The Temptation Trap

by Catherine George

  But once her light was out Rosanna found it hard to get to sleep. Ewen’s remarks about David had sewn seeds of doubt, and not for the first time since David’s departure to America Rosanna began to wonder about his social life there. Was there some reason for his failure to come home for a break? David invariably discussed his job during his brief calls, or the trout fishing he was so fond of. He was unfailingly affectionate, sometimes dog-tired, but always the same David. She would write to him tomorrow, thought Rosanna with sudden purpose, and instead of telling him what she did with her free time ask him about his. And suggest again it was time she went over to see him and share some of it.

  Ewen Fraser arranged delivery of a new computer with remarkable speed. It would be delivered that very evening, he informed her when she reported in on her first day.

  ‘Good thing you don’t have much furniture,’ panted Rosanna as she helped him rearrange the sofas to make room for the leather chairs. ‘These spoil the aesthetics in here a bit.’

  ‘Once we get a desk and the other computer in maybe they can go back. For now let’s keep the field clear,’ said Ewen. ‘Have some coffee first, then come out with me to look for a new desk. Are you game for a stroll? There’s an auction on at Bonham’s.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be working—these jeans aren’t very elegant,’ she said half-heartedly.

  Ewen gave her the look which always made her pulse quicken. ‘What does that matter? You look good to me. Besides,’ he added, suddenly brisk, ‘you’ll be the one working at the desk. I want to find one that suits you.’

  Rosanna was by no means averse to spending the morning with Ewen. It was very pleasant indeed to stroll along by the Thames along Cheyne Walk in the warm June sunshine. The undercurrent of sexual tension, which was never quite missing beneath the surface, merely added an extra dimension to the morning as they chatted and wrangled together as though they’d known each other years instead of weeks. And Rosanna was utterly fascinated with the famous auction house in Lots Road. They spent an engrossing hour going through furniture of every description, some of it not nearly as valuable, or expensive, as she’d expected. Eventually they settled on a solid Victorian pine table with original leather top and two handy drawers. They spotted a leather captain’s chair to go with it, and later on Ewen bid for both items and secured them for only a little more than the reserve price.

  By the time they’d eaten the pub lunch Ewen insisted on it was well into the afternoon before they got back to the house, but Rosanna settled at once to some research.

  ‘I’ll start as I mean to go on,’ she said firmly. ‘And you’d better get back to your computer, too, before your muse deserts you.’

  ‘You’re in bossy mode again,’ complained Ewen.

  ‘That’s right. You’d better get used to it. I’ll read and make notes down here while you get back to work.’

  Rosanna curled up on one of the sofas, and opened the book Ewen asked her to read first. It was quiet outside in the mews, where the houses were occupied in the main by smart young professional couples. Ewen’s home was very elegant, decided Rosanna, but she’d still prefer something in the country—a cottage with a garden where children could play. Not that her dream had any hope of coming true for a good few years yet. If ever. Rosanna sighed, and concentrated firmly on the wartime rigours of entrenched Flanders, making notes on a lined pad as she went.

  She came to with a start to the touch of Ewen’s hand on her shoulder, and looked up at him, blinking owlishly.

  ‘It’s six o’clock, Rosanna,’ he announced. ‘Enough for today.’

  ‘Is it that time already?’ She stood up, yawning. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Very well, surprisingly.’ He ran a hand through his hair, stretching mightily. ‘I’ll see you off, eat something while I wait for the computer, then have an early night. Tomorrow,’ he added with relish, ‘the real battle begins.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ She yawned again, and he chuckled and patted her shoulder.

  ‘I rang for a cab earlier. It should be here any minute.’

  ‘Thanks. Is nine all right in the morning? I’d like a run first.’

  ‘Whenever you like, Rosanna.’ Ewen saw her to the door as the bell rang. ‘Get a good night’s sleep.’ He stretched out a hand suddenly and ruffled her hair, the gesture as intimate as though he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her.

  ‘You too,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve enjoyed the day.’

  ‘So have I,’ he agreed softly, and Rosanna turned away quickly and ducked into the taxi, before Ewen realised how much she wanted to stay.

