Sparks Fly with the Billionaire
Marion Lennox
“Allie, I care,” he said, and it was as if someone else was talking.
“How can you care?”
He had no answer. He only knew that he did.
He only knew that it felt as if a part of him was being wrenched out of place. He was a banker, for heaven’s sake. He shouldn’t feel a client’s pain.
But this was Allie’s pain. Allie—a woman he’d known for less than a day. A woman he was holding with comfort, and something more. He looked down at her, and she looked straight back up at him, and he knew that now, for this moment, he wasn’t her banker.
In a fraction of a moment things had changed, and he knew what he had to do. He knew for now, for this moment in time, what was inevitable—and she did, too.
He cupped her face in his hand, he tilted her chin—and he stooped to kiss her.
Dear Reader,
I was raised in a farming community, so neighbours’ visits and Christmas were almost the extent of family excitement. Once a year, however, the circus came to town.
I thought it was the most exotic, amazing event in the world. They had camels and trapeze artists and clowns and popcorn and hot dogs … I remember watching with my heart in my mouth, sure that the lady in the pink sparkles would come crashing down. My dad must have worried as much as I did, for most years we repeated the five-mile drive into town, to see the performance all over again.
So I guess it’s no wonder I’ve finally written a circus book, complete with heroine landed with a run down circus and a billionaire hero who has to step in to save not only the lady in sparkles but her assortment of circus animals and her extended circus family.
To research this book, of course I had to go to the circus. My husband complained all the way—‘Why are we going to the circus without the kids?’ But who needs kids? We sat up the back and ate popcorn, we watched the lady in pink sparkles and I fell in love all over again. Sometimes I love being a romance writer.
Enjoy,
Marion
About the Author
MARION LENNOX is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a “very special doctor”, Marion writes for Mills & Boon
Medical Romance™ and Mills & Boon
Cherish™. (She used a different name for each category for a while—readers looking for her past romance titles should search for author Trisha David as well). She’s now had more than seventy-five romance novels accepted for publication.
In her non-writing life Marion cares for kids, cats, dogs, chooks and goldfish. She travels, she fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). Having spun in circles for the first part of her life, she’s now stepped back from her “other” career, which was teaching statistics at her local university. Finally she’s reprioritised her life, figured what’s important and discovered the joys of deep baths, romance and chocolate. Preferably all at the same time!
Sparks Fly with
the Billionaire
Marion Lennox
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Dad,
who took me to the circus.
With thanks to Trish, who sent me back.
CHAPTER ONE
HE WAS HOPING for a manager, someone who knew figures and could discuss bad news in a businesslike environment.
What he found was a woman in pink sequins and tiger stripes, talking to a camel.
‘I’m looking for Henry Miski,’ he called, stepping gingerly across puddles as the girl put down a battered feed bucket and turned her attention from camel to him. A couple of small terriers by her side nosed forward to greet him.
Mathew Bond rarely worked away from the sterile offices of corporate high-flyers. His company financed some of the biggest infrastructure projects in Australia. Venturing into the grounds of Sparkles Circus was an aberration.
Meeting this woman was an aberration.
She was wearing a fairy-floss pink, clinging body-suit—really clinging—with irregular sparkling stripes twining round her body. Her chestnut hair was coiled into a complicated knot. Her dark, kohled eyes were framed by lashes almost two inches long, and her make-up looked a work of art all by itself.
Marring the over-the-top fantasy, however, was the ancient army coat draped over her sparkles, feet encased in heavy, mud-caked boots and a couple of sniffy dogs. Regardless, she was smiling politely, as any corporate director might greet an unexpected visitor. Comfortable in her own position. Polite but wary.
Not expecting to be declared bankrupt?
‘Hold on while I feed Pharaoh,’ she told him. ‘He’s had a cough and can’t work today, but unless he thinks he’s getting special treatment he’ll bray for the entire performance. No one will hear a thing for him.’ She emptied the bucket into the camel’s feed bin and scratched the great beast’s ears. Finally satisfied that Pharaoh was happy, she turned her attention to him.
‘Sorry about that, but the last thing I want is a camel with his nose out of joint. What can I do for you?’
‘I’m here to see Henry Miski,’ he repeated.
‘Grandpa’s not feeling well,’ she told him. ‘Gran wants him to stay in the van until show time. I’m his granddaughter—Alice, or The Amazing Mischka, but my friends call me Allie.’ She took his hand and shook it with a shake that would have done a man proud. ‘Is it important?’
‘I’m Mathew Bond,’ he said and handed over his card. ‘From Bond’s Bank.’
‘Any relation to James?’ She peeped a smile, checking him out from the top down. It was an all-encompassing scrutiny, taking in his height, his bespoke tailored suit, his cashmere overcoat and his classy, if mud-spattered, brogues. ‘Or is the resemblance just coincidental? That coat is to die for.’
To say he was taken aback would be an understatement. Matt was six feet two, long, lean and dark, as his father and grandfather had been before him, but his looks were immaterial. Bond’s Bank was a big enough mover and shaker to have people recognise him for who he was. No one commented on his appearance—and he had no need to claim relationship to a fictional spy.
Allie was still watching him, assessing him, and he was starting to feel disconcerted. Others should be doing this, he thought, not for the first time. He should have sent the usual repossession team.
But he was doing this as a favour for his Aunt Margot. This whole arrangement had been a favour and it was time it stopped. Bankers didn’t throw good money after bad.
‘Your grandfather’s expecting me,’ he told her, trying to be businesslike again. ‘I have an appointment at two.’
‘But two’s show time.’ She tugged a gold watch on a chain out from a very attractive cleavage and consulted. ‘That’s in ten minutes. Grandpa would never have made an appointment at show time. And on Sunday?’
‘No. Henry said it was the only time he was available. I told you, I’m from the bank.’
‘Sorry, so you did.’ Her cute pencilled brows furrowed while she watched him. ‘Bond’s Bank. The bank Grandpa pays the mortgage into? He must be just about up to the final payment. Is that why you’re here?’
Mortgage? There was no mortgage. Not as far as he knew. Just a pack of geriatric animals, eating their heads off.
But he wasn’t about to discuss a client’s business with an outsider. ‘This is between me and your grandfather,’ he told her.
‘Yes, but he’s not well,’ she said, as if she was explaining something he really should have got the first time round. ‘He needs all his energy for the show.’ She glanced at her watch again, then wheeled towards a bunch of caravans and headed off with a speed he struggled to keep up with. He was avoiding puddles and she wasn’t. She was simply sloshing through, with her dogs prancing in front.
‘Isn’t this weather ghastly?’ she said over her shoulder. ‘We had major problems trying to get the big top up last night. Luckily the forecast is great for the next two weeks, and we have most of the crowd in and seated now. Full house. Look, you can have a quick word but if it’s more than a word it’ll have to wait till later. Here’s Grandpa’s caravan.’ She raised her voice. ‘Grandpa?’
She paused and thumped on the screen door of a large and battered van, emblazoned with the Sparkles Circus emblem on the side. Matt could see armchairs through the screen, a television glowing faintly on the far bench—and mounds of sparkles. Cloth and sequins lay everywhere.
‘Gran’s overhauling our look for next season,’ she told him, seeing where he was looking. ‘She does colour themes. Next season it’s purple.’
‘But pink this year?’
‘You guessed it,’ she said, and hauled her overcoat wide, exposing pink and silver in all its glory. ‘I kinda like pink. What do you think?’
‘I … It’s very nice.’
‘There’s a compliment to turn a girl’s head.’ She chuckled and banged some more. ‘Grandpa, come on out. It’s almost show time and Mathew Bond is here from the bank. If you guys want to talk, you need to schedule another time.’
