by Lyons, Mary
‘Yeah—if he’s free. Why not? Just make sure of bringing home the bacon,’ was Mike’s parting shot as she quickly hurried out of his office.
Never mind ‘bringing home the bacon’. She now faced an almost insuperable task. She had to get an interview with Leo, because she just didn’t have enough background material—or anything about his hopes, aspirations, et cetera. Unfortunately, if it really was Leo who’d put pressure on the newspaper’s proprietor—and she couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be interested in doing so—then the idea of gaining any cooperation from him was a total waste of time. But she clearly had no alternative except to at least try to contact him.
Even after drinking a mug of hot coffee and trying to psych herself up for the phone call, Alex still felt positively sick as she forced herself to dial Leo’s number at the bank. And, as she ought to have realised, the first hurdle she had to get over was his personal assistant, Dora.
There was no mistaking the frozen, icy tones as Leo’s faithful, super-loyal assistant informed Alex that he was not available.
‘Oh, come on, Dora—give me a break,’ she pleaded. But all to no avail. Even when she offered fulsome apologies for having pretended to be Fiona Bliss on her visit to Leo’s office, his clearly devoted assistant wouldn’t budge.
‘Damn!’ she muttered, leaning back in her chair and wondering how on earth she could solve this impasse. It was no good trying to see him at his office. After her last attempt, she was quite certain that she’d be thrown out on her ear before she even got as far as the lift. She knew from James Boswell that his home telephone number was ex-directory...so what the heck was she going to do?
It was the thought of James Boswell, and his likely contacts, which put a fresh idea into her head. A few minutes later, Alex was perched on the edge of his desk, explaining her problem and asking for his help.
‘No way!’ James lifted his hands in horror. ‘What you’re asking me to do is one hundred per cent illegal. Besides, why should I put myself out for you?’
It was obvious from his sulky, disgruntled attitude that the gossip columnist still harboured a grudge about her hitherto unknown relationship with Leo Hamilton. And he certainly wasn’t going to help her—not without some very strong inducement.
He was quite right, of course. Because what she was suggesting was highly illegal. However, she knew that, if he wanted to, he could get hold of Leo’s private telephone number at the bank. And Leo must have one, if only for all those intimate calls to his many girlfriends which he certainly wouldn’t want going through the bank’s switchboard, she told herself sourly. She definitely remembered seeing two phones on his desk, so it was just a case of somehow, by hook or by crook, getting hold of that important number.
Studying James from beneath her eyelashes for a moment, and noting the stubborn cast of the man’s jaw, she realised that he wouldn’t change his mind. Not unless she could offer him a strong incentive to do so.
‘OK, James.’ She gave him her best version of a wide, beaming smile. ‘I really want that number. So, I guess it’s trade-off time, isn’t it?’
He shrugged. But she could see from the way his long nose twitched, and the slight gleam in his eye, that he might be prepared to do a deal.
‘How about if I give you the inside track on Robert Fraser’s new girlfriend, who’s a well-known film star? And, exactly how Sir Paul Norton cheated his old aunt out of all her money in pursuit of his first million. And I mean cheated,’ she added grimly. ‘The poor old girl was left destitute. Her friends and a few relatives have rallied round now, of course, but I honestly don’t have the slightest compunction in throwing him to the wolves!’
Although James pretended not to be interested, Alex could see that she definitely had him on the hook.
‘Well... we could have a deal going here,’ he admitted. ‘I’ll also want the background to your friend Sophie’s romance with that high-flying Eurobond dealer, Joe Parker—and exactly why she’s recently dropped him like a hot potato.’
‘Absolutely not!’ Alex snapped. ‘I don’t mind ratting on those two guys I mentioned earlier, because they’re nasty bits of work and deserve everything that they get. But if I catch you trying to dig into Sophie’s private life, I’ll—’
‘Relax!’ he interjected quickly. ‘I’ve got the message, OK?’ he added with a slight laugh, before giving a shrug of his shoulders and saying that he would see what he could do to get hold of Leo’s private number.
