She’d had the foresight to tuck her shorthand pad into her handbag in case he wanted to test her speed and she assumed that a portable typewriter would be a vital part of his luggage and easily accessible if he wanted to see her typing skills. Anticipating his affirmative reply, she began to unbutton her jacket, feeling that she would be more comfortable, and therefore more efficient, without its hampering presence.
A funny, strangled sound emerged from his throat as he stretched out his hands and firmly buttoned her jacket back up. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
She didn’t know what brought the blush to her cheeks, his peremptory tone or his fingers performing the intimate task in the proximity of her breast.
‘I was looking at it from your point of view,’ she said in an unnaturally sharp voice, which etched his frown into deeper lines of disapproval. If he wanted a puppet assistant who never answered back he ought to steer clear of the personal touch, dictate straight into a machine and send his material through the post to be typed.
‘And here I was thinking I’d thwarted your desire to display your talents to me,’ he drawled.
She couldn’t understand the scoffing inflection in his voice, but it was instinctive to retaliate. ‘I thought that ten minutes now would save you the cost of my fare if I didn’t match up to your expectations.’
He was a long time in replying. When he did his tone was overlaid with sarcasm. ‘Have you any reason to suppose that you won’t match up to my. . . expectations?’
‘No,’ she said, puzzled and disturbed by the studied pause and his manner in general.
‘And do you really think you can do full justice to your talents in ten minutes?’
For some totally unknown reason she found herself twisting her fingers into her hair, as if there were something improper about the question.
Nor could she know—because it wasn’t apparent in his manner—how unnerving he found those candid eyes viewing him in judgment. He met her gaze steadily, but there was no flinching away, no flicker of anything in those clear sapphire depths, and still no reply on that uncompromisingly straight mouth.
‘Well, blast it, can you?’ he demanded.
Her eyelids fluttered, her glance dropped, but she quickly looked up again to say, ‘No, I don’t imagine so.’
‘There’s your answer then,’ he said savagely. ‘I’ll just have to take you on a “goods on approval” basis.’
The rush of words, an instantaneous reaction, came crisply to her lips. ‘Are you trying to insult me?’
‘I doubt if that would be possible.’
He was back in fighting form again, his equilibrium restored by the loss of hers. Before her mind could grind into action again he strode away from her, searching for pen and check book and a flat surface on which to write.
Provoked beyond endurance, seething passionately, she thought, I’m a fool to wait. If I’d any sense I’d get up and walk out that door. The man’s unbalanced. He must be. And I must be, too. Because she seemed incapable of following her own wise counsel. If she got up now, if she walked out that door, there would be no turning back and she would be walking out of his life for good. She couldn’t do it.
She hung her head in shame and humiliation at this admission of cowardice. She was curious to know him better, and cowardly because she suspected that if she attempted to escape, he would drag her back.
She sensed that he had adopted a certain proprietorial attitude toward her. She didn’t know why this should be; it made no more sense than anything else in this decidedly bizarre set-up did. For some incomprehensible reason he had taken it upon himself to be responsible for her. In place of her errant father? No! Most definitely not! He wasn’t old enough to be her father.
She wasn’t sure of his age. He could slot in anywhere between the thirty and thirty-five marks. And he certainly didn’t look at her in the way a father would.
How did he look at her? The complexity of the man made that question difficult to answer. When she had first arrived his look had been one of intense desire. He had been all charm, chasing her like mad so that she had wondered, in a panic of reciprocal desire and doubt, how she could work for him and not be hounded straight into his bed. Then, abruptly, all that had changed and it seemed as though he wanted no physical contact with her. It was very odd. He had viewed her with distaste, but not with actual dislike, if that were possible. There might be something about her that didn’t appeal to him, but there was more about her that did. He was fighting himself, attracted to her in spite of himself. It was either that, or it was all a big bluff. Could that be it? Was he pretending uninterest, aversion even, because he thought it would make her feel safe, and then when he’d lured her away, beyond the protection of home surroundings and familiar things, would he drop the pretense and start chasing her again?
