The Corporate Bridegroom

by Liz Fielding

  ‘How much have you raised in sponsorship?’

  ‘Personally?’ She glanced up at the crane. ‘Is it worth risking my neck for fifty-three thousand pounds do you think?’

  ‘Fifty-three thousand pounds?’ He was impressed, but he wasn’t about to show it. ‘That many people want to see you scared to death?’

  ‘Scared to death?’ Her eyes widened, making them appear impossibly large.

  ‘Isn’t that the point? You make a big thing out of being terrified of heights so your sponsors pay out to hear you scream.’

  There was a pause before she said, ‘I must make sure to give them value for money. Thanks for reminding me,’ she said as her attention was claimed by a young woman bearing a sweatshirt.

  ‘Who’s the dishy bloke?’

  ‘Dishy?’ Romana didn’t have to follow her assistant’s avid gaze. Molly could only be talking about Niall. ‘He’s not dishy.’ He was mind-numbingly gorgeous. The kind of man that would have a girl dropping coffee and everything else if he so much as smiled. Maybe that was why he didn’t smile. It was too dangerous.

  ‘Crumbs, Romana, get your eyes tested. You don’t often get tall, dark and the look of the devil all in one package.’

  That summed him up perfectly, and she felt a little tremor somewhere in her midriff that had nothing at all to do with jumping into space. ‘Should a married woman be having such thoughts about a man who is not her husband?’

  ‘I’m married, Romana. Not dead.’

  ‘Well, you can put your eyes back in their sockets. He might be good to look at but I promise you he’s not nice to know. The man is dour. With a capital D. A real cold fish. His name is Niall Macaulay and he’s one of the Farraday clan—’

  ‘I didn’t know there were any real live Farradays.’

  ‘Unfortunately they’re as real and as live as you can get. This one is a dominant male of the species and he’s going to be shadowing my role with the company for the next month.’ And marking her out of ten for technique. She didn’t think he’d be interested in artistic merit.

  ‘You mean he’s the one being squeezed into your box at the gala tonight? You lucky cow! Do you think he’d like some coffee?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘He needs something,’ she said, with feeling. ‘A charm implant would be a definite improvement. But I’d advise against offering him coffee if you value your life.’ She looked up at the crane and shivered. ‘One of us has to be at the gala this evening.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. Just don’t forget to smile for the cameras. It’ll probably be the cover picture, so when you put on that sweatshirt make sure the C&F logo is front and centre. I’d stay and help, but I have to meet the caterers at the theatre.’

  Smile for the camera? Smile?

  A teeth-baring grimace was all she could manage as she stared in the mirror and retouched her lipstick for the television camera which would follow her every move once she emerged from the caravan. She’d have bitten it all off long before she reached the jump platform. Not good. She put the lipstick in her pocket, along with her handbag mirror, for a last-minute touch-up. If she could keep her hand sufficiently steady.

  She caught herself fluffing her hair. Again. Holding her arms firmly at her sides, she fixed a smile to her lips and emerged from the caravan to be met by the television director.

  ‘Great,’ she said absently as he ran through what would happen. But her mind was somewhere else. On Niall Macaulay, who was standing a few yards away. It was hard to tell if he was regretting his decision to join her. His expression gave nothing away. ‘Sure you won’t join me, Niall? A Farraday jumping would be the icing on the cake. And it would really prove your commitment.’

  The director spun to look at him. ‘Hey, this is great. If you could just change as quickly as you can, Mr Farraday—’

  ‘The name is Macaulay.’ The director looked confused. ‘Niall Farraday Macaulay. And there are more than enough people around here desperate to fling themselves into space for a good cause. I don’t want to be selfish and hold things up.’ Romana gave him a look that suggested he wasn’t fooling her with his lack of selfishness. ‘I’ll sponsor Miss Claibourne instead.’

  Romana was temporarily speechless. It was the second time he’d done that to her today, and she didn’t like it.

