And, despite his fears, he couldn't honestly say he had regretted the move. For all his assumed hostility towards the man who had got his mother pregnant and then refused to divorce his wife and marry her, he had eventually come to recognise the difficulties Matthew had faced. Caitlin had still been so young at that time, and for all his infidelity, he still loved his wife. Besides, Daisy Webster could not have managed without him, whereas Mary O'Brien had always been a survivor.

Of course, Matthew had supported them financially, and if Marshall's mother had chosen to put the money he'd given her into a bank and continued to work as a shop assistant, that was hardly his fault. The cash had mounted up, saved for the day when her son would go to college. She was determined he would have a better chance in life than she'd had. She hadn't really trusted Matthew to continue to pay his dues.

The fact that he had had proved irrelevant.

Marshall remembered he had been eighteen when his mother had told him who his father was. Until then, she'd let him believe he'd been the result of some casual alliance with a man who'd seduced her, and then refused to make an honest woman of her. His lips twisted now at the old-fashioned sentiment. As if a wedding ring proved a person's integrity. Nathan was married, and he showed no integrity at all.

At least, he hadn't...

Finding his previous thoughts less disturbing, Marshall returned to the past, recalling with some loathing his own behaviour when he'd discovered who his father was. He remembered he'd actually accused his mother of keeping Matthew's identity from him; of protecting her secret because he could do so much more for his son than she could.

He cringed now at the thought of that first interview with his father. Far from welcoming his son, Matthew had been polite, but nothing else. He'd assumed Marshall was looking for a hand-out, and when he explained that all he really wanted was a job, he'd told him to go away and finish his education.

He'd never gone back. Even though he'd used his father's money to go to university and graduated with a double first in maths and economics, he'd never approached Matthew Webster again. So far as he was concerned, he didn't have a father. And he'd done his best to give his mother a better life.

Then the old man had sent for him-a sick old man now, much different from the arrogant man who had turned him away all those years ago. And with his mother's encouragement, he'd accepted the job he'd offered him. He knew she felt a vicarious kind of satisfaction that he was working for his father at last. But he still had no illusions that one day he would step into his father's shoes. At no time had Matthew promised him that.

"Do you live in town?"

Nathan was speaking to him, and abandoning his introspection, Marshall nodded his head. "I-live in Fulham," he admitted, glancing out the window of the cab and guessing they were only a few minutes from their destination. Then, "Are you sure your wife won't mind me turning up like this, uninvited? I mean, you could have rung and warned her before we left."

"I could," agreed Nathan with a wry smile, and Marshall wondered why he had never noticed the humour in the other man's face before. He had always found Nathan completely humourless, and it was another point of contradiction to be stored away.

He sighed. In the past two years he had, reluctantly, come to respect his father's dedication to the business, and he shared Matthew's bitterness at Nathan's betrayal. Only the accident had saved him from certain prosecution. For the first time since she'd married Nathan, Matthew wasn't taking Caitlin's feelings into account.

But if there was one thing Matthew loved-more than either of his two children, Marshall acknowledged with some regret-it was the company and the integrity on which it was founded. Nathan had jeopardised that, therefore Nathan must be punished. But what could you do with a man who didn't remember who he was?

"How well do you know-my wife?" Nathan asked suddenly, and Marshall was once again compelled to look the other man's way.

"Not-well," he conceded, acknowledging the understatement. If it was up to Caitlin, he probably wouldn't have known her at all.

"You're not married?"

Marshall hesitated. He was supposed to be the one asking the questions, he thought ruefully, but it was easier to answer than demur. "No," he agreed. "I-share a house with my mother. It's convenient for both of us, and she'd miss me if I moved away."

"I'm sure."

Once again, Nathan absorbed what he had told him, and Marshall wondered what he was thinking now that the journey was almost over. He still didn't really know why Nathan had come to the office. According to Matthew, he had an appointment with a neurologist later in the week, and it would seem unwise to do anything without his approval.

Nevertheless, it was becoming harder and harder to dislike Nathan. He'd discovered that during the weekend at Fairings, and his opinion hadn't changed today. The man who had been shown into his office that afternoon had seemed almost diffident-and he'd demonstrated an unnerving ability to learn.

The cab braked, and glancing through the window again, Marshall saw the block of luxury flats towering above them. Wellsley Square was also the home of several media stars, and at least one Member of Parliament. In consequence, the security was efficient, but not noticeably overt.

Nathan paid the cab driver, and then the two men walked into the glass-walled foyer. Obviously, Nathan was known here, and no one questioned their progress as they walked towards the lifts. Then, in no time at all, they were at the door of the flat, and before Nathan could insert his key in the lock, it opened.

