The Valentine Affair

by Lyons, Mary

  However, as Fiona continued to rhapsodise about her dear fiancé, Alex had difficulty in reconciling the hard, tough man she knew with the version as portrayed by the other girl—where he appeared to be a paragon of all the virtues. Not least of which, it seemed, being his amazing ability to cope with her mother.

  Fiona didn’t exactly say that living cheek by jowl with Ethel Bliss was hell on wheels. Nevertheless, Alex definitely got the message. It seemed that Ethel, nowadays, preferred to live at the family house in London. So, clearly, one of the main reasons behind the girl’s urge to bury herself in the country with her beloved horses must be to escape from the clutches of her overbearing, ultra-ambitious mother.

  ‘You won’t write anything about Mummy, will you?’ Fiona suddenly asked, interrupting her praise of Leo to look at Alex with a scared, frightened expression. ‘She’d be very angry, and...’

  ‘Relax—my lips are sealed,’ she assured the other girl, not bothering to add that she had no wish to tangle with a woman who sounded like first cousin to a man-eating tiger.

  By the time she was driving slowly back to London in the Stygian darkness of the February evening, Alex couldn’t help thinking that there was something just a little odd about Leo and Fiona’s relationship. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she definitely had a feeling that... well, that she was somehow missing an important piece of a jigsaw.

  Still, it was none of her business. All she had to do was write up the interview. And it wouldn’t be hard to portray Fiona in a sympathetic light, since the other girl had been really friendly and they’d got on like a house on fire. In fact, Alex was fast coming to the conclusion that Leo wasn’t nearly good enough for such a nice girl.

  Mentally driving on autopilot as she thought back over the interview, Alex was astounded to find that she’d driven over Chelsea Bridge, and—goodness knows why—had completely failed to turn left at Sloane Square. Since her house was in a cul-de-sac off the King’s Road, there seemed no logical reason why her car was now travelling in the opposite direction, towards Knightsbridge.

  Oh, well... what the heck? It might be interesting to have a look at Leo’s apartment block. Hadn’t James Boswell said that he lived in a large penthouse suite? Not that she had any intention of calling in to see the rotten man, of course. Absolutely not! And, in any case, he was probably still in Germany.

  However, as she drove past his apartment building, she couldn’t help noticing that there definitely seemed to be lights shining brightly on the top storey.

  Coming to a halt on the other side of the road, Alex sat drumming her fingers on the wheel for some time. Wrestling with the problem of whether to call in—and get the inevitable blazing row about her visit to Fiona over and done with—or to drive quickly back to her own home and lie low for a while, her eye fell on a buff-coloured folder on the seat beside her. That was the answer, she decided quickly. She would show him the piece she had already done on the two other couples. Not only might it lay his fears to rest, but if he didn’t seem in too bad a mood she could then tell him all about her trip down to Hampshire. Right?

  Quickly getting out of the car before she lost her nerve, Alex walked swiftly across the road. Having no idea which was Leo’s apartment, she rang for the doorman.

  ‘I’ve just called by to see Mr Leo Hamilton.’

  ‘So...?’

  ‘So, kindly phone up to his apartment,’ she retorted, frowning at the burly, uniformed man. ‘And say that Miss Alexandra Pemberton would like to see him for a few minutes.’

  ‘I don’t really think that Mr Hamilton wishes to...’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake—just do it!’ she snapped, slipping quickly inside the half-open front door. I’m not prepared to stand on the doorstep,’ she added as he protested. ‘It’s absolutely freezing out there!’

  With a heavy sigh, the doorman walked over to the empty reception desk, picking up the phone and dialling a number. It was some moments before the call was answered, and even from where she stood on the other side of the foyer Alex could hear the sound of Leo’s response to her request—which mainly seemed to consist of a loud, exasperated protest at being disturbed.

  Maybe it was just as well. It had been a long day, and she really didn’t feel like quarrelling with anyone—let alone Leo, she told herself with a tired shrug, turning back towards the large front door.

  ‘He says you’re to go on up,’ the doorman suddenly announced.