  After an interval of getting to grips with the unfamiliar computer Rosanna quickly settled into a routine she enjoyed from the first. She began on Ewen’s draft, amending errors as she went, checking dates and places and references, her mind soon able to make adjustments and enjoy the story simultaneously, and at the same time leave Ewen free to get on with the actual composition of the novel. And each afternoon they met up for a tea break to discuss the day’s work, and give Rosanna the opportunity to ask questions, and point out any discrepancies in the text.

  Since Ewen was now working at speed, relieved of any stoppages for reference, he was always way ahead of Rosanna, who worked at a slower pace, paying great attention to detail. But instead of working into the night Ewen began to keep more regular hours, rarely carrying on after Rosanna had gone home, other than to read the corrected drafts she’d printed out for him. And in consequence looked less exhausted and hollow-eyed. And more attractive than ever, thought Rosanna glumly, wondering if her help was giving him more time for a social life.

  Her own was non-existent. In the evenings she was invariably too tired to go out, which prompted much argument from Louise, who had sent the newest man of her dreams packing, as predicted.

  ‘You’ll turn into a hermit,’ warned Louise over the phone. ‘All work and no play isn’t right, Rosanna Carey. This author of yours is more of a slave-driver than the dreaded Charlie Clayton. On the other hand,’ she added curiously, ‘maybe it isn’t all work. Is there something you’re keeping from me? He’s supposed to be a bit of a lad with the girls—according to the gossip columns, anyway.’

  Rosanna scotched that theory before the idea took root in Louise’s brain, making it clear that the job was only temporary, to assist the author to a deadline, and Ewen Fraser wasn’t a slave-driver and she thoroughly enjoyed the work. ‘His private life is nothing to do with me. And the money he’s paying me is very generous,’ she added.

  Louise lost interest in Ewen Fraser and ordered her friend to come to a party at the flat the following weekend, before their friends began to wonder if Rosanna was still on the planet.

  ‘I’m not really in party mood,’ began Rosanna, but in the end gave in to Louise’s coaxing. ‘Oh, all right. Enough. I’ll come. How’s Paula getting on with the flat-hunting?’

  ‘Not terribly well. She can’t seem to find anything suitable.’

  ‘Well, tell her to get a move on,’ said Rosanna irritably. ‘She’s your chum.’

  ‘Gosh, you do sound crotchety,’ said Louise. ‘Keep your hair on. I’ll tell her. In the meantime buy a new dress and be here at eight on Saturday. I’ve got some very promising talent lined up.’

  Rosanna couldn’t raise a flicker of interest in Louise’s so-called ‘talent’. No one was likely to hold a candle to—to David.

  When David rang next Rosanna told him she was now working for an author instead of Charlie Clayton.

  ‘Just until I start school,’ she added brightly.

  David, who knew Charlie of old, was unsurprised to hear she’d packed in her job with him, and congratulated her on finding an employer who paid so well. Though Rosanna knew, in her heart of hearts, that David wouldn’t be quite so pleased if he met Ewen Fraser in person. Nor was he going to, if she could possibly manage it.

  ‘I’m earning enough to rise easily to an air ticket, by the way,’ she went on.
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  ‘Great!’ said David. ‘I’m working on some dates.’

  ‘So I don’t interfere with your trout fishing?’

  He laughed and promised to give her a definite date next time he rang.

  It was later than usual when Rosanna finished on the Friday evening. She went upstairs to the study to find Ewen, eyes glued to the screen and fingers racing over the keyboard, as usual.

  ‘I’m off now, Ewen,’ she said loudly.

  He swivelled round in his chair, blinking as he thrust a hand through his untidy hair. ‘Is it that time already?’ He looked at his watch, then scowled. ‘No, it damn well isn’t. You should have knocked off an hour ago, Rosanna.’

  ‘I wanted to leave off at a suitable point. I’ve left a pile of pages on the desk for you to look through over the weekend.’ She yawned involuntarily, then pulled a face. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I should be sorry, not you. Hang on a minute.’ Ewen transferred the day’s work to floppy disk, then switched off the machine and got up, smiling at her persuasively. ‘Right. Let’s have a drink before you go.’

