by Kay Thorpe
‘Piers has the table ready for you,’ the man replied. His glance flickered Gina’s way, the speculation obvious. Far from the boss’s usual type, she could almost hear him thinking.
The restaurant just off the lobby was crowded, the buzz of conversation loud. Ross didn’t bother waiting for attendance, leading the way through to an outdoor section set beneath a vine-covered loggia. Every table but one was occupied out here too. Gina felt the cynosure of all eyes as they took their seats. At least they weren’t the only ones dressed casually, she was glad to note.
The maître d’ came rushing over, looking distinctly put out. ‘Never will you allow me to do my job!’ he exclaimed.
Ross gave him a dry smile. ‘If you’re short of something to do, you can fetch me a Moët.’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ Gina cut in swiftly. ‘I don’t like champagne. A kir would be fine.’
‘Make that two,’ Ross ordered. ‘I’m driving.’
‘You were driving when you asked for champagne,’ she pointed out as the man moved off.
‘It was meant for you.’ His regard was quizzical. ‘The first woman I’ve ever met who doesn’t like champagne!’
Her shrug was light. ‘So I’m an oddity.’
‘A rarity, for sure. Do I order wine?’
‘I’d rather keep a clear head.’ She toyed with the stem of a glass, unable to relax under his scrutiny. ‘Will you stop looking at me as though I just sprouted a second one?’
‘I was actually thinking how refreshing it is to entertain a woman of simple tastes,’ he said.
‘You mix in the wrong circles,’ she retorted, by means deaf to satire.
‘Difficult to find any other kind in this town. Most are out for the best deal they can manage for themselves. The reason I find your attitude towards money so hard to accept. Oliver would set you up for life.’
Green eyes met grey, holding fast. ‘That’s not why I’m here, believe me. If my grandfather was fit and well, I wouldn’t have come at all.’
‘But you couldn’t refuse a dying man’s plea.’
Faint though it was, the irony set her teeth on edge. It took a real effort to keep her tongue under control. ‘That would have been too cruel.’
The arrival of their drinks cut off whatever reply he’d been about to make. He waited until the waiter had gone before saying levelly, ‘Oliver won’t let you leave empty-handed.’
‘I’m afraid he won’t have a choice,’ she said. ‘I like my life the way it is. I don’t want it altering.’
‘Your business partner might appreciate an extra influx of capital.’
‘Barbara doesn’t know anything about all this, and isn’t going to know. How many times do I have to say it?’
Ross held up a hand. ‘All right, I believe you! I think you’re crazy, but I believe you.’
‘Good.’ She took up the leather-bound menu. ‘What would you recommend?’
‘Try the Colorado lamb,’ he suggested. ‘It’s a house speciality.’
He wasn’t exaggerating. Served with a sweet-pepper lasagne, the dish was mouthwateringly enjoyable. Gina refused dessert, settling for coffee. ‘You really didn’t have to do any of this, you know,’ she said, when Ross glanced at his watch. ‘Your time must be at a premium.’
‘Not to the extent that I can’t take the odd day or two out when necessary. You’re doing that yourself.’ He paused, regard reflective. ‘Where does your partner think you are right now?’
‘Spain,’ she admitted. ‘A quick break. Her turn next month.’
‘You don’t consider her a close enough friend to know the truth?’
‘It’s a business relationship. There’s no reason for her to know.’ She stirred restlessly. ‘Shouldn’t we be going?’
‘Sure.’ He pushed back his chair to get to his feet, rounding the table before she could move, to help her to hers. ‘No check to wait for,’ he said. ‘One of the fringe benefits.’
There would, Gina imagined, be many. If she was that way inclined, she could no doubt claim free accommodation in any of the Harlow hotels herself.
No point going down that road, she warned, hardening her resolve. Once she left California, the connection would be finished.
They made the studio lot just before two. Beautifully laid-out gardens fronted the series of white bungalows which were the main offices, with the bulk of a dozen or more sound stages looming beyond.
