Tiger's Eye

by Madeleine Ker

  ‘I’m sure that your friend in the yellow bikini will be waiting loyally when you get back.’

  ‘Why the drip of acid? Is this part of your general plan to stabilise my life-style for the benefit of Tracey and Terry?’

  ‘I’m not the interested in your life-style,’ she assured him. ‘But you did employ me to be your secretary.’

  ‘More fool me,’ he commented drily. ‘You’re a prig, a prude and a pain in the—’

  He bit back the word. She smiled blandly at him as they entered the house, which was cool after the hot sun.

  A group of people were talking noisily in the lounge, but they got past without being side-tracked and turned to go up the stairs. ‘

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT TOOK him longer than ten minutes to get through the problems posed by the man in Manchester. An hour and a half had gone by before he terminated the last call, and spun on the chair to face her.

  ‘Damn,’ he said with feeling. ‘And I was so relaxed before you called me.’ …….

  ‘I expect your friend in the yellow bikini is still waiting patiently,’ Leila reminded him, and couldn’t help adding I sweetly, ‘She looked like a very relaxing companion. '

  ‘Sally’s an old friend. Nothing like that whatsoever.'

  ‘Oh?’ Leila said politely.

  ‘Quite frankly, I was dying of tedium out there. '

  ‘That’s not very flattering to the poor girl,' Leila said.

  ‘It’s not her fault. She’s a nice enough person. It’s just that…’

  ‘She bores you?’

  ‘Most women do,’ he admitted, and rose to stretch taut muscles. The deep green eyes met hers, and Leila could almost feel the tension in them. ‘I never see to find a woman who’s both relaxing and interesting.'

  ‘Not even Katherine?’

  ‘Katherine’s the exception.’ He shrugged. ‘As for the rest … Sally in the yellow bikini is relaxing, but about as interesting as watching paint dry.’ He gave her a vinegary look. ‘Whereas you, for example, are definitely interesting. But about as relaxing as a little blonde viper.’

  ‘Vipers don’t have hair,’ she said, unable to suppress a snort of laughter at the image.

  ‘You’re beautiful when you smile,’ he said, watching her thoughtfully. ‘Why don’t you smile more often, Leila?’

  ‘I smile when I’m happy,’ she told him.

  ‘Well, you can’t be very happy in my company, because I never see you smile.’

  ‘I’m happy enough when I’m doing my job,’ Leila said. ‘I only get unhappy when I feel things getting out of control.’

  The telephone started ringing insistently, and she reached for it. .But he beat her to it, his strong fingers closing around her own. ‘I’ll take it.’

  The conversation was brief, Blaize’s gruff irritability clearly overawing the unfortunate person on the other end of the line. He put the receiver down hard, and glanced round the room with anger in his eyes.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he said softly, ‘I’d like to pull the plugs on all these machines, and just spend one afternoon of my life in peace.’

  Leila said nothing. She could understand his desire to be free of all this clutter. But she couldn’t see a solution.

  A man like Blaize couldn’t just walk out of his responsibilities. Too much depended on his making the right decisions, twenty-four hours a day. There were people at the other end of those fax and telex machines-people whose own lives and jobs depended on the profits that Blaize had to ensure.

  ‘There’s something built into the fabric of big business,’ Blaize said wearily, as if reading her thoughts, ‘which I call the Doomsday Factor. It’s a law that says there’s no middle area between expansion and contraction.’

  He looked down at her with a brooding expression. ‘An outfit the size of mine has to keep expanding. I’ve got to keep acquiring new companies, got to keep finding new areas to deploy the profits that my operations are already generating. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘Yes,’ Leila nodded, ‘I understand.’

  ‘At least a quarter of my workload is involved in finding suitable new avenues for investment, available businesses that will fit in with my present holdings, and complement the needs I’ve got. Ever played gin rummy? You start off with individual cards, and then assemble a sequence, trying to build up a pattern that makes some sense. That’s what big business is like. A process of wondering which cards to pick up, and which to put down . Except you never get to the point of throwing down your hand and winning.’

  He sounded so taut that Leila knew better than to needle him. ‘You’re winning all the time, surely?’ she said gently. ‘You must be making a mountain of money.’

  ‘Money’s a dangerous commodity.’ He shrugged. ‘It burns, Leila. You can’t leave the stuff lying around, because it just generates problems. You have to keep it working, or it works against you. And that means you have to keep working. Working, and employing others to work for you. Until it becomes a moot point as to whether you control your money, or your money controls you.’

  ‘You seem very much in control to me,’ she told him, staring up into the dark, handsome face. ‘What’s making you so dissatisfied?’

  He glanced at her, then laughed. ‘Sorry. Have I been doing the poor-little-rich-boy routine? Pay no attention. I’m getting senile, that’s all. But thanks for listening.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. I’m paid to listen,’ she reminded him briskly, and turned to walk back to her desk.

