'You spoil me,' Rosalind said huskily as she bent to smell the flowers.
'Nonsense, who else do I have to spoil?'
Miranda stayed until she was turned out by one of the nurses at nine o'clock, and was confident that Rosalind was feeling far less miserable. The subject of her boyfriend had been carefully avoided by them both; Rosalind because she was ashamed and embarrassed, and Miranda because she didn't want to upset her sister again. When Miranda got back to her flat there were two messages from Graham on her answerphone: one just saying that he'd called, and the other to tell her that he was going out to dinner at their favourite restaurant and would be there until ten if she could join him. Glancing at the big old factory clock that she'd picked up cheaply in a flea market and now domi¬nated her entrance wall, Miranda saw that it was only nine-thirty. She hesitated for only a moment, then called a cab.
They had been to the restaurant, a small place near London Bridge, just by the river, so many times that the proprietor greeted her by name. He beamed when he saw her. 'Miranda! We were afraid you weren't going to make it. Graham's at your usual table. Can I get the waiter to bring you anything?'
'Just coffee, thanks.'
Graham stood up as soon as he saw her, then put his hand on her arm to draw her to him and kiss her lightly, but possessively, on the lips. 'Hello, darling.' His eyes ran over her, noticing that she was still wearing the suit that she'd worn to the office that morning. 'What was the emergency—someone change their mind at the last minute?'
Sitting down in the chair that the proprietor had pulled out for. her, Miranda waited until he'd gone before she shook her head. 'It was nothing to do with work. A family crisis.'
'Oh?' Graham raised his eyebrows. 'Nothing wrong with your parents, I hope?'
'No, they're fine.'
He waited, but she didn't go on and his mouth twisted slightly. The waiter brought her coffee and Miranda changed the subject by telling Graham about her two new contacts. 'They seem to be exactly what the design company are looking for.'
Graham had also reached the coffee stage and was sipping the one cup that he allowed himself in an evening; he prided himself on keeping fit and laid down rules that he lived by, which was the reason they came to this restaurant so often; it specialised in fish, which a dietician friend of Graham's had told him was vital for good health. He also went jogging every morning and worked out in a gym twice a week. It was just as well he did, because headhunters had to spend a lot of time talking to employers and their potential employees, and the best time to talk was usually over a meal or a drink, when everything was more relaxed.
Headhunters also had to be astute readers of mood and Graham recognised a 'KEEP OUT' sign when he heard one, so he fell in with the change of topic and discussed work until they were ready to leave. 'Care to come back to my place for an hour or so?' he suggested.
'Thanks, but I'd rather go straight home.' They emerged on to the pavement and Miranda shivered, feeling the first nip of winter in the air. They walked quickly over to Graham's car, a new Jaguar. He always drove Jaguars and traded them in for a new model .every year. As they drove along Miranda said, 'I think I'll work from home for the next few days, if that's OK with you.'
He gave her a sharp glance. 'Is this because of the family crisis? If you want some time off—' 'No. That's been—dealt with.'
She didn't explain further and Graham said rather stiffly, 'I realise that it's none of my business, but if I can help in any way—'
Recognising that he was put out, Miranda quickly turned to smile at him and touch his arm. 'That's very sweet of you, Graham, and I do appreciate your concern, you know that. No, I just want to be available at home for a few days, that's all.'
He was obviously disappointed that she wasn't going to confide in him, but Miranda had an idea that this was because he didn't like her having secrets from him rather than because he seriously thought that he could help. Although if she'd asked him to help she knew that he would have done so willingly enough.
When they reached the converted wharf he insisted on going up in the lift with her to her flat. Graham preferred to live further out in the suburbs, and had a small, but extremely expensive, modern flat in Wimbledon, within walking distance of the All England Lawn Tennis Club where the famous championships were held every year. He disapproved of her living in Docklands, saying that it wasn't a settled community and there was too much friction between the original dockers' families, who had lived there in long terraces of small houses for generations, and the incomers, the thousands of career-orientated young people who were tired of commuting into London and massed on to the Docklands development like bees in a new swarm.
