Revenge

by Natalie Fox

  'What a leading question, Alexia. Do you really want an answer now or would you rather wait till we meet?'

  'An appointment, yes, of course. I would be only too happy to oblige. Would you be so kind as to give the details to my secretary? Thank you.' She put the receiver down before he could say another word.

  'Sorry about that,' she offered as she swung back to the five sets of inquisitive eyes. 'Where were we?'

  'About to discuss the seriousness of our integrated transitional mobility plan,' Roland burbled.

  In common English, how soon before Stroben Engineering went bust!

  Alexia wound the meeting up an hour and a half later, her head aching seriously. The meeting had been disastrous and closed on a very unsatisfactory note. Panic among her directors was setting in in the place of concern and if something wasn't done soon...

  Alexia had the final say but today she couldn't make a decision about the content of her lunchtime sandwich, let alone whether to go for voluntary liquidation or a mega bank-loan that would put them in more trouble than before. Harry Masters was the only answer when it came down to it but she hadn't mentioned that to her directors; there were some hefty discussions ahead and nothing for certain and she didn't want to raise people's hopes so she had kept it to herself.

  'Murrays,' April told her when she returned to her own office after the meeting and asked what message Harry Masters had left. 'It's a hotel in the village of Appledore, somewhere near Hereford.'

  'Hereford!' Alexia cried in disbelief. 'I can't make lunch and get back in time. It's the other side of the world.'

  April grinned. 'Who said anything about lunch? Mr Masters wants you there for the weekend—all of it.'

  Alexia paled, then went beetroot at the twinkle in her secretary's eye. 'Harry Masters is a hundred and ten with bottle-end glasses and a gammy leg,' she told her heatedly, 'so take that silly look off your face!'

  'Liar,' April breathed. 'He sounded thirty-four, dark and handsome and sexy, with beautifully muscled thighs.'

  'How on earth did you come to that conclusion?'

  April grinned and handed a glossy magazine across the desk to Alexia. 'I cheated. There's an article about him and nine other charmers in there, photos too. He's one of the ten most eligible bachelors in the finance fun City.'

  Alexia flicked open the magazine on the relevant page. 'Answer the questionnaire and if you get zero you get a weekend at Murrays with the booby prize, Harry Masters,' Alexia came back bitterly, tossing the magazine down on the desk with extreme distaste.

  'Well, if you're going to be touchy about it I'm quite willing to stand in for you,' April suggested hopefully.

  'You would too, wouldn't you?' Alexia smiled at her bubbly assistant. She was a pretty redhead with sparkling hazel eyes and if she did but know it Harry Masters would probably fall helplessly in love with her on sight. 'Would you call him back, April? Tell him all we have to discuss can be done over lunch and somewhere closer to home than Hereford.'

  'No can do,' April sang. 'He was calling from the airport.' She glanced at her watch. 'He'll probably be landing at Charles de Gaulle this very minute and he didn't give a number to be contacted.'

  'He's probably visiting his mother.'

  'Yeah, that's what they all say,' April laughed.

  Alexia was about to argue that his mother was French and more than likely lived in Paris... Oh, what the hell did it matter who he was in Paris with?

  'I don't suppose he said when he'd be back?'

  'Nope, just that can you make your own way to the hotel for Friday afternoon and come prepared for the whole weekend? It all sounds wildly romantic to me.'

  'Wildly romantic it isn't,' Alexia insisted. 'This is purely business and if you say, "Yeah, that's what they all say", I'll frisbee your credentials straight down to the local job agency. Now get about your business, slave, before I take a whip to you.'

  'Yes, ma'am!' April saluted and grinned and Alexia went to her office where she spent the next half-hour gnashing her teeth over Harry Masters's nerve and what to wear this weekend!

  She travelled in a far too elegant suit for such a long drive. It was fine crimson wool with shiny brass buttons and a skimpy skirt that paid homage to those long legs he was so taken with. A wonderful outfit anywhere but snarled up in motorway traffic. The suit was far too good for him, Alexia reflected as she inched up on the nearside lane to the slip-road off the motorway, but to Alexia it was her armour not amour. Her elegance was her defence and had always worked for her before, though the little black shantung number hadn't done much for her. Masters had cast it aside as if it were worn sackcloth.

