Fever

by Charlotte Lamb

  'Who by?' Rob enquired.

  She threw him a grin. 'Men.'

  'My God!' exclaimed Rob, miming horror. 'You be careful. You never know what could come of that.'

  'Oh, I've a shrewd idea,' she retorted, leaning back in her chair, her hands linked behind her bright head, the stretch of her body very feminine.

  'Depraved hussy,' he murmured, eyeing her with exaggerated interest. She moved a hand to pat his cheek, smiling wickedly at him, and he put up his own hand to catch her wrist clumsily. His hands had once been graceful, clever. It hurt to see their un­gainly movements now, but Sara gave him a bril­liant smile.

  'Lucy, your husband's making advances to me!'

  Lucy looked through the hatch to the kitchen, where she was making coffee with Greg, and scolded indulgently, 'Hands off, Rob, you disgusting man. Can't you leave the girl alone?'

  'She brings out the beast in me,' Rob retorted with a mock growl and a leer.

  'Not only in you,' Greg said through the hatch. 'She's had a rich merchant banker prowling around her lately.'

  Sara flushed hotly and looked round at him, her eyes requesting him to drop the subject. Greg caught the glance and his brows lifted sharply. But Rob was intrigued, delighted to hear some amusing gossip.

  He leaned forward in his chair, the blurred lines of his once attractive face a painful reminder of his illness, and looking at his sparkling eyes, Sara did not have the heart to stop him.

  'What's this? What's this? Do I scent intrigue?'

  Sara met Greg's eyes and he read her silent per­mission to answer.

  'Remember I took her to a party a few weeks back? She met up with Nick Rawdon and he flipped his lid over her.'

  Scalding colour rushed into her face. 'I didn't say that,' she protested.

  'Rawdon,' Rob mused aloud, his swollen fingers on his knees. 'That would be Rawdon's Bank—an old City institution. I know the building well—one of the pleasures of London, Lazreth Square.' He sighed, his face altering, and Greg watched him with a taut smile. They all knew what Rob was thinking. He had barely left this house for months. Then Rob thrust that look from his face and smiled brightly. 'A beautiful Georgian square. Rawdons have a corner terraced house, five storeys of it, with styled ironwork balconies and the usual elegant facade. White steps going up to the front door, a polished brass door plate, iron railings around the basement.' He had his eyes wide open, but mentally Sara knew he was seeing that house, that quiet London square.

  Lucy stoic. at Greg's shoulder, watching her hus­band, She was a slight, delicate woman with dark hair and eyes, and she had learnt to smile without showing a thing on her face. Now her features were quire empty, but Sara caught sight of her hands. They were twisting a tea towel in a jerky, convul­sive way which wrung Sara's heart.

  Rob glanced at Sara. 'You ought to get your banker admirer to take you around the place. Well worth seeing, I'd say. It isn't often you get the chance to see a building still being used for the pur­pose for which it was designed. The bank have oc­cupied that house since the early years of the nineteenth century.'

  'I doubt if I'll ever see him again,' Sara said with an almost pious sigh.

  'That prayer came from the heart,' Rob observed, watching her. 'Do you hope not or the opposite?'

  She laughed, looking flushed and uncertain. 'Greg was exaggerating, as usual. It was nothing.'

  Greg pointed out to Lucy that the coffee was ready and somehow the topic was dropped. Driving back to their home, later, Greg glanced at Sara hesi­tantly and said: 'I'm sorry I brought Rawdon up.'

  'It doesn't matter.'

  'I think it does,' said Greg. 'Did he get to you, Sara?'

  Her cheeks bloomed instantly and she stam­mered, 'What on earth do you mean?'

  He stared ahead at the dark road, the yellow pools of light from the street lamps flashing past as he drove. 'Something happened up in Yorkshire. You were different when you came back,'

  'It wasn't that,' she retorted.

  Greg grimaced. 'I wasn't prying.'

  'There's nothing to pry into,' she insisted. 'I met him twice up there and nothing happened.'

  It was a lie—she knew it as she said it. Something had happened, all right, but she wasn't sure what. Whatever it was, was still so fragile and buried so deep inside her own mind that she hesitated to dig it up to inspect it. As she had said, she wasn't likely to see Nick again and gradually that tentative feel­ing would perish from sheer lack of air.