To say Caitlin looked surprised to see Marshall would have been an understatement. Shocked, perhaps; anxious, certainly. Her expression mirrored a wealth of emotion as she forced her gaze back to her husband's face.

"You're late," she said, her words clipped, her tone verging on the accusatory. "Where the-where have you been?"

"I went to the office," replied Nathan easily, stepping forward so that his wife was obliged to move out of his way. He glanced back reassuringly. "And I've invited Marshall to supper. I hope that isn't a problem."

Caitlin's response was hardly enthusiastic. "I-of course not," she answered eventually, inviting Marshall into the hall. She seemed to be struggling to find her manners. "It's just a casserole, I'm afraid. I-didn't know what was going on."

"It sounds delicious," said Marshall, pushing his glasses up his nose as he did in times of stress. God, he thought, what the hell am I doing here? When Matthew found out, he'd been livid. He'd always done his utmost to keep them apart.

Caitlin closed the door behind them, and then hurried ahead into an attractive living room. "If you'll excuse me," she said, giving her husband a speaking look. "I'm sure everything's going to be overdone."

"No sweat." Nathan was deliberately casual, and Marshall wondered again why he'd brought him here. It wasn't as if he hoped to gain anything by it, and in his experience, Nathan had never done anything without having his own agenda. "Can I offer you a drink?"

Marshall hesitated, then decided it might ease his nerves. "Scotch would be nice," he agreed, forcing himself to relax a little. He looked about him. "What a beautiful room this is."

"You haven't seen it before?"

Nathan sounded surprised now, though looking into those dark eyes, Marshall had the feeling he already knew the answer. "No," he concurred, "I've never had that pleasure." He paused. "You and I weren't exactly-buddies in the past."

"No." Nathan seemed to accept this, though there was no trace of censure in his face. He handed Marshall his Scotch, and then smiled expansively. "Perhaps we can amend that in the present."

There was a table laid for two in a dining alcove, and as Marshall was trying to think of something to say in response, Caitlin reappeared from the kitchen. She was carrying another set of cutlery, and as he watched, she laid another place. But her movements were all sharp and staccato, and he guessed she wasn't pleased at all.

"If it's any inconvenience-" he began, but once again, Nathan forestalled him.

"It's not," he said. "Caitlin was just worried because I've been out all day." He looked at his wife. "Isn't that right, Kate? Did you have a good morning at the antique shop. I'm sorry I couldn't join you for lunch, but I had things to do."

"Like going to the office," suggested Caitlin shortly, her eyes flashing. "Forgive me, but don't they have phones at the office these days? You could have given me a call."

"I could," he agreed, his eyes gentling as they settled on her. "Forgive me, but I was tied up with your-with Mar-shall. I've been trying to get a handle on what's been going on."

Marshall realised that Caitlin accepted her husband's words at face value. The fact that he'd stumbled over Marshall's name meant nothing to her. But he was far too sensitive to the situation to ignore any flaw in the conversation, and Nathan's hesitation jarred his nerves.

Was that why he'd brought him here? Because Nathan had guessed who Matthew's right-hand man really was? Was all this bonhomie just a facade? Was he wrong about Nathan, in spite of everything? Did he intend to expose him to his wife?

"Oh, well..." said Caitlin now, retreating towards the kitchen. "I suppose you know what you're doing." She paused. "What did Daddy say? I suppose it was his idea to try and jog your memory. I told him it wouldn't work, but you know what he's like."

"Mr Webster wasn't there."

"Matt didn't come into the office today."

The two men answered her simultaneously, and Marshall thought it was just as well that a cooker timer began to ring at that moment. It gave him a moment to consider the fact that Nathan had called Matthew Mr Webster-which seemed to confirm his status-and enabled her, he hoped, to think about something else.

Not that he had forgotten Nathan's earlier error, and the look he exchanged with his host at that moment assured him that the other man was aware he'd noticed his faux pas. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. A slip of the tongue. It won't happen again, I promise."

Marshall wondered. "How long have you known?"

Nathan's lips twitched. "Well, not long, obviously," he replied, and Marshall was forced to accept that this must be so. After all, if he'd suspected earlier, Caitlin would have known about it. The Nathan he was used to dealing with would have enjoyed putting Marshall on the spot.

So why was he guarding his tongue now? Marshall pondered frustratedly. It didn't make sense. Hell, none of it made sense, that was the truth. Nathan simply wasn't the man he used to be, and if it wasn't so outrageous, he might doubt that's who he was.

He frowned as he considered the situation. Could Nathan have a double? And what would be the advantage of that? Had he suspected they were onto him? Could he have persuaded someone else to take his place?

