The Innocent and the Playboy

by Sophie Weston

  But from the amused way Rick di Stefano watched her throughout her brief introduction Rachel was almost certain that he had detected her strategy. He had found her out and, from the way he toasted her silently with his water glass, was amused by it. Maybe even impressed.

  For a moment Rachel almost faltered. Rick di Stefano’s amusement increased. Hurriedly she pulled herself together and went on.

  The questions came on as she’d expected, in roughly the order she’d expected. She took them all, dealing with them as she had planned. Then came the key one.

  ‘But I can’t see how we can pay for it. How will we fund this?’

  Tread carefully, Rachel; here come the eggshells, she thought. She avoided Riccardo di Stefano’s eye even harder.

  ‘A good question, Mr Barron,’ she said to the questioner. ‘My proposal is that we take funds away from the Eastern European section and put that on a care and maintenance basis. You will see—’ she flipped up a chart on the projector ‘—we have been losing money in that area for some years. I know we all think it is an investment in the future but, with the position as it is, we have to look at nearer horizons. At least for the moment.’ She looked around. ‘But I’m open to any alternative suggestions.’

  Rick di Stefano said lazily, ‘What about if you just got more money?’

  Rachel folded her lips together. ‘Since the purpose of this meeting is to find how to avoid a takeover, I don’t see that as a serious question, Mr di Stefano.’

  It was the first time her diplomacy had deserted her in a gruelling couple of hours. Philip looked at her, horrified.

  He stood up, saying, ‘I’m sure it was a serious question if Mr di Stefano asked it, Rachel. Perhaps—’

  Rachel was so angry that she looked directly at Rick di Stefano for the first time. ‘We’ve borrowed as much as we can support. If we go for any more we’ll have to pay higher interest or pledge assets—either way, our existing lenders will get worried. As I explained. If you’ve got any options to suggest—apart from selling out, that is—I’d be happy to hear them.’

  Rick di Stefano took no notice of Philip either. He gave a low laugh. He seemed to be enjoying himself hugely. ‘Some well-wisher might lend you the money.’

  ‘Without additional security? Or taking shares?’ Rachel was scornful. ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘Rachel!’ Philip sounded almost frantic. ‘Rick, look, maybe we should take a break and think about this.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Gray has plenty of thoughts, Phil.’ He sounded unoffended, even intrigued. ‘Do you want a breather, Mrs Gray?’

  ‘No,’ snarled Rachel.

  ‘I thought not,’ he murmured. ‘Now let us suppose that I, for example, might be willing to lend you the money to fund the change of direction you’re talking about here. What would you say?’

  ‘What?’ Philip sank limply back in his chair. He looked stunned. He was not the only one, including di Stefano’s own team.

  Only Rachel and di Stefano stayed cool. Rachel was wary, while di Stefano was relaxed and maddeningly uninvolved.

  ‘Well?’ he prompted.

  Since it was clear that Philip and the others were in no state to answer him, Rachel said, ‘Why?’

  He laughed aloud at that. ‘Mrs Gray, you are a delight.’

  That brought Rachel’s chin up. ‘If you are asking me to hypothesise something inherently ridiculous,’ she said in her most prissy voice, ‘you have to give me a reason why I should waste my time.’

  ‘So I see.’ The irony was back. Along with something else. Rachel did not know what it was but she was sure it did not bode well for her. ‘Well, let us say that I like Bentley’s management style more than I expected. Will that do?’

  Seeing the no which was forming on Rachel’s lips, Philip rushed into speech.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ he said heartily. ‘You can do a simulation on the basis of borrowed funds, can’t you, Rachel? Do you want to go and put it in the computer?’

  ‘I don’t need a computer,’ Rachel said evenly.

  She looked down at her painfully composed slides and picked up a marker. ‘You assume increased inflow of another—what shall I say, Mr di Stefano? One million?’

  ‘One million seems reasonable,’ he agreed gravely.

  The board gave a collective gasp. You could feel the level of hope rising, Rachel thought. Why could they not see what he was doing? She put a slash through both totals so heavily that she broke the point of her marker.