  Greg respected her need for privacy just as he expected her to respect his, but he wasn't blind to the change in her and he had given her the opportunity to confide in him if she wished. Now that she had quietly turned it down, Greg wouldn't probe any deeper, and she was grateful to him for his delicacy. She did not want to talk about Nick Rawdon; she didn't even want to think about him.

  That was harder than she had expected, though. As the weeks went by he kept intruding into her mind without warning. During the day she was able to keep herself so occupied that she could hurriedly turn off whenever a thought of him occurred, but at night it was much harder. She would lie in the darkness, her busy brain spawning images that left

  her breathless. No man had ever aroused her in the

  way he had. He was like some sudden fever which had deposited a germ in her blood so that from time to time it came to life once more, travelling dangerously through her veins.

  It was two months later that she and Greg walked into a London art dealer's gallery to seen an exhibi­tion being given by a friend of Greg's. Sara was sparkling as she talked to the very tall, thin man who was exhibiting. He had always flirted with her when they met and he did so now, teasingly, his light eyes not serious. He was excited about his ex­hibition and not displeased to have Sara smiling at him as he talked to her, but neither of them meant anything much by their gay exchange of banter.

  She was wearing her silvery dress, the light flash­ing off it as she stood there, her green eyes dancing with amusement as she listened. Greg came up be­hind her and slid his arms around her waist, leaning his chin on her shoulder.

  'What are you two up to? Can't I leave you alone for a minute, girl?'

  His friend grinned. 'She's far too beautiful to be left unattended,' he retorted.

  Sara glanced sideways and Greg's brown eyes met hers, a comical wryness in his face. 'You're keeping the man from his eager public,' he told her.

  'Nothing of the kind,' he was told by his friend. 'Clear off, Greg. We were doing very well without you.'

  'Perhaps you should be circulating,' said Sara, wondering exactly why Greg had interrupted. It wasn't like him to behave like a dog in the manger, but, she knew him well enough to take the hint he had given her.

  His friend bowed regretfully, kissing her hand, and moved off, humming the tune Jealousy in a meaningful way. Greg smiled, but with his cheek still against hers he murmured, 'Rawdon is here.'

  Sara stiffened. 'That's why you came over.'

  'I thought you ought to know. He's been watch­ing you for the past ten minutes.'

  She felt her eyes beginning to wander and Greg straightened and moved in front of her, blocking her view of the room. She looked up into his face enquiringly.

  'There's no need for high drama, Greg. He won't pounce on me like a ravenous tiger.'

  Greg had a faint frown. 'You didn't see yourself when you got back from Yorkshire. I've no wish to see you look like that again.'

  She felt herself colouring. Greg watched her and she couldn't quite meet his eyes,

  'He's poison to you,' he commented.

  She took his hand, holding it tightly. 'Greg, there's something I ought to tell you. I told him we were lovers.'

  Greg's brown eyes opened wide and then nar­rowed into dark slits, watching her. 'Now why should you do that? Don't tell me, let me guess.'

  'You're angry—I guessed you would be. I'm sorry, Greg. I had no business lying about you and I'm sorry to have embarrassed you.'

  'Don't be absurd
,' Greg said flatly. 'It doesn't bother me, except that it shows me how close he was hunting. You wouldn't have made up such a story unless you had good reason.'

  Her colour deepened. She nodded, staring at the floor.

  Greg suddenly put a hand around her head and bent to kiss her lightly. 'Don't worry, baby. I'll keep him away.' His grin broke across his sad-funny face. 'You've played bodyguard for me before now.'

  Behind his shoulder Sara caught an advancing face and with a stifled giggle said, 'You're going to need one now, too.'

  She saw the alarm flash into his eyes, but before he could move Lorna Roberts was embracing him, kissing his cheek. 'Greg darling!'

  'Hallo, Lorna,' he said in resigned tones. He gently detached himself and caught Sara's hand in a casual manner. 'Enjoying Peter's exhibition?'

  Lorna ignored Sara, her thin dark face hungry as she looked at Greg. She was a volatile woman with incredible persistence and Greg had never found it in his heart to snub her so unmercifully that she would take the message. His polite evasions did him no good. Lorna pursued him without ever seeming to notice that he showed no returning in­terest.