But he dismissed that idea almost before it had had time to germinate. To start with, Nathan didn't even have a brother, let alone an identical twin. Matthew had all his details on file. Nathan's father was Jacob Wolfe, and his mother, Iris Wolfe, was dead. She'd died when the boy was young, and Jacob Wolfe had never remarried.

He had to accept that apart from having somewhat thinner features-a result of the accident, no doubt-this man was Nathan. It was crazy to consider anything else. Dear God, Caitlin had accepted him as her husband. She had no doubts about him, so nor must he.

"Just out of interest, why haven't you told Caitlin?" Nathan asked suddenly, and Marshall's eyes widened in dismay.

"I don't think-her father would be very pleased if I did," he replied stiffly, and Nathan looked sardonic.

"He's your father, too, isn't he?" he countered. "You know, it just might be that Caitlin needs a brother. Her parents don't give her much support."

His wife's return with the casserole brought an end to any further private conversation, and Marshall told himself he was relieved. But he couldn't help wondering how Matthew would react when he discovered his son-in-law had found out about their relationship. Until now, he'd considered it a closely guarded secret; though Marshall suspected Daisy Webster wasn't the only one to guess the truth.

"Shall we eat?"

Caitlin's voice, inviting them to join her at the table, put an end to his troubled introspection. It was Matthew's problem, he told himself; Matthew's decision when-or indeed if-Caitlin should be told. But how long could they trust Nathan not to tell her? Particularly if his future was on the line?

Caitlin had prepared a green salad to start the meal, and there was a fine white Sauvignon to accompany it. The casserole that followed was piping hot and delicious, despite her worst fears, and a selection of rich cheeses provided a fitting finale.

Conversation became general as they consumed the food, the wine relaxing each of them in turn. Besides, so long as he could forget his previous dealings with Nathan, Marshall found they had a lot in common, and even Caitlin's attitude seemed to mellow as the evening wore on.

Despite his misgivings, Marshall ate everything that was put in front of him, and he knew that in other circumstances he would have welcomed them as friends. His position at Webster's was so nebulous that he found it difficult to find a niche, and he hoped Caitlin would think more charitably about him from now on.

"It was kind of you to put yourself out on my account," he remarked in a low voice, as he helped her carry the used plates into the kitchen. "I know you were only expecting Nathan, and it must have been a pain to be landed with an unexpected guest. I guess you won't believe me, but I did try to put him off."

Caitlin straightened from stowing some of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and gave him a strangely quizzical look.

"On the contrary," she said, "I do believe you. I don't suppose you wanted to come here, either."

"That's not true." Marshall spoke instinctively, and then meeting her satirical gaze, he pulled a face. "Okay," he said, "I was apprehensive. I knew we hadn't got along in the past. But that wasn't truly my fault, was it?"

"No." Caitlin seemed inclined to be generous. "I know I haven't exactly been polite. But you have to remember, Nathan used to share my father's confidence, whereas now you've kind of commandeered that role."

"Hmm." Marshall nodded. He could hardly tell her why her father had changed his allegiance. "Well-maybe we can work something out in future. Nathan seems more inclined to be conciliatory. For a man who's lost his memory, he's amazingly astute."

Caitlin frowned. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything." Marshall held up a cabling hand. "On the contrary," he added in a hushed tone, "I'd be the first to admit that he doesn't remember a thing about the company. I mean-" he coloured slightly "-I'm sure he'd have given himself away if he had." He pulled a face. "He's just so-different. It's as if he's lost that aggressive edge."

"Do you think so?" Caitlin's hand trembled as she closed the dishwasher door.

"Yes." Marshall pretended not to notice her nervousness. He pushed his spectacles back up his nose. "I guess that blow to his head did more than addle his brain cells. What do you think?"

"What do I think?" Caitlin's voice had risen slightly, and Marshall, watching her, sensed there was more to this than even he had thought. "Tell me," she went on, "do you think he'll ever recover his memory? If this flat-and the office-aren't familiar, if I'm not familiar, what can we do?"

"I don't know."

"What don't you know?" Nathan spoke from the doorway behind them, a pair of empty wineglasses dangling from his hands. "You were taking so long in here, I thought I'd better come and help you." He handed the glasses over. "What's going on?"

"Why-nothing," exclaimed Marshall hurriedly, wondering with some misgivings how long the other man had been standing there listening to what was being said. What had been said? he wondered, taxing his brain. Nothing controversial, he was sure, but for all his disability, he still felt as if Nathan held the upper hand.

Excusing himself, he brushed past the other man and gained the comparative safety of the living room with some relief. But as he did so, he heard voices in the kitchen behind him, and although he didn't mean to eavesdrop, he couldn't help overhearing what Nathan said.

"Don't discuss me as if I'm not here," he muttered, and Caitlin made some inaudible denial. "You have no idea what I'm suggesting," he added in a bitter voice.

