'In that case you must lead a very lonely life, Zara. Which is a great shame.'
'On the contrary,' she retorted. 'My social life is fine, thank you very much.' Her voice had risen a little and she became aware that one or two people were looking at them, so she quickly smiled across the table and started a new conversation.
The meal seemed to go on interminably with a pudding and then cheese and biscuits before everyone could get up and move back into the drawing-room for coffee. Sir John came over and started chatting to her about the progress made after the conference and to thank her for a youth training course in textile design that her company was sponsoring.
'I took a similar course at night school,' Zara told him, 'and it was very helpful.'
He looked surprised. 'I thought for sure you must have taken a degree at college.'
'No, I never went to college.' Zara became aware of someone coming over to her with a glass of brandy as she spoke and half-turned to see Heath at her elbow.
He gave her rather a strange look and took Sir John's place as he went on to speak to others of his guests. 'You didn't go to university?' Zara shook her head. 'Fail your A-levels or something?'
'No, I didn't choose to go.'
He frowned. 'But I thought…' Then he gave a rather angry shake of his head. 'It hardly matters now. So how did you come to be head of Webster & Layston—by taking evening-class courses?' he asked incredulously.
Deciding this didn't come under the heading of business so she needn't scream, Zara answered, 'Mostly. But Mr Webster taught me a great deal.'
'And where is Mr Webster now? Did you buy him out?' Heath asked with an edge of sarcasm in his tone that Zara didn't like.
Her chin came up. 'No. As a matter of fact he retired. He got marri…' She broke of as some of the guests raised their voices, asking their host to play the piano for them, and after a little more persuasion he moved across to the baby grand in one corner of the large room. My God, Zara thought, I've come to an amateur talent night!
Beside her she heard Heath laugh. 'You should see your face,' he whispered in her ear.
Zara hastily schooled her features but gave him a dark look under her lashes as she sat down in the chair he pulled forward for her, bringing another forward so that he could sit down next to her. She quite expected to be bored out of her mind listening to an amateur trying to play classical music for the next hour, and wondered how soon she could decently make her excuses and escape. Her heart sank as Sir John played a few bars of very sombre music, his face solemn, but then he gave a big grin and broke into jazz. He was good, too, playing like a professional and improvising as he went along.
With an inward sigh of relief, Zara relaxed in her chair, her foot beginning to tap in time with the music. She had always loved jazz, but it was ages since she had listened to any. When any of the men she knew took her to a concert it always seemed to be to classical music, which she liked well enough, but jazz made her feel young again. A sad look came into Zara's face; sometimes, at the most stupid moments, she felt deep regret for the youth she had lost, a youth that had ended so abruptly when Heath had ditched her and she had married Christopher. From then on it had been all work, there hadn't been any play at all, and even now, when she was taken out to concerts and night clubs, she didn't always enjoy herself; more often than not her thoughts would return to ideas and plans she had for Panache, thoughts that she ought to have left behind her at the office but never could.
Heath moved beside her, making her remember that he was to blame for the change in her life that had so ruined her youth, and she shot him a look of such venomous hatred that his eyes widened in shocked astonishment. But the next instant Zara had looked away, her features under control again.
Sir John went on playing for about half an hour, but she was too conscious of Heath sitting beside her to enjoy it any more. As soon as he stopped, refusing to play any longer, Zara stood up to take her leave, as did two other couples. Her thanks to Sir John and Lady Ward were rather stilted—how could they be otherwise when she knew that she had only been invited at Heath's request? Lady Ward came downstairs with them and while the maid was fetching her coat Zara asked if she could use the phone to call a taxi.
But Heath had followed them down the stairs and said, 'No need for a taxi, I have my car outside.'
'Thank you, but I wouldn't dream of troubling you,' Zara said coldly.
'It's no trouble at all. It would be a pleasure.'
She shot him an angry glance. 'I don't want to take you out of your way.'