  ‘No, thanks. I must get home.’

  ‘Why? Heavy date tonight?’

  ‘No. I’m a bit tired, that’s all. And distinctly scruffy!’ Rosanna smiled. ‘I need a bath and a good night’s sleep. I’m bidden to a party tomorrow.’

  Ewen followed her down the stairs. ‘Is that allowed?’

  ‘Allowed?’

  ‘Doesn’t the doctor object?’

  ‘Why should he? It’s something to write about in my next letter,’ she said shortly, and slung her bag over her shoulder.

  ‘Did you write about the time you dined with me?’ Ewen asked abruptly.

  ‘I told him about you, yes.’

  ‘And he doesn’t mind?’

  ‘No.’

  Ewen shook his head. ‘A bit of a saint, this doctor of yours, Rosanna. I can’t say I’d be so understanding in the same circumstances.’

  ‘I didn’t tell him I’d been out with you,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Just about working for you.’

  ‘Ah!’ Ewen caught her by the elbows and drew her towards him. ‘Why was that, I wonder?’

  Rosanna’s eyes dropped. ‘As it won’t happen again I saw no reason to mention it. That’s my taxi. Goodnight. I’ll see you Monday.’ She pulled away and walked to the door.

  ‘One moment, Rosanna.’ He opened the door for her. ‘Thank you for all your hard work. I’m grateful. By the way, where’s the party?’

  ‘At my very own flat. Friend Louise thinks I’m in danger of turning into a hermit.’ Rosanna smiled. ‘She’s sorted out some men she thinks I’ll find interesting.’

  ‘And will you?’

  ‘I won’t know until I meet them!’

  It was strange to go back to the flat like a visitor the following evening. Rosanna used her key to let herself into an atmosphere thick with cigarette smoke, the small sitting room crammed wall to wall with people talking at the tops of their voices above the strident music.

  ‘Rosanna,’ screeched Louise, who came pushing through the crowd in a see-through dress over what appeared to be a matching girdle and bra. Her blonde hair was carefully arranged to look as if she’d been out in a force-nine gale, and she was obviously having the time of her life. ‘You’re late,’ she accused. ‘Come and meet Dominic and Eddy.’

  Rosanna had fallen back on the little black dress again. She felt like a dowdy sparrow in a pen of peacocks as her friend towed her through the throng towards two elegant young men. Louise thrust a glass into her hand, introduced her, then left her to make conversation. Eddy was an actor, Dominic in advertising, both of them obviously much more interested in each other than in Rosanna. After a while she left them to it, and went to talk to people she knew. But to her dismay she soon found she was bored. Yet not so long before she would have been the life and soul of a party like this. She pulled herself together and did her utmost to sparkle, right up to the moment when the exquisite Eddy appeared in a blonde wig and one of Louise’s dresses to give his Dolly Parton imitation.

  ‘What’s up?’ hissed Louise when Rosanna told her she was leaving.

  ‘Headache,’ she lied. ‘I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

  Rosanna arrived home, wondering what on earth was wrong with her. Leaving a party halfway through was a first. Especially when there was nothing at all to get home for.

  Her only consolation was the winking red light on the telephone. She pushed the button eagerly, then sat down abruptly in the hall chair, appalled at the depth of her disappointment.

  ‘Out with your lover again?’ asked David cheerfully. ‘I just rang to tell you I’m off this weekend, fishing again, so don’t call back. I’ll ring you on Monday with the dates I promised.’

  A second message was from her mother. ‘Glad you’re out on Saturday night, darling. We may be staying on a while longer, but I’ll ring you tomorrow morning your time for a chat. Dad sends his love.’

  After hearing her mother’s voice Rosanna felt more blue than ever. But when a third message began she sprang to her feet, her spirits suddenly soaring.

  ‘Ewen here, Rosanna. I’m a bit stuck with the last part of the draft you did yesterday. Can you call me when you get in? I don’t mind how late it is. I can’t get on until I talk to you. Did you have a good time at your party?’