  She went on, ‘On the balance sheet you increase borrowing. On the outflow side you use it by retaining the East European desk, maybe add a little lending.’ She picked up a fresh marker and adjusted those totals too. ‘So the assets go up a little. The liabilities go up a lot. And none of the new business will bring in any profit in this year.’ She looked round. ‘And may I remind you, gentlemen, it is this year which is critical?’

  She must look like a small animal at bay in front of her projector, Rachel thought. A small animal, helpless to turn the herd from its self-destructive course. The board had scented reprieve when, only this morning, it had been expecting extinction. They were not going to question Riccardo di Stefano’s motives in offering them this last-minute rescue. And nothing Rachel could say would make them ask themselves what was in it for him.

  Oh, he was clever. Presumably this was how he’d made his millions in the first place. Walk in, terrify the board and management, then offer them a little hope; then, later, however many months later it took, gobble them up. Why on earth was she the only one to see it?

  Across the room, her furious eyes met his. It was a mistake. It was a mistake of incalculable proportions. His eyes were as green as glass. He smiled.

  Her heart lurched up into her throat and then down to the centre of the earth. She thought, He knows. She stopped arguing.

  Rachel escaped to her office while the rest of the board was still gathering round Riccardo di Stefano, telling him what a wise investment he had just made. If only they knew exactly how wise, Rachel thought cynically. But the bank was the last thing on her mind after that shocking moment of eye contact. Her mouth was dry and her head was pounding like a smith’s hammer.

  ‘Hi,’ said Mandy, looking up. ‘Did they buy your reconstruction?’

  ‘At a price,’ said Rachel grimly.

  She picked up a bottle of mineral water from Mandy’s desk, hauled off the top and drank a long draught straight from the bottle.

  Mandy stared. She had never seen Rachel do anything like that before. Also, there were droplets of water on the second-best jacket lapel. That could only mean one thing: Rachel’s hands were shaking.

  ‘High price?’

  Rachel lowered the bottle and wiped a hand across her mouth. ‘The highest.’

  ‘For you or the bank?’ said Mandy prosaically. She did not believe in identifying with her employers.

  Rachel gave a little laugh which broke in the middle. ‘I wish I knew.’

  She shot into her room and closed her door, only to open it a moment later.

  ‘If anyone calls, I’ve gone. If anyone turns up here, I’ve gone.’

  Quite bemused, Mandy nodded.

  She was not bemused for long. A tall and gorgeous predator strolled into her office and paused at her desk. ‘Mrs Gray’s office? Don’t tell me. She’s just gone into conference.’

  ‘Er—no,’ said Mandy, thinking that corporate raiders should not be allowed to have warm, green-flecked eyes that made your spine turn to treacle. Manfully, she recalled her instructions. ‘I think she’s gone for the day.’

  Riccardo di Stefano gave a crack of laughter. ‘She’ll regret that,’ he said with confidence, and made his leisurely way through Rachel’s door before Mandy could stop him.

  Rachel was divesting herself of the checked jacket when the door opened. She did not immediately look round. Not, that was, until a voice said in accents of unholy glee, ‘Gone for the day? Not worthy of you, Rachel. Really not worthy. You must h
ave known I’d check.’

  Rachel spun round from the cupboard, her expression unguarded. Riccardo was leaning back against the door as if he were some waterfront bum propping up the nearest wall for lack of anything better to do. A waterfront bum with a nasty streak, she corrected herself mentally. One who was not going to move out of the way except in his own good time.

  ‘Check?’ she said mechanically. ‘Why should you?’

  ‘Secret of my success. Never take anything on trust. Particularly where women are concerned.’

  Rachel stood stock-still. She was fighting to stay in control. No matter what she thought she had seen in his eyes back there, there was no proof yet that he remembered anything. Work on the assumption that he is still fishing, she told herself. ‘I’m sure it’s an excellent strategy.’

  ‘It works for me,’ he said lightly. But his eyes were not light.