Silence.
‘Grandpa?’ Allie pulled the screen wide, starting to look worried—and then she paused.
Henry was coming.
Henry Miski was a big man. Looking closely, Matt could see the telltale signs of age, but they were cleverly disguised.
This was Henry Miski, ringmaster, tall and dignified to suit. He was wearing jet-black trousers with a slash of gold down each side, and a suit coat—tails—in black and gold brocade, so richly embroidered that Mathew could only blink. His silver hair was so thick it seemed almost a mane. His outfit was topped with a black top hat rimmed with gold, and he carried an elegant black and gold cane.
He stepped down from the caravan with a dignity that made Matt automatically step aside. The old man was stiffly upright, a proud monarch of a man. All this Matt saw at first glance. It was only at second glance that he saw fear.
‘I don’t have time to speak to you now,’ Henry told Matt with ponderous dignity. ‘Allie, why are you still wearing those disgusting boots? You should be ready. The dogs have got mud on their paws.’
‘We have two minutes, Grandpa,’ she said, ‘and the dogs only need a wipe. You want us to give Mathew a good seat so he can watch the show? You can have your talk afterwards.’
‘We’ll need to reschedule in a few days’ time,’ Henry snapped.
But the time for delay was past, Matt decided grimly. A dozen letters from the bank had gone unanswered. Registered letters had been sent so Mathew knew they’d been received. Bond’s didn’t make loans to businesses this small. It had been an aberration on his grandfather’s part, but the loan was growing bigger by the minute. There’d been no payments now for six months.
In normal circumstances the receivers would be doing this—hard men arriving to take possession of what now belonged to the bank. It was only because of Margot that he’d come himself.
‘Henry, we need to talk,’ he said, gently but firmly. ‘You made this appointment time. We’ve sent registered letters confirming, so this can’t be a surprise. I’m here as representative of the bank to tell you officially that we’re foreclosing. We have no choice, and neither do you. As of today, this circus is in receivership. You’re out of business, Henry, and you need to accept it.’
There was a moment’s silence. Deathly silence. Henry stared at him as if he was something he didn’t recognise. He heard a gasp from the girl beside him—something that might be a sob of fright—but his eyes were all on the old man. Henry’s face was bleaching as he watched.
The ringmaster opened his mouth to speak—and failed.
He put his hand to his chest and he crumpled where he stood.
To Allie’s overwhelming relief, her grandpa didn’t lose consciousness. Paramedics arrived reassuringly fast, and decided it seemed little more than momentary faintness. But faintness plus a slight fever plus a history of angina were enough to have them decreeing Henry needed hospital. Yes, his pulse had stabilised, but there had been heart pain and he was seventy-six and he needed to go.
Allie’s grandmother, Bella, summoned urgently from the ticket booth, was in total agreement.
‘You’re going, Henry.’
But Henry’s distress was obvious. ‘The circus …’ he stammered. ‘The tent’s full. All those kids … I’m not letting them down.’
‘You’re not letting them down.’ Allie was badly shaken. Henry and Bella had cared for Allie since her mother left when she was two. She loved them with all her heart, and she wasn’t risking Henry’s health for anything. ‘We’ll cope without you,’ she told him. ‘You always said the circus isn’t one single person. It’s all of us. Fluffy and Fizz are keeping the audience happy. You go and we’ll start properly.’
‘You can’t have a circus without a ringmaster,’ Henry groaned.
He was right. She was struggling to think of a plan, but the truth was she didn’t have one.
They could lose an individual act without it being a disaster. Given notice, one of the clowns could step into Henry’s shoes, but they were down to two today because Sam had flown up to Queensland to visit his new granddaughter and Fluffy and Fizz were already costumed, prancing in the ring, warming up the crowd.
‘We’ll manage,’ she said but her head was whirling. Without a ringmaster …
‘Without a circus master the circus is nothing,’ Henry moaned. ‘Get me off this thing and give me back my hat.’
‘No.’
‘Allie …’
‘No,’ Allie said more forcibly. ‘We’ll manage. Maybe I can do the announcing myself.’
But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. Apart from the fact that a girl in pink sparkles didn’t have the same gravitas as her grandfather, she could hardly announce her own acts.
What they needed was a guy. A guy in a suit.
Or … Or … She was clutching at straws here, but a guy in a cashmere coat?
The banker had picked up Henry’s hat from the mud. He was standing on the sidelines looking almost as shocked as she was.
He had presence, she thought. He was tall, dark and forceful, he had a lovely deep voice and, in his way, he was almost as imposing as her grandfather. Maybe even more so.
She looked at the hat in his hands—and then she looked fully at him. Not seeing a banker, but … something else. ‘You’re Grandpa’s size,’ she whispered.
‘What?’
‘With his jacket and hat … you’re perfect.’ This was a lifeline—a slim one, admittedly, but she was clutching it hard. Maybe they could run the circus without a ringmaster but it’d be a sad imitation of what it should be—and Henry would know it and worry all the way to hospital and beyond.
‘He can do it.’ She turned back to Henry, stooping over the stretcher, taking his hands. ‘Of course he can. I’ll write out the introductions as we go. The thing’s a piece of cake.’
‘The banker?’ Henry whispered.
‘He’s already in a suit. All he needs is the trimmings. He’s Mathew Bond, a close relative of James, who does so much scary stuff that ringmaster pales in comparison. He made you collapse two minutes before show time and he’s happy to make amends. Aren’t you, Mathew? Have you ever seen a circus?’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Have you seen a circus?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Then you know the drill. Dramatics R Us. Ladies and Gentlemen, announcing the arrival all the way from deepest, darkest, Venezuela, the Amazing Mischka …’ Can you do that? Of course you can. Grandpa’s coat, hat and cane … a spot of make-up to stop you disappearing under the lights … Surely that’s not so scary for a Bond.’ She smiled but her insides were jelly. He had to agree. ‘Mr Bond, we have a tent full of excited kids. Even a banker wouldn’t want them to be turfed out without a show.’
‘I’m no circus master,’ he snapped.
‘You hurt my grandfather,’ she snapped back. ‘You owe us.’
‘I’m sorry, but I owe you nothing and this is none of my business.’
‘It is. You said you’re foreclosing on the circus.’ She was forcing her shocked mind to think this through. ‘I have no idea of the rights and wrongs of it, but if you are then it’s your circus. Your circus, Mr Bond, with an audience waiting and no ringmaster.’
‘I don’t get involved with operational affairs.’
‘You just did,’ she snapped. ‘The minute you scared Grandpa. Are you going to do this or am I going to march into the big top right now and announce Bond’s Bank have foreclosed and the head of Bond’s Bank is kicking everyone out right now?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not being ridiculous,’ she said, standing right in front of him and glaring with every ounce of glare she could muster. ‘I’m telling you exactly what I’m going to do if you don’t help. You caused this; you fix it.’
‘I have no idea …’
‘You don’t have to have an idea,’ she said. She’d heard the hesitation in his voice and she knew she had him. No bank would want the sort of publicity she’d just threatened. ‘You wear Grandpa’s hat and jacket and say what I tell you to say and there’s no skill involved at all.’
‘Hey,’ Henry said weakly from his stretcher and Allie caught herself and conceded a smile. To her grandpa, not to the banker.
‘Okay, of course there’s skill in being a ringmaster,’ she admitted. ‘This guy won’t be a patch on you, Grandpa, but he’s all we have. We’ll feed him his lines and keep the circus running. We’ll do it, I promise. Off you go to hospital,’ she said and she bent and kissed him. ‘Mathew Bond and I are off to run the circus.’