‘You’ve got ten minutes. After that, our deal’s off,’ she told him firmly, getting up and walking back to her desk.
Considerably ashamed of the fact that she seemed to be turning into a regular blackmailer, Alex sat down at her desk, staring blindly at the computer screen in front of her. Even if her gamble paid off, and James Boswell came through with the elusive phone number, there was no guarantee that Leo would talk to her. And, of course, the very last thing she wanted was to have any more contact with him.
Leo had pointed out that there was no explaining the inexplicable, and he certainly seemed to be right. Because, while she’d had her moments in the past, of course, she’d never found anyone who’d ‘made the earth move’, as portrayed in all the very best romantic novels. Even the kisses of her last boyfriend, who’d been a very nice man indeed, hadn’t produced more than a slight increase in her pulse rate, his lovemaking meaning no more to her than a mild, pleasurable experience.
So how could she possibly explain the earth-shattering, positively bone-melting passion and excitement which seemed to instantly well up inside her at the touch of Leo’s lips and body?
He’s just a practised seducer—that’s all there is to it! she told herself desperately. He obviously has this effect on every woman he comes across—and if you don’t watch out you’ll just be another notch on his bedpost!
The solution to her problem was quite clear. She’d obviously been temporarily out of her mind over the last few days. Therefore, the only sensible answer was to regard the whole affair as just one of those things best forgotten. Especially as there was no need for her to have any further close contact. She’d make her phone call to Leo, she would attend the dance with the three couples—and that would be that.
Alex sighed. It sometimes seemed to her that she spent most of her life staring at the screen of a computer, either here at home or in the newspaper office. Leaning back in her chair, she gazed around at the book-lined shelves of her study. If only she had the aid of some of those well-known authors, she might have a chance of producing something readable. But, despite having written at least three completely different drafts about the romance between Fiona Bliss and Leo, each one seemed to be more turgid and positively dripping with syrup than the last.
‘It’s all that rotten man’s fault!’ she grumbled out loud. There had been absolutely no need for him to have been so foul on the phone this afternoon. After all, she had a job to do—and they both knew it.
Well...maybe she was being unfair, Alex told herself with a sigh, getting up from behind her desk and walking over to the window. After all, she certainly wouldn’t want anything written about her own private life, she acknowledged with another heavy sigh as she stared down into the garden next door, the bright moonlight sparkling on the trees and shrubs covered with a heavy frost.
Once James Boswell had come through with the required telephone number—as she’d known that he would—it had taken an enormous effort of will for her to find the courage to lift the receiver and dial through to Leo’s private office. And even more courage, she reminded herself grimly, not to slam the phone down on his furious response to her call. To say that he had not been a happy man was to put it mildly!
‘This is all your fault,’ he’d ground out furiously, after reluctantly listening to her explanation of why her editor was bringing forward the article and publishing part of it this week, not next.
‘Oh, no, it’s not,’ she’d snapped. ‘It’s the net result of you trying to put pres
sure on the owner of our newspaper. If you’d met our editor, Mike Tanner, you might have known that it would be a waste of time,’ she added with a grim laugh. ‘There’s no way he’d ever allow himself to be pushed around. And the outcome of your intervention has been to make him even more determined to publish the article than he was before.’
‘You know very well that I loathe the whole idea of this stupid article,’ Leo’s voice had grated angrily down the phone. But he had not, she’d noticed, denied trying to stop its publication. ‘I am not—repeat, not—prepared to help you in any way,’ he’d continued, his voice tight with rage. ‘And, if you ever try to contact Fiona again, I’ll see to it that you lose your job—if it’s the very last thing I do!’
‘If I can’t write this article, I will lose my job,’ she’d pointed out bitterly. ‘So what have I got to lose? If you absolutely refuse to help me—then I’ll just have to go ahead and make it up, won’t I?’
Unfortunately, the effect of her last threat had been the sound of Leo swearing violently under his breath, quickly followed by a crash as he’d slammed down the phone.