Small and balding, looking anything but the tycoon Gina had expected, Sam Walker was well into his sixties. He had a meeting in ten minutes, he apologised, but they were welcome to tour the lot.
‘Jenny was a lovely girl,’ he said. ‘A bit of a problem at times, maybe, but no worse than many. I’ve had three of my own, so I know what it’s like. You’ve got the Harlow bones,’ he observed judiciously. ‘Look good on the screen. I could set up a test.’
Gina laughed, taking the offer no more seriously than she was sure he intended it to be taken. ‘I’m no actress.’
He smiled back. ‘Few are, honey.’ He shifted his gaze to Ross. ‘How’s Oliver doing?’
Ross lifted his shoulders, face impassive. ‘Holding out. I didn’t see him this morning.’
‘He seemed fine when I left him on the terrace,’ Gina said.
‘He’d gone back upstairs when I got there. Said he was feeling tired.’
‘Hardly surprising,’ Sam commented. ‘Only wish there was something to be done. Lucky he can rely on you to keep things under control.’ He checked the time on a wall clock opposite. ‘Afraid that’s it for me. You know your way around, Ross. Feel free. I’ll call in to see Oliver first chance I get.’
‘Will he?’ Gina asked when they were outside again. ‘Call, I mean.’
‘Like he said, when he can fit it in. He’s another who finds it hard to delegate.’ Ross took her arm as she made to head for the car park across. ‘We’ll use one of the runabouts.’
A studio lot, Gina found, was like a city in miniature. It even had its own fire department. There was a whole lake, a waterfront township, mock-ups of city streets. Somewhat disappointingly, there was no outside filming at present, though several of the sound stages were in use.
They were passing one of the latter, when a personnel door set into one of the large rolling ones opened to emit a whole bunch of people. Ross brought the buggy to a stop as a woman detached herself from the centre of the crowd on sight of them, and came over.
‘Running tours as a side-line?’ she asked. She flicked a swift assessing glance Gina’s way. ‘Are you going to introduce us, darling?’
‘Given half a chance,’ Ross said drily. ‘Gina Saxton, Karin Trent.’
The woman’s striking face and figure and mane of streaked blonde hair were familiar enough for Gina to have already placed the name before Ross spoke. She might have said as much if the other hadn’t so obviously dismissed her as of little importance, her attention returned immediately to Ross.
‘You’ll be in town for the wrap party next week?’
‘Doubtful,’ he said.
The pout was too little-girly for a mature woman in Gina’s eyes. From the way Ross was acting, the interest was one-sided, but it didn’t appear to be getting through to her.
‘Call me,’ she invited.
She didn’t stay for an answer, heading back to where her entourage waited, hips swaying seductively as she walked. Ross put the buggy into motion again, face expressionless.
‘I saw her in Captivation last year,’ Gina commented lightly. ‘She was good.’
‘She can play a part,’ he agreed.
‘Do you know her intimately?’
He glanced her way, one dark brow lifted. ‘Why the interest?’
‘I just thought she may have reason to feel a little proprietorial.’
‘On the premise that any woman I sleep with has rights?’
Gina kept her tongue tucked firmly in her cheek. ‘More than the ones you don’t sleep with. You could do a lot worse, anyway. She
’s very beautiful.’
‘No more than a thousand others.’
‘Planning on trying them all out?’
He laughed. ‘That much stamina I don’t have. You needn’t concern yourself over Karin. She’s a survivor.’
‘You’re a bit of a bastard at heart, aren’t you?’ Gina said coolly.
‘Only a bit?’ Ross sounded more amused than insulted. ‘Why start pulling your punches now?’
‘I believe in keeping something in reserve.’
She got out from the buggy as he brought it to a halt at the car park, putting up a hand to reposition the tortoiseshell slide, which had started to slip down.
‘Why not let it hang loose?’ Ross suggested. ‘You have beautiful hair.’
‘It’s out of the way,’ she said, unable to deny a stirring of pleasure at the compliment. ‘I’m not out to make an impression.’ She dropped her hand again, self-conscious beneath his gaze. ‘Are we going back to the house now?’