  ‘But I thought...’

  The uniformed man grinned. ‘You’re right. His Nibs doesn’t sound in too good a mood. Still, that’s your problem, isn’t it?’ he added, with what she thought of as quite unnecessary cheerfulness, as he opened the lift door and ushered her inside.

  As the lift whooshed swiftly up towards the penthouse suite, Alex couldn’t help wondering why she obviously had such a tendency to look for trouble. Because, if Leo proved to be as cross and scratchy as he’d sounded down in the foyer, she might well be sorry that she hadn’t driven straight back to the quiet comfort of her own home.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  UGH—OH...! It looked as if deciding to call unexpectedly on Leo had definitely not been one of her better ideas, Alex told herself ruefully.

  The sight of his tall figure, stiff with exasperation as he opened the front door of his penthouse apartment, waving her impatiently through into the marble-floored hall was enough to make anyone’s spirits sink into their boots. It only needed another brief, quick glance at those icy cold green eyes and tight-lipped expression for Alex to realise that she’d made a bad mistake.

  ‘I only arrived home ten minutes ago. But I should have known that you’d be sure to turn up—just like a bad penny,’ he grated, slamming the door shut behind her.

  ‘And hello to you, too!’ she muttered caustically beneath her breath as he strode past her, leading the way into a large sitting room. ‘By the way—how was Frankfurt?’

  ‘Frankfurt was no problem. It’s the hassle getting to and from airports that always drives me up the wall,’ he retorted curtly, before spinning around on his heel to frown down at her. ‘How in hell did you know that I’ve been in Germany?’

  Irritated by his less than polite welcome, and feeling weary herself after the long drive from Hampshire, Alex was tempted to leave him guessing. However, there was clearly nothing to be gained by making Leo even more bad tempered than he was already.

  ‘It’s very simple,’ she shrugged. ‘When I saw you at your office, you mentioned that you were flying to Frankfurt on business.’

  ‘So I did.’ He grimaced with annoyance. ‘I must make a note reminding me to watch out for the pointed, sharp little ears of female journalists.’

  Alex gazed steadily back at him, determined not to be riled by his deliberately provocative retort. She’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to realise that Leo was obviously spoiling for a fight. So, if she wanted to get anything out of this very difficult man, it was beginning to look as though she’d better start pouring a whole lot of oil on these clearly stormy waters.

  ‘Look... why don’t you take a deep breath, and cool down?’ she suggested calmly. ‘I know it’s late, and I can see that you’re tired. What’s more—if it’s any comfort—you’ re not the only one to have had a long, weary day. And the only reason I’m here is because of your insistence on personally seeing and approving of my article for our St Valentine’s Day feature.’

  ‘I can give you a good title for the rubbish that you’re supposed to be writing. How about, “The St Valentine’s Day Massacre”?’ he grated angrily.

  ‘That’s not bad—not bad at all,’ she murmured, pretending to give his stupid suggestion some serious thought. When he continued to scowl down at her in silence, Alex gave a heavy sigh.

  ‘Oh, come on, Leo—relax! I can’t think why you’re getting so uptight. Especially as none of your friends are likely to read the Chronicle. It’s far too much of a down-market rag for them, right?’ she added with a grin. ‘
Besides, as you can see, I’m not carrying a notebook or recording equipment. Nor—surprise, surprise!—am I wearing a grubby raincoat.’ She quickly unbuttoned her suit jacket to display a slim-fitting pale green silk shirt. ‘So. what’s the problem?’

  He gave a reluctant snort of laughter as he viewed the slim curves of the girl standing in front of him.

  ‘You are the problem, my dear Alex,’ he told her grimly. ‘Despite everything you say, I wouldn’t trust you any further than I could throw you. Quite frankly, every instinct I possess is telling me, loud and clear, that I’ve been a fool to even let you in through the door of this apartment.’

  ‘So, you don’t want to see what I’ve written?’ she enquired as she held out the buff-coloured file in her hand.