Maybe he was right; Miranda only knew that she loved living there and would never have been able to afford a place with such a large living area any-where else. So far she hadn't experienced any trouble at all, but Graham still insisted on seeing her safely back to her flat whenever they went out together. Most times she appreciated the gesture, though it nearly always meant that she had to invite Graham in for a nightcap, but tonight she didn't want that and his insistence irritated her a little.
She glanced at him as they stood in the lift. She wasn't very tall herself, only five feet four—plus another two or three inches for her high heels—but Graham wasn't a lot taller. His figure was on the hefty side and he had constantly to watch his weight, hence the food fads, whereas Miranda had a very slim, almost boyish figure, and never put on an ounce no matter what she ate. Sometimes she thought that he had first become interested in her because she was short enough for him to look down on. There had been occasions before they had started going out together when she'd seen him eyeing up tall, willowy model girls with a wistful look on his face.
When they reached her door Miranda turned to him and said firmly, 'Thanks for bringing me home, Graham, but I'm not going to ask you in this evening, if you don't mind. It's been a rather traumatic day and I'm tired.'
'All right, I understand, but at least let me come inside for a moment so that we can say goodnight.'
He kissed her with his usual blend of efficiency and possessiveness, only reluctantly letting her go when she drew away. When he'd gone, Miranda thankfully ran a bath and lay in it, gazing up at the ceiling, free to worry about Rosalind again. Hope-fully, once her sister got back to university and involved in college life again, she would get over this unhappiness. But it would take a long time before she got her confidence back; her confidence and trust in men, anyway. And Miranda could hardly blame her. Whoever the man was who'd done this to her, he must be a complete swine. He must have realised how innocent Rosalind was and yet he hadn't even had the decency to make sure that she didn't get pregnant. Her thoughts became angry again, and Miranda resolved to find this Warren Hunter—find him and make darn sure that he paid in some way for what he'd done.
But Miranda had to control her impatience until almost three days later before her researcher had any news for her. Rosalind was still staying with her at the flat so, saying that it was business, Miranda took the call on the extension in the bedroom. 'What have you found out?' she asked eagerly.
'Well, your Warren Hunter is quite a high-flier. I found his name in our own files. We tried to headhunt him once ourselves, some years ago, which is where you probably heard the name, if you read up the old files when you joined the company. He's a computer consultant and a couple of firms were very keen to get him, but he turned our overtures down flat and has since started up his own business. I've managed to talk to a few people and they say he's doing extremely well; that the business has a great future.'
'What's the name of the company?' Miranda asked sharply, an idea beginning to form.
'Compass Consultants; it's in Compass Road, you see.'
'Mm. Clever. Who's he got working for him?' 'An extremely good team, evidently.'
'And what about Hunter himself?' Miranda asked, lowering her voice even though Rosalind had the television on. 'What did you find ou
t? Is he—is he married?'
It wasn't an unusual question for the researcher to be asked; whether a potential employee was married and had children or not often made a big difference to their willingness to change jobs. 'No, and with no serious ties that I can find out.'
'A playboy?'
'Could be, but he's more interested in building up his company as far as I've heard. Do you want me to send you the details?'
'Please. I want as much information as you can possibly get about his company, even down to the secretaries and the tea-lady. And if you could bring it along here, I'd be very grateful.'
'OK. When?'
'How about now?'
He laughed. 'You career girls are all the same; get your teeth into something and you can't wait to get to work on it.'
But he brought the file of information round the next day and Miranda again took it into her bedroom to study in detail. She spent most time going through the list of employees of the company, then made a few phone calls to the office, the idea she'd had taking a more definite shape. But before she put it into operation Miranda wanted to make absolutely sure that this Warren Hunter and Rosalind's boyfriend were one and the same.