  In her shock at his entrance she had half pulled the front of her blouse out of her skirt. Now her hands began to twist unconsciously in the loose stuff. He took in the signs of agitation. The silence lengthened.

  ‘Well, Rachel,’ he said at last, ‘it’s been a long time.’

  Rachel felt as if the floor had dropped out of her well-built office. She adopted her most wooden expression. ‘I’m afraid I’m not with you.’

  ‘Same old Rachel,’ he said tolerantly. ‘Beautiful manners and a stone wall behind them. Still we both know the stone wall comes down in the end, don’t we?’

  She did not answer. She could not.

  He added in a thoughtful voice, ‘I should have known you’d go far. I don’t know why I never thought of looking for you in the financial world. It was obvious that was where you’d end up, with your father to back you.’

  Rachel just stopped herself wincing.

  ‘You know, that was a really good pitch you ran just now.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said in a stifled voice.

  His smile grew. ‘Never let the punter know he’s being marketed to,’ he reminded her softly.

  So he did remember. Suddenly there was no longer any way she could pretend that she did not understand him. Rachel felt herself whiten.

  He was impatient suddenly. ‘You look as if you’re about to face a firing-squad. Sit down, for God’s sake.’

  She did.

  ‘That’s better.’ He strolled forward and propped himself on the corner of her desk, looking down at her with undisguised speculation. ‘Little Rachel McLaine. Well, well, who would have thought it?’

  Rachel was not playing the social reminiscence game with him. ‘Thought what?’

  For a moment he looked disconcerted. Then he gave a soft laugh. ‘Stop glaring at me. This isn’t the Villa Azul. Or do you want to call me a playboy again?’

  She was cold with shock inside. But that had been nine years ago and these days Rachel’s armour was better. She leaned back in her big swivel chair and crossed one slim leg over the other. ‘Does that still rankle?’

  Riccardo’s eyes still had green flecks in them. Rachel could see them because he was much too close. They still crinkled at the corners when he was amused, too.

  ‘Every day,’ he told her solemnly.

  Rachel did not want to amuse him. She looked away, biting her lip. ‘I’m sorry. That was a fatuous thing to sway.’

  He smiled. ‘Not at all. Nobody likes to be called a playboy. Especially as it was what my father was saying regularly at the time. It rankled all right.’

  ‘Then I apologise.’

  ‘Why should you? As far as you know, it was true.’

  ‘Not from what I read in the papers,’ Rachel admitted ruefully.

  He leaned even closer. ‘You’ve been reading my press?’ His tone sounded dangerously personal.

  Rachel drew back a little. ‘We keep a cuttings file on important people. Directors, shareholders, main customers—that sort of thing. The big cheeses in general.’

  Riccardo was not best pleased. He pulled a face. ‘I don’t think I’ve been called a big cheese before.’

  ‘Not to your face, maybe.’

  Faint annoyance crossed his face. ‘You don’t change, do you, Rachel? Still saying it to their faces.’

  ‘Tell the truth and shame the devil,’ she said flippantly.

  ‘Meaning me?’

  After what she had been thinking about him earlier, she almost jumped. There was a shocked pause. Then she shrugged. ‘If the cap fits...’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘So I’m still cast as the devil, am I, even after all these years?’

  This time Rachel was not quite quick enough to censor her own reaction.

  There was no point in trying to disguise her hostility. She said coldly, ‘Well, you were hardly my guardian angel, were you? What do you expect?’

  For a moment he did not speak. When he did, it was on a note of discovery. ‘You blame me.’

  She had given herself away. She made a desperate attempt to retrieve her mistake. ‘It was so long ago—’

  ‘You blame me.’

  She moved restlessly in her chair. ‘That’s a very dramatic way of putting it. I prefer to say I don’t feel much affinity with you.’

  That amused him. ‘Then things have changed indeed. As I recall it, affinity was the one thing we really had. By the truck-load.’

  I will not blush, Rachel thought. She was furious. I will not.

  She said curtly, ‘Then our memories differ.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  He considered her. From another man, in another place, with a different history between them, that look would have been almost caressing. From Riccardo, it was sheer, unmitigated provocation. Rachel felt the hair on the back of her neck rise.