  ‘No, of course I don’t!’ he snapped irritably, slipping off the jacket of his smart charcoal-grey suit and tossing it onto a nearby chair. ‘But it doesn’t look as though I’ve got any choice, does it? However, I’m not doing a damn thing until I’ve had a long, hot shower and changed my clothes,’ he added, quickly undoing the collar of his shirt and removing his tie.

  ‘If you’re going to insist on remaining here, you’d better help yourself to a drink,’ he continued with a brief, cursory nod towards a drinks tray on a nearby table, before turning on his heel and swiftly leaving the room.

  Well—she certainly wouldn’t award the rotten man any marks for good manners, Alex told herself grimly as she gazed around the large sitting room.

  As much as it might hurt her to say so, she had to admit that Leo clearly had very good taste. The general decor could, of course, have been the work of an expensive interior designer. However, she suspected that the large, wide sofas and chairs covered in a cool ivory-coloured material, and the matching ivory silk curtains which were simply draped around the enormous floor to-ceiling windows, would have been Leo’s own choice.

  Admiring the rich, glowing colours of the large Persian rugs scattered over the highly polished wooden floor, the marble fireplace with its grate full of huge fake logs, and the oil paintings of eighteenth-century English and Italian landscapes which decorated the walls, she wandered over to the drinks tray resting on a slim, marble-topped table.

  Despite fervently wishing that she’d had the sense to go straight home after her interview with Fiona Bliss, Alex realised that she now had no choice. She was just going to have to tough it out and make the best of what was clearly a bad decision. Maybe a strong slug of alcohol might steady her nerves, she thought, gazing wistfully at a large bottle of whisky. But, mindful of the fact that she was going to have to drive home, she poured herself a small glass of wine instead.

  Drink in hand, she wandered around the large room, making her way towards one of the large windows. It was too dark for her to see anything of the large expanse of Hyde Park, of course. But there must be terrific views from the terrace, which she could just spot on the other side of the window and which appeared to run around the outside of the whole apartment. There was no doubt that in daylight, and particularly during the summer months, Leo must be able to enjoy one of the best views in London.

  Deeply envious, she stood staring out at the far distant twinkling lights of Bayswater and Marble Arch, before the gleam from a small picture on a nearby wall caught her eye. Moving closer, she realised that it wasn’t a painting. Beneath the glass, on a mount of purple velvet, lay a wide, coloured ribbon to which was attached a large, round silver medal.

  Of course! She’d completely forgotten that item in James Boswell’s gossip column, about Leo winning a silver medal for fencing at the last Olympics. Peering closer, she frowned as she tried to remember what little she knew about the sport.

  Other than vague memories of Errol Flynn cutting a dash in old movies, and the fact that nowadays fencers dressed all in white, and wore protective head-covering with black grilles over their faces while brandishing dangerous-looking thin swords, she knew nothing else about the subject. Except, of course, that the days of eighteenth-century duels were long over, and that swords, as such, were no longer used. Didn’t they call their weapons something rather esoteric, such as ‘foils’ and ‘rapiers’?

  She was still gazing at the silver medal when Leo returned to the room.

  Slowly turning around, she viewed his tall, broad-shouldered figure now clothed in a short dark-green towelling robe over long, long tanned legs as he walked barefoot across the floor to pour himself a drink.

  ‘I...er...I didn’t know about your Olympic medal. Well, not until yesterday,’ she said, trying to tear her eyes away from the disgracefully short dressing gown.

  He shrugged. “There’s no reason why you should have heard about it,’ he said, dropping cubes of ice into his neat Scotch, and carrying the glass over to where she stood. ”It’s. very much a minority sport at the best of times. And, in any case, I was lucky.’ He turned his head to smile at her. “The guy I was up against was well ahead on points until he tripped and fell off the platform, spraining an ankle.’

  Firmly clutching her glass of wine, Alex struggled to resist the overwhelming, sensual charm exuded by this man—which it seemed he could turn on and off like a lightbulb! Just remember how nasty he was when you first arrived, she shouted silently at herself, gazing helplessly at the dark, curly hairs on his tanned chest clearly visible beneath the open neck of his robe, and the wet black wavy hair falling over his handsome, tanned face. She was forced to admit—if only privately to herself, of course—that he looked absolutely gorgeous, and as sexy as hell!