These thoughts were better left alone. If she admitted to the possibility that he had designs on anything other than her shorthand and typing skills, then she would have to say she’d changed her mind and ask him to tear up the check. She didn’t want to do that. Not solely for altruistic reasons, because if Allycats was to survive it needed a quick injection of cash, but also because the tearing up of the check would end the matter and there would be no reason for further contact between them.
Paul returned to tower above her, his aggressive stance matching the set of his chin. She still had no idea what she had done to earn his mockery and contempt. She did know that her thoughts on his not-so-innocent designs on her body were too recent not to tinge her cheeks a bright guilt-pink, and wondered what he was making of that. It probably added strength to whatever malformed notion he’d got into his head about her.
As he looked down at her his mouth moved into a deeper smile of bitter contempt, increasing her uneasiness and, to her further consternation, causing her blush to intensify. Charming! She was behaving as though she had something to be ashamed of.
‘Here,’ he said, thrusting the check at her. ‘That should do for a start. There’ll be more later if you’re still with me.’
Puzzling inwardly about the tension that had grown between them, and half afraid that she would blow her chances by losing control and telling him exactly what she thought about his behavior, she stood for some moments before her eyes focused on the amount it was for. She almost dropped the check in surprise.
‘I can’t accept this,’ she gasped.
‘Why not?’ he jeered. ‘Isn’t it enough?’
‘You must know it’s not that,’ she flung at him, her composure slipping again. ‘It’s too much. I expected you to pay well, but you’ve gone overboard.’
If she presented a check of this amount to Ally, she dared not conjecture what her friend would think she’d had to do to earn it.
For the first time that evening she had said something that neither lowered his brow in displeasure nor lifted his mouth in sarcasm; instead an odd, thoughtful expression stayed for a moment or two on his face.
‘Perhaps you’re not past redemption, after all,’ he said. Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he went on to say, ‘It’s not as lavish as it looks at face value. I shall expect you to deduct a portion of that to buy new clothes. Unless your wardrobe is fitted out in readiness for trips of this nature?’
‘Of course it isn’t. It’s hardly an everyday occurrence. Obviously I shall need new clothes.’ She hadn’t thought of that necessity before he drew her attention to it. ‘But even so, it’s still too generous.’
‘I’m going to be even more generous—’ he began.
‘Oh, no, you’re not,’ she broke in urgently. ‘I haven’t yet decided if my conscience will allow me to accept this much.’
‘Hm. You really are the most extraordinary girl. If you’d let me finish you’d know that I wasn’t intending to up the price. My generosity in this instance is not of the monetary sort. I’m going to give you something that money can’t buy—time. Time to have second thoughts. I have to leave tomorrow—there’s no w
ay I can put off the date of my departure—but I’m going to give you a few days’ grace. I’ll book you on a flight for, say, early next week. Utilize the time as you think best, winding up your affairs here, shopping for new clothes, or changing your mind. I’ll see that your ticket is sent to you by post. Remember, you don’t have to use it.’
Her throat felt abnormally dry as it occurred to her that he didn’t want her to use it. He’d had the second thoughts he said he was hoping she’d have and was looking for a way out. It was all of a piece with what usually happened to her when something wonderful was within her grasp. Something unprecedented always happened to snatch it away.
The prospect of going to the Bahamas and working for this difficult-to-understand man who aroused equal quantities of like and dislike in her, who angered her as much as he appealed to her, was suddenly the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her in her life.
‘And if I don’t change my mind?’ she queried rebelliously.
‘You’ll be met at Nassau airport,’ he said with an unwelcome return of that arrogant, mocking drawl.