  'I think I've got you a client,' she said now. She was indefatigable about chasing up business for him, but even that could not lessen Greg's weary resistance to her. He held on to Sara as Lorna steered him towards a small group standing some way across the room.

  'Now, be charming to them, Greg,' Lorna chided him.

  He gave Sara a wry little smile sideways, but she wasn't looking at him. She was staring at the man facing her in the little group and he was staring back.

  Greg's hand tightened on her as he saw Nick, but then Lorna was introducing them and there was a polite little gabble from the other members of the group. Somehow Lorna contrived to separate Sara from Greg and somehow Nick was beside her, and she looked up into his blue eyes with a sensation of total helplessness.

  He put his hand under her elbow and she let him move her away from the group. Her heart was thud­ding in a sickening way and her eyes were too bril­liant.

  He looked at her through those heavy, cynical lids and she felt feverish as she looked back.

  'I wondered if you would be here,' he drawled.

  'Peter's a friend of Greg's.' Was that her voice? She didn't recognise it. It sounded too high, too un­stable.

  The hard mouth twisted. 'Is he? I had the im­pression he fancied you.'

  She looked at him quickly. He had been watch­ing her and Peter talking and God knows what he had been thinking. She had been flirting cheerfully, unaware of being watched, and now her cheeks burnt as she met his eyes.

  'What are you doing here?' she asked him self-defensively. 'I didn't think you were a patron of the arts.'

  'I'm here in case I might see you,' he said, and the frank reply threw her. She could only look at him with her mouth open like a stupid fish out of water and he started to grin suddenly.

  'Catching flies?'

  She shut her mouth.

  'Have dinner with me,' he said, moving closer, his blue eyes on her face.

  Sara shook her head, not daring to trust her voice. His hand slid up her bare arm and she shivered at the touch. She wanted to say yes. At this moment she knew she ached to be alone with him. That wasn't all she wanted, but she wouldn't think of that. The art dealer giving the exhibition was cir­culating with a tray. He paused beside them, giving Nick an interested, respectful look, and grinned at Sara.

  'Hallo, Gerry,' she said, taking a glass of his champagne.

  'That's all you're getting tonight,' he warned. 'I'm not made of money.'

  She had known him for quite a while. She knew his passion for little economies and she merely made a face at him as she sipped from the glass.

  Gerry gave Nick another of his respectful smiles and she realised he knew who Nick was and was hoping he had found a new client.

  Nick took a glass and then gave Gerry a look. It wasn't exactly menacing, but Gerry swallowed and vanished.

  Sara couldn't help giggling. Gerry was soft-skinned, timid, a little malicious. He would no doubt find Nick alarming.

  'A good trick, that,' she said, sipping more cham­pagne and finding it was lessening his effect on her. She felt brave and lighthearted suddenly. She gave Nick a teasing little smile. 'What do you do for an encore?'

  'Guess,' he said, moving closer, looking at her in an unmistakable fashion.

  She moved her head back, her green eyes glinting. 'I wouldn't like to come and ask you for a loan. You must be terrifying behind a desk.'

  'Oh, I think you'd get a sympathetic hearing,' he drawled, his smile needing no explanation.

  She fluttered her lashes at him. 'Would I? No collateral?'

  'I didn't say that,' he drawled, glancing down at her warm curved body.

  Greg moved beside them suddenly and Nick turned his black head to stare coldly at him. Greg stared back, his thin melancholy features filled with hostility.

  'Coming to look at the pictures, Sara?' Greg asked her.

  'We're talking,' Nick said between his teeth, and suddenly his whole face changed. He looked at Greg with the eyes of someone who is only waiting for the chance to hit out, a barely controlled violence in his face. Sara felt her heart come up into her mouth. It had never occurred to her that he might make a scene here in public, but suddenly she was afraid he would. He had a reckless glitter in his eyes, his body poised on the edge of movement.

  'Would you mind if I had dinner with Nick, Greg?' she asked to stop him, and both men swiv­elled their heads to stare at her. Greg looked in­credulous. Nick had a narrowed stare.

  Greg held her eyes, his face irritated. 'I can't stop you,' he said tersely. That wasn't all he said, but the rest was silent, his eyes asking her what the hell she thought she was playing at, asking her if she was out of her skull.