  ‘Niall Farraday Macaulay?’ she asked him as she went to weigh in. ‘You really are called that?’

  ‘It’s a family tradition. A reminder that our time will come.’

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ she said. Then turned away to take the card to be handed to the jump team. She took it in fingers that were losing any sense of feeling. Only her mouth was working, running away with her, joking to the camera about getting vertigo standing on a high kerb…

  It avoided having to think about what was ahead.

  She wasn’t thinking at all, or she might have distracted the photographer from Celebrity magazine when he wanted to take a picture of the two of them together. Yet, even numb with terror, the PR side of her brain was saying Go for it! This would get people talking, create a buzz…and wasn’t it vital to demonstrate her ability to take advantage of a photo opportunity?

  ‘Claibourne & Farraday working in partnership for deprived children everywhere,’ she prompted, offering a hand to Niall. Her jumping and him watching. Nothing new there.

  He sketched a smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. He probably did, she realised, and felt instantly guilty; there might be some perfectly good reason for his lack of good humour. And for not taking part in the jump.

  A solid grasp of the principles of gravity and plain good sense, perhaps?

  ‘Get really close, warm and caring…’ the photographer encouraged. Niall was surprisingly co-operative, putting his arm around her shoulders before she could reconsider. It felt almost shockingly good to be tucked up against him. ‘Lovely…big smile…’

  Startled by the direction her thoughts were taking, she glanced up at him. The breeze from the river was whipping up his perfectly cut hair and feathering it across his forehead, and as he smiled to order it was plain that, physically, the man had everything. Style, good looks and a set of teeth any film star would pay a fortune for.

  The minute the photographer finished, Niall let his arm drop. The smile, however, remained. A warning that she had indeed made a mistake by drawing attention to his presence. It was something the columnist at Celebrity would seize on and speculate about at length. And if his photograph appeared on the front cover India would never forgive her.

  ‘They’re waiting for you,’ he said, the smile turning into the smallest of frowns as she stepped onto the hoist with legs that didn’t appear to belong to her and made a grab for the safety rail as it began to rise. Had he realised how scared she was? Did it matter?

  ‘What’s the view like?’ The presenter’s voice in her ear prompted her.

  Aware that the mini-cam would be picking up the fact that her eyes were tight shut, she managed to blurt out, ‘I’m saving it for a surprise when I get to the top.’

  The sound of laughter reached her over the loudspeaker, and as the hoist came to a halt she instinctively opened her eyes as she stepped onto the platform. Big mistake. Behind her, her escape route returned to the ground. In front of her London seemed to shift beneath her feet and she felt the colour drain from her face.

  ‘I’d like to go home now,’ she said, grabbing the first solid object that came to hand. Everyone laughed.

  She joined in, trying not to sound hysterical. But she was out of time. As the hoist came to a halt behind her, with its first load of paying jumpers, she said, ‘Could someone unpeel my fingers from this rail?’

  ‘I thought this was all in a day’s work for you.’

  Niall Macaulay. Riding to her rescue. She knew he’d seen her fear… ‘You dropped this.’ He handed her the card with her name and weight on it. ‘I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the excitement.’

  She glanced at the card, frowning
at the implication that she had tried to get out of jumping. She would have turned and glared at him for being such a know-all, but she wasn’t prepared to move that much. Besides, this was a live broadcast.

  ‘Well, thanks. It’s good to see Claibourne & Farraday working together.’ Even in extremis she still remembered to mention the company name.

  ‘No problem. It’s what a shadow’s for. To pick up the mistakes. Can I offer some help there?’

  More sarcasm, but Romana was beyond caring about the feud. Her knuckles were bone-white as she gripped the cold metal.

  ‘My hero,’ she said, as Niall peeled her fingers one by one from the rail.

  The bungee-team, eager to get started, fixed up the bungee. When they’d finished, it was Niall who reached out a hand to help her to her feet. It was oddly comforting, and she kept her eyes fixed on his face. That way she wasn’t so conscious of the drop. There were creases at the corners of his eyes, she noticed, as if smiling hadn’t always been such a strain. ‘It’s quite normal to be scared,’ he said.

