by Anne Mather
‘It is in London,’ added the man, as if to fill the void Samantha’s procrastination had created. ‘The company’s J.P. Software International. The offices are just off the north side of Regent Street. You’d be catering for—approximately thirty people.’
‘Yes.’
Samantha’s brain was working madly. Despite what she had thought the night before, the idea of finding a lunchtime clientele was appealing. It had so many advantages. Not least, leaving her evenings free for other things. But, if she turned this down, she might not be asked again. She wondered how he had got her name. She really would have to get some cards printed.
‘Well, Mr—er—er—–?’
‘Burgess,’ supplied the man, after another of those infinitesimal pauses, but Samantha scarcely noticed.
‘Well, Mr Burgess,’ she said, ‘I have to tell you, my previous experience has all been in evening engagements.’
All? She grimaced, and shifted the phone to her other ear. Two dinner parties didn’t actually justify the word ‘all’. But so what? She had to start somewhere.
‘Does this mean you’re not equipped to take on any afternoon appointments?’ he queried, and Samantha sighed.
‘Not exactly, no. But—–’
‘I suggest you come and talk it over with our PR department,’ declared the man, overriding her objections. ‘I’m sure we can work something out.’
Can we? For a moment, Samantha was half afraid she had said those words aloud, but there was no response from Mr Burgess, so she concluded, with some relief, that she hadn’t. All the same, she didn’t see how it could be done—unless her mother could be persuaded to help her.
‘How—er—how did you get this number?’ she asked, to give herself time to consider, and the man sucked in his breath.
‘I—why, from a friend who attended a reception recently in Eyton Gate,’ he replied swiftly, and, although Samantha was too absorbed to notice any inflexion in his voice, any connection with that occasion was enough to give her pause.
‘Do you mind telling me who it was who gave you my number?’ she enquired, realising it was hardly her business, but needing to know just the same.
‘Um—no.’ The man hesitated again, but Samantha was too anxious to hear what he had to say to notice. ‘A chap by the name of Matthew Putnam,’ he said offhandedly. And then, ‘Does it matter? Is he a friend of yours, or something?’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘THAT was a clever touch, Victor,’ remarked Matthew, as his manservant put down the phone. His lips twisted admiringly. ‘Implying that I might have some ulterior motive for recommending her was masterly. She was so busy denying any connection between us, she hardly noticed what she was agreeing to.’
‘Well, I don’t like it, Mr Putnam,’ replied the older man tersely. ‘For heaven’s sake, why would you want to get involved with some second-rate waitress from Northfleet?’
Matthew’s mouth tightened, and he swung the feet he had had propped on the edge of his desk, while Victor made the call to Samantha Maxwell, to the floor. ‘She’s not second-rate, and she’s not a waitress,’ he declared, his eyes cold as they surveyed the other man. ‘And I’ll—get involved, as you put it—with who I like. You may not think so, but you’re not my keeper! Now, get out of here.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Victor went, but Matthew could tell by the stiffness of the man’s shoulders that he hadn’t heard the last of it. He knew Victor too well, and Victor knew him. They’d been together too many years now for any minor contretemps to come between them. But, nevertheless, he was getting too familiar where Matthew’s personal life was concerned. And, although he had never really liked Melissa, he had resigned himself to the fact that their relationship might become permanent.
But it hadn’t, thought Matthew grimly, remembering the night of the engagement party with some distaste. And he had been fool enough to go there. If he’d had any sense he’d have stayed away, instead of believing he could beat Melissa at her own game.
Yet, to a point, he had, he conceded broodingly, remembering how outraged she’d been at finding him with the Maxwell girl. Melissa hadn’t liked seeing him with another woman, however innocent that encounter had been.
But, after the girl had gone, it hadn’t been so easy to play it cool. Melissa had got the wrong idea about him being there, in spite of the unconventional means of his arrival. And perhaps she had hoped he had had a change of heart. Whatever, she had certainly not acted like a woman who was engaged to another man. And he was only human, however degenerate that might make him feel.