  Rosanna dialled Ewen’s number at once, then could have kicked herself when she heard the surprise in his voice.

  ‘Rosanna? Why are you home so early? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I just wasn’t in party mood.’

  ‘You were too damn tired,’ he said forcibly. ‘I’ve been working you too hard.’

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ she retorted. ‘You throw me out on the stroke of six whether I’ve finished or not.’

  ‘That’s never because I want you to go, Rosanna.’ The deepened, caressing note in his voice curled her toes in her strappy suede shoes.

  She took in a deep breath. ‘Anyway, you don’t work me too hard. Tonight I just didn’t feel like partying, I suppose.’

  ‘Does that happen often?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she lied shamelessly.

  ‘What about the company your friend was laying on for you?’

  ‘Love at first sight—with each other!’

  Ewen laughed. ‘Commiserations.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘With the draft,’ she said patiently.

  ‘Ah.’ He paused. ‘Actually there isn’t a problem. I just wanted to know when you got home.’

  Rosanna sat down again. ‘Why?’

  ‘I worry about you all alone in that house. I imagined some Romeo taking you home and trying—’

  ‘Now then, Ewen,’ she said sweetly. ‘Don’t judge everyone by yourself.’

  ‘I don’t. That’s the trouble. Most men would have tried to take things a damn sight further than I did, Rosanna.’

  Her mouth curved in a small, secretive smile. ‘Please don’t take this as a challenge, Ewen Fraser, but why the restraint?’

  ‘You won’t like it.’

  ‘Tell me just the same.’

  ‘I was tempted almost beyond endurance, but I still couldn’t forget you were Rose’s granddaughter.’

  She sighed. ‘I thought so. If I’d been someone else’s grandchild you’d have tried to take me to bed.’

  ‘And succeeded.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Yes, really!’ he mocked. ‘But you are who you are and I’m Harry’s great-nephew, so there we are. Checkmate.’

  ‘There are other reasons,’ she retorted. ‘David for one.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The doctor. I tend to forget him.’

  ‘I don’t. I’m going to marry him,’ she said tartly.

  ‘Ah, but when, Rosanna? This year, next year, sometime—?’

  ‘When the time’s right,’ she snapped, so crossly Ewen chuckled.

  ‘All right, Rosanna, I won’t
tease you any more. I’m just glad to know you’re home safe and sound. See you Monday.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  WHEN the call came through from Australia next day Rosanna assured her mother she was quite happy to carry on house-sitting indefinitely.

  ‘Paula hasn’t found anywhere else suitable yet, so she’s paying my share to Louise and I’m living here rent-free, plus the very generous money Ewen Fraser pays me. My finances are in good shape for once.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Ewen Fraser. How do you like working for him, darling?’

  Rosanna assured her mother the work was utterly fascinating, almost enough to make up for her own disappointment. ‘I was so sure I could write,’ she said ruefully. ‘But now I read Ewen’s story day by day I realise I could never achieve anything remotely similar.’

  In actual fact, working for Ewen had developed into a routine so pleasurable, routine was entirely the wrong word to describe it. Rosanna found the whole process of helping him so absorbing that she resented two whole days spent away from it at the weekend, and sometimes felt annoyed with Ewen when he called a halt each day, promptly at six, sometimes well before she wanted to finish.

  ‘Don’t flash those eyes of yours at me,’ he warned, one such evening. ‘It’s time to go home.’

  ‘I’d rather stay just until—’

  ‘No,’ he said inexorably. ‘If your parents come home to find you looking worn to shreds I’ll get the blame.’

  ‘Do I look so terrible, then?’ she demanded, closing down the computer.

  ‘No,’ he said curtly. ‘You don’t. And you’re not going to on my account.’ He walked with her to the door, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘Rosanna, could you bring yourself to do me a great favour?’

  ‘If I can,’ she said warily. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Are you by any chance free on Sunday?’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

  ‘My mother desires my presence at a lunch party.’ He smiled down at her coaxingly. ‘Come with me, Rosanna.’