  If this was the sort of outfit that he usually wore when at home in his apartment, it was no wonder that women apparently fell for him in droves. Although, to be fair, his success as a lady-killer was possibly due in equal measure to those sensual, smouldering green eyes beneath their heavy lids.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she noted that he’d even found time to shave. Well, the swine needn’t think that he was going to get another chance to kiss her!

  She’d always taken care never to get involved with engaged or married men—and she had absolutely no intention of starting now, she told herself fiercely. And then was immediately appalled to find herself involuntarily recalling the fiery touch of his lips, and the hard strength of the muscular body, which had been pressed so closely to her own during that mad embrace in his office at the bank.

  Was she losing her mind, or what? Of course he had no intention of kissing her! In fact, it was clearly the very last thing on his mind, she told herself firmly. Both he and she were well aware that the shameful episode yesterday had been merely the product of a sudden spurt of rage on his part, right? Although, she acknowledged glumly, exactly what she’d been doing in responding so ardently to his caresses, she had absolutely no idea.

  Pull yourself together! she told herself grimly. So he looks fantastic. So what? The important thing to remember was that he had a really vile reputation, that he was engaged to Fiona Bliss and, most important of all, she actively disliked the horrid man.

  Unfortunately, at that moment the ‘horrid man’ turned to give her another warm, engaging smile, which practically made her toes curl.

  ‘I’m sorry to have been so bad tempered and grouchy just now. I clearly needed both a shower and this drink!’ The ice tinkled in the glass as he raised it to his lips. ‘It’s been a long, hard day, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,’ he acknowledged, walking over to pick up the buff-coloured file from where she’d left it on a side table.

  Stiff with nerves and apprehension, she continued to stand by the window as Leo sat down on a sofa, and quickly read the first, rough draft of her article featuring the romances of the plumber, Dave Morris, and Nigel Adams, her middle-class tax inspector. Almost as if he was deliberately piling on the agony, he then proceeded to read through the manuscript once more, only much slower this time, before closing the file and taking another long sip from his glass.

  ‘There’s no need to stand over there like a stag at bay,’ he d
rawled with a wry grin. ‘Why don’t you relax, take off your jacket, and come and sit down?’

  She shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure of your reaction. So I thought that I’d better stay on my feet—all ready to make a quick dash for the door, if necessary,’ she admitted, removing her heavy tweed jacket as she slowly crossed the room and lowered herself into a deep, comfortable chair. ‘Well, what did you think?’

  ‘Actually, it’s not at all bad. In fact, although I’m reluctant to say so, I have to admit that it’s surprisingly well written.’

  ‘Gee—thanks!’ she muttered caustically.

  ‘There’s no need to get on your high horse.’ His lips twitched with amusement. ‘Since you write for the Chronicle, you can hardly blame me for expecting to find myself presented with the usual ghastly, mindless slush normally to be found in newspapers of that type.’

  ‘Hah! That’s all you know. Believe me, I wouldn’t last five minutes with our new editor, Mike Tanner, if I wrote that sort of drivel,’ she retorted. ‘And there’s no reason for you to sound so surprised, either. My grandmother made sure that I had a decent education. So, why shouldn’t I be able to string more than one or two words together?’ she demanded indignantly.

  He shrugged. ‘Of course I was surprised. And why not, when I recall the last time we met? In fact, if I’d been asked to guess how you’d turn out, I’d probably have opted for you joining something like a punk-rock band, or maybe that you’d become a New Age traveller. Neither of which, considering your bizarre appearance at the time, would have been at all surprising,’ he added crushingly.

  ‘In any case,’ he continued, rising to his feet and walking swiftly back across the room before she had a chance to say anything in her own defence, ‘I’m feeling hungry. So I suggest we leave all further discussion until I’ve got dressed and fixed us both something to eat.’