‘Which have been eliminated. They weren’t doing their job.’ He shrugged one elegant shoulder and her eyes widened.
There was a hesitant knock on the door and Tony entered, carrying two cups of coffee on a tray, along with some biscuits which he had respectfully placed on a small flowery saucer.
Wow, she thought, biscuits! He really was going allout. She glanced across at James, who gave her a dry, comprehending look, and she looked away, unhinged by that flash of telepathic understanding that had sparked between them. How could she have forgotten that intuitive empathy they had shared?
‘Has Mr Forrester—James—explained what he wants?’ Tony asked, sitting back down after James had accepted the cup of coffee and declined the biscuits. Claire noticed that she hadn’t been offered a biscuit, an unconscious oversight on Tony’s part, which was a shame since her stomach was beginning to rumble with hunger.
‘I haven’t given her any details,’ James said smoothly. ‘I thought that I’d leave that to you. You can give her the technical info far better than I could.’
Tony puffed up at that and obediently launched into what the deal would involve and where she would fit in.
‘And the best part of it,’ he ended by saying, with a huge, satisfied grin on his face, ‘for you at any rate, is that you’ll be the one going along with James to work on the details. It’ll mean a week or so out of the office, but that’s no problem.’
It took a moment for what Tony had said to sink in, then she sat up in her chair, startled.
‘Go along…? With…?’
‘Me..’ James filled in drily. ‘To Paris. My secretary has already worked out the details.’
Tony was beaming. His grin was so wide that at any minute she suspected that his face would crack in two. She wasn’t grinning, though. She sat there, feeling cornered.
‘I can’t just drop everything that I’m doing…’ she protested a little desperately.
‘Permission granted,’ Tony grinned. ‘Besides, you’re nearly through with that bicycle advert, aren’t you?’
She nodded despairingly and he inclined his head as if to say, Well, that’s all right, then.
‘You leave the day after tomorrow,’ he informed her expansively, while James surveyed her calmly and in silence. ‘I trust you have no further objections?’
‘I may have other plans,’ she protested weakly, and he shot her a dark look.
‘Of course,’ Tony continued, all business now, ‘I dare say you’ll need a slightly different wardrobe from the one you’re accustomed to wearing to work.’
Claire looked down at her trousers and short-sleeved shirt. She never wore anything expensive or dressy to work, not in her job, which was just as well since she possessed precious few things along those lines anyway.
‘This is all I have,’ she said with a certain amount of satisfaction. ‘Perhaps someone more suitable could take my place.’
‘Nonsense.’ The cool dry voice killed off that idea. ‘Buy yourself a few things. Add it to the overall bill.’ He stood up and Tony hastily followed suit.
‘Fine,’ she said, glancing at Tony who was rummaging on his desk for his fountain pen. ‘Any more orders?’ she hissed at James and he smiled lazily.
‘None that I can think of. For the moment.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
CLAIRE had no idea how she was going to sort out this one. She was sensible enough to realise that there was no way that she could wriggle out of Paris. Someone with a bit more nerve and a much greater talent for lying might have been able to feign a broken leg, or a fractured arm or Asian flu, but she had never been a good liar, and this was not a time to try and find out if her capabilities in that area had improved.
Anyway, even if she really did come down with something, James Forrester was not the sort to be easily put off. She knew him too well for that. He was tenacious. Once he had decided on a course of action, he would never drop it. She had once admired that trait of his, finding in it an element of strength which had been lacking in most of the men she had met throughout her life. Now, though, that admiration seemed a little misplaced.
It was only later, when Stephen called her at the house, that she discovered the one and only benefit to Paris.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said with genuine warmth fuelled by relief at the fact that she wasn’t having to lie or evade. ‘I can’t see you before you go back to America, Stephen. I’ve been given a job which will involve my being out of the country.’
He sounded incredulous. ‘You’ve been given a job abroad? Is Fate working against us?’ He laughed at his quip and she made a polite noise which she hoped sounded like sympathy. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
‘Paris. I leave the day after tomorrow, in fact. Just time enough to dash into Reading tomorrow for a few essentials.’
‘Paris.’ He sounded envious. ‘Nice. I’ve been to gay Paree a couple of times myself. On business, of course, so I never managed to make it to the tourist spots. Where will you be staying?’
She hesitated fractionally, then gave him the name of the hotel, one of the most expensive, and he whistled under his breath.
‘Rich client,’ he said, and she grunted in agreement.
‘Well,’ she murmured apologetically, ‘thanks for the meals while you’ve been here and have a good trip back to New York.’
‘Sure, babe,’ he said, but he sounded a little cool and she shrugged her shoulders. He had no reason to be cold. She wasn’t putting him off, because there was nothing to put off. They had had a few meals together and that was all.
It was an odd relief to think that she wouldn’t be seeing him again. James and his revelations must have got to me more than I like to think, she mused, running a bath and settling into it with abandon.
Suspicion was a curious thing, she thought. Once the seeds of it were strategically sown, they took root and there was nothing you could do to eradicate them. And James had sown those seeds of suspicion the minute he had told her about Stephen’s reputation.