  She didn’t hear him come up behind her and she started as his strong arms slipped round her waist, drawing her back against his muscular body. ‘Oh, yes. I forgot,’ he said huskily, his mouth close to her ear.

  ‘Flesh and blood aren’t your line, are they? You only listen to me because you’re paid to.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ Her hands had closed around his arms to make him release her. But, instead of pulling free, she was snuggling back into his embrace, her own body contradicting her mind with mutinous obstinacy.

  Why couldn’t she resist his touch, damn it? Why was she starting to melt inside at his closeness?

  ‘How about a real challenge, Leila?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘For once in your life, just for today and tomorrow why not try and be interesting and relaxing, for my benefit? Just try not to upset me, or fight me, or answer me back, and I’ll give you marks out of ten when the weekend’s over.’

  She arched her neck back, knowing her silky hair would brush his face. ‘No, thank you,’ she declined.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because your idea of being interesting and relaxing doesn't fit in With mine,’ she said pointedly. ‘We’ve already proved that.’

  ‘I’m not talking about sex,’ he growled. He turned her round to face him, his smile wicked. ‘Though, heaven knows, nothing would do you more good than—’ His eyes told her exactly what he thought would do her most good, and Leila flushed.

  ‘Yes, I know exactly what you have in mind’ she said primly. ‘But if you’re not talking about that then what are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about coexistence. Can’t you bring yourself to be pleasant for once in your life?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she said stiffly. ‘If you’ll promise not to take advantage.’

  'Take advantage?’ For a moment she thought he was going to hit back with some retort, but he bit down the comment. ‘Very well,’ he decided, and let her go.

  Leila had to suppress her sigh as he released her. It was almost painful to be released from that possessive comforting embrace.

  ‘I don’t want you stuck in your room tonight,’ he added as he turned to go. ‘Get something smart on, and circulate.’

  ‘Is that an invitation to your party?’

  ‘You’re damned right it is,’ he grinned, and left her to her work. She turned to the screen, lost in thought.

  He really did seem to be on edge; sometimes the most c
asual things she said angered him, as though she’d got under his skin somehow.

  Unlikely, she reflected with a dry smile. It would need a harpoon to get under that rhinoceros hide . Business pressures where obviously getting to him. She'd almost have been tempted to call it a mid-life crisis, except that Blaize was not even forty, and as fit and strong a man as she’d ever known.

  Her fingers flew across the keyboard, writing up letters while her mind drifted on to other topics, a skill she’d developed long ago. What he’d told her this afternoon was something she’d already learned about big business―the relentless pressure to expand and achieve that sometimes made people crack, or turn to illegal ways of cutting the corners.

  That was something a woman like Katherine Henessey, who’d never worked in a business, and whose life had been one of ease and amusement, would never understand.

  She saw only the power and the glory, but not the way it ate up your time and your life.

  But Blaize’s annoyance with it all was just a passing thing, surely Someone with Blaize’s resources thrived on challenge and success. Blaize was a typical high achiever. Brilliant at everything he did, physically and mentally head and shoulders above the rest. The classical tycoon.

  Or was he? Blaize was superb, yes, but in some subtle way he was different from other top businessmen.

  Different from the sort of successful people she’d met through her work. More …

  More what? More human?

  Yes. All too human, she thought wryly. Right now, Blaize would be curling up with Sally in the yellowbikini.

  Boring or not, she looked as though she had what it took to make an hour or two pass away pleasantly.

  Leila swallowed down the acid spasm of jealousy. Why should she be bothered by the way Blaize was with women? If you had the power to keep conquering then why should you resign yourself to one woman? Sex ―like money, of course―was both a slave and a master. It kept some people running for most of their lives moving from one shallow experience to the next.

  She recalled what Blaize had said about how he found It so easy to make money that it was banal to him. Perhaps it was that way with his sexual conquests, too.

  Maybe that was the truth of it―that Blaize Oliver for all his success, simply didn’t have enough of a challenge in his life any more. He’d made it to the top in every sense, and now he was wondering where to go next.

  Where did you go from the top? The only way was down.

  Maybe I am better off than you, Mr. Blaize Oliver, she thought, turning to the big laser printer to make hard copies of her work. You’re a man on a treadmill. But, in a couple of weeks, I’ll be able to get off and you’ll be stuck on it.

  The evening-dress Leila picked had seen a lot of service over the past year, but she loved it. It was fairly minimal―sleeveless, with a low neckline and a hemline high enough to show her pretty knees―but its thoroughbred lines had come from one of the best young designers in London, and it had a charming oversized bow at her waist. And the colour, a shimmering blue, set off her colouring to perfection. She anointed her throat and temples with her current favourite perfume, Poison, and contemplated herself in the mirror.

  Not bad. When glossed with a wine-red lipstick, instead of the neutral shades she used through the day, her mouth took on a lush, velvety quality that was distinctly erotic. And when the tan eyeshadow was substituted with the smoky blue that enhanced, rather than toned down, her vivid aquamarine eyes, the total effect was startlingly different.