‘I need to call in at the office first,’ he said. ‘It isn’t far from here.’
The American notion of not far differed greatly from her own, Gina had already gathered. She was unsurprised when they took the ramp to the Hollywood Freeway after driving a couple of blocks. The traffic was heavy, with little lane discipline, though it all kept moving at a steady flow.
‘Did you talk to your parents yet?’ Ross asked.
‘This morning,’ she acknowledged. ‘I told them I’d definitely be back by the weekend.’
‘It’s Wednesday now,’ he said. ‘You already booked your return flight?’
‘No. But I shouldn’t think there’ll be much of a problem travelling first class. There were three empty seats on the way out.’
‘Not to say it will be the same going east. If you’re serious, you’d best get on to it. You can ring the airline from the office.’
‘Can’t wait to get rid of me?’ she mocked.
He looked unmoved. ‘You’re the one determined to go.’
Which was true enough, she had to admit. It had been almost the first thing she had said to him—repeated several times since.
‘I have to. I’m supposedly due back from Spain on Saturday. Barbara’s going to be asking questions if I don’t turn up at the shop Monday morning.’
‘Why a boutique, anyway?’ he asked after a moment or two. ‘I’d have said you could do a whole lot better.’
‘It’s no little tinpot affair,’ she defended. ‘We cater for a pretty high-class clientele.’
‘All the same—’
‘All the same,’ she interposed shortly, ‘it’s my choice, my life.’
The shrug signified a loss of interest. Gina stole a glance at the lean, hard profile, wondering what he would have said if she’d admitted to the mistake she’d made in going into the retail business at all. Barbara had carried her along with her enthusiasm, talked her into a partnership she hadn’t given nearly enough thought to. Successful enough so far as it went, but not how she wanted to spend years of her life. The trouble now being that Barbara couldn’t afford to buy her out, and she didn’t have the wherewithal to start over in something new.
She could have, came the sneaking thought, thrust to the back of her mind where it could do least harm.
They left the freeway to cruise down a broad boulevard into the business sector of the city. Gina had anticipated something of an edifice as the headquarters of the Harlow group, but the towering glass structure bearing the insignia took her breath.
The reception lobby was sumptuously furnished, with yards of cream marble underfoot. A large curved desk occupied a central position. The uniformed receptionist on duty greeted Ross with deference as they passed on the way to the lifts.
They took the cage at the end of the row, riding all the way to the eighth floor to emerge on another, smaller, lobby area. The floor here was thickly carpeted, the decor superb in subtle tones of salmon and beige. The paintings around the walls were almost certainly originals.
The woman seated at a central desk was an oil painting herself. A year or two older than Gina, with glossy chestnut hair cut to curve about a set of beautifully balanced features, she stood up to reveal a figure to match in a plain black skirt and white blouse.
‘I didn’t think you’d be in today, Mr Harlow!’ she exclaimed.
‘A brief visit,’ he assured her. ‘I need to check a couple of details.’
Corridors led off to either hand. He chose the right, opening the first door to reveal a huge office with a magnificent view out over the city to the Santa Monica mountains. The desk was a solid block of black mahogany, set at right angles to another holding a communications complex. A group of soft leather club chairs were arranged about a low square coffee-table to form a relaxed conversation area. The same thick cream carpeting was run through here too.
‘Have a seat,’ Ross invited. ‘This won’t take long.’
Gina took one of the upright ones set close by the desk as he went behind it to slide into the big leather executive chair. A press of a button brought a computer screen to humming life.
‘Everything at the fingertips,’ she commented, watching him scroll down a file menu. ‘What did we do before computers were invented?’
‘Relied even more on a good secretary,’ he said. ‘Penny’s still indispensable.’
‘She’s very attractive.’
‘Isn’t she though?’ His eyes were still on the screen. ‘Happily married, in case you’re wondering. And…’
He broke off at the sound of a phone, extracting a mobile from a pocket. ‘Harlow,’ he announced. ‘Oh, hi! What…?’ He broke off again, face tautening as he listened. ‘We’ll be there ASAP.’