21.

Marshall left at about half past nine.

Caitlin sensed he would have been quite happy to go sooner, but Nathan had kept him talking, making it difficult for him to get away.

They hadn't spoken about relevant things, like Nathan's loss of memory, or how soon he might be able to get back to work. Nathan had seemed more interested in Marshall's background, and they'd spent some time arguing the merits of nurture as opposed to nature.

She'd guessed what Nathan was doing, of course. So long as Marshall was here, they couldn't have a personal conversation. And after talking to Janie that morning, she'd wanted that. She'd been waiting for him to return all afternoon.

In actual fact, waiting was hardly an adequate term. By the time Nathan inserted his key in the lock, she'd been on the verge of calling the police. In all her wild imaginings, she'd never dreamed that he might go to the office. Or if he had, that someone might not inform her. It was the least they could have done.

Still, she could hardly blame Marshall or his secretary. They were not to know that she didn't know where Nathan was. Or that he'd been out since early this morning. According to Mrs Spriggs, he'd left the flat soon after she'd gone to the shop.

Consequently, she'd been in no mood to welcome visitors, particularly not Marshall O'Brien. Although, in the event, he'd proved rather likeable. And Nathan had evidently had second thoughts about him, too. The two men had behaved like old friends, not old enemies, and she'd found herself re-evaluating everything Nathan had said about him.

If it hadn't been for that niggling doubt as to why he should have been visiting a travel agent's, Caitlin thought she might have enjoyed the evening. Even knowing that Nathan was using Marshall to avoid any intimacy with her was not enough to spoil her mood. Her relief at knowing he was safe and well had tempered much of her resentment, and although she was still indignant, it could wait.

Nevertheless, she hadn't been able to prevent herself from watching Nathan across the table. She'd wondered what he was thinking as he picked at his food. Unlike Marshall, her husband had eaten little, and there was a strange kind of tension about his actions that she didn't remember noticing before.

But that didn't dissipate her feelings, or the taut reaction she felt every time he was near. She couldn't understand it, but that didn't make it any the less disturbing. She was falling in love with her husband. So what on earth could be wrong with that?

Still, on the rare occasions when he looked her way, she made sure her eyes were averted. She had no wish for him to see how he affected her until she knew how he really felt. Just because they'd slept together-made love together- was no reason to imagine she had any real claim to his affections. She might be inexperienced in some ways, but she knew sex didn't mean the same to a man.

In consequence, she had welcomed the opportunities she'd had to escape to the kitchen. When her hands were busy, it was easier to distract her mind. But she'd noticed she was trembling as she'd forked the various cheeses onto the board, and Nathan's face was waiting behind her lids when she closed her eyes in an effort to reinforce her will.

Nathan had had some cheese, and once again she'd found herself watching his hands as he'd put the cheese into his mouth. He had nice hands, very attractive hands, she'd thought uneasily, and when he'd opened his mouth, she'd been able to see his tongue. It had appeared to lick a crumb of Caerphilly from his lip, and her stomach had hollowed almost uncontrollably. Was it two nights since he'd pushed his tongue into her mouth? The memory was still potent enough to turn her knees to water.

Which was why she was sitting down when Nathan returned from seeing Marshall to the door. They'd phoned for a taxi to take him back to Fulham, and Nathan had offered to go down with him when the cab driver rang from the foyer. By this time, the two men were on easy terms, and she guessed Marshall must be as confused as herself. However, like her, he seemed prepared to welcome the change and deal with it accordingly.

She sighed. She didn't know why, but there was something reassuring about Marshall noticing the change in her husband. It reinforced her own opinion, made her feel as if she wasn't going mad after all. And, if nothing else, this evening had broken the ice between her and her father's assistant. She had been guilty of judging him by other people's standards. Her mother's fault, perhaps.

The door slammed, and her nerves tensed. As her husband walked back into the living room, it took an enormous effort of will to look as casual as he appeared. Her hair was mussed from where she had been slumped against the cushions, but that was hardly an advantage. And although she'd been determined to confront him with Janie's accusation as soon as they were alone, her mixed emotions had diminished her inner strength.

Meanwhile, Nathan looked infuriatingly confident. He had shed the jacket of his dark suit earlier, and loosened the knot of his tie. Now, with his sleeves rolled back over his forearms, and the waistcoat of the suit providing a contrast to the crisp whiteness of his shirt, he looked almost unwarrantably attractive, and Caitlin's resentment rallied at his obvious lack of remorse.

"Interesting guy," he said by way of an opening, and Caitlin felt her resentment growing at his conceit. Did he think that because he had decided Marshall wasn't such a bad guy, she should follow his lead regardless? What did he think she was? Some kind of clone? Didn't he think she had opinions of her own?