‘If you agree to my requirements,’ Mathew said in a goaded voice. ‘We’re foreclosing; you’ll accede quietly without a fuss.’
‘Fine,’ Allie said, just as goaded. ‘Anything you like, as long as this afternoon’s show goes on.’
How had that happened?
He couldn’t think of any circumstances—any circumstances—that’d turn him into a ringmaster.
He was about to be a ringmaster.
But in truth the sight of the old man crumpling onto the dirt had shocked him to the core. For a couple of appalling moments he’d thought he was dead.
He shouldn’t be here. Calling in debts at such a ground roots level wasn’t something he’d done in the past and he wasn’t likely to do again.
What had his grandfather been thinking to lend money to these people? Bond’s Bank was an illustrious private bank, arranging finance for huge corporations here and abroad. If things got messy, yes, Matt stepped in, but he was accustomed to dealing with corporate high-flyers. Almost always the financial mess had been caused by administrative mismanagement. Occasionally fraud took a hand, but the men and women he dealt with almost always had their private assets protected.
He was therefore not accustomed to old men collapsing into the mud as their world shattered.
Nevertheless, his news had definitely caused the old man to collapse. He watched the ambulance depart with a still protesting Henry and his white-faced wife, and he turned to find he was facing a ball of pink and silver fury.
Seemingly Allie’s shock was coalescing into anger.
‘He’ll be okay,’ Allie said through gritted teeth, and he thought her words were as much to reassure herself as they were to reassure him. ‘He’s had angina before, but he’s had a rotten cold and it’ll be the two combined. But you … I don’t care what bank you come from or what the rights and wrongs are of this absurd story you’re telling me, but you tell him two minutes before a performance that you’re about to foreclose? Of all the stupid, cruel timing … This has to be a farce. I know Grandpa’s finances inside out. We’re fine. But meanwhile I have two hundred kids and mums and dads sitting in the big top. I’d like to kick you, but instead I need to get you into costume. Let’s go.’
‘This is indeed a farce.’
‘One you’re involved in up to your neck,’ she snapped. ‘Grandpa’s obsessive about his role—he’s written it all down ever since he introduced the camels instead of the ponies last year. You’ll have a script and gold-embossed clipboard. We have two minutes to get you dressed and made up and into the ring. We have two hundred kids and parents waiting. Let’s get them satisfied and I’ll do my kicking later.’
‘It’ll be me who does the kicking,’ he said grimly. ‘I’m not used to being pushed around, especially by those who owe my bank money.’
‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘All out war. But war starts after the show. For now we have a circus to run.’
Which explained why, five minutes later, Mathew Bond, corporate banker, was standing in the middle of the big tent of Sparkles Circus, wearing tails, top hat and gold brocade waistcoat, and intoning in his best—worst?—ringmaster voice …
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the one, the only, the stupendous, marvellous, exciting, magical once-in-a-lifetime experience that is Sparkles Circus. One hundred and forty years of history, ladies and gentlemen, unfolding before your very eyes. Sit back, but don’t relax for a moment. Prepare to be mesmerised.’
To his astonishment, once he got over shock and anger, he even found he was enjoying himself.
He did have some grounding. After his parents’ death, Matt had spent every summer holiday in Fort Neptune with his beloved Great-Aunt Margot. Margot was the great-aunt of every child’s dreams. Her sweetheart had died in the war and she’d refused to think of replacing him, but it didn’t stop her enjoying life. She owned a cute cottage on the waterfront and a tiny dinghy she kept moored in the harbour, and she always had a dog at her heels. She’d been a schoolteacher, but in summer school had been out for both of them. Child and great-aunt and dog had fished, explored the bay, swum and soaked up the beach.
He’d loved it. In this tiny seaside town where no one knew him, he was free of the high standards expected of the heir to the Bond Banking dynasty. He could be a kid—and at the end of every summer holiday Margot had taken him to Sparkles Circus as a goodbye treat.
Margot always managed to get front row seats. He remembered eating popcorn and hot dogs, getting his clothes messy and no one cared, watching in awe as spangly ladies flew overhead, as men ate fire, as tightrope walkers performed the impossible, as clowns tumbled and as elephants made their stately way around the ring.
There were no elephants now—or lions or any other wild animals, for that matter. That was at the heart of the circus’s problems, he thought—but now wasn’t the time to think about finance.
Now was the time to concentrate on the clipboard Allie had handed him.
‘Here it is, word for word, and if you could ham it up for us, we’d be grateful.’
The look she’d cast him was anything but grateful, but two hundred mums and dads and kids were looking at him as if he was the ringmaster—and a man had to do what a man had to do.
He was standing to the side of the ring now, still on show as the ringmaster was expected to be, as he watched Bernardo the Breathtaking walk on stilts along a rather high tightrope.
It had seemed higher when he was a kid, he thought, and there hadn’t been a safety net underneath—or maybe there had, he just hadn’t noticed.
Bernardo was good. Very good. He was juggling as he was balancing. Once he faltered and dropped one of his juggling sticks. A ringmaster would fetch it, Matt thought, so he strode out and retrieved it, then stood underneath Bernardo, waited for his imperceptible nod, then tossed it up to him. When Bernardo caught it and went on seamlessly juggling he felt inordinately pleased with himself.
He glanced into the wings and saw a lady in pink sequins relax imperceptibly. She gave him a faint smile and a thumbs-up, but he could tell the smile was forced.
She was doing what was needed to get through this show, he thought, but that faint smile signalled more confrontation to come.
Did she really not know her grandparents’ financial position? Was she living in a dream world?
Bernardo the Breathtaking was finished, tossing his juggling sticks down to one of the clowns who Matt realised were the fill-in acts, the links between one act and another. Fluffy and Fizz. They were good, he thought, but not great. A bit long in the tooth? They fell and tumbled and did mock acrobatics, but at a guess they were in their sixties or even older and it showed.
Even Bernardo the Breathtaking was looking a little bit faded.
But then …
‘Ladies and gentlemen …’ He couldn’t believe he was doing this, intoning the words with all the theatrical flourish the child Mathew had obviously noted and memorised. ‘Here she is, all the way from deepest, darkest Venezuela, the woman who now will amaze us with her uncanny, incredible, awesome …’ how many adjectives did this script run to? ‘… the one, the only, the fabulous Miss Mischka Veronuschka …’
And she was in the ring. Allie.
Her act included three ponies, two camels and two dogs. The animals were putty in her hands. The dogs were identical Jack Russell terriers, nondescript, ordinary, but with tricks that turned them into the extraordinary. She flitted among her animals—her pets, he thought, for there was no hint of coercion here. She was a pink and gold butterfly, whispering into ears, touching noses, smiling and praising, and, he thought, they’d do anything for her.
He understood why. The audience was mesmerised, and so was he.
She had the camels lying down, the ponies jumping over the camels, the dogs jumping over the ponies, and then the dogs were riding the ponies as the ponies jumped the camels. The dogs’ tails were wagging like rotor blades and their excitement was infectious.
Allie rode one of the camels while the ponies weaved in and out of the camels’ legs, and the little dogs weaved through and through the ponies’ legs. The dogs practically beamed as they followed her every whispered command.
Matt thought of stories of old, of animal cruelty in circuses, and he looked at these bouncing dogs, the camels benignly following instructions as if they were doing Allie a personal favour, at the ponies prancing around the dogs—and he looked at the girl who knew them from the inside out and he thought … he thought …
He thought suddenly that he’d better think nothing.
This was a lady in pink spangles. She was the granddaughter of a client. Where were his thoughts taking him? Wherever, they’d better get back where they belonged right now.
