by Liz Fielding
When he had gone after Harries it had just been a means to an end. He had seen his objective in black and white, two dimensions. Now it had been made very clear to him that he was responsible for the fate of nearly a thousand families. Good people. It was a complication he hadn’t anticipated caring about.
‘Did you say something, Mr Devlin?’
‘What? Oh, no.’
‘I’ll get Melanie straight away. Oh, and Miss Beaumont called earlier. I told her you weren’t available for the rest of the day. Do you want me to get her back?’
Luke Devlin frowned. Felicity Beaumont. She was another problem. Ever since he had found the woman berating Phillip her presence had seemed to cling to him. It was her eyes that bothered him. One moment looking as him as if she would devour him whole, the next almost as if she were afraid of him. Not of what he could do to her father’s precious radio station, although that clearly worried her, but of him, personally.
Try as he might he couldn’t get to the bottom of her. She was a mass of contradictions. One moment convincing him with her grasp of figures that she was a totally efficient businesswoman, the next behaving like a schoolgirl who had to ask her father’s permission to grab the best offer she was likely to get.
But she wasn’t a schoolgirl, she had been playing for time. For some reason she hadn’t trusted him.
Her personal life was equally incomprehensible. She lived alone. While her sister still kept an apartment in Edward Beaumont’s roomy house, Felicity had moved out when she was twenty. Yet if his researcher was to be believed she was the closest thing to a nun outside a convent. Except for those eyes.
And now she had telephoned him. He had been certain he wouldn’t hear from her until the dot of twelve on Friday.
She had wasted no time in contacting the bank about her loan and drawn a blank as he had known she would. But she wouldn’t give in until she had exhausted every other possible alternative source of finance. She wanted Melanie, but she wanted her without him pulling the strings. Which was interesting since he had been careful not to attach any strings, only money.
It suggested Fizz Beaumont possessed a highly developed sense of danger.
‘What did she want?’
‘She asked if you would be in today. I explained that you were in meetings all day and not available.’
‘Did she leave a message? Ask for a appointment?’
‘No.’
They why had she called? ‘Tell me exactly what she said, Liz. Word for word.’
‘Well, let me think. She said, “Good morning, is that Mr Devlin’s secretary?” I said, yes and could I help. She said, “Can you tell me if Mr Devlin will be in the office today?” and I said you had a number of meetings today and were unavailable. I offered to take a message, but she just said that it didn’t matter. Something like that.’
‘You didn’t ask who was calling?’
‘I didn’t have to. I recognised her voice.’
‘I see. You said I would be in meetings all day. Then what?’
‘She said thank you, and hung up.’ She waited. ‘Would you like me to get her for you now?’
‘No. Don’t bother. Just call the Metropole and see if Melanie is there.’
Melanie, Liz reported a moment later, had gone out at about a quarter to eleven. He wasn’t a bit surprised.
The recording of the soap went remarkably smoothly, mainly because Claudia was in London. They always had to make allowances for Claudia, in more ways than one. Melanie’s arrival would undoubtedly cause a fit of the sulks. Well that was something her father, as director, would have to deal with.
She’d have to tell him about Melanie soon, her thinking time was running out. For heaven’s sake, her reluctance was ridiculous; she should be shouting it from the roof tops.
It was just the feeling of helplessness that so rankled. The feeling of having her arm twisted. She had spent the last seven years making sure that every single strand of her life was in her hands, in her total control and she was sure she had succeeded, yet the moment she met Luke Devlin she felt as if she had stepped into quicksand.
She sighed. It wasn’t just the sponsorship, or taking on Melanie. It was more personal. It was the flash of recognition, the electric charge that jars the senses, the raw desire for a man even before you have spoken to him, even before you know his name. The sensation of having the air knocked out of your body. Leaving you breathless.
