hastily as he came out to join her.

‘They’re my grandfather’s pride and joy.’

‘But not yours?’

Calum gave a small shrug. ‘I take an interest in them, of course, and I like to see them looking at their best, as they are now, but I’m afraid I’m not very knowledgeable on the subject. How about you?’

‘I did get keen for a few years,’ Elaine admitted, glad that the topic gave her an excuse to look out over the gardens. ‘But then I moved into a flat that doesn’t have a garden. I tried window-boxes but I’m away such a lot that even those got neglected, I’m afraid.’