He didn’t get involved. Not personally. The appalling sudden deaths of his parents and his sister had smashed something inside him so deep, so huge, that he’d spent the rest of his life forming armour against ever feeling that sort of hurt again.
He’d looked at Allie’s face as she’d seen her grandfather collapse and he’d seen a glimpse of that hurt. It should be reinforcing that armour, yet here he was, looking at a girl in pink spangles …
And then, thankfully, she was gone. The clowns swooped in again, making a game of the pan and shovel they needed—the camels were clearly not house trained—and the show was ready to move on.
He needed to focus on his next introduction.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen …’ he said, and the circus proceeded.
Interval.
Since when did standing in a circus ring make you sweat? He felt wiped. He headed out through the pink and gold curtains—and was struck by the sheer incongruity of the difference between front and behind the curtains.
The ring was all gold and glitter—a fantasy. Back here was industry. Men and women were half in and out of costumes, hauling steel rods and ropes and shackles, lining up equipment so it could be carried out neatly as needed.
Allie was back in her boots again, heaving like the best of the men. She had a denim jacket over her sequins.
‘Time for you to change, Allie, love,’ a very large lady yelled. ‘Fizz’s selling popcorn instead of Bella. We’re cool. Allie, dressing room, now.’
‘Someone give Mathew the words for the next half,’ Allie yelled and shoved the last iron bar into place and disappeared.
He watched her go and he felt the slight change in atmosphere among the women and men behind the scenes.
She was the boss, he thought.
Henry was the boss.
Henry was seventy-six years old.
Matt had thought he was coming to deal with an elderly ringmaster, to tell him it was time to close down. It seemed, however, that now he’d be dealing with Allie, and something told him dealing with Allie would be a very different proposition altogether.
He pretty much had things down pat by the second half.
He introduced acts. He was also there as general pick-up guy—and also … set-up guy for the clowns?
‘The gag’s on page three of the cheat sheet,’ Fizz had growled at him at half-time. ‘Henry sets it up for us so you’ll need to do it. It’ll be weird you reading it but it’s the best we can do.’
Right now the Exotic Yan Yan—Jenny Higgs, wife of Bernardo, or Bernie Higgs, according to the staff sheet he’d read ‘… fresh from the wilds of the remotest parts of Tukanizstan’— was there such a place?—was doing impossible things with her body. She was bending over backwards—like really backwards. Her head was touching her heels! Matt was appalled and fascinated—and for some weird reason he was thinking he was glad it wasn’t Allie doing the contorting.
He glanced ahead at the feed lines for the gag and thought … he could do this better if he stopped looking at the Exotic Yan Yan.
And he could do this better if he stopped thinking about Allie?
Do it. He read it twice, three times and he had it.
Yan Yan unknotted and disappeared to thunderous applause. Out came the clowns. It was time to take centre stage himself.
Deep breath. Remember the first line.
‘Fluffy, I have a present for you,’ he called in a Here Kitty, nice Kitty voice, and set the clipboard down, preparing—against all odds—to play the ham. ‘It’s your birthday, Fluffy, and I’ve bought you a lovely big cannon.’
‘A cannon?’ Fluffy squeaked, somersaulting with astonishment.
The clowns responded with practised gusto and foolishness as the great fake cannon was wheeled in. The joke went seamlessly, water went everywhere and the audience roared their appreciation.
Exit stage left, two dripping clowns with cannon.
Matt headed back to the sidelines for his clipboard as the ropes and pulleys and shackles were heading out at a run.
Allie, dressed now in brilliant hot pink, with her trademark tiger stripes making her look spectacular, was in the wings and she was staring at him with incredulity.
‘You memorised it?’
‘I had time.’
‘You had two minutes.’
‘Plenty of time,’ he said and felt a little smug. Banker Makes Good. He motioned to the bars, ropes, pulleys and shackles, set up in well drilled order. ‘Let’s get this show moving.’ He picked up his clipboard and strode out again.
And then Allie was flying in from the outer, twisting and clinging to a rope that looked like the sort of rope you’d hang over a river. She swung to the middle, seized another rope, changed direction—and swung herself up to a bar far up in the high reaches of the big top.
There was a guy up there waiting, steadying her.
It was his turn again.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, hold onto your hats. From the wilds of outer Mongolia, from the great, wild warrior hunting grounds of the Eastern nations, ladies and gentlemen, the great Valentino, to be catcher for our very own Mischka. Watch with bated breath while Mischka places life and limb in his hands and see if he lets her down.’
He didn’t let her down.
Mathew had watched this act when he was six years old and he’d been convinced the spangly lady would fall at any moment. In fact he’d remembered hiding under his seat, peeping through his hands, afraid to come out until the gorgeous creature flying through the air was safely on the ground.
He didn’t watch with quite the same sense of dread now. For a start, he’d seen how big, quiet and competent ‘Valentino’—alias Greg—was. He was six feet eight at least, and pure muscle. He hung upside down and swung back and forth, steady and unfaltering, as Allie somersaulted and dived.
Terrifying or not, it was an awesome act.
And Allie … Mischka … was stunning. She was gorgeous.
He wasn’t the only one who thought so. Matt had fallen in love with the circus when he was six years old. Now he was watching other children, other six-year-olds, falling in love in exactly the same way.
He was foreclosing. He was declaring these people bankrupt. He was putting Mischka out of a job and he was making this circus disappear.
It’s business, he told himself harshly. What has to be done, has to be done.
Right after the show.
Now.
For the circus was over. Clowns, acrobats, all the circus crew, were tumbling out to form a circle in the ring, holding hands, bowing.
Allie took his hand and dragged him into line with the rest of them. She was bowing and forcing him to do the same. She was smiling and smiling as the kids went wild and Mathew smiled with her—and for a weird, complex moment he felt as if he’d run away with the circus and he was part of it.
Part of them.
But then the performers backed out of the ring with practised ease. The curtain fell into place and Allie turned to face him, and all the pretence of the circus was stripped away. She looked raw, frightened—and very, very angry.
The other performers were clapping him on the back, saying ‘Well done’, grinning at him as if he was a lifesaver.
He wasn’t.
The team dispersed and he was left with Allie.
‘I suppose I should say thank you,’ she said in a tone that said thank you was the furthest thing from her mind.
‘You don’t need to.’
‘I don’t, do I?’ She was no longer Mischka. She’d reverted to someone else entirely. Even the brilliant make-up couldn’t stop her looking frightened. ‘But how can I? The rest of the team think Grandpa’s sick and you stepped in to save us. They’re grateful. Grateful! Ha. To threaten him with bankruptcy…. Of all the stupid … If Grandpa dies …’
She stopped on an angry sob.
‘The paramedics said it was only a faint.’
‘So they did,’ she managed. ‘So why should I worry? But I’m worrying, Mr Bond, and not just about Grandpa’s heart. How dare you threaten our circus? Give me one good reason.’
There was no easy way to do this. By rights, this was between Bond’s Bank and Henry, but Henry was in hospital and this girl had proved conclusively that she was fundamental to the running of Sparkles Circus. More, she was Henry’s granddaughter.
She had a right to know.
He had the file in his car, but he hadn’t brought it in with him. He’d thought he’d come quietly and put the facts to Henry, facts Henry must already know. But he had a summary.
He reached into his back pocket and tugged out a neatly folded slip of paper, unfolded it and handed it over.
‘This is your grandfather’s financial position with Bond’s Bank,’ he told her. ‘The balances for the last ten years are on the right. We’ve been as patient as we can, but no capital’s been paid off for three years, and six months ago even the interest payments stopped. The circus’s major creditor is winding up his business and is calling in what he’s owed. We can’t and won’t lend any more, and I’m sorry but the bank has no choice but to foreclose.’
