by Penny Henry
"Oh, by the way," she began nonchalantly, "I've arranged for a car to pick you up, Paul, and then to collect Imogen on the way, okay?" Paul and Imogen exchanged weary looks, resigned to the well-meant interference. Rose carried on regardless, "Connie will meet you at the Gold Star Café." She shuffled the papers in front of her. "I do believe we’re all sitting at the same table." She lifted her eyes to their faces. "Is everyone alright with that?" She hurried on before either of them had a chance to answer. "Well, if there is nothing else, I have a hair appointment to keep. I need longer to prepare myself these days," she said absolutely dead pan, gathering up her paperwork and rising to her feet. "When you get to my age…" She threw out a challenging look from her amazing green eyes. Rose didn't look a day over thirty.
"Who are you trying to kid, Rose?" asked George. "You look great. Or is there a new young man in your life you haven't told us about?"
They all chuckled at Rose's discomfort. She took it in good part, tossing her red hair dismissively and stalking from the room with a provocative sway of her tight rear and a long stride of shapely legs. The others followed suit, dispersing to go their separate ways. Imogen beckoned Connie to her office. The bubbly blonde was as enthusiastic as Imogen had hoped. She was delighted at her new position and full of ideas. The two women brainstormed the Internet project and Connie made notes of what she would discuss with the Interned design people the company employed. The website was going to be the hottest thing on the net. It took a while for the ideas to run out and the conversation to turn to Imogen’s love life. She took the opportunity to confide in Connie and bring her best friend up-to-date with her relationship with Gable. She deliberately omitted the break-in. After an hour they had dealt with Gable and dissected men in general. Connie's advice was that Imogen should concentrate on living her life. Gable was likely to vanish as quickly as he had appeared. The women parted laughing. Both of them were looking forward to enjoying themselves at the Gold Star Café. Connie had wanted to tell Imogen that she was there for her when her world fell apart. She had an ache in her heart that would last forever.
Imogen had put her desk in order, oddly thinking she had seen something in Connie’s eyes that had caused her to catch her breath. She had shrugged it off and blocked her mind from bringing back the magical time they had spent in each other’s arms. It had been a young woman’s infatuation. That’s all it had ever been. She spent some time on the computer before calling it a day. She remembered to collect the jewelry she wanted for this evening from the safe before she left the office. Tonight she was going to take Connie's advice and live for the moment.
The black Porsche had not returned by the time that Imogen pulled into the underground car park. She let out a breath that she had been unaware of holding. It was then that she realized just how much Gable had got under her skin. The tall model seemed to be at the back of her mind whatever she was doing. Maybe it was infatuation. She was prone to them. Gable's brooding features dominated the slightest break in her conversations. He had the quality of seemingly being unaware of the impact his face and animal grace exerted on the female psyche. But Gable's self-confidence was at rock bottom. His ego was a fragile thing. She was still musing on the subject when she reached her apartment. She slid the key into the lock and pushed back the door. Everything appeared normal. She stepped past the door and locked it behind her. It would be the middle of next week before the new lock was fitted. Until then she intended being ultra-cautious. She dropped her briefcase in the lounge and wandered through the apartment switching on lights as she went. She started to relax and put on some music before taking the jewelry from her briefcase and walking into the bedroom. She peeled off her clothes and slipped into her robe before carrying her laundry to the utility room and depositing a half-load inside the washer. She pottered in the kitchen while she made coffee and returned to her bedroom to begin the serious business of choosing an outfit for the evening. She had no sooner opened her wardrobe than a sharp rap on her door jerked her head around. Imogen pulled her robe tightly to her body and checked her appearance in the mirror. Her face was still intact and she patted her hair into place before hurrying to the door. It could only be Gable. She paused with her hand on the lock, taking a moment to count to ten and get her breathing under control. Her heart was pumping blood round her body with the beat of a river boat’s paddles. She slid back the lock, fixed a winning smile on her face and tugged at the handle.
The smile faded and her eyes hardened as she greeted the portly figure of Don Thornton with a less than complimentary, "Oh, it's you."
