Henry’s name, as owner and director of Celtic Clay, was the first thing she saw. She gnawed her lip as she wondered if Talek was aware of the account or was Henry representing the business on his behalf. How could she ask him? It would mean she would have to explain why she was examining a man’s bank account without his permission? The burning desire for answers soon got the better of her and she began to cross-reference the deposits in the passbook to the ledger. Although the dates tallied, the amounts did not and she had to conclude that Henry, whether he was working alone or not, was skimming off the extra profit and placing it into another account. It was evidence, but she wasn’t sure what crime had been committed, if any. As Amelia had argued, ‘What harm could it be to sell clay for a higher price than its true worth?’ With Talek away, she had to find out and, after finding the passbook, she wasn’t convinced the extra profit was going to be reinvested. Henry had been meticulous in his record keeping. This showed her he did not make a habit of making mistakes and, more worryingly, he chose what to share.

* * *

‘Your first unannounced visit was amusing, Miss Kellow,’ said Henry, without looking at her. ‘Your second less so.’ He poured himself a drink, before turning in his chair to face her. He looked tired and moved slowly, his body stiff as if in readiness to guard against any pain. He raised the amber whisky in greeting, causing the spirit to swirl precariously inside the crystal cut glass in his hand. ‘I’m improving. Today I can walk, tomorrow I may run.’ He winced as he eased himself further back in his chair, adjusting a cushion with a grimace as he did so. Grace did not offer to help him.

‘I needed to speak with you.’

‘And I you. You omitted to leave my ledger. I hope you have brought it with you today.’

‘No I have not.’

Henry drained his glass with a jerk of his head, then screwed up his face as the heat hit the back of his throat. He placed the empty glass on the table beside him, looked up at her and smiled. The smile did not meet his eyes.

‘And why is that?’ he asked.

‘Because I know what you have been up to.’ She removed the small book and passbook from her bag and placed them on the table in front of him. ‘I found these.’

Henry looked at them. His expression did not change. ‘And what, pray, have you discovered?’

‘That you’re selling the clay from Stenna Pit for a higher price than it is worth.’

‘A good business deal.’

‘Which is what Amelia said.’

Henry raised an eyebrow and smiled. Grace forged ahead. She had made the decision to confront him and it was too late to change her mind now.

‘I also know that you are keeping the profit for yourself.’

‘I’m the owner. The money is mine.’

‘It is also Talek’s and Amelia’s.’

‘You are assuming that they’re not aware.’

Grace frowned. Amelia knew a little of it, but her involvement was born from ignorance and innocence. She was less sure of Talek. He had spoken of being ruthless in business to succeed, but did that mean he was willing to hoodwink his customers? No, not the man who said a clay mine succeeded or failed on the quality of its product. Yet Talek was a man who could compartmentalise. When he had held her on the beach, his breath as ragged as her own, he was still able to set his feelings aside and be brutally honest about his future plans. Plans which did not involve falling in love with her. Could he compartmentalise his business too? Grace shook her head. Talek’s moral character was unshakeable, she was sure.

‘I don’t believe Talek would do that. You have to tell him what you’ve done before it’s too late.’

Henry’s smile disappeared. ‘And why would I do that? If the potteries can only send stiff-necked inspectors who can’t tell the difference between the different qualities of clay, they deserve all they get.’

Grace sat down next to him. ‘Then stop for your fiancée’s sake.’

Henry frowned. ‘Leave Amelia out of this.’

‘Amelia has found herself in the middle of all this. You know the truth about Amelia and you must realise that carrying such deceit cannot be healthy for her. She loves her brother, but her loyalty to you is forcing her to keep secrets from him.’

‘I think you better leave.’

‘Not until you have promised to stop.’

‘No harm has come from the transaction.’

‘But it might.’

Henry looked at her beneath heavy lids. ‘I want you to go.’

‘We have large vats in our dairy. They are as high as a man and ten foot wide. Milk from the neighbouring farms are poured into it each morning.’

‘I want you to leave.’

‘We make butter from the milk and sell it. It is one vat. We have six in all. We distribute butter and cheese to shops all over Cornwall and more beyond. I visited the White River the other day. It reminded me of an incident in my childhood.’ Grace ignored his stony stare. ‘A farmer brought us some contaminated milk once. It was a mistake on his part. When he realised he informed us immediately . . . but it was too late. It had already been poured into a vat. One of our workers thought he knew which vat he had contaminated, but he wasn’t sure.’ Grace remembered her father, looming tall and solid in her child’s eye, when he found out. ‘My father immediately ordered for all the vats to be emptied. He wanted every drop to be drained away.’

Henry had grown impatient. ‘I have letters to write. You are taking up my valuable time.’

Grace ignored him. ‘We watched the milk flow through the yard and away over the sloping fields. I asked him why he had chosen to throw it all away. He told me that once a reputation was lost, it was hard to regain it and he would not take the risk by producing contaminated dairy products.’

Henry’s gaze lowered to a distant spot on the far side of the room. Grace leant towards him. ‘Henry,’ she pleaded, ‘the shipment from Stenna Pit bears the name of Celtic Clay. Your business’s reputation is at risk.’ Her voice almost broke as she pleaded, but Henry didn’t appear to notice. Instead he rested his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes.

‘You can’t ignore this. This is not something that will go away. I will not go away.’

The door creaked behind them, causing Henry’s eyes to fly open. Grace looked over her shoulder and caught a fleeting glimpse of the woman, with jet-black hair, before she retreated into the shadows of the hall.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ said Henry, rising to his feet and leaving the room. He pulled the door closed behind him but failed to shut it completely. Grace followed, interested to see who had caused him to momentarily forget his injuries in order to speak with her.

The door remained slightly ajar, no more than a finger’s width, yet it gave Grace an unhindered view of Henry and the mysterious woman. She was beautiful, with eyes the colour of rich walnut and dark arched eyebrows, which promised both teasing seduction and haughty conflict in equal measures. Just as she suspected, she had seen her before. She was the woman standing by the window on her previous visit.

‘I told Wicks that we were not to be disturbed,’ snapped Henry.

The woman raised a haughty brow. ‘I have not seen Wicks. Besides, I can go where I please. Who is that woman?’

‘She is Amelia’s live-in companion.’

‘What is she doing here?’

‘She is here to teach me about the clay industry despite having no experience of her own.’ He jerked his head towards the door. Grace quickly withdrew behind the door, so she could not be seen.

‘Talek has asked her to take over the accounts while I recover. As you can tell, I’m not in the mood to humour her. Now, please leave us alone. I’ll speak with you later.’

A short silence followed, drawing Grace from her hiding place to see if the woman had left. To her surprise, fine cords of sinew had tightened the woman’s elegant neck, as she considered Henry’s request, her gaze dropping and rising, to take in the full length of him.

‘You would like nothing better than for me to leave. You’re afraid of what I might say. Afraid that I will betray your secrets.’

‘And by doing so you will betray your own.’

They continued to stare at one another, the challenge laid out between them, yet neither giving way. The tension was palpable and caught at the breath in Grace’s throat.

‘Sometimes those are the best secrets to hear,’ the woman replied, in a glacier tone, before turning briskly and leaving the hall.