She was put straight through, and was surprised when the extension was answered, not by a secretary, but by Demetrius himself. 'Oh! I—was expecting a first line of defence.'
'Who is this?' The voice was clipped.
'Grace Allinson. I—got your message.'
'Grace!' The tone changed at once, astonishing her in its friendliness. 'This is a private extension, it comes directly to me.' There was a pause, then, without preamble, 'Can you manage lunch? I wondered if you'd mind coming here?'
She hardly knew what to say. She was actually pleased by the prospect of seeing him, it surprised her how much so, but she didn't want him to know it. 'I suppose I could, but—I mean, is it really necessary?'
Silence. Just one word, as if his feelings were hurt: 'Necessary?'
'I mean, what I meant was—'
'Is your dislike of me still so strong, Grace?'
'Well, I mean…' Why was she feeling guilty? It was ridiculous. 'I mean, why not?'
'That's better. This building is very easy to find, there's an excellent local company who cater for us from time to time, boardroom lunches and all that. Why don't you pop over and have a leisurely lunch with me?'
Was he mocking her? She honestly couldn't tell. What was he up to? 'Give me your address and tell me what time I should come.'
He did, and hung up.
She was still looking at the phone when Jillian walked in. 'Morning, Grace. Isn't it nice? I think spring has finally… are you all right?'
Grace looked up, totally bemused—partly at herself. Unthinking, she said, 'I have a luncheon appointment.'
'Oh.' Jillian beamed broadly. 'I thought someone had died.'
That was typical of her, and it was enough to snap Grace out of her reverie. She laughed as Jillian headed for the tiny kitchen and the coffee percolator.
At noon precisely she set off for Bracknell and rehearsed en route what she would say to Demetrius. It wasn't difficult, didn't need much thinking about. If he wanted to know why Melissa had taken her time in telling him about college, she would be straight with him. 'Because she's scared of you sometimes,' she would say. To hell with it, it was the truth. If he didn't like it, tough! In any case, he probably knew it already.
The building in which his head offices were was familiar to Grace and simple to find. It was big and impressive, with a tinted glass facade. She parked in the private car park, walked briskly through the automatic doors in the main entrance, and discovered that DKK Holdings were on the second floor, the whole of the second floor.
In reception, she was escorted immediately to the boss's office, where he was there to receive her, his door open. He stood, towering over her, dressed in an immaculate navy blue suit, a whiter-than-white shirt and a dark red tie. Very sombre and… conservative, to use Melissa's word. He bowed slightly and gestured for her to precede him. 'It's good of you to come, Grace. Do sit down.'
She was about to sit in the outsized, black leather swivel chair facing his desk, thought better of it and sat on a matching settee against one wall.
'Quite right, too,' he was smiling. 'You haven't come here to be interviewed.'
Hadn't she? Then why was she here? She tensed a little when he sat next to her, about two feet from her, on the settee. She wished she had opted for the swivel chair. He was looking at her intently, there was no smile on his face now. It had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and his eyes were flitting over her. 'You're looking lovely. New dress?'
Grace blinked, shook herself. 'Demetrius—'
'Oh, come on, now. Don't get uppity with me again. Did my remark offend? I make no apology if it did,' he added, 'I'm just interested to know how your mind works.' In the face of her silence he grinned, an enchanting and positively roguish grin. 'Well, now…' He settled himself into the corner of the settee, hooked one long leg over the other and raised his black brows expectantly. 'Let's try again. You're looking lovely today, Grace. But then you always do. New dress?'
There was only one thing she could do. She laughed. 'Yes, and thank you.'
'A drink?'
'I'd love one. A gin and tonic.'
He was on his feet, opening a cabinet which appeared to be solid mahogany. 'Ice?'
'No ice.'
Grace looked around as he poured the drinks; she took in the dark green of the carpet, the pale colour of the walls, the paintings hung around, the massive mahogany desk and the furniture. There were no filing cabinets in here, just the desk and the three telephones on it to make it an office rather than a masculine sort of sitting-room. But, even as she occupied herself thus, she was deciding she would simply play things by ear. She took the glass he offered, raised it, said 'Good health,' and left the ball in his court.