Heath's lips twitched. 'You don't know which is my way,' he pointed out softly.
'Nor you mine,' she shot back at him.
'Please, I insist,' he said, raising his voice again, and Zara realised that to go on arguing in the hallway like this was making them look ridiculous. So she had to nod resentfully and let him help her on with her coat. His car, a Mercedes sports saloon, was parked a short way down the road. The pavements were icy, but Heath made no attempt to hold her arm, sensing that she would reject any help, but he held the door for her as she angrily got in.
'Where to?' he asked, getting in beside her.
'Chelsea,' she snapped.
It didn't take long to pull up outside her building. Zara said, 'Thanks,' and made to get out, but Heath caught her wrist.
'Why are you so mad at me?' he demanded.
'I should have thought that was obvious. I don't like being—manipulated. Being asked out to dinner under false pretences.'
'I suggested we have dinner together myself, but you just ignored me. How else was I to get to see you?'
'Maybe the fact that I ignored your invitation should have told you that I wasn't interested in seeing you again,' Zara retorted.
'Why not? Just what is it you think you've got against me, Zara?'
She stared at him speechlessly for a moment, then bit back the angry words of hatred and said shortly, 'I told you; I make a point of not having any social connections with people I do business with.'
Again she tried to get out of the car, but Heath still held her wrist, and he also was becoming angry now. 'But you have no intention of giving my agency your contract, have you?' he demanded brusquely.
True to her threat, Zara opened her mouth and began to scream, but he quickly put his hand over it to silence her. His angry dark eyes glared down into hers for a moment, then he gave a muttered curse and replaced his hand by his mouth.
Surprise held Zara rigid for a few seconds, but then a flame of fury fiercer than any emotion she had ever known seared through her and she tried to jerk her head away. But Heath had put a hand behind her neck and was holding her captive to his mouth. She tried to struggle and push him away, hitting out at him with a strength grown out of anger and outrage. Her fist connected with the side of his face and he gave a grunt of annoyance against her mouth, but then his arms went round her, crushing her to him so that she couldn't struggle any more, could only hold herself in rigid fury as his kiss deepened. The hard insidiousness of his lips began to get to her and in desperation Zara tried to bite him, but he bent her head back and forced her to open her mouth beneath his, his greater strength dominating her into a rebellious surrender that made her hate him all the more.
His lips ravaged hers in unhurried violation, exploring at their will, bringing back memories from the past that she could never forget, no matter how hard she tried. And it seemed that this was just what Heath intended, for when he finally raised his head he said roughly, 'Now do you remember me?'
Zara stared at him in the dim light of the car, her breath ragged with anger and hate. 'Yes,' she said fiercely, 'I remember you. How could I do otherwise? You haven't changed a bit!'
'Then why pretend you didn't know me?'
But she wasn't going to be drawn into that argument. If he hadn't kissed her she would never have admitted it. 'I'm going in,' she told him forcefully. 'And if you try to stop me I'll—I'll…'
'Do what? Try to scream a
gain?' Heath's hand went to her neck to remind her of what had happened the last time.
'Take your rotten hands off me!' she spat at him.
He stared at her, slowly lowering his hand. 'Zara, I don't understand. Why are you…?'
'Don't you? Then maybe your memory isn't so good after all.' Quickly she got out of the car, immune to the icy wind that blew her hair around her head, and slammed the door, then turned and ran into the entrance to her building, her furious hands fumbling for the key. Behind her she heard Heath's door slam and turned to see him coming after her, tall and menacing in his dark overcoat.
'Zara, this is crazy,' be began. 'Why are you…?'
But in panic she had pushed the door bell and the night porter came quickly to open it, looking at her in surprise. 'Forget your key?'
'No. I… My hands were so cold.'
She walked quickly inside, but the doorman barred the way to Heath. 'Is this gentleman with you, Miss Layston?'