  Well, she shrugged mentally, she was going to be mixing with sixty-odd people tonight, including the flatteringly attentive lawyer, Jason Tennant, and there was no necessity to maintain that low profile she usually took such pains to cultivate. Discretion wasn’t necessary at a party!

  She looked sexy and desirable. And, wrong as it was, she couldn’t wait to see the look in Blaize Oliver’s eyes when he saw her. Just thinking about it made her feel momentarily weak.

  Before she went down to the party, which was already in full swing, to judge by the dozens of cars parked in the garden and the throbbing music that pulsed up the stairs, she paid a quick visit to Terry in his bedroom.

  He was sitting up, still flushed, but looking better. Tracey was cross-legged on his bed, playing him at draughts.

  ‘Gosh,’ Terry said, wide-eyed as Leila joined them on the bed. ‘You look … different!’

  ‘Well, it’s the same old me.’ She smiled. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her: green eyes, so like Blaize’s, flattering in their intensity. Like Tracey’s, his hair was chestnut and curly, and he had inherited traits from genes very different from Blaize’s. Their mother, she guessed, was a petite brunette with curly hair and olive skin. When he grew up, Terry was going to break a lot of hearts, like his father; but that would not be for a long time yet-he was still all little boy. ‘Who’s winning?’ she asked, nodding at the board.

  ‘Me,’ Terry said proudly. ‘She usually wins, but tonight it’s me.’

  Tracey said nothing, obviously uncomfortable at having Leila here. Leila laid her cool fingers on the boy’s cheeks and forehead.

  'You're a little cooler. Feeling any better?’

  'I've still got a headache.’ He frowned. ‘And I get so hot at night…’

  ‘It’ll go away,’ she soothed. ‘You’re getting better I can see that. In a few days you’ll be back on the beach and all this will be just a dream to you.’

  ‘You smell lovely,’ he sighed. ‘Like flowers’

  She smiled, and glanced at Tracey, who was in jeans and a T-shirt. ‘Aren’t you coming to the party?’ she asked casually.

  ‘I might do.’ Tracey shrugged, not lifting her long-lashed eyes. ‘Later, maybe.’

  ‘You’ll enjoy yourself. There are all sorts of lovely goodies to eat, too. I saw Mrs Saunders putting them out.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tracey said, in a fair imitation of her father’s non-committal grunt. ‘What’s that perfume you’re wearing?’

  ‘It’s called Poison.’ She held out her wrist to Tracey. 'Do you like It?’

  Tracey sniffed, and shrugged. ‘It’s OK. Better than the stuff Dad lets me buy.’

  ‘Borrow some of mine,’ Leila said easily, making it an olive-branch. ‘The bottle’s on my dressing-table.’

  She rose with a rustle of silk before the girl could think of a snub, and brushed the boy’s fringe away from his forehead. ‘Good luck with the rest of the game.’

  'Will you come and kiss me goodnight?’ the boy asked, looking up at her with those haunting green eyes.

  'If you like, she said, taken aback at the request. ‘I don t know what time it’ll be…’

  ‘I’m a light sleeper,’ he said. The phrase was so obviously borrowed from his father that Leila couldn’t repress a smile.

  ‘OK.’ She nodded. ‘Catch you later. I’m off.’

  She was conscious of his eyes following her wistfully as she let herself out. Poor little kid. Neither of them ever talked about their mother, she’d noticed. The topic was a taboo one, either because their father had forbidden it, or because it was too painful to discuss with outsiders. She’d have given a lot, though, to know what brother and sister said to each other in private …

  The first person she bumped into downstairs was Katherine Henessey. The kaftan had been replaced by a black evening-dress with more than a hint of Twenties glamour. A very elegant, very formal, very much mistress-of-the-house sort of dress. Katherine gave Leila a slow once-over, as though assessing just how much the blue dress had cost. Reassured that it hadn’t cost a tenth of what her own outfit had cost, she smiled without comment on Leila’s appearance.

  ‘Snacks in the diningroom, drinks in the lounge, dancing on the terrace,’ she said succinctly. ‘Eligible men everywhere.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Leila smiled. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘I’ll let you know if there is,’ Katherine informed her with cool eyes. ‘Why not have some fun for once?’

  �
��That sounds like a good idea.’ Realising that she was ravenous, Leila headed straight for the diningroom, intent on sustenance.

  There was a crush round the table, but a kindly middle-aged male got her a heaped plate of crab salad and a glass of wine, and she drifted out to the terrace, where, as Katherine had promised, twenty or more people were dancing tothe electronic beat of the latest best-selling album.

  There was no sign of Blaize, who was probably holding court in the lounge. But this was where the younger people had congregated. It didn’t take more than five minutes for a little group to have formed around her, consisting mainly of appreciative young men, and, before she’d had time to eat as much crab salad as she’d have liked to, she was being whisked across the terracotta tiles by an energetic young stockbroker who’d made it his mission in life to show her the latest disco steps.