She had tried to persuade Rosalind to go out with her to see a film or for a meal several times, but the younger girl refused, still too miserable to want to go out. So the next evening they were sitting together at home as usual watching a video film, but when it was over Miranda firmly leaned forward and switched off the television. 'Roz, I think it's time we talked about your future.'
'You mean it's time I went back to York,' Rosalind said with a little grimace.
'You said it, I didn't.'
'No—I can't sit moping around here for the rest of my life, can I?’ the younger girl sighed.
'Quite right,' Miranda said briskly. 'And if you don't go back to college soon you'll have loads of catching up to do. And when you get there you must cram every minute with as many activities as you can find so that you don't have time to think of this. Maybe even some work, too.' She grinned. 'And before you know where you are it will just seem like a bad dream.'
'Do you really think so?' Rosalind asked, desperate for reassurance.
'I'm certain of it.' Realising that it was now or never, Miranda began, 'The man, your boyfriend.' She held up a hand when Rosalind opened her mouth in protest. 'It's all right, I'm not going to ask you his name. I just wanted to know whether there's any chance of your seeing him again.'
'No,' Rosalind returned with fierce emphasis.
'But you might run into him accidentally in York.'
Her sister shook her head, pushing her long fair hair off her face. 'No, I only ever went out with him while I was here in London in the summer.'
'How long did you go out with him?'
'Nearly the whole six weeks I was here.' 'Why didn't I meet him, then?'
'If you remember, you were away on business most of the time, and—he was away part of the time as well, so you just didn't coincide.'
'I see.' Angry at the necessity but anxious to make sure that she had the right man, Miranda pursued, 'What kind of man is he?'
Rosalind's face shadowed. 'Older than me. Very sophisticated, and very good-looking. I'd never met anyone like him before. I—I know it sounds corny to say it, but he completely swept me off my feet. I was just so amazed that he was interested in me. I thought that he was far more likely to go for someone like you than me. He was so ambitious and successful.'
'Successful?' Miranda asked, hiding her dismay at what the last two sentences had revealed of Rosalind's ideas about herself.
'Yes, he's the director of a company.'
'What kind of company?'
'Something to do with computers.' She looked at Miranda. 'I know that's true because I rang him there a couple of times.'
Miranda would have dearly loved to have asked the name of the company but was afraid to push Rosalind too far; however, she was already sure that she had the right Warren Hunter. 'Did he say that he was in love with you?'
'Yes, he did, but only when—when...' Her voice broke and she couldn't go on.
When they were making love, Miranda guessed. 'It's OK, I understand. When did he break it off?'
'He didn't, not really. When I went back to college he promised to write and to come up and see me, but he didn't. And when I tried to phone him I only ever got his answerphone, and he never answered my letters.'
'Did you manage to tell him about the baby?' Miranda asked, although she already knew the answer.
Rosalind nodded. 'I wrote to tell him, but when he didn't reply I rang him at his office and made a fuss until he came to the phone. That's when...' She turned away, biting her lip, and it was a few moments before she went on wretchedly, 'That's when he told me to have the abortion. He said he would book me into the clinic and to call him back. He had it all arranged within half an hour.'
Leaning forward in her chair, Miranda took Rosalind's hand and said, 'Well, maybe it was the right thing to do in the long run. Would you really have wanted the child of a man like that? Now you can go back to college and put the whole affair behind you. Just forget it.'
Rosalind gave her an agonised look. 'I'll never be able to forget. And I'm never going to trust a man again as long as I live.'
'Sure you will,' Miranda said with a smile. 'One day someone else will come along who you'll really fall in love with, and you'll know that he's the right man for you.'
'Like you with Graham?' her sister asked.
The question brought Miranda up short. 'It's a little early to say,' she prevaricated, and quickly changed the subject by saying, 'Why not stay here until the weekend, then I'll hire a car and drive you back to York?'
'You don't have to go to all that trouble; I can catch a train.'