A nervous smile hovered on Don's mouth. He had obviously walked up the fire stairs and mopped at his sweating brow with a large handkerchief. "Good evening, Miss Mercouri. I thought a personal visit might be in order. I was in the building and I thought I'd take a chance." His eyes darted past Imogen's shoulder as if scanning the apartment for a sign of a companion.
His presence was an irritation that didn’t unduly concern her. Don was creepy but he was harmless.
Chapter Nine
Imogen put on an unsympathetic look. “You’ve left it a bit late to make your calls, haven’t you, Mister Thornton?” She was finding it difficult to disguise the note of impatience in her voice. "What did you want? I'm in the middle of getting ready to go out."
"My humble apologies, Miss Mercouri. I wanted to pop round to reassure you that I’m doing everything in my power to obtain your new lock as soon as possible. I’ve given instructions that your lock is to be fitted as soon as the first batch arrives. Your apartment is top of the list." He smirked proudly. He looked satisfied that they were not about to be interrupted and focused on Imogen.
She had never noticed what shifty eyes Don had. "And what do you intend on doing until then?" She lifted a hand to the neck of her robe and pulled the edges together, holding them in a fist.
"I’m not sure what you mean. We’re doing everything we can to assist the police, of course. And we're providing extra patrols for all of our buildings and car parks. Maybe you’d like me to take a look around inside your apartment. You know, just to put your mind at rest?"
Imogen couldn't think of anything that she would like less. She was starting to feel uncomfortable. "No thank you, Mister Thornton. I think it’s a bit late for that, don't you?" She went further, “Exactly how many of your tenants have already fallen victim to this horrible thief?"
"Nobody has been hurt," said Don defensively. "A few valuables have been stolen, I grant you that. But the Insurance has covered the losses."
"That's hardly the point, is it, Don?" bit out Imogen. "It's the thought of some pervert rifling through drawers and private possessions. That's what hurts. And who's to say that he won't get violent if he's cornered?"
Don mopped at his brow. "I… I really think you’re over-reacting," he stammered. His beady eyes were sweeping between Imogen's stern face and the unblemished skin of her throat. "Are you sure you don't wouldn’t like me to take a look round? Check the windows. That sort of thing." he suggested it for a second time, an ingratiating smile twisting his mouth.
“We’re twelve floors up and I've already told you no. All that I want from you is my new lock fitted as soon as humanly possible. I can assure you if I don’t have a new electronic lock fitted by the end of next week I shall be taking the matter up with your directors. If you'll excuse me I really have things to get on with." She started to edge the door shut with her fingers gripped tightly to the edge.
Don was not so easily dissuaded. Concern sparked in his eyes. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He should have kept to touching himself in his office whenever she phoned him. Her threat wouldn’t be an idle one. He leant forward to push his face into the narrowing gap. "There is no need for that attitude, Miss Mercouri. I’m trying my best here." There was a note of desperation in his voice. "I promise you that your lock will be fitted the minute it arrives. That’ll be Wednesday or Thursday at the latest."
Imogen relent
ed. "Okay, Don. I’ll allow you one last chance. Get it done by Thursday afternoon at the latest. Don’t let me down."
"Thank you, Miss Mercouri. Is there anything else I can help you with?" His brashness had quickly returned.
"No thank you, Don. I simply have to get ready now. I’m running late." She eased the door to an ever-narrower opening.
Don's florid face was shoved up against the gap, his hot breath on her hand. "Big night tonight, is it, Miss Mercouri?"
"Good night, Don."
The door closed with a satisfying click and Imogen thumbed home the lock. An involuntary shudder passed through her body. She had never before engaged with Don in a one-on-one conversation of any length. She had dismissively regarded him as a jovial man that was perhaps a little over-friendly. In future she would restrict her contact to the telephone. Then she stopped dead. Maybe Don had had been right. Maybe she had been over-reacting. The business with the intruder had come on top of the poison pen letters and the whole state of affairs was preying on her mind. She suddenly decided to blow away her worries and pay a quick visit to Gable. He should be home by now. She had a ready excuse. There was his brother's telephone call to Don Thornton to thank him for. She had enough time before she had to get changed. If she didn't make the effort there was a chance that Gable would never raise the nerve to approach her again. They might be able to fit something in over the weekend. She hurried to the bedroom, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and shoved her feet into a pair of trainers. She didn't stop to think about it and ran from her apartment. She bounded up the stairs two at a time and knocked soundly on the inner panel of the fire door.