She read it.
It made not one whit of sense.
She’d done financial training. One thing Henry and Bella had insisted on was that she get herself professional qualifications, so that she had a fallback position. ‘In case you ever want to leave the circus. In case you want to stay in one place and settle.’
They’d said it almost as a joke, as if staying in the same place was something bred out of the Miski family generations ago, but they’d still insisted, so in the quiet times of the circus, during the winter lay-off and the nights where there weren’t performances, she’d studied accountancy online.
It’ll be useful, she’d told herself, and already she thought it was. Henry left most of the bookkeeping to her. She therefore knew the circus’s financial position from the inside out. She didn’t need this piece of paper.
And it didn’t correlate.
She stared at the figures and they jumbled before her. The bottom line. The great bold bottom line that had her thinking she might just join Henry in his ambulance.
It didn’t help that Mathew was watching her, impassive, a banker, a judge and jury all in one, and maybe he’d already decided on the verdict.
Enough.
‘Look, I need to contact the hospital,’ she told him, thrusting the sheet back at him, then hauling the tie from her hair to let loose a mass of chestnut curls around her shoulders. She had a stabbing pain behind her eyes. The shock of seeing Grandpa collapse was still before her. These figures … She couldn’t focus on these figures that made no sense at all.
‘Of course,’ Mathew said quietly. ‘Would you like me to come back tomorrow?’
‘No.’ She stared blindly ahead. ‘No, I need to sort this. It’s stupid. Go back to Grandpa’s van. It’s not locked. I’ll ring the hospital, then come and find you—as long as everything’s okay.’
Mathew dealt with corporate high-flyers and usually they came to him. His office was the biggest in the Bond Bank tower. It had a view of the Sydney Opera House, of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, of the whole of Sydney Harbour.
Allie was expecting him to sit in a shabby caravan among mounds of sequins and calmly wait?
But Allie’s face was bleached under her make-up. With her hair let down, she suddenly seemed even less under control. The pink and silver sparkle, the kohl, the crazy lashes seemed nothing but a façade, no disguise for a very frightened woman.
Her grandpa was ill. Her world was about to come crashing down—as his had crashed all those years ago?
Not as bad, he thought, but still bad.
So … the least he could do was take off this crazy outer jacket, fetch the file from the car, turn back into a banker but give her time to do what she must.
‘Take as long as you need,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait.’
‘Thank you very much,’ she said bitterly. ‘I don’t think.’
‘The doctor says he’s sure he’ll be okay.’
Allie’s grandmother, Bella, sounded tremulous on the other end of the phone, but she didn’t sound terrified, and Allie let out breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. ‘Did the circus go on?’ Bella asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Without Henry?’
‘We used the banker.’
There was a moment’s silence and then, astoundingly, a chuckle. ‘Oh, Allie, you could talk anyone round your little finger. See if you can talk him into lending us more money, will you, love?’
Allie was silent at that. She thought of the figures. She thought … what? Why did they need to borrow?
‘Gran …’
‘I have to go, dear,’ Bella said hurriedly. ‘The nurse is bringing us both a cup of tea. The doctor says your grandpa should stay here for a few days, though. He says he’s run down. He hasn’t been eating. I wonder if that’s because he knew the banker was coming?’
‘Gran …’
‘I gotta go, love. Just get an extension to the loan. It can’t be too hard. Banks have trillions. They can’t begrudge us a few thousand or so, surely. Bat your eyelids, Allie love, and twist him into helping us.’
And she was gone—and Allie was left staring at her phone thinking … thinking …
Mathew Bond was waiting for her in Grandpa’s caravan.
Twist him how?
Twist him why?
CHAPTER TWO
SHE CHANGED BEFORE she went to meet him. For some reason it seemed important to get rid of the spangles and lashes and make-up. She thought for a weird moment of putting on the neat grey suit she kept for solemn occasions, but in fact there’d only ever been one ‘solemn’ occasion. When Valentino’s mother died, Valentino—or Greg—had asked them all to come to the funeral in ‘nice, sober colours’ as a mark of respect.
Allie looked at the suit now. She lifted it from her tiny wardrobe—but then she put it back.
She could never compete with that cashmere coat. If she couldn’t meet him on his terms, she’d meet him on her own.
She tugged on old jeans and an oversized water proof jacket, scrubbed her face clean, tied her hair back with a scrap of red sparkle—okay, she could never completely escape sparkle, and nor would she want to—and headed off to face him.
He was sitting at her grandparents’ table. He’d made two mugs of tea.
He looked … incongruous. At home. Gorgeous?
He’d taken off his ringmaster coat but he hadn’t put his own coat back on. Her grandparents’ van was always overheated and he’d worked hard for the last three hours. He had the top couple of buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up. He looked dark and smooth and … breathtaking?
A girl could almost be excused for turning tail and running, she thought. This guy was threatening her livelihood. Dangerous didn’t begin to describe the warning signs flashing in her head right now.
But she couldn’t turn and run.
Pull up those big girl panties and forget about breathtaking, she told herself firmly, and she swung open the screen door with a bang, as if she meant business.
‘Milk?’ he said, as if she was an expected guest. ‘Sugar?’
She glared at him and swiped the milk and poured her own. She took a bit longer than she needed, putting the milk back in the fridge while she got her face in order.
She would be businesslike.
She slid onto the seat opposite him, pushed away a pile of purple sequins, cradled her tea—how did he guess how much she needed it?—and finally she faced him.
‘Show me the figures,’ she said, and he pushed the file across the table to her, then went back to drinking tea. He was watching the guys packing up through the screen doors. The camels—Caesar and Cleopatra—were being led back to the camel enclosure. He appeared to find them fascinating.
Like the figures. Fascinating didn’t begin to describe them.
He had them all in the file he’d handed her. Profit and loss for the last ten years, expenses, tax statements—this was a summary of the financial position of the entire circus.
She recognised every set of figures except one.
‘These payments are mortgage payments,’ she said at last. ‘They’re paying off Gran and Grandpa’s retirement house. There’s no way the loan’s that big.’
‘I don’t know anything about a house,’ he said. ‘But the loan is that big.’
‘That’s monstrous.’
‘Which is why we’re foreclosing.’
‘You can just … I don’t know …’ She pushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. ‘Repossess the house? But there must be some mistake.’
‘Where’s the house?’
She stared across the table in astonishment. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The house you’re talking of,’ he said gently. ‘The house that matches this mortgage you seem to think exists. Is it in Fort Neptune?’
‘Yes,’ she said blankly. ‘It’s a street back from the harbour. It’s small but it’s perfect.’
‘Have you ever been inside?’
‘It’s rented. Gran and Grandpa bought it ten years ago. It’s for when they need to leave the circus.’
‘Have you ever seen the deeds?’
‘I … No.’
‘So all you’ve seen is the outside?’
She felt … winded. ‘I … yes,’ she managed. ‘They bought it while I was away and it’s been rented out since.’ She was thinking furiously. She would have been, what, seventeen or eighteen when they’d bought it? It was just after that awful fuss about the elephants …
The elephants … Maisie and Minnie. Two lumbering, gentle Asian elephants she’d known and loved from the moment she could first remember.
Elephants.
House.
‘They sold the elephants,’ she whispered, but already she was seeing the chasm where a house should be but maybe elephants were instead.
‘There’s not a big market for second hand circus elephants,’ Mathew said, still gently, but his words were calmly sure. ‘Or lions. Or monkeys, for that matter.’
‘Grandpa said he sold them to an open-range zoo.’
‘Maybe your grandpa wanted to keep you happy.’