  She'd had April check out the hotel and if it could have been awarded fifty stars it would have sparkled with them. It was small, exclusive, expensive and Alexia had. to hand it to Harry Masters, he knew what he was about. The perfect place for seduction. Alexia smiled grimly as she drove off the motorway—no doubt what he had in mind, and the last thing she had on hers.

  She'd made good time, having only gone into the works for a couple of hours this morning, and leaving before lunch. But she was tired now and starving.

  There it was, an achingly pretty black and white hotel with rambling roses and verdant lawns and some heavyweight cars parked out front. She wondered which of the sleek limousines was his. She parked alongside a dark green Daimler.

  'Alexia Townsend,' she told the receptionist at the desk of the beautiful reception area with its ceilings criss-crossed with rugged beams rescued from some ship-wrecked Spanish galleon off the coast of Ireland—so the plaque on the wall said.

  'I'm sorry, Ms Townsend, we have no booking for you.'

  'Miss,' Alexia emphasised. She was proud of her single status and her femininity. 'And the booking was made by a Mr Harry Masters.'

  She hoped that would sort her out, she was longing for a long hot bath to ease away the strain of the motorways.

  The receptionist shook her perfectly coiffured head. 'I'm sorry, Miss Townsend, I have no booking for you.' She looked up at Alexia and smiled oddly. 'We have no single rooms actually, only double suites.'

  Dear God, had he had the audacity to book a double suite for them? This was outrageous. No way was she going to share with him... but on the other hand they could certainly get down to some serious uninterrupted negotiations... she thought of the company financial sheets that lay whimpering in the files back at Stroben Engineering. Damn the man. She needed him.

  'Tell me, how many rooms in the suites?'

  'Two bedrooms, two en suites, a glorious sitting-room with views...'

  'Yes, yes. Well, I think...' Two bedrooms was something at least. But this was embarrassing and he'd probably done it on purpose to make a fool of her. 'Maybe...' Heavens, this woman was probably used to this sort of thing, Alexia reasoned. She swallowed hard, trying to stem the rise of colour to her cheeks that would colour co-ordinate with her suit if she wasn't careful.

  'Perhaps... perhaps the booking is for a... for a Mr and Mrs Harry Masters...'

  The woman smiled knowingly, for which Alexia could have happily murdered her—and Harry Masters come to that—and flicked through the book in front of her.

  'Pushy, aren't you? I haven't even proposed yet,' came a smooth drawl from behind her.

  Alexia swung round in embarrassment. It was almost like being caught with your fingers in someone else's cream meringue!

  Harry Masters gave the receptionist the full benefit of his considerable charm and beamed brightly. 'I'm terribly sorry, but there seems to be a misunderstanding on my secretary's part. She gets overexcited on business weekends; over-ambitious too,' he added drily with an obnoxiously suggestive wink.

  He directed at Alexia, in a voice cunningly lowered but knowing it could be heard by the receptionist, 'Silly girl, I said to meet me here but nothing about us staying here.' He took Alexia's elbow and gripped it tightly, defying her to say a word—which she was incapable of doing anyway.

  'We'd like tea and s
cones in the sitting-room,' he said to the fascinated receptionist. 'And could you keep an eye on Miss Townsend's bags till we've finished? Thank you so much.'

  He steered Alexia to the hotel sitting-room and once out of eyeshot and earshot of the receptionist she tore her arm from him and swung to face him.

  'How dare you embarrass me so?'

  'You embarrassed yourself, Alexia.'

  'And how dare you make out I'm your damned secretary?'

  'And how dare you presume marital status with me?'

  Alexia coloured. 'I just thought it was your sort of dirty underhand scheme of things.'

  'What a very distorted impression you have of me. If anything I'm honest, Alexia, and not afraid to book us in as Mr and Miss, that's if I was prepared to share a suite with you, which I'm not.' He took her elbow again and didn't let go till he'd seated her in a red Dralon wing chair by the window.

  She immediately shifted her position to the blue one on the other side of the coffee-table.