The door was slow in opening and she had almost given up when the sound of the bolt being operated lit her face with a smile. A tousled head appeared at the half-open door.
"Oh, Roger, it’s you. I didn't expect to see you."
Roger's cheeks burned red. "I… I do live here."
Imogen grimaced. Of course he did. "I'm so sorry," she apologized, "Of course you do. "I was looking for Gable."
Roger's hand was folded on the side of the door. His knuckles were whitening under the pressure. He was blinking rapidly behind his heavy glasses. His arm and bare shoulder came into view glistening with the sheen of sweat. The blood vessels in Roger's muscles stood out like a motorway network on a road map. Imogen was impressed. The brothers were making good use of the multi-gym. They would be hard to tell apart in the dark. Roger could have been back only a few minutes and he was already working out. She craned her neck to look past the corded sinews of Roger's neck for a sign of Gable.
"I… I'm sorry, Gable is out." Roger offered the snippet of information with nothing to follow. The door began to inch shut, concealing most of Roger's body and leaving one pale blue eye and a quarter of his blond head on show.
Imogen entertained the playful thought that Roger might be naked. She took a half step nearer the door and gave in to the devil inside her. "Do you mind if I wait, Roger?"
Roger's single eye opened wide in panic. "No! Sorry. I… I'm busy. I mean... I'm sorry, I have to go. Goodbye."
The door closed firmly in Imogen's face. She guessed that her assumption had been correct. A giant grin stretched her mouth into a broad crescent. She wasn't even angry. Imogen Mercouri had elicited a multitude of male reactions in her time but she had never before had a door shut in her face. The poor man had been frightened out of his wits. There she was, standing outside the apartment of a virtual stranger, insanely grinning and breathing in a heady mix of testosterone and the familiar male cologne.
She giggled as she ran down the stairs and into her apartment. By the time she had showered and changed she had forgotten about Don Thornton's uncomfortable visit and Roger's reaction to her unexpected call. She had taken Connie's advice to heart and dressed to kill. The elegant top and trousers had been an extravagance she had been reserving for a special occasion. The exquisite material was gossamer and shimmering. The trousers clung to every curve of her hips and thighs necessitating an invisible black thong to preserve her modesty. The halter neck top billowed in two swathes of shimmering material that barely covered her breasts before plunging to her navel. The inside curves of her bosom were tantalizingly on show. Her bare midriff showed off the flat expanse of golden skin to stunning effect. Her make-up was designed to complement the revealing outfit: a light foundation and a touch of blusher on her well-defined cheekbones; cherry-red lipstick to emphasize the fullness of her lips and highlight the natural pout of her mouth. Imogen was ready to make an entrance.
"My god, you look fantastic!" Paul's bulging eyes reflected the impact of Imogen's outfit. His basic masculine greeting was all the approval she needed.
"You look pretty hot yourself," returned Imogen. He was wearing the predictable suit but this one had the fit and style of Armani. He had managed to avoid a tie and looked a man of casual elegance and panache. Imogen was proud to have such a handsome escort. There was no denying that Paul was an extremely attractive and eligible man. Imogen could understand Rose's obsession with pairing of two of her favorite people. But the chemistry just wasn't there. And she was beginning to believe that Paul was coming round to the same conclusion.
"The car is out front," said Paul as he idly wandered into the lounge. "Are you ready to go?"
"One minute, Paul." She dashed to the bedroom to collect her purse and slip on a pair of low golden heels. She fastened her diamond-studded choker, slipped on her rings and clipped the gold bracelet on her wrist.
"After you, beautiful lady." Paul held the door back for Imogen to walk ahead. "Wow."
Imogen spun to look at Paul with wide-eyed innocence. "Something wrong?" she asked mischievously.