He was glad now he had been the one to suggest they ought to go upstairs to the party. Playing games was one thing; deliberately seducing another man’s fiancée was another. Which was probably why Melissa had made such a big thing of going to Ivanov, and hanging on his arm for the rest of the evening. She had wanted to make him squirm, and to a certain extent she had succeeded.
But he hadn’t let her have it all her own way. Partly to provoke Melissa, and partly to relieve his own frustration, he had made a play for Briony Clarke, the second most attractive woman at the party—and one of Melissa’s closest friends.
The irony was, Briony had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. And, when she did, Matthew had discovered it wasn’t as much fun hurting people as he had thought. In consequence, he had stalked out long before the party was over, uncaring what interpretation Melissa might put on his actions.
But, curiously enough, it hadn’t been Melissa or Briony who had occupied his thoughts when he eventually got to bed. He had found himself thinking about the Maxwell girl, and remembering how terrified she had been, confronting him with a knife. God! A short laugh escaped him. She had really thought he was an intruder. But, designer stubble and all, he probably hadn’t looked particularly civilised.
Nevertheless, it had been a novelty, being regarded as someone outside the law. Despite the fact that he had always fought for his independence, there had never been a time when he had actually broken the law. Oh, he had done things when he was a student that his mother and his grandfather would not have approved of, but they had had no criminal intent. Consequently, to be treated as a possible burglar or worse had had a singular appeal. Not that he wished to repeat it. The experience had been rather too real for comfort. But the girl—what was it her waitress had called her? Sam? Samantha—she had had definite possibilities.
Which was why he had made it his business to find out who, and what, she was. It hadn’t been difficult. Ivanov’s secretary had been quite flattered that Matthew had been so impressed with the buffet that he wanted the number of the caterer. Lederer knew nothing of his previous association with Melissa, and even less about Samantha Maxwell.
In truth, Matthew didn’t know what he intended when he drove down to Northfleet, a couple of days later. Maybe Victor had a point. Maybe it was the fact that she came from a different background from his that had excited his interest. Certainly she was nothing like the women he was used to dealing with. It wasn’t just that she worked for her living. Many of the women he knew ran galleries, or boutiques, or were involved in public relations and modelling. One or two of them even owned their own businesses, though nothing quite so physical as running a café. No, it was more to do with her attitude; with the kind of defensive stance she had adopted towards him. She didn’t seem to like him, which was also a novelty, for, although he had never seen any great attraction in his appearance, the fact remained that most women seemed to find him presentable.
Even so, it was hard to justify what he was doing now, even to himself. He didn’t honestly know why he was doing it. Just because she had turned him down, he had engineered this totally trumped-up charade. And why? So she would accept an invitation to see him again. Only she didn’t think she was seeing him. Her appointment was supposedly with Andy Lucas, his public relations manager.
His jaw hardening, Matthew pulled the computer keyboard towards him and punched in the code for the current s
ystem he was working on. But even when the complicated program unfolded on the screen he found no escape in the data it provided. His mind was still active with thoughts of the upcoming meeting with Samantha Maxwell, and despite his impatience he was tempted to cancel it.
Still in two minds, he switched off the computer and left his study. He had decided to go into the office after all, and he would think about what he was going to do about the Maxwell girl later. It wasn’t that important, for Pete’s sake! She was only a blasted waitress! She ought to be flattered he was taking an interest in her!
But, as he changed out of the sweat-suit he had worn to the gym earlier, he knew he was being less than fair. He might never have been involved with a woman like her before, but, conversely, he had never treated any woman differently from another. He wasn’t a snob, and he certainly didn’t consider himself better than anyone else because of his background. Which was why trying to find excuses for what he was doing this time was proving so difficult. What did he want from her? Companionship? Sex? For pity’s sake, could he be that desperate?