'You think I want to talk to you about Melissa, don't you?'
'Naturally.'
'Well, you're wrong. I want to talk to you about you. I owe you an apology.'
Her eyes opened wider. If she had known how lovely they looked, how blue in the light from the windows, she would have understood why suddenly he seemed to have lost his drift. 'As I was saying, I—owe you an apology, and it's long overdue.'
She looked away. If she had thrown her drink down, it might have explained why suddenly she felt… felt a little light-headed. But she hadn't even sipped her drink. It was seconds before she realised what it was. It was him. His nearness was making her uncomfortable—again. She looked back at him. If she reached out a hand, she could touch him. He had sat closer to her after getting their drinks, and she was catching the faintest whiff of aftershave, something tangy and fresh and masculine. But, worse than that, she was seeing in this light that his eyes were very nearly black. The light was catching them and they seemed fathomless, gorgeous, and they were fixed on hers so intently she feared he would be able to read her mind. With an effort she broke their contact, looking away again, only to find her gaze moving over the length of his legs, over the hard muscles of his thighs beneath the dark material of his suit.
He smiled, that full, warm smile which changed his face, softened it somehow, and gave her the benefit of beautiful, white teeth. Then he reached over and covered her hand with his. It was the briefest touch, yet the contact made her jump; it was as if she had been touched by an electric current… one which attracted rather, than repelled. She was certain he had felt it, too, because he withdrew his hand quickly and she saw a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise? Bemusement?
Dismayed, she was obliged to acknowledge how much she was physically attracted to him. She hadn't lived to be twenty-four without being able to recognise physical attraction—not when it was staring her in the face. In fact it had been there from the start, she was forced to admit that, too.
Something had leapt inside her the very first time she had set eyes on him, but she had been too annoyed to acknowledge it. She reminded herself of that now, of that annoyance and of all the others, and tried to get this meeting back on to a businesslike footing.
She looked at her watch, 'Suppose you get to the point, Demetrius?'
He was not put out; his eyes narrowed slightly, giving her the impression that he knew very well that she was trying hard to remain aloof—and that she was failing. 'I had dinner with your father in London on Monday. He talked about you. I have to say I encouraged him to.'
'So?'
'So I owe you an apology, as I've said.'
About to ask what he meant, she was pre-empted by the sound of a buzzer on his desk. Demetrius got up to answer it. 'It seems we're all set for lunch.' He gestured towards the door.
Grace picked up her glass and followed him down a thickly carpeted corridor, through a door marked 'Boardroom' and into a room leading off it, a private dining-room. A table was set for two, with a crisp white linen cloth, Waterford crystal and gleaming cutlery, in the midst of which there were fine china plates covered with paper-thin slices of smoked salmon. In the centre of the table was a small vase containing freesias, which were expensive at this time of year and,
as it happened, her favourite flowers. Beside that there was a little solid silver bell, and in a stand by the side of the table an ice-bucket containing a bottle of French champagne—and again, oddly enough, it was her favourite. Demetrius Knight liked the good things in life.
'This—this looks lovely, Demetrius. Why the champagne?'
'In the hope that you'll accept my apology and we can start afresh.'
Grace smiled. 'I'm sure I will, if you'll tell me what the apology's for!'
'I misjudged you. It was wrong of me when I made that remark about buying a car with pocket money from your father. It hurt you, I heard it in your voice and I understand why now. You see, my first impressions were that you were spoiled and an intellectual lightweight. All I can say in self-defence is that I resented your animosity towards me the night I had dinner at the manor. I assumed that Melissa had done a fine old job of running me down, and I was annoyed that you didn't wait to judge for yourself—as I said to you last week. Well, I apologise, Grace.'