* * *
Sleep was again a stranger to her that night. Next morning, feeling decidedly under par, looking as she always did when she was tired, heavy-eyed like a drooping child, she could have done without the explicit meaning of Ally’s raised left eyebrow, on the heels of which came the verbal comment, ‘It’s not worth it.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘Whatever’s making you look this jaded.’
‘I . . . think I’m coming down with a cold,’ she lied on inspiration. If Ally thought she had any doubts, the check was as good as torn up.
‘Oh, poor you. Taken anything for it?’
‘No, not yet. Aren’t you going to ask me how it went last night?’
‘How did it go last night?’ Ally asked dutifully, her sober tone showing that she wasn’t fooled.
‘I got the job,’ Catherine said. Roused by Ally’s suspicion to do better, she matched her brightest tone to her biggest smile. ‘Didn’t I do well? You must have second sight, or something, because you were absolutely right in thinking he’d want me to go with him. Thank goodness it’s not a whaler in the Antarctic, but . . .’ Pause for dramatic effect before announcing importantly, ‘The Bahamas, would you believe?’
Ally’s mouth fell open in surprise. ‘Lucky you!’
‘Payment in advance.’
‘No quibble about rates? Some people keep rich by being mean.’
‘The only quibble was on my side. I said it was too much, but as he so rightly pointed out I shall need to fit myself with a new wardrobe.’
She placed the check squarely on the desk in front of Ally. Ally’s eyebrows took off into her hair. She didn’t offer to touch the check, just stared at it as though it was too hot to handle. ‘Oh, my! And which fashion house will madam be patronizing?’ she said, adopting a high, false accent.
Just in case she wasn’t joking and thought the amount on the check might have gone to her head, Catherine said firmly, ‘The usual places will do fine for most of the things, with perhaps a couple of special outfits from some not too pricey boutique.’
‘Can I give you some advice, Cat?’
‘Please do. I’ve always admired your dress sense.’
‘I don’t mean about clothes.’
‘That sounds as though you’re going to tell me something I won’t want to know, “for my own good.”’ She pulled at a strand of hair, a subconscious habit in moments of doubt or stress, and released it when she realized what she was doing, but not before Ally’s quick eye had spotted the telltale sign.
‘My advice is this. Don’t consider Allycats. I know it would put us on our feet. While you were away I could find new premises and perhaps move in, and we’d be able to hold on until we’ve had a chance to make a name for ourselves and the jobs really start rolling in. But weighed against that is how you feel. It’s a lot of money. If you’re the teeniest bit uneasy about anything . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
‘I’m not,’ Catherine affirmed. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She didn’t feel the teeniest bit uneasy. She felt a lot uneasy.
Poor Ally, she could almost sympathize with her, torn as she was between wanting to slam the check straight into the bank and settle back in the knowledge that her most immediate and pressing problem was solved and that as far as the question of Samantha was concerned she could tell her in-laws, ‘Thank you but no, thank you,’—and guilt because she wasn’t using force to talk Catherine out of it.
‘It isn’t right,’ Ally said. ‘Nobody is paid this much for secretarial work. Are they?’ She looked at the check again, as though expecting it to acquire a voice and speak up for itself. ‘It doesn’t add up. Just how many years has he paid you for in advance?’ she joked feebly.
Catherine wondered what her reaction would have been if she’d told her it was just a retainer. Something to go on with until he decided if she would suit, in which case more would follow.
She decided not to risk it and said, ‘No time period was specified. Honestly, Ally, it’s not what you’re thinking.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Ally said, pathetically eager to be convinced.
‘Remember Joanna Dunn?’
‘Of course. But what’s she got to do with it?’
‘Nothing. Just drawing a parallel. She’s working as a nanny for a millionaire Greek ship owner. Well, her salary, after everything’s been found for her—keep, travel, uniforms and so forth—makes our joint earnings look like pin money.’