She stared at him—and then she snatched up the paper and stared at it as if it was an unexploded bomb, while Mathew Bond’s words washed around her.
‘Bond’s Bank—meaning my grandfather—was approached ten years ago,’ he told her as she kept staring. ‘We were asked to set up a loan to provide for the care of two elephants, three lions and five monkeys. A wildlife refuge west of Sydney provides such care, but, as you can imagine, it’s not cheap. Elephants live up to seventy years. Lions twenty. Monkeys up to forty. You’ve lost one lion, Zelda, last year, and two of the monkeys have died. The rest of the tribe are in rude health and eating their heads off. The loan was worked out based on costs for ten years but those costs have escalated. You’ve now reached the stage where the interest due is almost as much as the loan itself. Henry’s way overdue in payments and the refuge is calling in its overdue bills. They’re winding down. Your grandfather’s seventy-six, Allie. There’s no way he can repay this loan. It’s time to fold the tent and give it away.’
Silence.
She was staring blindly at Mathew now, but she wasn’t seeing him. Instead she was seeing elephants. She’d watched them perform as a child, she’d learned to work with them and she’d loved them. Then, as a teenager she’d started seeing the bigger picture. She’d started seeing the conditions they lived in for what they were, and she’d railed against them.
She remembered the fights.
‘Grandpa, I know we’ve always had wild animals. You’ve lived with them since you were a kid, too, but it’s not right. Even though we do the best we can for them, they shouldn’t live like this. They need to be somewhere they can roam. Grandpa, please …’
As she’d got older, full of adolescent certainty, she’d laid down her ultimatum.
‘I can’t live with you if we keep dragging them from place to place. The camels and dogs and ponies are fine—they’ve been domestic for generations and we can give them decent exercise and care. But not the others. Grandpa, you have to do something.’
‘The circus will lose money …’ That was her grandfather, fighting a losing battle.
‘Isn’t it better to lose money than to be cruel?’
She remembered the fights, the tantrums, the sulky silences—and then she’d come home from one of her brief visits to her mother and they’d gone.
‘We’ve sent them to a zoo in Western Australia,’ Gran had told her, and shown her pictures of a gorgeous open range zoo.
Then, later—how much later?—they’d shown her pictures of a house. Her mind was racing. That was right about the time she was starting to study bookkeeping. Right about the time Henry was starting to let her keep the books.
‘The house …’ she whispered but she was already accepting the house was a lie.
‘If they’ve been showing you the books, maybe the house is a smokescreen. I’m sorry, Allie, but there is no house.’
Her world was shifting. There was nothing to hold on to.
Mathew’s voice was implacable. This was a banker, here on business. She stared again at that bottom line. He was calling in a loan she had no hope of paying.
No house.
The ramifications were appalling.
She wanted this man to go away. She wanted to retreat to her caravan and hug her dogs. She wanted to pour herself something stronger than tea and think.
Think the unthinkable?
Panic was crowding in from all sides. Outside, the circus crew was packing up for the night—men and women who depended on this circus for a livelihood. Most of them had done so all their lives.
‘What … what security did he use for the loan?’ she whispered.
‘The circus itself,’ Mathew told her.
‘We’re not worth …’
‘You are worth quite a bit. You’ve been running the same schedule for over a hundred years. You have council land booked annually in the best places at the best times. Another circus will pay for those slots.’
‘You mean Carvers,’ she said incredulously. ‘Ron Carver has been trying to get his hands on our sites for years. You want us to give them to him?’
‘I don’t see you have a choice.’
‘But it doesn’t make sense. Why?’ she demanded, trying desperately to shove her distress to the background. ‘Why did Bond’s ever agree to such a crazy loan? If this is true … You must have known we’d never have the collateral to pay this back?’
‘My Great-Aunt Margot,’ he said, and he paused, as if he didn’t quite know where to go with this.
‘Margot?’
‘Margot Bond,’ he said. ‘Do you know her?’
She did. Everyone knew Margot. She’d had a front row seat for years, always present on the first and last night the circus was in Fort Neptune. She arrived immaculately dressed, older but seemingly more dignified with every year, and every year her grandparents greeted her with delight.
She hadn’t been here this year, and Allie had missed her.
‘My grandfather and Margot were brought to Sparkles as children,’ Mathew told her. ‘Later, Margot brought my father, and then me in my turn. When your grandfather couldn’t find anyone to fund the loan, in desperation he asked Margot. He knew she was connected to Bond’s. When Margot asked my grandfather—her brother—he couldn’t say no. Very few people can say no to Margot.’
He hesitated then, as if he didn’t want to go on, and the words he finally came out with sounded forced. ‘Margot’s dying,’ he said bleakly. ‘That’s why I’m in Fort Neptune. We could have foreclosed from a distance but, seeing I’m here, I decided to do it in person.’
‘Because now she’s dying you don’t need to make her happy any more?’
Her tea slopped as she said it, and she gasped. She stood up and stepped away from the table, staring at the spilled tea. ‘Sorry. That … that was dreadful of me—and unfair. I’m very sorry Margot’s dying, and of course it’s your money and you have every right to call it in. But … right now?’
‘You’ve been sent notices for months, Allie. Contrary to what you think, this is not a surprise. Henry knows it. This is the end. I have authority to take control.’
She nodded, choked on a sob, swiped away a tear—she would not cry—and managed to gain composure. Of a sort. ‘Right,’ she managed. ‘But there’s nothing you can do tonight. Not now.’
‘I can …’
‘You can’t,’ she snapped. ‘You can do nothing. Otherwise I’ll go straight to the local paper and tomorrow’s headlines will be Bond’s Bank foreclosing on ancient circus while its almost-as-ancient ringmaster fights for his life in the local hospital.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Fair,’ she said savagely. ‘You don’t know what fair looks like. I haven’t even started. Now, I’m going to the hospital to see how Grandpa really is. Meanwhile, you need to get off circus land.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and suddenly the emotion, the anger, the distress built up and she could no longer contain it. ‘Now. If I so much as see you skulking …’
‘I do not skulk …’
‘Or any of your heavies …’
‘I don’t have heavies.’
‘I’ll call the police.’
‘I have the right …’
‘You have no rights at all,’ she yelled, and she’d really lost it but right now she didn’t care. ‘The moral high ground is mine and I’m taking it. Get off circus land, Mathew Bond. I’ll sort this mess, somehow, some way, but meanwhile I have my grandfather in hospital, I have a circus to tend and you have no place here.’
She grabbed his half-full mug and her spilled one and she thumped them both into the sink so hard one broke.
She stared at the shattered remains and her face crumpled.
‘Well, that’s one thing you won’t be able to repossess,’ she said at last, drearily, temper fading, knowing she was facing inevitable defeat.
Enough. She stalked out of the caravan and thumped the door closed behind her.
Business shouldn’t be personal, Matt thought bleakly. He didn’t do personal, and he didn’t cope with emotion. It had been a huge mistake to come here himself. He should have sent his trained, impersonal staff who’d do what had to be done and get out of here.
That was what he had to do now, he told himself. Do what had to be done and get out of here.
So he did.
He filed his papers together, making sure every page was in order and the file was complete. He rolled down his sleeves, he buttoned his shirt and he put back on his grey silk tie.
He put on his cashmere coat and walked out of the caravan, out of the circus, out of personal and back to the controlled world of Mathew Bond, banker.
Henry was lying in his hospital bed, and he looked old and white and defeated. Bella just looked sick.