And yet, as he pulled on navy blue trousers and rummaged through a pile of silk shirts for one he liked, he was uncomfortably aware of the hardening in his groin when he recalled how good her breasts had felt, cushioned against his chest. She had had rather full breasts, he remembered, and long, long legs. Her face hadn’t been particularly striking; her cheeks had been too round, and her mouth too big. But it had been a sexy mouth, particularly when she had been frightened, and her lower lip had jutted forwards. And she had beautiful green eyes, long, and slightly slanted, and fringed by dark lashes, which must surely be cosmetic.
His lips twisted. For someone who denied a serious interest in the girl, he certainly remembered a lot about her. Remembered, too, a distinct unwillingness to let her go, even when Melissa had come down the stairs and found them. But that had probably been because he knew how sucked Melissa would feel, seeing them together. That was probably why he was pursuing the connection. Because he knew how infuriated Melissa would be.
His friend and managing director Robert Prescott was deep in a discussion about computer viruses with their sales manager Martin Ryan when Matthew arrived at the office. J.P. Software International occupied the top two floors of a high-rise in Cumberland Place, with Matthew’s office, and the boardroom, and the offices of his senior management team, on the upper level. Now, Matthew came to rest his shoulder against the frame of Robert’s door, acknowledging his second-in-command’s raised eyebrows with a grimace of his own.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘You didn’t expect to see me. Well, I thought it was time I came to see what you were doing.’
Robert grinned, their relationship one of long standing, and of mutual respect. ‘I’m glad to see you’re still alive,’ he remarked, as Martin Ryan got up from the desk and made some comment about having things to do. He waited until the door had closed behind the other man before adding drily, ‘According to your mother, you’re drinking yourself to death!’
‘Mmm.’ Matthew flung himself into the chair across from his friend and pulled a face. ‘My mother exaggerates,’ he declared, leaning forward to pluck a brochure advertising some sophisticated hardware from Robert’s desk. ‘What’s this stuff like?’ he queried, flicking through its pages. ‘I hear these new lap-tops weigh less than six pounds.’
Robert regarded him tolerantly. ‘So I hear,’ he conceded, prepared to wait until Matthew chose to tell him why he had really come into the office. It wasn’t just to exchange gossip. Matthew wasn’t like that.
‘Of course, they’re still working on the screens.’
‘Yes.’
‘And I guess only the most expensive of them have anything like the capability of a desktop.’
‘Yes.’
Matthew looked up, aware of the monosyllabic answers he was receiving, and the reason for them. He gave a rueful grin. ‘I’m so glad you agree.’
Robert shrugged. ‘What’s not to agree? We get a dozen of those pamphlets dropped through our door every day. They all claim to have made a breakthrough in computer technology. Some of them have. Most of them haven’t. They’ve just adapted someone else’s idea.’
Matthew tossed the brochure back on to the desk. ‘So speaks the complete cynic.’
‘You get cynical in this business,’ retorted Robert, his hand hovering over the button on his intercom. ‘Can I interest you in some coffee?’
Matthew shrugged. ‘Why not? What’s a little caffeine between friends?’
Robert spoke to his secretary, and then lay back in his chair, steepling his fingers. ‘So,’ he said, curiosity getting the better of him, ‘did you finish the program? Is that what we owe the honour of this visit to?’
Matthew arched one dark brow. ‘Don’t be facetious, Rob. It doesn’t suit you. Until recently, I spent as much time in this office as you did.’
‘Yeah.’ Robert had to acknowledge that this was true. ‘I guess you must have decided to take your mother’s advice for once.’
‘My mother’s advice is to leave the running of this place to you, and go and live in Athens,’ retorted Matthew grimly. ‘What’s your opinion of that?’
Robert frowned. ‘You know what my opinion is. I’m an administrator, Matt. You’re the brains around here.’
‘I’d dispute that,’ said Matthew flatly, breaking off as a knock sounded at the door. He waited until Robert’s secretary had set the tray containing their cups of coffee on the desk and left the room before continuing, ‘But what will happen when my grandfather retires is anybody’s guess.’