She had excused herself from lunch with Andy and Melanie. One look at Andy’s star-struck face had reassured her that he would behave himself. Not that he was likely to prove any competition for Luke Devlin. But then, who would? And she couldn’t pump the girl for information with Andy in attendance.
After the phone-in she would invite Melanie for tea in the Green Room. On an emotional high after the programme she would be less careful about what she said. Susie would make sure they weren’t disturbed. She smiled to herself. Luke Devlin wasn’t the only one with a dragon for a secretary.
Returning to her desk to catch up she was, on the whole, pleased with her morning’s work and partially reassured by the fact that Melanie was genuinely interested in taking part in “Holiday Bay”. Now, her coffee cooling, her sandwich untouched beside her on her desk, she tried to work out just how much extra advertising she needed to avoid taking the sponsorship money from Devlin.
‘Did you get that information, Susie?’ Fizz asked, as the door opened. But the hands that were placed on her desk were not those of her secretary. They were large, darkly tanned and bore the scars of too many close encounters with sharp rocks.
‘Where is Melanie?’ Luke Devlin asked, in a low growl that shivered against her skin. Fizz jumped. Not physically. The snap as the point of her pencil broke was the only outward sign of a reaction that began as an internal explosion somewhere about her midriff and rippled in a series of shock waves until her entire body seemed to be shaking. Inside.
She had made a life’s study of hiding her feelings.
Right now it was being put severely to the test, because her reaction to Luke Devlin hadn’t been a one-off. This time it was worse.
She didn’t need to look up to read his expression, to see the clamped down jaw, the angry line of his mouth. They were all engraved forever on her memory, playing havoc with her nerve endings, unravelling them.
Fizz took another perfectly sharpened pencil from a pot at her elbow and waving to a chair she said, ‘Good afternoon, Mr Devlin. Do sit down. I won’t keep you a moment.’
Without looking up from the page in front of her, she continued to run her pencil down the column of figures. Although she lost count after the third figure, she refused to let him see the effect he was having on her. But, honestly, who could be expected to add up anything more complicated than two plus two with an earthquake going on in parts of her anatomy that should have known better?
She continued to the end before she jotted down the first figure that came into her head. Only then did she look up to discover that his face was inches from her own.
He had not availed himself of her invitation, but was still on his feet, filling her tiny office with his overlong legs and quite unnecessarily broad shoulders. And he was still leaning over her desk, his hands placed before her. All macho threat.
His eyes, however, glinted with something that might have been amusement, although for the moment his mouth was refusing to join in.
‘I suggest you use a calculator in future, Miss Beaumont.’
She didn’t normally need one, but refused to be intimidated by his apparent ability to calculate upside down. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my figuring,’ she declared.
‘The correct answer is twenty three thousand, six hundred and ninety-seven pounds and ninety-two pence,’ he said, quietly. ‘Write it down and check it later if you like.’
‘I will.’ She did. He was just as capable of bluffing as she was. She glared at him. He didn’t back down.
‘Can I get you some coffee?’ she as
ked, using the excuse to slide her chair back towards the coffee-maker behind her, taking her time to pour him a cup. ‘I didn’t expect to see you before Friday,’ she said, her back firmly towards him.
‘I’m sure when you enticed Melanie along to your office, you must have been concerned that I would follow close on her heels. Why else would you telephone my office to assure yourself that I was otherwise occupied for day?’
For one crazy moment Fizz was going to deny it, but even as she opened her mouth she knew that would be a mistake. A man who could add up a column of figures upside down, was not someone to trifle with.
‘How did you know that I rang your office, Mr Devlin?’ she asked, marvelling that the hand holding out the cup and saucer did not shake.
‘When you didn’t leave your name? You have a very beautiful voice, Miss Beaumont. My secretary recognised it.’ He ignored the cup and she quickly put it down as a tremble threatened to betray her at this totally unlooked for compliment. After all, he need only have said his secretary had recognised her voice. ‘So I return to my original question. Where is Melanie?’