However, trying to write a work of fiction rather than fact was a lot harder than she’d envisaged. For one thing, Alex knew that she’d have to be very careful not to leave herself open to charges of libel, by either Leo’s or Fiona’s lawyers. And, although her visit to Hampshire had given her a considerable amount of material, there were still huge gaps in the story which an experienced journalist—such as her editor or, indeed, that awful woman, Imogen Hall-Knightly—would spot in an instant.
Maybe Sophie, if she was in, could help to give her some inspiration. Quickly phoning down to the basement flat in her house, she discovered that her friend had decided to spend the evening in front of the TV and was quite willing to join Alex for a cup of coffee.
‘I don’t see your problem,’ Sophie said later as they sat at the kitchen table. ‘You knew Leo and his family eight years ago. So it shouldn’t be that hard to write something fairly innocuous to cover the gap up until his engagement to Fiona Bliss.’
Alex shrugged. ‘It sounds easy enough,’ she admitted glumly. ‘But it’s a lot harder in practice. In fact,’ she added with a sigh, ‘if I’d ever thought of writing a work of fiction, trying to make up some romantic nonsense for this article has put me right off the whole idea.’
‘You’ll think of something,’ Sophie laughed. ‘In fact, I think that...’ She was cut off in mid-flow by the sound of the doorbell, accompanied by a loud drumming of the knocker on the front door. ‘Who on earth’s that?’
Alex got to her feet. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she shrugged. ‘I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone to call tonight,’ she added, making her way out of the kitchen and along the hall to answer the door.
She’d hardly undone the lock before it was shoved wide open and Leo walked past her into the hall.
‘It’s beginning to snow out there,’ he growled, stamping his wet feet on the mat and shrugging off his heavy overcoat, lightly dusted with snow. ‘And for goodness’ sake stop standing there with your mouth open and get me a strong drink,’ he added, tossing the coat at her before striding off down the passage towards the warm, brightly lit kitchen.
Stunned by his sudden arrival, Alex hung up his overcoat before hurrying nervously towards the kitchen, colliding with Sophie in the doorway.
‘Don’t go!’ Alex whispered urgently, grabbing hold of the other girl’s arm.
‘You must be joking!’ her friend muttered, glancing back over her shoulder at the extraordinarily handsome, angry figure pacing up and down the kitchen. ‘I take it that’s Leo Hamilton?’ she hissed, grimacing at Alex’s nod of confirmation. ‘Rather you than me, kiddo! All I can say is, the very best of tuck!’ she added with a hollow laugh, before opening the door which led down to the basement Hat and quickly disappearing from sight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“THERE was no need for that girl to take to her heels like a frightened rabbit!’ Leo drawled sarcastically as Sophie’s hurried footsteps could be heard clattering down the stairs to her own flat.
‘“That girl” is my oldest and dearest friend,’ Alex snapped. ‘Not that it’s any business of yours, of course. Which leads me neatly to the question—what in hell are you doing here? And what do you want?’
‘Hold it!’ Leo gave a snort of caustic laughter. ‘I don’t think that you’re asking the right question, my dear Alex. Please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong,’ he added in a hateful, sardonic drawl, ‘but, I rather imagined that it was you who wanted my help.’
Alex gazed at him in astonishment. ‘But...but you were quite adamant about giving me absolutely no cooperation, when I phoned you this morning. I mean... you’ve always simply hated the whole idea of the newspaper article.’
‘You’re quite right—I do,’ he agreed curtly. ‘However, it didn’t take me very long to realise that the end result of your nasty, fertile imagination was likely to be a much worse case scenario.’
‘Are you really saying...?’
‘I’m not saying anything. Not until I’ve had a strong drink!’ he grated, pacing up and down the kitchen floor like a wild beast in its cage.
‘Oh...er...right,’ she murmured, quickly deciding to ignore any insults. And she’d do well to keep a firm rein on her loose tongue, Alex warned herself as she took a glass down from the cupboard and poured him a neat malt whisky.