She raced through the shops the following morning, one eye on her watch, the other on getting together some kind of wardrobe that would look businesslike. Pride stopped her from buying anything too expensive, but common sense dictated that she not waste James’s money on absolute rock-bottom rubbish that would probably fall to bits after a few wearings.
Karen had been green with envy when Claire had told her where she would be over the coming week.
‘Paris. Desperately romantic,’ she had said with a faraway look, and Claire had made a face.
‘I don’t think so. It’s business.’
‘Business? Hah. Romantic with a capital R. Especially with that gorgeous hunk of a man whom, incidentally, I would kill for.’
Karen had been good about not asking her any questions about what exactly had gone on between James and her, but Claire knew that she must have been curious. Who wouldn’t have been? One minute she was happily ensconced in an idyllic cottage in the grounds of Frilton Manor, the next minute she was looking for alternative accommodation and clearing out as if the hounds of hell were on her tail.
‘He must be in love with you,’ she had said, and Claire had responded bitterly,
‘Hardly.’ Determined, she thought, suspicious, cynical, emotionally unreachable, but definitely not in love. She had firmly changed the subject and that had been the end of that, but as she rushed through the shops she knew, irritably, that she was choosing clothes that James would like. The oatmeal-coloured lightweight suit, with its fitted skirt and flattering jacket, which made her look older and more sophisticated than she would have believed possible. The black trousers, cuffed at the ankles, and of a soft material that felt like silk against her skin. The two gorgeous blouses in apricot and turquoise. She packed her suitcase hurriedly, and it was only when she had finished that she realised that she had omitted most of her comfortable, well-worn, unbecoming outfits. Things which had been with her for more years than she cared to mention, and,
as her sister had said more than once, had long ago passed their sell-by date. As an afterthought, she had thrown in the adventurous little number which had caused such a sensation at her sister’s party, which, she thought, was silly, because she doubted that there would be an opportunity to bring it out, and even if there were such an opportunity, she had no intention of bringing it out. Knowing the way that James’s complicated if not downright convoluted mind worked, he would probably think that she was ready and willing to hop back into bed with him. In fact, she thought dubiously, he would probably think that she had spent hours hunting down clothes to impress him, and on that thought she very nearly unpacked the suitcase and replaced all her new purchases with her regular standbys. It was only the fact that she would be called upon to make some kind of impression on other people that stopped her.
Then she became even more annoyed and flustered that she was debating the issue anyway. She wouldn’t have been, if it had concerned anyone other than James. The fact was that she wanted to appear aloof and cool, but under the surface the same pull was always there, the same urge to feel his eyes on her, even though a part of her sensibly told her that she wanted no more to do with him.
She wanted to drive him crazy even while she desperately longed to be able to turn her back on him with the same cool self-possession which she forced herself to display whenever she was in his presence.
It was the constant warring of fire and ice that was driving her mad. She hated him with every bone in her body for having desired her, when what she wanted was his love, but then his desire could still send the adrenalin rushing through her, making her heady and uncontrolled.
How was she going to stand being in his company for eight days? Eight minutes was bad enough. She tried to console herself with the thought that she could always explore Paris on her own in the evenings, a particularly unalluring thought, and of course there would be people around them during the day, so maybe things wouldn’t be too bad.
They were to meet at Heathrow Airport at a prearranged time, and she spotted him as soon as she arrived the following morning.
He was standing with his back to her, and she stopped in her tracks for a few seconds, absorbing him, the smooth, lean lines of his body, the hint of power visible from the confident way he carried himself.
He was talking to one of the girls behind the checkingin desk. Claire looked at the rapt expression on her face and felt a sharp pang of jealousy, which she shakily reminded herself wasn’t going to do at all. She couldn’t afford to begin to let him see how vulnerable she still was with him. He must guess, of course, but she knew that if she succeeded in maintaining a remote exterior he would not be sure, not one hundred per cent at any rate. His instinct would tell him that she was still crazy about him, after all she had spent months openly confessing her love, but his head would put him on shaky ground, which was exactly what she wanted. He might question whether her love hadn’t been girlish infatuation, something which had become tarnished at the edges since she had left.
She walked up briskly behind him and said hello, more or less ignoring his presence and handing over her ticket to the girl who took it with a reluctant sigh at the abrupt end to her conversation with him.
James turned to her, and she felt the full force of his green stare on her, in response to which she produced an efficient smile which she flashed at him and which met with a look of dry irony.
‘I see you took me at my word, about the clothes,’ he murmured mildly. ‘There was no need to dress quite so stylishly for the flight over.’
The girl handed over the ticket and boarding pass, and they walked off, with Claire keeping some safe distance between them.
‘I’m here on business,’ she pointed out. ‘I agree with you that I have to dress the part. It’s one thing to sit in front of a draughting table in jeans and a sweatshirt, but I wouldn’t dream of trying to win an account in the same dress.’