  'So sorry,' he smoothed with a grin. 'Clashes with your suit, does it?'

  'Yes, it does rather,' she smoothed back with a flash of very white teeth. She crossed her legs away from him. She knew her body language all right. 'I sit where I please, Harry Masters, not where you position me.'

  'You're not in a position to bargain your position with me, business or pleasure,' he told her drily, loosening his tweed jacket.

  Two stabs of fear penetrated her spine, the sexual innuendo one nothing compared to the one about her business. Surely he couldn't possibly know the state Stroben was in? That was very confidential information and powerful H. Masters might be, but loyal were her staff and directors. But this wretched man wasn't a fool and if he thought they were in serious trouble it might affect his offer. It was a warning to her to keep her wits about her.

  As a waitress, in traditional black and white, served them with tea and homemade scones with strawberry jam and cream, Alexia studied him as he beamed at the blushing woman. He was probably making her day, she mused. He was attractive, she morosely conceded, even in those ridiculous ginger corduroy jeans and that designer distressed tweed jacket with its expensive nappa leather patches on the elbows. Underneath his county jacket he wore a county cashmere roll-necked sweater in startling red, almost a perfect match to her suit.

  The suit, and the high heels to go with it, made her feel extremely uncomfortable and out of place in this quaint olde worlde hotel, and that added to her annoyance. He went with the rustic surroundings and she didn't.

  'So...' she started, picking up her bone china teacup and not daring to look at the scones. She was starving and they looked so tempting but she couldn't risk an accident with the cream and the jam; he would enjoy that. 'You haven't booked rooms here, so what was the idea of putting me at such a disadvantage?'

  'I wasn't aware I had. I asked you to meet me here and come prepared for the weekend.'

  'I presumed --'

  'You presumed we'd be staying here.' He bit into a scone and the cream oozed and Alexia willed it to drop. It didn't, by divine interception, no doubt. 'I can't take the blame for the lowliness of your mind, darling, flattered though I am that you wished to share a suite with me this weekend and tried to pass yourself off as my wife.'

  He proceeded to demolish two more scones without making any attempt to encourage her to eat and without one crumb, one blob of cream adhering to his chin. Alexia was extremely disappointed.

  'So perhaps you would enlighten me as to where our discussions are to take place?' she asked flintily. Maybe he'd planned on moving on to some other hotel, a lowlier one than this to go with her lowlier mind, perhaps. Well, if he thought he could wear her down with his silly, silly games he had another think coming. She didn't care a damn where their talks took place so long as they came to a conclusion at the end of them.

  'Wales,' he told her, squeezing the teapot for the last cup.

  'Wales!'

  'It's not far. I have a little place overlooking the Brecons...'

  Alexia was on her feet in a second, catching her knee on the cup and saucer she'd just placed on the table. The dregs of her tea slopped, splashing her silk stockings.

  He looked up at her towering over him and calmly handed her a napkin with a smile and an aggravating tut as if she were a messy child who couldn't be taken anywhere. She snatched the napkin from him and dabbed at her legs.

  'No way am I going to negotiate with you on your own ground! Don't forget I've already sampled your hospitality and can't say I was impressed.'

  'I thought I was the perfect host.'

  'Don't get tricky with me,' Alexia hissed, keeping her voice down. Another couple had just come into the sitting-room and were looking around for somewhere to sit. 'I wanted a meeting on neutral ground—that was the whole point of the exercise.'

  'And you agreed I could choose the venue.'

  'Not your own place, though. The only reason I am here is because you led me to believe we'd be staying here.'

  'I asked you to meet me here because they serve the best cream teas in the world --'

  'That's it!' Alexia stormed. 'Enough! I refuse to be manipulated this way! Keep your cholesterol teas, Harry Masters. Negotiations are out!'

  The couple who'd settled at the table by the inglenook were very interested now and Harry Masters glanced at them and acknowledged their presence with a smile.

  'Sit down, Alexia,' he told her in a controlled whisper. 'We don't want a scene --'

  'You don't!' she seethed. 'I would delight in one.'