'Nonsense, I'll enjoy the drive.'
Confident that her researcher had come up with the right man, Miranda had to wait until she'd taken Rosalind back to college before she could put her plan into operation. Using the information she'd acquired, Miranda carefully studied the details on the employees at Compass Consultants, working out who were the key men and women in the company. Next, she shamelessly used her own company's contacts to find employers in compe¬tition with Compass Consultants who were searching for people with similar qualifications. That done, Miranda psyched herself up to pick up the phone and call the first name on her list of employees, knowing that she had to get the contact interested within the first thirty seconds or lose him.
Cold-calling was always hard but Miranda was good at her job and the man agreed to meet her to discuss the offer further. She also made him promise not to mention it to anyone in his company; a routine precaution but especially important in this case. Great. Picking up the phone again, Miranda called the second person on her list.
Over the next few weeks Miranda headhunted seven people who were vital to Warren Hunter's company, gradually working up the hierarchy towards the top. And all of them she had per-suaded to switch jobs and hand in their resig-nations on the same day, the first of December. Not that they knew about each other, of course. There was just one person left whom she wanted to lure away, a man called Jonathan Carter who was evidently Warren Hunter's right-hand man. He had been harder to entice, and it had taken several per¬sistent calls before he had quite suddenly changed his mind and become interested enough to agree to meet her.What she was doing was perfectly legal but it was far from ethical. Ordinarily she would never even have considered taking more than one employee from a firm, and Graham would have had a fit if he'd known what she was up to, but Graham's policy was not to interfere, and he trusted her completely. At times Miranda felt rather guilty, but she only had to remember Rosalind crying her heart out in the clinic for her to be as determined as ever that Warren Hunter deserved everything he was wing to get.
Her meeting with Jonathan Carter was to take place in a discreet restaurant in Soho. Miranda had offered him the Savoy Grill, which was where she usually met
the high-fliers, but he had stipulated this place instead. In her job Miranda had to be prepared to meet a contact anywhere, any time—had even met one man at the top of the Eiffel Tower—so she happily agreed. Wearing a long, swinging coat over a mohair sweater, culottes and boots, a stetson-style hat on her head, Miranda walked eagerly down the street leading to the restaurant, keyed up for the interview, knowing that if she could lure this man away with the others then Compass Consultants and Warren Hunter would be so badly hit that he might well go under, or at least have a terrible struggle to start again from the beginning.
The restaurant was dimly lit, and Miranda thought it more a place for assignations between married lovers than for a business meeting. Still, if that was what the man wanted, she wasn't going to argue. The head waiter took her coat and she perched on a stool at the small bar to wait; she found that contacts were usually late in the hope of convincing her that they weren't anxiously interested. But Jonathan Carter surprised her by being dead on time; he followed her into the res¬taurant after only a few minutes.
Miranda had given her guest's name to the head waiter and she turned as he brought the man over. Carter's appearance, too, was another surprise—and an agreeable one. Over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, he looked more like an outdoor man than a person stuck to a computer all day.
'Miss Leigh?'
Still sitting on her stool, Miranda held out her hand. 'How do you do?' He seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second before shaking it, but then his grip was so firm that it made her wince. Miranda found herself looking up into dark grey eyes set in a sharply handsome face of strong jaw, high cheek¬bones and level brows. Right now his eyes were going over her in surprised assessment, but she was used to that; most people expected a female head-hunter to be some sort of elderly ghoul and were always taken aback to be met by a young and pretty blonde.
'What will you have to drink?' she asked. 'Gin and tonic, please.'
She made her usual light conversation aimed at putting the person at ease while they drank, but he didn't say very much, and Miranda got the distinct impression that he was sizing her up. Which was fair enough; but she had learnt to be very sensitive to the undercurrents and she had the uncom¬fortable feeling that there was antagonism behind his rather withdrawn exterior.
CHAPTER ONE Page 2