‘Well,’ James drawled, ‘you look delightful, if a little on the old side.’
‘Thank you,’ Claire responded tartly. ‘You always were one to be blunt.’
‘I believe there was a time when you rather liked that trait in me.’
She still did, but she wasn’t going to admit that now, so she didn’t say anything, and they spent the rest of the time at the airport in silence, a companionable silence, interrupted only by harmless small talk which she felt she could cope with easily enough.
Some of the carefully imposed self-control deserted her as the plane landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, and she leant forward in her seat, enthusiastically looking out of the window. She had never been to Paris before. It had always been one of those places which she had intended to visit, just as soon as she saved enough money to do it in relative comfort, but had somehow never got around to it. James had asked her to accompany him on some of his business trips, but a part of her had always baulked at the thought of being taken there as a rich man’s escort, even though she knew that he would have been furious if he had discovered that that was her line of thinking. Or maybe, she now thought, it would just have been in keeping with what he thought of her as a gold-digger. Those remarks of his had hit home with her. They had stuck like mud, and, however much she told herself that of course he didn’t really think that of her, she couldn’t be sure.
Now he said lazily, reading her mind, ‘We could have come here together sooner.’
‘I never seemed to have the money readily available,’ she replied, her body twisted away from him.
‘I wouldn’t have proposed that we travelled Dutch,’ he said, with a frown in his voice.
‘No, but I would have.’
‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re too damned proud for your own good? Don’t you know the cliche’ that pride comes before a fall?’
‘You should know all about pride,’ Claire muttered, turning towards him, her cheeks bright red. ‘That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Because I dented your pride when I walked out on you, and you’re determined to rescue it by proving that you can seduce me back into bed with you?’
His brows met in an angry frown. ‘I don’t have to prove anything to anyone,’ he said tautly.
‘Who are you trying to kid? I know you, James Forrester. I know how your mind works.’
‘And I know you. I know that whatever you say, you’re still attracted to me, despite the fact that you’ve pulled that twerp out of a closet somewhere. A piece of massive misjudgement, might I add.’
For a second he lost her, then she realised that he was talking about Stephen. His face was charged with angry emotion, then he lowered his eyes and said softly, ‘But of course, that little problem has been sorted out, hasn’t it?’
Claire looked at him in astonishment. ‘Sorted out? How so? Explain yourself.’
He shrugged and looked oddly uncomfortable for a fraction of a second. ‘Well, as you said, he isn’t going to be around when you get back, is he?’
‘Why am I suddenly suspicious?’ She forgot about staring through the window and concentrated her attention on James’s face instead.
‘I have no idea. Why are you? Perhaps it’s in your nature.’
‘You didn’t have anything to do with Stephen’s sudden need to leave London, did you?’ she asked and was met with a thick silence. ‘No, you wouldn’t—you couldn’t.’
He slid a sidelong look at her, then, infuriatingly, relaxed back in the seat, his eyes half closed.
‘I asked you a question.’
‘Which you appear to have answered yourself.’
‘I’d like to hear your answer,’ she said, staring at him intently, as did the air hostess who strolled past. Claire could read what was going through the other woman’s head. Who is this? Should I recognise him? Is he someone famous? She offered them a glass of champagne, which he declined with a smile of devastating charm, and then resumed his position of lazy relaxation.
‘Well?’ she persisted.
‘If you must know,’ h
e said on a resigned sigh, ‘I did pull a few strings, now that you mention it.’
Claire gave him a killing look and said furiously, ‘I don’t believe it! Of all the conniving, downright low things I’ve ever heard, that takes the cake. How could you?’
‘Easily enough,’ he responded, deliberately misreading her accusation. ‘One of my subsidiaries in New York is involved in a takeover and I decided to give the job to his company. I merely requested that Hancock handle the affair.’
She balled her fists and felt the blood rush to her head.
‘Has anyone ever told you how objectionable you can be?’ she hissed, with what she considered overwhelming understatement, and he appeared to give that some thought.
‘Only you.’ He wasn’t looking in the least bit flustered, which infuriated her even more.
‘You can’t run people’s lives for them!’ she snapped angrily. ‘What were you trying to prove by doing that? That you’re powerful? That you can arrange everybody and everything to suit you?’
‘It was for your own good,’ he said, beginning to look irritable. He turned to face her better and her breath caught in her throat, her nerves prickling. He was wearing a stone-coloured shirt and his skin, in contrast, looked even more bronzed, his hair darker, his eyes more vivid. He had a knack of making everyone else seem anaemic in comparison. ‘You can’t cope with someone like that. You’re not experienced enough.’
‘I ought to go back to London right away,’ Claire’ muttered, too alarmed by the intensity of his stare, the sheer masculinity he radiated, to react more vehemently.
‘You can’t.’
‘Oh, I know that!’ she glowered. ‘I am not an idiot, though!’
‘No?’ He gave her a slow, lazy smile. ‘Look at how long it took you to master the alarm for the manor when you were working there.’
Shadows of Yesterday Page 13