Heath opened his mouth to speak, but Zara said hurriedly, 'No, he isn't. Please don't let him in.' Then she gave Heath one last look of scorching dislike before turning on her heel and running up the stairs to her flat, too angry to even wait for the lift.
Once inside the haven of her own home, she locked and bolted the door as if shutting out his physical presence could shut Heath out of her thoughts. But it couldn't of course, nothing could do that. She slumped down into a chair, still angry at the humiliating way he had kissed her. How dared he? Did he still think she was some little schoolgirl he could win over by that rough, masterful approach? If he thought for one minute that… Her thoughts broke suddenly and she put her hands up to her face. Oh God, how she had longed for his kisses when he went away. She would have given anything, anything! for him to have held her again, even as forcefully as he had tonight. Whenever Christopher had kissed her in the following years she had wished it was Heath, she just couldn't help herself. So she had tried to avoid his kisses, but he had forced her to submit and so had seen the truth in her eyes. Then anger and jealousy had made Christopher cruel, had made him do unspeakable things that had killed the guilt that kept her as his wife.
Other men, kind men, good-looking men, had kissed her since and Zara had enjoyed it to a degree, because it was pleasant to be desired, to be admired, but no man's kisses had ever had the same effect on her. None had sent her senses whirling with desire, had created an electric spark that made her come alive when he touched her, had set her heart on fire with anticipation and excitement. Even though at times, when she was driven to desperation by frustration, she had deliberately tried to find such a man, there had been no one. Often she didn't even need to kiss a man to know that it wasn't any good, and now she had learned to live with frustration, to conquer it and channel her energies into her work.
But now Heath had come back into her life and with one kiss melted the thick wall of ice she had built to protect her buried emotions.
Zara sat in the chair for a long time, trying to regain her poise, trying to rebuild her shattered defences, but in the end she had to admit to herself that nothing was going to be the same again. But above all other emotions there was hatred for Heath, that and the fierce need to hurt him as he had hurt her. Getting up, Zara began to pace about the room, thinking. Not giving Heath the Panache contract would be a blow to him, but a very small one that he could ride with ease.
It was hardly the hurt that she had in mind. She wanted to deal him a blow that he would remember always, from which it would take him a very long time to recover, if he recovered at all.
Putting her trained mind to work on the problem, she went over to her desk and made a few notes, the tension in her face slowly relaxing as she began to see what she could do.
The next morning Mac was given some orders that made him raise his eyebrows. 'You want me to find out about Masterson's personal life as well as how his business is doing?' he asked in surprise.
'That's what I said,' Zara answered crisply.
Her secretary gave her a searching look. 'That's going a bit far, isn't it? I mean, it's all very well to find out whether a firm you intend to do business with is solvent, but to pry into the boss's private life is…'
'Mac,' Zara broke in, her tone a warning, 'just see to it, will you?'
He gave her a long, speculative look, wondering what she was up to, but knew that there was no arguing with her when she had that determined thrust to her chin. 'Okay, I'll put the investigation agency on to him.'
'Good. And tell Colin Royle I want to see him, will you, please?'
Colin was in her office within five minutes. 'Made up your mind which of the agencies you're going to use for the Game, Set and Match promotion?' he asked at once, putting two big folios on her desk.
'Yes. I'm going to use Masterads after all.'
He stared at her in astounded surprise. 'But—but you said you didn't want them!'
'I know what I said, but now I've changed my mind,' Zara replied offhandedly.
'But you never change your mind once you've made it up! Why, that's—that's downright feminine!'
Despite herself, Zara couldn't help smiling at the consternation in his face. 'I'm very sorry,' she said contritely. 'But you did recommend the Masterad outline, didn't you?'
'Why yes, but…'
'So I've decided to follow your advice. You can phone them and tell them we've decided to give them the contract. Then you'd better get together with them and work out the final details as soon as possible. Keep me informed at every stage, won't you?'