‘Mm, yes.’ Ally reflected further on that. ‘I wouldn’t like to say anything to spoil it for you. A chance like this might never come your way again. The Bahamas—all expenses paid and more besides. Oh, Cat, isn’t it exciting? If you’re sure? When I think about it properly I’m going to hate you, because nothing like this has ever happened to me, but right now I’m thrilled to bits for you. It is all right, isn’t it?’ She went on in this way for a while longer, her enthusiasm punctuated by the odd doubtful murmur, and then asked, giving a feeling of finality to the situation that took Catherine’s breath away, ‘When do you go?’
The door of escape had closed so firmly on her that she thought she should have heard its loud clang. Gathering herself together, she said, ‘I won’t know for certain until my plane ticket arrives—it’s to be sent through the post—but he said early next week.’
She had such a silly feeling, a mingling of fear and excitement, as though she sensed that she had just committed herself to something that would change her for life, and she wasn’t sure whether she should welcome it or be afraid.
Was it an omen? Paul Hebden’s face came brightly to her mind, the distinctive jade eyes dark and disapproving, the strong mouth molded in disdain. She shrugged, trying to dispel the unfriendly image—too late for second thoughts, his or hers. If he hadn’t wanted her to take on his typing he shouldn’t have asked her in the first place.
Ally gasped, her voice vibrant with wonder, and if she noticed anything wrong with Catherine’s expression she didn’t comment on it. ‘I suppose it’s all pretty much run of the mill to him; being a celebrity, he’s probably used to shooting off somewhere at a moment’s notice, but it’s not going to give you a lot of time for shopping.’ She giggled, a lovely, compulsive, infectious sound, pulling Catherine out of her gray mood. ‘Not that you’ll need all that much time now that money’s no object. It’ll just be a case of going into the most exclusive shop and saying, “I’ll have that, that and that.” I was thinking of the old hunting-for-a-bargain days and all that cheating camouflage stuff you do.’
‘It’s not cheating, it’s good strategy,’ Catherine said, defending her trick of changing cheap belts and buttons for more expensive ones to add a touch of individuality, and buying a longer length than she needed and then cutting off the machine-stitched hem and turning it up again to give it that hand-hemmed haute couture look. ‘And I am not going on a mad spending spree.’
‘We’l
l see about that,’ Ally declared. ‘It’s time you got something good out of life instead of looking out for others.’
Catherine didn’t know about that. She did know that it was pretty wonderful to see Ally looking, talking, acting in the old familiar way when they went shopping together. She’d always gone pelting at life, but of late she’d got into the habit of shrinking into corners, waiting to be pelted at. Yes, whatever happened, it was worth it to see Ally back on top, with an energy and determination and unarguable logic that swept all Catherine’s protests to one side.
‘Buy this one, Cat. It won’t crush in your suitcase. No, no, no, Catherine! This one will defy passing fashion whims—how can you say it’s expensive when it will last you forever? Oh, you’ll make a grand entrance in this.’ She held up a soft, floating chiffon in subtle shadings of every blue imaginable, including the sapphire blue of Catherine’s eyes. ‘Yes, Cat, I know what you’re thinking. But every girl is surely allowed one bit of frivolity, and it’s so you.’
‘You’re right. I must be frivolous to let you talk me into it. And why have I bought all this beach wear? This is supposed to be a working assignment. No, not supposed to be, is.’
But the holiday feeling persisted.
She decided to give up her small apartment. She felt that it would be too extravagant to keep it and pay rent for even a short period, and anyway, it would give her the impetus to find a better place when she returned. She rented it fully furnished, so she didn’t have the problem of putting a lot of bulky furniture into storage. Ally volunteered to give a safe home to her bits and pieces, the pretty trivia she’d picked up to make her place more homelike, until she could take possession again.
There were some things she couldn’t bear to part with for even a short time, and these she packed into her suitcase: a handful of treasured photographs; a falling-to-pieces rag doll called Belinda; her mother’s very last gift to her, the brush and comb set, complete with its own matching mirror.
Edge of Paradise Page 4