Already alerted, Gina came to her feet along with him. ‘What is it?’
‘Oliver,’ he said tersely. ‘He had a heart attack. They’re on the way to hospital.’
As they battled the late-afternoon traffic build-up, the journey back across the city was a nightmare. Gina sat through it numbly. She had spent no more than half an hour with her grandfather this morning: there was a very real possibility that it might be the only time she was ever going to have with him.
Ross was silent throughout, but the taut set of his jaw spoke volumes. There was no doubting his feelings for the man who had taken the place of his own father.
They reached the hospital at last, to be directed straight to the coronary unit. They found Elinor seated in a plush waiting room, with a nurse in attendance. The face she raised to her son was tragic.
‘He’s gone,’ she said.
CHAPTER THREE
THE funeral service was attended by what seemed to Gina to be half the city. No more than thirty were invited back to the house afterwards, though several more took it on themselves to make the journey.
Pale but composed, Elinor moved among them, accepting the sympathetic offerings with a word of gratitude, smiling at the anecdotes. Gina admired her fortitude.
It had been taken for granted that she would stay on. Not that she could have brought herself to leave in such circumstances anyway. She’d been forced to tell Barbara the truth, and knew she was going to have some explaining to do when she did get back.
Ross caught her eye, his smile reassuring. He’d been a tower of strength these past few days, making all the arrangements, contacting the necessary people. He’d had trouble locating his sister. Gina had stood in for her when Elinor had so desperately needed another woman to talk to. Not that Roxanne had appreciated it.
Talking animatedly with Sam Walker at present, she showed little sign of grief. The black suit sat her tall, willowy figure beautifully, the whiteness of the silk shirt worn beneath contrasting with the darkness of her hair. She had good looks in abundance, marred only, in Gina’s estimation, by a certain hardness about her mouth.
She had made her views clear the moment the two of them met. Not in actual words at the time, but the look in her eyes had left little unsaid. Later, when they were alone, she h
ad left no doubt at all of her feelings. The adoption ruled out any claim on the estate, she declared. Considering her unchanged intentions, Gina hadn’t bothered arguing the point.
Ross brought a glass of what looked like whisky across. ‘Drink this,’ he commanded. ‘You look as if you need a stimulant.’
What she needed, she thought, was a good dose of home. Failing that, the whisky would have to do. She took the glass from him and swallowed half the contents in one go, grimacing as the spirit hit the back of her throat.
‘Steady,’ he warned. ‘That’s neat Rye.’
‘Now he tells me!’ Her eyes sought his, knowing she would read nothing there that he didn’t want her to see. ‘Your mother is bearing up well.’
‘She’ll make it through. Another half an hour, then I’ll start clearing this lot out.’ He studied her reflectively. ‘Thanks for giving her so much support.’
‘No problem,’ Gina assured him. ‘I only wish there was more I could do. I know how much she loved Oliver.’
‘It’s going to hit her even harder tonight when it’s all over. I’ll be staying on.’
‘Good.’ Gina was relieved to know she wouldn’t be facing a lone session with Roxanne should Elinor retire early. ‘Tomorrow should be a little easier.’
Ross shook his head. ‘Not really. There’s the will-reading.’
‘Is that absolutely necessary?’ she asked. ‘I’d have thought it was pretty straightforward.’
‘The main part, maybe. But there’ll be other bequests. It’s a formality that has to be gone through.’
One that could surely wait a while, Gina thought, but what did she know?
‘I’d better make some arrangements myself tomorrow,’ she said.
Something flickered in the grey eyes. ‘Of course. I’ll be contacting your parents to thank them for the flowers. That was a nice gesture.’
Sam Walker detached himself from the small group now formed about Roxanne, and came over. He acknowledged Gina with a faint smile and a comforting pat on the arm before turning to Ross.
‘Afraid I’ll have to get moving,’ he said gruffly.