  Nick took her glass out of her hand and put it down beside his on a convenient ledge. He put a hand under her arm and without a word to Greg he steered her out of the gallery, leaving Greg star­ing after them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'What changed your mind?' he asked as they walked along die pavement in the cool night air. The wind blew a scrap of paper past them and she watched it rustling past shop windows until it vanished into the dark.

  'Can't I change my mind without giving reasons?' He steered her towards a long silver-grey car which was parked at the kerb. 'I don't give a damn why you're corning with me so long as you are,' he said, opening the car and helping her into the pas­senger seat. He walked round and climbed in be­side her, his hands on the steering wheel. He gave her a brief glance from under his black lashes. 'What's Halliday going to make of it, though?' She blushed and shrugged. 'I'm a free individual.' 'Yes?' His dark brows rose crookedly. 'I didn't get that impression just now. He came hurrying over to separate us, didn't he? He made no bones about it —I recognised the look he gave me. But you dug your heels in suddenly. Why?' He watched her closely, his face hard. 'Are you using me, Sara?' She stared. 'Using you?' 'To make him jealous?'

  She gave a brief laugh. 'That hadn't occurred to me.'

  'No? I wonder.' He started the ignition and the car engine idled purringly. 'I won't like it if you are,' he said, looking in his wing mirror before he slid out into the street. 'I give you fair warning.'

  She leaned back in her seat, her hands in her lap. 'Where are we going?'

  'You'll see,' he returned softly.

  'How very mysterious!' He looked like a stranger, his long hands on the wheel, his harsh profile capped by the thick black hair. The light from passing street lamps brought out a few silver hairs in it, giv­ing his face a new distinction. I barely know him, Sara thought. Am I crazy doing this?

  He pulled oil into an underground car-park and she looked round in distrust at the echoing concrete caverns, their shadows only dimly lit. Nick came round and helped her out, guiding her towards a lift nearby.

  'Where are we?' she asked, her feet dragging a little as he led her through th
e darkness.

  He opened the lift door and she found herself shepherded into it. The door closed and the lift be­gan to ascend. 'Where are we?' she asked again. He leaned on the grey metallic wall and eyed her, a little smile on the hard mouth.

  'Almost there,' he said softly.

  She felt a tremor of fever running through her veins. Her colour deepened and the green eyes flashed brilliantly at him.

  'I don't trust you,' she heard herself saying.

  He smiled slowly, his black head bent to survey her. 'No?' His hand brushed her hot cheek, then he turned as the lift slowed to a halt and the door slid open.

  The corridor into which she stepped was thickly carpeted in a dark blue. Her pulses drummed as she stood there mulishly, facing him with her bright head held high. 'This is your flat, isn't it?'

  He smiled but said nothing, watching her with a derisive sparkle in the blue eyes.

  'Do you think I'm an idiot? I'm not going to your flat at this hour of the night!'

  He touched the small button on the wall by the door, his eyes still amused, and Sara turned on her heel to walk back into the lift. He stretched out a lazy arm and caught her back, holding her easily as she struggled to get away.

  She was still fighting him when the door began to open. Sara stopped to stare as a short, grey-haired woman appeared, giving Nick a smile. 'Oh, good evening, sir. I wondered who it was at this hour.'

  Very flushed, Sara wondered what on earth to do, not liking the idea of bolting again while this sensible-looking woman watched in amazement.

  Nick deftly guided her into the long hall, his hands removing her short fur jacket. 'We'll have dinner, Mrs. Firth,' he said casually, over his shoul­der, tossing Sara's jacket to the woman.

  'Yes, sir,' the woman said without surprise.

  Nick was already opening a door and ushering Sara through it. She paused to stare around her, taking in the enormous room with fascination. It was decorated in muted shades of grey and blue, the whole effect being tranquil and unobtrusive, the furniture very modern, all squares and blocks, yet deeply padded and ultra-comfortable.

  She had already realised that this was the pent­house suite in the building. There had only been one door in that long corridor outside, so presum­ably Nick had the whole floor to himself. The size of this room was impressive, but it could only take up a fifth of the floor space available to him. Pre­sumably there were a number of bedrooms further down the corridor.