"Not a single thing." He dragged his eyes up her slender body. “You look amazing.” he pulled the door and took her arm. Together they walked to the elevator and the smile on Paul's face would have illuminated St Paul's Cathedral.
Imogen gracefully entered the waiting Rolls Royce as Paul held the door open. They waited patiently for the driver to remember what he was supposed to be doing and rip his eyes from the interior mirror before the powerful vehicle surged into motion. Imogen had received all the confidence boosts she could have asked for. Her outfit had left her with little change from £2,000 and it was worth every last penny. Her arrival at the Gold Star Café was as positive as Paul's first reaction to her breathtaking appearance. She was blinded by paparazzi flashbulbs as Paul hurried her through the fans and bemused tourists caught in the buzz outside the café’s roped-off entrance. Conversation died as male and female heads alike turned to admire her dazzling entrance.
"Imogen, you look sensational!" Connie pushed through the crowd to Imogen's rescue. She planted a kiss on Imogen's cheek. "You don't do things by halves, do you?" She greeted Paul and led them through a blur of faces that sometimes called Imogen's name or marked her passage with a low whistle. The Gold Star Café was wall to wall with people Imogen knew and faces that she thought she recognized. There was no time to stop and speak as Connie cheerfully barged a path through expensively-dressed footballers from the London clubs and a host of celebrity guests. They arrived at their table excited and out of breath to be welcomed by the familiar faces on Connie’s guest list. Imogen shouted hello above the din and dropped gratefully into a seat next to Rose. The buoyant red-head was wearing a low cut, red snake-print dress that displayed a cleavage a man could drown in. A handsome youth that Imogen failed to recognize smiled hi from the seat on the other side of Rose. Imogen didn’t make a judgment. She thought of Michael and smiled to herself.
"You look fabulous, honey," said Rose loudly above the music and chatter.
"Thank you, Rose," called back Imogen. "I'm starting to think that maybe I should have worn something a little less attention grabbing."
"Don't you dare!" Rose admonished her with a look of horror. "Make the most of what you've got while you've got it, honey. That's my motto."
They laughed and someo
ne poured the champagne. Paul had taken the seat at Imogen's side and Connie fitted herself next to Paul. They were already enjoying their own conversation. Connie’s gaze was flicking over Paul’s shoulder. She couldn’t take her eyes off Imogen. Occasionally their eyes would meet and hold. They would exchange a small smile before one of them looked away.
"Imogen,” called Rose as the music faded. "Have you met Tony?" She leaned back to allow Imogen to smile hello and touch hands with the tanned young man. "Tony is my new fitness instructor." She announced the fact with a straight face before winking broadly at Imogen.
Imogen gulped on the champagne she had just raised to her lips. Rose had never exercised in her life. The champagne bubbled into her nose and Imogen coughed into her hand. She hastily returned her glass to the table and grabbed a napkin to cover her mouth. Imogen spluttered into the starched cotton cloth and a firm hand patted her between the shoulder blades.
"Th… Thank you," she stuttered to the unseen helper. She turned towards the lean figure crouched at the side of her chair. Her breath caught in her throat and just for a second her stomach churned. He had always possessed the power to disturb her physically. "Hello Karl."
Rose was distracted and Paul was laughing with Connie. Imogen was isolated in time, the surrounding furor dulled to a distant roar and Karl smiled the crooked smile that had worked a thousand times. Karl Wainscott, enduring pop icon and legendary lover, exuded the same boyish charm that once had turned Imogen's life upside-down and almost destroyed her. The shoulder- length hair framed a handsome face that carried a few more lines but gave nothing away of his true age.
"Hi, babe. I'm sure you're tired of hearing it, but you look absolutely delicious."
The spell was broken. Imogen shuddered at the trite expression. How she hated that word and all the connotations that it carried. It was the same word he whispered in the ear of every conquest. It was his favorite endearment and he put it to intimate use that sickened her with the memory. She had heard him utter it to the last pretty blonde she had caught him with while they were still together. And it had burned in her mind as she had packed her bags and stormed from his apartment for the last time, furious that all his declarations of undying love had meant nothing.