The doctor she’d met on the way in had given her good news. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any damage to his heart. We’re fairly sure it was simply a bad attack of angina, but your grandmother says he’s losing weight. He’s running a slight fever and we need to get his angina under control, so we’d like to keep him in for a few days, run a few tests, see if we can get him looking a bit stronger before we send him back to the wilds of circus living.’
He won’t be going back to the wilds of circus living, Allie thought drearily, but she pushed the ward door open with her smile pinned in place and spent the first few minutes telling her grandparents of the unlikely success of their banker as a ringmaster.
It made them smile—but the big issue couldn’t be avoided.
She didn’t have to bring it up. Mathew was right. Both Henry and Bella had a clear idea of what was happening, and why.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she whispered, holding her grandpa’s hand, and he snorted.
‘Telling you wouldn’t have made a difference. We figured we’d keep the circus cheerful and functioning right up till the moment they pulled the rug.’
Great, Allie thought bleakly. They had two weeks of advance bookings. Almost every show for the time they were in Fort Neptune was sold out. She couldn’t conceive of folding the big top tomorrow and leaving a gap in the heart of the town at the height of summer.
She couldn’t bear thinking today had been their last day.
And wages? To go back to the crew now and say it’s over, no more pay as of now …
Was there any money to pay wages already owed? She should have asked. She should have demanded to see what powers Mathew had.
Her head was spinning, and Bella put her wrinkled hand on hers so there were three hands combined, Henry’s, Bella’s and Allie’s. ‘It’s okay, dear,’ she said. ‘Something will come up.’
‘Something already has come up,’ she muttered. ‘Mathew Bond.’
‘But he has to be a nice young man. He’s the great-nephew of Margot and Margot’s lovely. Why don’t you talk to her?’
‘Mathew says she’s dying.’
There was a pause at that. A really long pause.
Then …
‘Just because you’re dying, it doesn’t mean you’re dead,’ Bella said at last, with a lot more asperity than usual. ‘Your grandpa and I are almost eighty and if people treat us like we’re on our last legs we might as well be. Don’t you think Margot would want to know how appallingly her nephew is acting?’
‘He has the right …’
‘The moral right?’ Bella said. ‘Maybe he has and maybe he hasn’t. We’ve given his aunt a lot of pleasure over the years. At least he can let us have our last two weeks here without refunding tickets. Bond’s is huge. Our loan must be a drop in the ocean. Go and see Margot, love. Talk to her.’
‘But she’s dying,’ Allie repeated, horrified.
‘Yes, but she’s not dead,’ Bella repeated impatiently. ‘Just like our circus isn’t dead until we take down the big top. And just like your grandpa isn’t dead yet. He’ll be fine, Allie, love, as long as he has hope.’
‘That’s blackmail. You want me to front a dying Margot and her cashmere-coated nephew so Grandpa will get better?’
‘That’s the one,’ Bella said and beamed.
‘You’re such a good girl,’ Henry said and gave a wee feeble cough and sank further back into his pillows.
Allie glared. ‘You’re a fraud. Grandpa, was that collapse real this afternoon?’
‘Of course it was,’ Henry said, affronted, possibly with stronger affront than the wee feeble cough signified should be possible.
‘Go and see Margot, Allie,’ Bella urged. ‘It’s the least you can do.’
‘I …’
‘At least talk again to the nephew.’
She did have to do that. There were so many complications.
‘Do you know where Margot lives?’ Henry asked. ‘The second house from the point along the esplanade. It’s a little blue fisherman’s cottage.’
‘You’ve been there before—asking for money?’
‘I had to keep the animals safe,’ Henry said, and suddenly his old eyes were steel. ‘I did that for you.’
And he had, Allie thought. Henry was an old-fashioned ringmaster, with old-fashioned views on circus animals. It was her distress that had made him retire them.
It was her distress that had put them into this mess?
‘They’re still okay,’ she said carefully, feeling weird.
‘We know. We get updates,’ Bella said, beaming. She dived into her purse and produced photographs, and Allie found herself staring at pictures of lions and monkeys and two gorgeous, healthy elephants. Maisie and Minnie. She’d adored these animals as a kid. She’d fought for them.
That fight had got them into this mess. What would happen to them now?
‘You need to talk to Margot,’ Bella urged again, and Allie shook her head.
‘I need to talk to Mathew.’
‘Same thing,’ Bella retorted. ‘He’s staying with her.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Of course we know. We were expecting …’
‘Enough.’ Allie put up her hands in surrender. ‘I don’t want to know what you were expecting. At least, I do want to know, but I’m not the least sure I can trust you two. I may not want to trust Mathew Bond either, but at least he gives me facts. I’ll see him. Meanwhile, you stay well, both of you, and no more conniving. I’ll do my best to see what I can save, but you need to leave it in my hands.’
She kissed them both and left. She headed down to the beach and took herself for a really long walk. She thought about elephants and lions and monkeys. She thought about a circus she loved, a team she loved. She thought about a circus sold out for two solid weeks.
And then she went to face Mathew.
CHAPTER THREE
MARGOT’S HOUSE WAS adorable. This whole town was adorable, Allie thought, as she walked past the long row of fishermen’s cottages to reach Margot’s postcard-perfect cottage.
The rain had stopped. The late afternoon sun was shimmering on the water and the boats swinging at anchor in the bay looked clean and washed. Fort Neptune had once been a major defence port, and the fort itself was still a monolith on the far headland, but the time for defence was long past. The town was now a sleepy fishing village that came alive each summer, filling with kids, mums and dads eager for time out from the rest of the world.
It was Allie’s very favourite circus site, and the thought that Henry and Bella had planned their retirement here was a comfort.
Or it had been a comfort, she thought grimly, fighting for courage to bang Margot’s lion-shaped brass knocker. It was all lies.
Lies created to save her elephants?
This was her call. Her responsibility. She took a deep breath—and knocked.
Mathew answered, looking incongruously big, stooping a little in the low doorway. Margot’s forebears must have been little, Allie thought—or maybe it was just Mathew was large. Or not so much large as powerful. He was wearing a fisherman’s guernsey and jeans. Maybe he’d walked on the beach as well—he looked windswept and tousled and … and …
Okay, he looked gorgeous, she conceded, taking a step back, but gorgeous didn’t have any place here. He was looking at her as if she was a stranger, as if she had no right to be here, and she felt like running.
If Margot was dying she had no right to intrude.
But what was at stake was her grandparents’ future and the future of all the crew. If she didn’t front this man she’d have to go back to the show-ground, give orders to dismantle the big top and do … what?
The future stretched before her like a great, empty void.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she said, but Mathew’s face was impassive. She was a loan, she thought. A number on a balance sheet. A red one. It was this guy’s job to turn it to black.
The human side of him had emerged this afternoon. Her grandfather’s collapse had propelled him into the circus ring and he’d done well, but how could she propel him to do more?
The loan was enormous. She had the collateral of an ageing circus and a bunch of weird animals. Nothing else.
He needed to turn back into a banker and she knew it.
‘There’s nothing more I can do,’ he said, surprisingly gently. ‘But how’s your grandpa?’
‘I … he’s okay. They’re keeping him in hospital for checks.’
‘Maybe it’s just as well. It’ll keep him off site while the circus is disbanded.’
She felt sick. More, she felt like … like …
No. She had no idea what she felt like. Her world was spinning, and she had no hope of clinging to it.
‘Mathew?’ She recognised the old lady’s voice calling from the living room. Margot. ‘Mathew, who is it?’
‘It’s Allie from the circus,’ she called back before Mathew could answer. Margot had always seemed a friend. It would have been wrong not to answer. ‘It’s Allie, alias The Amazing Mischka.’
There was a faint chuckle in return. ‘Mischka. Allie. Come on in, girl.’