Colin gave her a puzzled, slightly suspicious look. 'Yes, of course. But don't you want to be in on planning the campaign? You usually do.'
Zara shook her head. 'I'm quite sure you're capable of handling it. Just let me know what you've decided, all the details.'
Colin shrugged, but nodded, realising that having to report back to Zara all the time was going to mean twice as much work for him. He wondered what had got into her; she seemed to be acting completely out of character over this Masterads business.
When he had gone Zara sat back in her chair, satisfied with what she had set in hand. It would extend Heath's company quite a bit to undertake this contract, but would give him the confidence to extend himself even more when she dangled the contract to advertise her expansion into household goods under his nose. She was, in fact, setting a sprat to catch a mackerel. When Heath fell she wanted him to land with such an almighty thud that he would never get up again. That giving him the contract would probably bring her into Heath's company again was the price she would just have to pay to gain his ultimate downfall.
The first she heard from him was a letter acknowledging the terms of the contract and thanking her for giving it to his agency. The usual things. But what wasn't so usual was the basket of yellow roses he sent round to her flat. They arrived on a day when snow was falling and the traffic in central London was completely snarled up. Her taxi had been caught in a jam for so long that in the end Zara had abandoned it and walked home the rest of the way.
'These flowers came for you, Miss Layston,' the porter told her. 'Make a nice bit of colour on such a terrible day, don't they?'
'They certainly do,' Zara agreed, her spirits brightening. But her feelings changed completely when she opened the card and read, 'Thanks for proving me wrong. Won't you waive your principles just once and have dinner with me tonight? Heath.' And below his name was a phone number that she guessed was his home. Her face hardening, she said, 'I hear your wife has the 'flu.'
'Yes,' the porter agreed. 'She's been bad all this last week. Feeling very low, she is.'
Zara smiled at him. 'Well, why don't you give her these roses? Perhaps they'll cheer her up a little.'
'Are you sure, miss? Oh, she'll be right pleased with them. Loves flowers, the missus does.'
Walking away from his continued thanks, Zara went up to her flat, the card still in her hand, her thoughts angry. Did Heath really think she was going to change her mind and go out w
ith him? Surely she had made it clear that she wanted nothing more to do with him ? But that was before she had given his agency the contract, she realised. If she had changed her mind about that then maybe it was right for him to expect her to change her mind about going out with him, too. Well, he could think again. Zara tossed his card into the waste paper basket and went into the bathroom to shower and change into more casual clothes.
She had no plans for the evening; Richard was due to fly to the Middle East on business that day, and although she could quite easily have called any of half a dozen men to suggest going out to dinner, she didn't bother, preferring to have an evening at home. After putting on a pair of cream leather trousers that fitted as snugly as a glove and a soft sweater over them, Zara went into the kitchen to fix herself something to eat. Her housekeeper kept the fridge plentifully supplied, but when she ate alone Zara preferred to eat simply, an omelette or a salad or something. Tonight, because it was so cold outside, she decided on soup and a prawn omelette with a side salad and had just begun to make it when the doorphone rang. There was a camera built into the main entrance with a small screen by her front door so that Zara could see who was waiting outside. Switching it on, she was surprised to see Richard's face looking up at her. 'Come on up,' she exclaimed into the phone, and waited until he came to her front door. 'Richard! I thought you were on your way to Bahrein?'
'Hallo, darling.' He gave her a warm kiss. 'The airport is snowbound—no flights until tomorrow at least. So I thought I'd come round and spend the evening with you, if that's okay.'
'Of course. Have you eaten? I'm just going to make myself something.'
'All I've had is an airport cafeteria snack. All the passengers were just sitting around for hours waiting for the weather to clear, then we were told it's all off for today. There's nothing I hate more than sitting around waiting. Such a waste of time.'
He had followed Zara into her sitting-room and without asking she went to the drinks tray and poured him a large whisky and soda. 'Here, perhaps this will help.'
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