  ‘It seems so.’

  He shifted. At once she tensed. She could not help it. Riccardo saw it, of course. She saw him take note, thoughtfully, and then store it away for future use.

  ‘Then we should discuss it, don’t you think? Have dinner with me.’

  ‘No.’ It was pure instinct. It did not even pretend to ordinary social courtesy.

  His reaction was unexpected. Oh, she remembered that too. He had never been predictable, had he? He should have been offended by her instantaneous rejection. Instead he looked even more thoughtful. If anything it seemed to please him.

  He stood up and turned. He was not touching her—the desk between them would have been too wide, even if he had tried—and he showed no sign of attempting it. But Rachel scooted her chair back as far as it would go. Inside she was trembling as she had not trembled for nine years.

  ‘You misunderstand. It was not an invitation.’ His voice was pleasant. He even smiled.

  Rachel was incredulous. ‘You’re ordering me to have dinner with you?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think we need go that far, do you? You’re a clever lady. You can read the subtext.’

  She was so outraged that for a moment she forgot her inner tremors. She stood up and looked him straight in the eye. ‘And the subtext is that my job depends on seeing you socially?’

  He threw back his head and laughed. His throat was long and tanned. She remembered that too. Out of sight, Rachel’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.

  ‘I don’t think it will be very social, do you?’

  She said stonily, ‘You haven’t answered my question. Do I lose my job if I turn you down?’

  ‘Of course not. That’s illegal, isn’t it? Even in this backward country.’ His eyes started to dance. ‘Have you got your office bugged, by any chance?’

  She said nastily, ‘Up to now I’ve never thought of it.’

  He pursed his lips in a silent whistle. ‘Biting. Very biting. You really don’t think much of me at all, do you, Rachel McLaine?’

  ‘Gray. My name is Rachel Gray these days.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ That did not seem to amuse him quite so much. ‘I can’t wait to meet Mr Gray.’

  ‘My husband is dead,’ Rachel told him quietly.

  Riccardo’s e
yes were hard. ‘Then it will just be you and me at dinner.’

  ‘I said no.’

  ‘And I said it’s part of your professional responsibilities.’

  Their eyes clashed. Rachel drew a long shaky breath.

  ‘Get out of my room.’ Her voice was so quiet that it was almost a whisper. ‘Unless you want to find yourself on the wrong end of a sexual harassment charge, don’t come back.’

  They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Rachel’s challenge seemed to hang in the air, like an echo. She was shaking visibly now. She was beyond caring. Riccardo’s expression was unreadable.

  She said, ‘I’m not eighteen years old and friendless any more. This time I’m fighting back.’

  Riccardo stiffened. For a moment he seemed to have turned to stone. If she had not known that he was invulnerable on all fronts, she would have said she had landed a body-blow.

  He did not say anything but his eyes narrowed to slits of ice. Rachel stood her ground proudly. Then he made an odd abrupt sound, half-laugh, half-protest. And, while she still stood there braced for a blasting from a man who was famous for it, he turned on his heel and walked out.

  The light was on in the kitchen when Rachel got home. She went in. Hugh was sitting in the same place she had left him this morning. This time he was munching his way through a sandwich the size of a doorstop. Rachel put down her briefcase and cast her eyes to heaven.

  ‘Heavy day,’ he said with a grin. ‘Couldn’t wait for supper. Even if there is any.’

  Rachel jumped guiltily. ‘What’s in the fridge?’

  ‘One old lettuce and three eggs,’ Hugh reported without having to look. He waved the sandwich. ‘This is the last of the cheese.’

  Rachel laughed but she was remorseful. ‘I’m a rotten provider.’

  ‘You could always provide take-away pizza,’ he suggested. Hugh adored pizza.

  ‘What about Lexy’s diet?’

  ‘She says she’s not eating with you any more,’ Hugh reported. ‘She went to her room. She can have the lettuce,’ he added generously.

  Rachel sighed. ‘Battle still on?’