  ‘Scared? Who’s scared?’ She put the fingers of her other hand in her mouth and pulled a face at the camera. Clowning was the only way she was going to get through this.

  ‘It’s safer than falling out of bed,’ he assured her.

  ‘You can guarantee that?’ she asked. ‘You’ve tested the theory? How many beds have you fallen out of?’ The grammar wasn’t great, but it raised a laugh from the crowd and stopped Niall Macaulay from smiling. A hundred-percent success.

  ‘Ready, Romana?’

  Belatedly recalling Molly’s reminder to smile, she retrieved her hand from Niall, took out her mirror and lipstick and made a big performance of retouching the colour. ‘Got to look good in the photographs,’ she said, beyond shaking. She wasn’t feeling anything very much at all, just a sort of numb weightlessness, and she bared her teeth in the nearest approximation to a smile she could manage. ‘Now I’m ready.’ She handed the lipstick and mirror to Niall. ‘Any last-minute advice?’

  ‘Don’t look down?’ He picked her up from behind and for a moment held her hard against his chest. The warmth was welcome, and for the first time since she’d stepped onto the hoist she felt safe. Then he took a step forward.

  A gasp of fright escaped her. ‘Are you going to throw me over?’ She’d intended to whisper, but the microphone attached to her sweatshirt picked up every syllable.

  ‘Not this time,’ he murmured, his response covered by a burst of laughter. Then he placed her carefully on the edge of the platform, with her toes sticking out into clear space. Her toes didn’t like it, and clawed desperately at the inside of her shoes. Only his hand, still on her shoulder, was keeping her from fainting. Actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea…

  ‘On the count of three,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘And don’t forget to scream.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  NIALL watched Romana fly. It was a spectacular jump by any standards. Only an underlying suspicion that she was actually scared rigid had prompted him to bring up the card.

  Watching her in the hoist, he’d been sure that she was going to lose it completely. And, no matter who was running the company, he had a financial stake in its image.

  He should have known that the fooling around was for the camera. He hadn’t been sure until she’d pulled out the lipstick, but her hands had been steady as a rock. It was all just part of the act. She’d certainly put on a show for her sponsors.

  All she’d forgotten was the blood-curdling scream.

  Someone opened a bottle of champagne and pushed a glass into her hand. Romana didn’t dare put it to her mouth. The glass would have shattered against her chattering teeth. She just gripped it tightly as around her the crowd chanted a slow countdown for the next jumper.

  For a moment she thought she’d be all right, but just as the next bungee reached its full length and then snapped back her entire stomach relived her own experience. She pushed the glass into the hand of the person standing nearest to her and fled to the caravan so that she could be violently sick in private.

  When she’d washed her face, and rinsed her mouth out with water, she realised that her phone, still lying on the chair where she had abandoned it earlier, was ringing.

  ‘Ramona Claibourne.’

  It was Molly. ‘Are you all right? We’ve got a television on here, and when I saw you make a run for it I wondered—’

  ‘If breakfast was a mistake? Believe me, it was. Is everyone demanding their money back?’ She was still shaking. ‘I wouldn’t blame them. I couldn’t even manage a decent scream. My throat was apparently stuffed with hot rocks.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You looked terrific. And the jokey stuff was very convincing. I shouldn’t think anyone guessed how scared you really were. I can’t imagine how you’ll top it next year—unless you can think of something that involves Mr Dour getting his shirt off,’ she added hopefully. ‘I’d sponsor him for that myself.’

  Ramona’s mouth dried at the thought. Fortunately there was a sharp rap at the door and she was saved from having to comment.

  ‘It’s open,’ she called, and turned to see the man himself, with a frown that might have been concern creasing his forehead. She didn’t want his concern. ‘Come to pay up?’ she asked, with a lack of graciousness she regretted the minute he laid a cheque on the table, along with her lipstick and mirror. ‘That’s very generous,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  He gave a small shrug, as if it was nothing. ‘Don’t let me interrupt your call.’