She was stuck for words. He had delivered his apology and his explanation without taking his eyes from hers. She liked that, she liked his openness, his honesty—and most of all she liked the fact that he was big enough to say he'd been wrong.
She looked at the bottle in the ice-bucket, smiling. 'Open the champagne.'
He did, after holding out his hand to her. She took it, shook it, and set about eating her smoked salmon. When they'd finished, Demetrius rang the silver bell and the next course was brought in by an immaculately clad woman in her early fifties, whom Demetrius introduced as his secretary.
When the woman retreated, Grace looked down at her plate and laughed delightedly. 'All right, you'd better tell me more about your conversation with my father. You fished very deeply for your information, didn't you? You've organised my favourite flowers and champagne, my favourite starter, main course—and there'll be no pudding for me. Am I right?'
He was laughing now, outrageous laughter which made her laugh harder. 'Nigel said you never eat afters, you were born without a sweet tooth.'
'Did he now? Go on.'
'He also told me you're a very determined person.'
'That's true.'
'And unpredictable.'
'That's also true.' She was still laughing, but Demetrius sobered. 'Seriously, he told me about your attitude towards your business, all the training you went through. I know the difference between a beautician and a beauty therapist now. I know you financed it wholly by your own efforts, wouldn't take a penny or any kind of help from your father. He admires you for it. And so do I.' There was a pause, one which seemed ominous to Grace. Again she prompted him to go on.
Demetrius looked at her apologetically. 'I'm afraid Nigel went on more than I'd anticipated. He—seemed to enjoy talking about you once he got started and, as I've said, I had encouraged it. Anyway, he told me about Raymond Ferris. I think it still bothers him—I mean, because your relationship with him has never been the same since. I'm quoting, Grace, those were his words.'
Grace was quiet for a long time. She continued to eat, saying nothing, just thinking. She was surprised by her absence of emotion; she was neither embarrassed nor annoyed. In short, she felt nothing at all—nothing except regret at her father's words. It was true, their relationship had not been as close since the episode with Raymond Ferris. She had taken it for granted that it could not be. But was that true? Had she made an effort to get her relationship with her father back on its old footing? To be good friends with him, as she had once been? Had he made an effort? Yes, in fact he had… She was perturbed, she thought she had forgiven him completely but… perhaps she hadn't, really. She pushed her empty plate to one side, drank what champagne there was in her glass and accepted Demetrius' offer of a refill.
At the age of nineteen she had vowed never to speak to her father again. She had been so young for her years, more so than Melissa was. After leaving school at eighteen she, too, had drifted for a while. After finally making up her mind what she wanted to do, she enrolled on the course in beauty therapy in South London, left home and took a flat with a co-student. Within a month she had met and fallen head over heels, blindly in love, with Raymond Ferris, whose radical political ideas had fascinated her at the time. He was thirty-one, out of work, and purported to be a Communist. He had been unlike anyone Grace had met before, very unlike! Years younger than he, she thought him as wise as God. She told him everything there was to know about herself and her family and, when he asked her to marry him, she didn't think twice. She had known him two weeks and two days. She said yes.
And then the trouble began. She took him home the weekend he proposed, and her family were horrified by what they saw as a bearded lout who simply didn't want to find work. It made no difference to her, she was Raymond's for ever and ever. Their relationship lasted a grand total of five weeks, and during that time they had only one fight.
It was soon after they'd met, the night he made a very serious attempt to get her in to bed. Grace was already in love with the man, but she was afraid of consummating that love. Her very proper upbringing told her it was wrong outside marriage, and at nineteen she believed that, but there were other considerations, too. Like the possibility of getting pregnant, fear and lack of experience and the possibility that, if Raymond had his wicked way with her, he would then drop her immediately.
So she fought him off, told him she thought it was wrong. He laughed and called her adorable. Shortly after that he proposed and, when she accepted, insisted they marry quickly because 'he couldn't hold out for too long'. Couldn't wait to get his hands on her. What he had really meant was that he couldn't wait to get his hands on her money.