Fizz rose from her chair and walked across to the window, partly to disguise the heat that had rushed to her cheeks, partly to put some distance between them.
‘She’s down there,’ she said, indicating the sparkling white dome of the new restaurant. ‘Having lunch. I gave her the grand tour of the studios, then she sat in on a recording session for “Holiday Bay”. I thought she might be bored alone all day at the hotel.’
‘How thoughtful of you.’
He didn’t believe her. Well, if she was honest, she hadn’t expected him to.
‘She was keen to come and I’m sure she’s had a good time.’ Feeling more in control she half turned, only to find that he was at her back and she was staring at his tie. Again. Navy with tiny red spots. He had a nice line in restrained silk ties, she decided.
And it was safer counting the number of spots to the square inch than looking up, risking his eyes.
‘I would suggest that you join her, but I know you would insist upon paying for your own lunch and since Miss Brett is my guest...’
‘She’s on her own?’ His concern was immediate.
‘She’s with Andy Gilbert. One of our presenters,’ she added, since there was no reason he should recognise the name. Fizz realised she had better come clean. ‘She’s agreed to sit in on his programme this afternoon and chat to callers. They’re discussing it over lunch.’ She finally gave up on the spots and looked up. ‘You needn’t worry. He’s young, but very experienced -’
‘So I’ve heard,’ he said, interrupting her with a wry twist to his voice that suggested he was well aware of Andy’s reputation. And yet it seemed unlikely he would have had time for local gossip, or would even be interested in such trivia.
Except that he seemed to be interested in everything to do with Pavilion Radio.
She had the uncomfortable feeling that his file on her family and her radio station would be a great deal thicker than Jim’s meagre dossier on him.
‘I hardly think Andy would have much attraction for someone like Melanie,’ she said, coolly.
In fact he had seemed unexpectedly over-awed by her. Almost tongue-tied. It had been amusing to see the tables turned for once and the local Don Juan reduced to a state of stammering incoherence by a girl. At this moment, however, she had her own problems with coordinating thought and speech and Fizz suddenly felt a great deal more sympathetic towards Andy.
‘Of course if you object, I’ll stop the announcement going out.’ She turned and reached for the telephone receiver, but he placed his hand over hers, trapping it there, keeping her his prisoner.
‘Melanie has done enough radio and television interviews to be able to take care of herself and she knows nothing about Harries Industries or sponsorship, Miss Beaumont.’
‘Since the average age of our callers is likely to be around fourteen years old, I don’t imagine they would be interested in either, Mr Devlin. Or associate Melanie with them.’
‘Probably not. I made the point in case you considered slipping in a question or two of your own.’
‘If there’s anything I want to know about you, Mr Devlin, I promise you I’ll ask you myself,’ she said, sharply. Reacting without thinking. A bad habit.
‘And is there anything?’
‘I’d like to know why you’re taking so much interest in my radio station,’ she replied.
‘No doubt.’ And finally he removed his hand from hers. She quickly stuffed it into the safety of the pocket of an old, but very warm pair of trousers that were a long way from the tailored elegance of the business suit she had worn for their first meeting.
If Luke Devlin was going to make a habit of turning up unexpectedly in her office, she would have to make a little more effort with her dress. She suspected the tightening of his mouth was the beginning of a smile and too late realised that her gesture had betrayed her vulnerability to his touch, but he lifted his face to the window before she could be sure.
‘You have a spectacular view of the bay from up here,’ he said.
So, having duped her into asking the question, he wasn’t going to answer. She should have known better. But scenery was neutral ground, she could cope with that.
‘It’s why I chose this office.’
‘There couldn’t possibly be any other reason,’ he murmured, dragging his eyes from the distant horizon to look around at the tiny attic room with its awkward sloping ceiling that forced her to duck every time she stood up. They came to rest on the heavy cream sweater she was wearing over a brushed cotton shirt in a deep blue. The same colour blue as her eyes.