Robert grimaced. ‘Well, let’s hope that day is a long way off,’ he declared firmly. ‘Now—–’ He handed one of the cups to his friend. ‘Sugar but no cream, is that right?’
‘Thanks.’ Matthew took the cup, and gave a cursory glance at its contents. ‘Black as hell’s kettle. Just as I like it.’
Robert’s lips twitched. ‘OK.’ He paused. ‘So why did you decide to come in today? Is there a problem?’
‘You might say that.’ Matthew swallowed a mouthful of the coffee, and scowled as it scalded his throat. ‘Damn! This is hot as hell, too! What’s Judy trying to do? Burn my tongue out?’
‘Hardly.’ Robert was cautious as he sipped from his own cup. ‘She was probably hoping you’d like it hot! Or that’s the rumour anyway.’
‘Ha, ha!’ Matthew regarded his friend without rancour. ‘But, as it happens, I do have a problem. A slight one, anyway. And—well, I want your help.’
Robert put down his cup. ‘Go on.’
Matthew sighed. ‘It’s not that easy.’
‘Why?’ Robert looked wary. ‘Is it personal?’
Matthew took a breath. ‘Yes.’
Robert looked resigned. ‘Don’t tell me: you’ve seen Melissa.’
‘I have seen Melissa.’ Matthew’s expression hardened. ‘But that’s not why I’m here.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ Matthew was sardonic. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s someone else.’
‘Another woman?’ Robert looked staggered now.
‘Yes.’ Matthew half wished he hadn’t started this. ‘I met her at Melissa’s engagement party.’
‘You went to Melissa’s engagement party?’
‘I was invited,’ agreed Matthew flatly. ‘So what? We’re still civilised human beings, aren’t we?’
Robert shook his head. ‘You tell me!’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, you haven’t been particularly civil since Melissa walked out, have you?’ he protested, reacting to Matthew’s angry response.
‘Maybe not.’ Matthew took a moment to acknowledge the truth of that. ‘Anyway, I’m going to have to live with it, aren’t I? One way or the other.’
‘So what’s your problem?’ Robert was curious. ‘Who is this girl, anyway? Do I know her?’
‘Unlikely.’ Matthew’s mouth flattened. ‘Her name’s Maxwell. Samantha Maxwell.’
&
nbsp; ‘Does she live in London?’
‘No.’ Matthew shook his head. ‘She lives in a little town in Essex. She’s just a nice girl from a very ordinary background.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘No, I’m not.’ Matthew was trying his best not to let Robert rile him in this. ‘Anyway, who she is isn’t important. What she does is.’
‘Come again.’
Matthew changed tack. ‘Do you remember telling me about this proposed meeting we’re having with Koysaki?’
‘I should do. I arranged it.’
‘That’s right.’ Matthew paused. ‘Well, I wondered if it might be a good idea to throw a lunch for them here. In the boardroom. I know you were talking about taking them out for dinner, but it occurred to me that a working lunch might suit all of us better.’
Robert blinked. ‘OK. If you say so.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘Forgive me, but what does this have to do with your new girlfriend?’
‘She’s not my new girlfriend,’ declared Matthew drily.
‘I don’t even think she likes me. But—–’ he expelled his breath ‘—she’s a professional caterer. And, I’ve preempted your approval, and asked her if she could give us a quote.’
‘For the Koysaki lunch?’
‘Yep.’
Robert shook his head. ‘Are you telling me this is the only way you can see her again?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Does she know who you are?’
‘No.’
‘Then tell her.’
‘No.’ Matthew got up from his chair, and paced over to the window. ‘If you knew her, you wouldn’t even suggest it. Besides which, she’s engaged.’
‘God, Matt!’ Robert finished his coffee, and thrust his cup aside. ‘What is all this about? I don’t believe you’re that desperate to see this girl again! And, at the risk of getting my head bitten off, what about Melissa?’
‘What about Melissa?’ Matthew pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘I must say, for someone who professes to care about me, you certainly like turning the knife.’