  'I'll give you one, then,' he grinned, putting his hand to his pocket. 'I have your knickers in my pocket. I was going to return them to you some time but if you want to crawl out of here on your hands and knees with embarrassment I'll return them to you now.'

  Her eyes widened with sheer horror and she crumbled back into her seat. He wouldn't! He would! She honestly wouldn't put anything past this creep.

  He smiled, the victor of that one. 'You want negotiations and so do I, so shall we just forget our genders and our opposing hormones and get down to some serious man talk?'

  'Sexist!' she spat. 'Forget it, Masters. I'm not dealing with you in one of your own homes. It's not on, it's not fair, and you damn well wouldn't suggest it if you were dealing with a man!'

  His black eyes locked with hers and held them defiantly. 'OK, Alexia,' he resigned. 'Have it your own way.' He stood up and buttoned his jacket. 'Have a pleasant trip back. When you feel ready to climb down off those ridiculous heels of yours give me a call.'

  'You what?' she spluttered, leaping to her feet again. 'You're calling this off?'

  'No, you just did, sweetheart.' He sighed. 'You know, I put you down as having more brain-power than the majority of women I've crossed in business --'

  'Don't try flattering me!'

  He smiled. 'But,' he added with sharp emphasis, 'you're no different. You negotiate with your femininity and, lush as it is, it falls very short of my standards. All that paddles through your mind is the thought that in my home, on my ground, I might succeed in seducing you. Alexia, the venue is of no importance. I'll get what I want where I want. Hotel, back alley, my home or yours.'

  'You... you --'

  'Naughty boy?' he interrupted sarcastically.

  There was what sounded like a muffled snigger from the male half of the couple across the room. Alexia murdered him with a spine-chilling black look that would have cowed a striking cobra and then she gave Harry Masters a sweet smile and said in a loud voice, 'You really are a naughty boy, but if back alleys turn you on it will cost you. Now shall we go and negotiate a price?' She turned on her heel and walked out of the very silent sitting-room.

  She reclaimed her bag and briefcase from the porter and stood fuming in the reception area waiting for him. He took forever to come, in which time she had inwardly backed down. She needed these negotiations so badly that she was forced to do everything that went against her nature. She was going to have to swallow hum
ble pie and that promised a bad case of heartburn.

  'You only brought yourself down to the level of a pick-up back there,' he said as he joined her at last.

  'And you were the picker-upper,' she retorted smugly.

  'You enjoy putting yourself down in public, do you?'

  'I didn't. I put you in your place. I aroused admiration from her for my brazen nerve and he nearly choked with longing for what I was offering you, so quite an entertaining afternoon for the pair of them.'

  'Some price you put on your sexuality, Alexia Townsend. I hope you can live up to it. I don't want to get short-changed.'

  Tight-lipped, she swallowed hard to force down a retort. Sometimes it was best to say nothing, but that was going against her nature too.

  'Car keys.' He held an open palm to her.

  'Mine?' she cried. What on earth was he up to now?

  'Who else's?' he said as if she weren't all there. She was beginning to wonder as she reached into her envelope bag.

  She stopped, her hand still in her bag. 'What on earth for?'

  'I'm going to ask the hotel to garage your car for you over the weekend, unless you don't mind it parked out the front exposed to the elements. Thunderstorms are forecast for tomorrow.'

  'I don't care if Hurricane Hooray Charlie is raging up the motorway, I'm not leaving my car here!' she retorted hotly.

  'It's quite a drive and my transport is far better suited to the terrain.'

  'Terrain?' she breathed incredulously. 'What transport do you have?'

  'A jeep.'

  Alexia began to laugh, incredulously. 'A jeep! Where on earth is this place of yours, the top of a slag heap?'

  'Is that all you know about Wales?'

  'That and Tom Jones and Richard Burton, yes. It's enough.' She let the keys drop back into the bottom of her bag. 'I don't bump around in jeeps, Mr Masters, and my patience is wearing thin.'

  'And mine is threadbare,' he told her drily. 'And so will your tyres be if you insist on taking your own car.' He shrugged, giving her no chance to reconsider her decision. 'Suit yourself, sweetheart, but don't grizzle to me that you haven't been warned.'