There was clearly no point in bothering to speculate about why this proud, stiff-necked and extremely difficult man had suddenly decided to change his tune. It was, of course, quite likely that Fiona—or her formidable mother, Ethel Bliss—had finally managed to make him see sense. They’d probably pointed out that it was far wiser to cooperate with the newspaper rather than fight against the publication of what was, after all, a fairly harmless article.
Whatever the reason for Leo’s change of mind, she’d just have to swallow her pride and be grateful for his help. Indeed, when she recalled some of the rubbish she’d been writing earlier this evening, his sudden appearance was beginning to take on the guise of divine intervention!
Resolutely determined to keep a still tongue in her head, Alex wondered whether it might be a good idea to try and drown Leo in honey instead of arguing with him all the time...? It was certainly worth having a go!
‘Well, Leo, I’m not too proud to say that I’m going to be grateful for any help you can give me,’ she told him meekly. ‘I know you’re a very busy man. And I do understand just how much you actively dislike the idea of your private life being paraded for public consumption.’
‘Hmm...!’ he snorted, but there was no doubt in her mind that some of his anger was beginning to drain away. Maybe she should have played the ‘little woman’ long before now.
‘How about coming upstairs, to my study?’ she continued. ‘We could then try and put together something of which you might, however reluctantly, approve,’ she added in a low, soft voice, concentrating on trying to keep up the image of a subservient, weak female. If only Imogen Hall-Knightly could see me now! she thought, struggling to keep her face straight.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Very well,’ he sighed, carrying his glass of whisky with him as he followed her down the passage and up the stairs.
Leo’s stern expression relaxed a little as he viewed the long, slim legs and trim ankles mounting the stairs in front of him. He had to admit that Alex was looking stunning in that short black skirt and sapphire-blue silk shirt. In fact, the way the thin material clung to her full breasts was more than capable of raising any red-blooded man’s temperature! Yet another reason for regretting that he’d given in to that clearly foolish but overwhelming impulse to come here tonight.
While he was definitely no Casanova, as had been reported in the press, he’d certainly known his fair share of women. Which was why he didn’t need to be told that having anything more to do with Alex was a recipe for disaster. Ever since he’d first known her, she’d caused nothin
g but trouble. If he had any sense—and wished to maintain his quiet, well-ordered life, which had suited him so well over the past eight years—he ought to run back down these stairs and leave her house...right this minute!
But then, he’d always been an idiot—certainly as far as this girl was concerned, he reminded himself grimly. Although, if she thought she was fooling him with this act she was putting on of a meek and mild, pathetic creature only too anxious to serve her lord and master she was very much mistaken!
Still...he was here now, and it was far too late for him to turn tail and bolt out of the house. Besides, it was surely far better to be in a position to heavily censor anything this damned girl was intending to write than to allow her imagination free rein? And it did at least have the merit of keeping his mother and his uncle off his back until he had the opportunity to sort things out with Fiona.
His mouth tightened ominously as he thought about Ethel Bliss. He certainly had no intention of letting that hard, determined woman take charge of his life. But he was having the devil’s own job in trying to contact Fiona, whose ambitious mother appeared to be making sure that the about-to-be-engaged couple had as little contact with each other as possible.
‘Here we are,’ Alex trilled as she led the way into her study at the top of the house. ‘Now, if you don’t mind sitting down in that comfortable chair and giving me the opportunity to take a few notes—principally about what you’ve been doing during the past eight years—I’m sure we’ll be able to get this wrapped up in no time.’
Leo gazed at her steadily for a moment, before going over to sit down in a wide leather chair. ‘I think you’ve forgotten my pipe and slippers.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t get me wrong, Alex.’ He gave a tow rumble of laughter. ‘I definitely appreciate the “poor helpless female” and “sweet little housewife” performance you’re putting on. However, there’s really no need to act so out of character.’ He grinned. ‘Why don’t we agree that there’s a job to be done—and get on with it?’