Unbeknown to Grace, her father went to see Raymond and offered him a sum of money in cash to leave her alone. She learned later that Raymond had bartered for more, for double, in fact. Sir Nigel paid up…and Raymond vanished. He left London altogether… and he left a note for Grace, a note which was handed to her by the porter in college. She could remember to this day the exact wording of it, the cruelty of it. 'Dear Baby Grace, Your father seems to think it won't do his political career any good at all if I become his son-in-law. He's given me a fat sum of money which will keep me in grass for a long time. How could I resist? I will miss you, though, you're a real sweetie-pie.'
'Charming!'
Horrified, Grace almost dropped the glass she was holding. She hadn't merely remembered the wording of that note, she had spoken it aloud!
CHAPTER FIVE
Grace shrugged. A moment's consideration had told her it didn't matter that she'd spoken aloud. Demetrius knew the story—or as much as her father had known of it. 'We live and learn.' She raised an eyebrow, her head cocking to one side as she looked straight at him. 'So you see, I'm not a snob. I was on the verge of marrying the scum of the earth— or so I thought.'
'I'm sorry I was privy to all that,' he said quietly, 'your father just came out with it, and I could hardly stop him in mid-sentence.'
'I'm glad he told you,' she said honestly, 'because this has given me something to think about. I resented his intervention at the time. I was that young, that stupid, I thought he'd ruined my future, taken my love away.' She looked heavenward, provoking a smile. 'The awful thing is, I don't think I've completely forgiven him.'
'But he did you a favour, surely you can see that?'
'Of course I can see it! What I'm trying to tell you,' she went on, leaning towards him, her deep blue eyes growing darker, 'is that I'm still harbouring some resentment, after all this time. It's pathetic of me, but I realise now that I've always resented the very fact of his interfering in my life. Never mind whether he did me a favour or not,' she added passionately. 'Do you see? I've never actually told him I've forgiven him, forgiven him for doing what he simply had to do, what was right for me. I'm going to talk to him, Demetrius, and I'm very grateful to you that we've had this conversation.'
His smile was slow; it reached his eyes, bringing that light in
to them, causing little crinkles in the corners. 'You're quite a girl, Grace. The more I learn, the more I like.'
She was transfixed in the ensuing silence, ridiculously pleased by what he had said, by what she could see in his eyes. 'And you, you're…' She looked away, embarrassed suddenly. He was what? She didn't know, couldn't finish the sentence because she didn't know what she'd been about to say. 'I—I'd better be going.'
'Oh, no, you don't! You might not have a sweet tooth, but I know you like coffee. Now come on, you're not going to run away from me when we've just made friends.'
Grace couldn't help laughing. But she shouldn't have laughed; she regretted it because, without any warning, with the quickest, smoothest of movements, Demetrius caught hold of her chin and brushed his lips over hers.
They both froze, their faces merely an inch apart, his hand still on her, warm and firm against her skin. Then he moved again, and his mouth was on hers in earnest and there wasn't a thing she could do to prevent it—because it never occurred to her to try. She was blushing when he released her, all too soon, blushing in confusion and—and in her acute physical awareness of him.
Just like the silly teenager she had once been, she said something trite, unable simply to accept what had happened… what was happening. 'Do you do that to all your new friends?'
Demetrius didn't smile, didn't seem to think her remark trite at all, and he answered her seriously. 'Only the ones I'm attracted to.' His eyes locked on to hers for several seconds before he picked up the silver bell and shattered the sudden silence.
Before they had finished their coffee, however, she knew she had to get a move on.
'Must you?' He saw her glancing at her watch, though she was by no means obvious about it.
'I'm sorry, really I am, but I must go. I've got appointments—'
'Yes. Of course.'
There was a pause, and Grace waited, hoping he would again invite her to dine with him—out, alone. But he didn't. When they got up and he saw her out, he merely said, 'By the way, did Melissa tell you she's thinking of going to college in the autumn—to take a course in interior design and decoration?'
Playing Safe Page 6