Come in …
‘How sick is she?’ she said urgently, whispering.
‘She’s decided she’s dying,’ Mathew said in an under-voice. ‘She’s only eighty, but her dog died and she’s scarcely eaten since. She’s spending her time planning her funeral and deciding who inherits her pot plants. Not me, I gather, because I’m not responsible enough. It sounds comic but it’s not. She wants to die, and she’s making sure it happens.’
‘Oh, no.’ She looked into his impassive face—and realised it wasn’t impassive. He was fond of the old lady, then. Very fond.
‘Come in, girl.’ Margot’s voice was imperative. ‘Mathew, don’t keep her out there.’
‘Don’t …’ Mathew said and then he shrugged his shoulders. But she knew what he wanted to say. Don’t upset her. This loan is nothing to do with her.
‘Allie!’ This time the call was peremptory and Allie had no choice but to brush by Mathew and walk through into the sitting room. She was tinglingly, stupidly aware of Mathew as she brushed past him—but then she saw Margot and Mathew was forgotten.
Margot was sitting hunched over the fire, in a pale pink dressing gown, draped in a cashmere throw.
Allie had met this lady every year, every time the circus came to town. She was tall and dignified, wearing tailored tweeds with effortless grace. For the last few years she’d carried and used a magnificent ebony walking cane and she’d given the impression of timeless beauty.
But now she was shrivelled. Disappearing?
‘Oh, Margot.’ Her cry of distress was out before she could stop herself. She’d always referred to Margot as Miss Bond. They’d greeted each other with businesslike pleasantries—this woman was a patron of the circus and her grandfather’s friend—but here, in her pink robe, her body hunched over the fire, Miss Bond seemed inappropriate and cruel.
She hadn’t realised, she thought, how much this lady was part of her history. Even as a little girl, every time the circus was in Fort Neptune she remembered Margot in her tweeds, sitting proudly upright in the front row.
Could she remember Mathew coming with her? No. He’d be older than she was, she thought, and he mustn’t have come with his aunt for years.
All these things flickered through her mind as she knelt by Margot and took her hand. ‘Oh, Margot …’ she said. ‘Oh, Grandpa will be so distressed.’
‘Your grandfather’s ill himself,’ Margot said, looking down at their linked hands for a moment and then gently pulling away. ‘All my friends are dying.’
It was a shocking statement, one that made Allie sit back and glance at Mathew.
His face was grim.
‘You still have family,’ he said. ‘And friends. What about Duncan? What about me? Just because you lost your dog … Margot, there’s no need for you to die as well.’
‘Halibut was my family,’ she said, gently reproving. ‘And it’s my time. Losing Halibut made me realise it. I’m eighty years old, which is too old to get another dog. I have no intention of lying around until everyone’s forgotten me and even my nephew’s wrinkled and gnarled as he stands by my grave.’
It was such a ridiculous image that Allie stared at Mathew in astonishment. He looked anything but gnarled.
He was thirty-fivish, she thought, surely not more.
‘Wow,’ she said to Margot. ‘You might have a few more years before that happens. Too old to get another dog? Dogs live for less than fifteen years. Ninety-five isn’t such a great age. And Mathew, gnarled? It doesn’t seem an immediate danger.’ And she chuckled.
Okay, maybe a chuckle was inappropriate. Mathew surely looked as if it was inappropriate. ‘Your business is with me,’ he snapped. ‘Not with Margot. Come into the study.’
‘Not yet,’ Margot said, with a touch of the asperity Allie remembered. ‘How’s Henry? Mathew told me he was taken ill.’
‘He’ll be okay,’ Allie told her, deciding to ignore Mathew’s blatant disapproval. ‘The doctors say it’s just angina after a dose of the flu.’ She looked cautiously at Margot, wondering exactly what the matter was. ‘If you’d like to risk a few more years to stay friends with him, it might be worthwhile.’
Margot chuckled then, too, but it was a bitter chuckle. ‘But Henry’s only here in summer,’ she said. ‘You all go. Two weeks of Sparkles Circus … I can’t stick around until next year.’
‘And we won’t be here next year, anyway,’ Allie admitted, and saw Mathew’s face darken and thought … uh oh. Hasn’t he told Margot what he’s doing?
‘In the study,’ he snapped and it was a command, but Margot’s hand closed on Allie’s wrist.
‘Why not?’
‘Because the circus is bankrupt,’ Mathew said in a goaded voice. ‘Because they’ve been living on borrowed time and borrowed money for ten years now. Because their time has past.’
‘Like mine,’ Margot said, and her voice matched his. Goaded and angry.
‘You know that’s not true.’ Mathew closed his eyes, as if searching for something. He sighed and then opened them, meeting Margot’s gaze head-on. ‘How can you say your time is past? You know you’re loved. You know I love you.’
It hurt, Allie thought. She watched his face as he said it and she thought it really hurt to say those words. You know I love you. It was as if he hated admitting it, even to himself.
‘And I love Sparkles Circus!’ Margot retorted, her old eyes suddenly speculative. ‘You’re declaring them bankrupt?’
‘He has the right,’ Allie admitted, deciding a girl had to be fair. ‘Margot, you’ve been wonderful. I gather you persuaded Bond’s to finance us all those years ago. I’m so grateful.’
‘Yet you come here looking for more,’ Mathew demanded and there was such anger in his voice that she stared at him in astonishment—and so did Margot. Whoa.
‘I’m not here looking for more money,’ Allie said through gritted teeth. ‘Or … not much. I didn’t know about the loan, but I’ve been through Grandpa’s files now and I’m horrified. The circus can’t keep going—I know that now—but what I want is permission to continue for the two weeks we’re booked to perform in Fort Neptune. We have sold-out audiences. That’ll more than pay our way. If we need to refund everyone, it’ll eat into your eventual payout and we’ll have a town full of disappointed kids. If we can keep going for two weeks then I can give the crew two weeks’ notice. The alternative is going back tonight and saying clear out, the circus is over and letting your vultures do their worst.’
‘Vultures …’
‘Okay, not vultures,’ she conceded. ‘Debt collectors. Asset sellers. Whatever you want to call them. Regardless, it’s a shock and we need time to come to terms with it.’
‘You’re foreclosing on the loan?’ Margot said faintly. ‘On my loan?’
‘It’s not your loan,’ Mathew told his aunt. ‘You asked Grandpa to make the loan to Henry and he did. The circus can’t keep bleeding money. With Henry in hospital, they don’t even have a ringmaster. How the …’
‘We do have a ringmaster,’ Allie said steadily and turned to Margot. She knew what she wanted. Why not lay it on the table? ‘This afternoon your nephew put on Henry’s suit and top hat and was brilliant as ringmaster. He’s here to take care of you. Could you spare him for two performances a day? Just for two weeks and then it’s over?’
‘Mathew was your ringmaster?’
There was a loaded silence in the hot little room. Margot had been huddled in an armchair by the fire, looking almost as if she was disappearing into its depths. Suddenly she was sitting bolt upright, staring at Mathew as if she’d never seen him before. ‘My Mathew was your ringmaster?’ she repeated, sounding dazed.
‘He made an awesome one,’ Allie said. ‘You should come and see.’
‘I did it once,’ Mathew snapped. ‘In an emergency.’
‘And I couldn’t come,’ Margot moaned. ‘I’m dying.’
‘You don’t look dead to me,’ Allie said, and she wasn’t sure why she said it, and it was probably wildly inappropriate, cruel even, but she’d said it and it was out there, like it or not. ‘If you’re not dead then you’re alive. You could come.’
To say the silence was explosive would be an understatement. She glanced at Mathew and saw him rigid with shock.
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