  ‘Oh, it’s just Molly. She saw the jump…’ The least said about that the better. ‘She’s trying to think of some way of topping it. She seems to think you, minus your shirt, would be a good start,’ she said, and was assailed by wails of anguish from her assistant. ‘Why don’t you talk it over with her?’ she suggested, handing over her phone. ‘And she’ll need your address so that she can book you a car for tonight. Six o’clock. Black tie.’

  ‘Six?’ he repeated. ‘Isn’t that a little early for the theatre?’

  ‘I’m working, not having fun. I do all the organising beforehand. I make sure everything goes smoothly throughout the evening, and then I make sure everyone is happy afterwards.’

  ‘While I watch?’

  ‘No one is insisting you come, Niall. You’re the one demanding to see what I do every minute of my working day.’ Which today would end somewhere past midnight.

  She turned away, avoiding a game of ‘chicken’ to see who could outstare the other. She knew she’d lose. She didn’t bother to change back into her suit, but folded it neatly and put it into her bag, then glanced in the mirror as she slid her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it.

  Her reflection warned her that she was looking less than her best. The colour had leached from her skin, leaving two vivid patches of blusher and making her look like a rag doll. She took a tissue and scrubbed at her cheek-bones. In the meantime, having considered her response and apparently got the message, Niall relayed his address to Molly.

  Romana retrieved her phone and her bags and flung open the caravan door.

  ‘Where are you going now?’ he asked, following her.

  ‘Why don’t you come along and see?’ He gave her a look that suggested he was quick learner—he was asking first. ‘First I’m going home to hang up my dress. I would have done it earlier, but I had to meet you instead. Then I’m going back to the store to have my hair done,’ she told him, walking quickly to the road.

  ‘No lunch?’

  She felt ill at the thought. ‘No,’ she said, glancing at the workmanlike watch on her wrist. ‘No time. We have to go.’

  ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on the hairdo.’

  ‘Good decision. I can fix most things,’ she said, and smiled, ‘but an appointment with George on a gala night is not one of them. I’ll see you at the theatre.’

  ‘Don’t you think it would be more sensible for us to share a car?’

  Share?
Working with him was going to be difficult enough; she had no intention of extending the time they spent together. ‘Is your concern ecological or financial?’

  ‘Neither. I simply thought you could brief me about this evening on the way to the theatre. Speaking of which, you put on quite a performance yourself just now,’ he said, keeping step with her and giving her no chance to argue. ‘You nearly had me fooled.’

  She had no way of telling whether he meant her performance pretending to be scared, or her performance covering up the fact that she was totally terrified. ‘Only nearly?’

  ‘How many jumps have you made?’

  She smiled as she stopped and turned to hail a passing taxi. There was something very pleasing in the discovery that he wasn’t nearly as clever as he thought he was.

  ‘I’ll see you at the theatre, Niall,’ she said as she climbed aboard, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  Romana, swathed in a dark-red salon wrapper, regarded herself in the mirror, searching vainly for some clue as to what about her appearance had so irritated Niall Macaulay.

  It couldn’t just have been the incident with the coffee that had made him so surly. It had, after all, been an accident. Unfortunate, perhaps, especially in view of the subsequent meeting, but in the travails of life it was nothing. Less than nothing.

  A kind man would have said so. A generous man would at the very least have allowed her to apologise before walking away.

  But he wasn’t kind, or generous. Oh, he’d been quick to cover himself with his offer of sponsorship—quick to pay up, too. Her flash of guilt was immediately squashed. When you had money to spare, that kind of generosity was easy. Her father had always been swift to put his signature on a cheque for birthdays or at Christmas, when all she’d really wanted was for him to hug her, tell her that he loved her. He’d never seemed capable of managing anything quite that difficult.

  George appeared in the mirror behind her. ‘Big day, Romana,’ he said.