‘Do you feel the cold, Mr Devlin? I find it keeps me on my toes,’ she said, with an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Of course I usually meet important visitors in the comfort of the Green Room.’
‘Is that where you met Melanie?’
‘No, I saw her coming along the pier and went downstairs to meet her.’ It was a pity she hadn’t seen him coming. She could have diverted him there, perhaps improved his opinion of them. Maybe it wasn’t too late. ‘Perhaps you’d like to go down and see it? You appear to have some interest in my father and it’s lined with photographs of him in his more memorable roles. My mother too. She was Elaine French,’ she explained.
‘Yes, I know.’
‘And my sister of course.’
‘Ah, yes, the beautiful and talented Claudia. I can hardly wait to meet her.’
‘It’s a common condition.’
Devlin lifted one speaking, but silent, brow. It was a family joke that men caught a dose of Claudia as frequently as the common cold, but too late Fizz realised that to an outsider it would sound as if she were jealous. Oh, well. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.
He looked away. ‘Did Melanie meet your father?’
‘I’m afraid not. He’s in London today.’
‘And Claudia is busy rehearsing for a chocolate commercial.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Wasn’t it in all the newspapers that The Chocolate Company was going for sex appeal in its first major advertising campaign?’
‘Was it?’ Not all of them. The PR people had done a pretty thorough job, but even they hadn’t managed to interest the financial papers. ‘You seem to have gone to a great deal of trouble to find out everything about us, Mr Devlin.’
His eyes dropped to meet hers. ‘I don’t know everything. Miss Felicity Beaumont, the only member of the famous family to shun the limelight, turns out to be something of a surprise. I’m particularly interested in -’
‘There is nothing the least bit surprising or interesting about me, Mr Devlin,’ Fizz said, abruptly, determined to interrupt him before he could tell her what he found interesting about Miss Felicity Beaumont. ‘I’m the practical one.’
‘The one who can add up a column of figures?’
‘That’s a bit below the belt,’ she protested. To discover
that he was capable of teasing her was unsettling. To discover that she enjoyed it was far more disturbing.
‘Possibly. But I’d like to find out just how practical you are. Are you game?’
Fizz was almost lost for words at the unspeakable nerve of the man. But not quite. ‘What did you have in mind, Mr Devlin? I’m rather busy for games.’
Luke Devlin didn’t answer immediately, instead regarding her thoughtfully for so long that she began to heat up under his dark eyes, the warmth beginning as a small intense spot that swiftly spread through her body until the chill of the room was forgotten.
Then his gaze flicked back to the white flecked sea that swelled around the huge legs of the pier and she almost staggered with relief as the cold rushed back, sending a little shiver through her.
‘There’s no need to look so concerned, Miss Beaumont. It’s nothing too difficult. I’m not going to set you a maths problem. I want you to come and look at some houses with me.’
‘Houses?’ Fizz hadn’t known what to expect, except that his cool, assessing glance had suggested something far more demanding of her nerve. The sheer ordinariness of house-hunting was such an anti-climax that she was left feeling rather stupid. ‘Does that mean you’re planning to stay in Broomhill Bay?’ she asked.
‘You sound surprised. Or is it that you’re disappointed? Were you hoping that I’d be out of your hair in a week or two?’
‘That would be -’ A relief. It would be a relief if he just went away. She could cope with Melanie Brett, but she wasn’t at all sure she could handle Luke Devlin breathing down her neck day in, day out. She had barely stopped herself saying the word, but she could see from his expression that he knew exactly how she felt.
‘I’ll be around for a while, Miss Beaumont.’ He seemed to take pleasure in telling her that. ‘It seems my work in Broomhill Bay has hardly begun and hotels are very public places. I’ve decided to rent somewhere for a while.’
‘And what about Melanie?’ The words tripped over her tongue and had escaped before she could stop them, but he didn’t seem to notice her confusion. ‘Is she expected to stay in Broomhill as well?’
