Miranda frowned. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean that you and I are going to go and see her—right now!'
'But that's ridiculous! I only have to phone her to confirm...'
Warren shook his head, the menacing expression on his face silencing her. 'Oh, no. I want to be there when you find out you're wrong, and then I'm going to make you grovel in the dirt when you say sorry to me.'
Miranda's heart skipped a beat as she imagined him carrying out his threat. For a moment she wondered if she could possibly be making a mistake, but then she rallied and said, 'You worm! You're not going to wriggle out of this one so easily.'
'So let's go and see who's right, shall we? My car's outside and I want this settled now.'
Miranda laughed. 'Well, that's impossible. Rosalind isn't at university here; she's in York, as you very well know.'
His brows drew into a momentary frown, but then Warren shrugged. 'OK, so we'll go to York.'
He turned as if to go to the door but Miranda said, 'Don't think you can con me. I know I'm right.'
'So then you'll have the satisfaction of rubbing my nose in the dirt, won't you?'
He looked at her as he said it, his eyebrows raised mockingly, and his confidence shook her own again, but she said, 'If you think I'm going any-where with you, you're crazy.'
He opened the door. 'All right. I'll go and find her myself.'
'No!' Miranda ran forward and grabbed hold of his arm. 'You're just making empty threats. I...' She paused, searching his face for some sign that he was bluffing and finding none. 'If you think I'm going to let you hurt her again after all she's been through—'
'Then you'd better come with me, hadn't you?' Miranda stared into his strong, implacable face and recognised an iron will. 'You snake!'
'You,' he grated, 'are going to call me one name too many. Are you coming?'
'All right. Yes. Wait a minute.' Going to the cup¬board in the corner she took out her coat and put it on, found a pair of gloves and picked up her bag.
'Ready?' Warren asked impatiently.
She gave him a withering look and swept past him into the main office. Megan and the other girls looked up with fascinated curiosity. 'Megan, will you tell Graham I won't be able to make dinner tonight?' Leaning forward she picked up a notepad and began to write on it, putting down where she was going and who with. 'An envelope, please.' She was aware of Warren's growing impatience but didn't hurry. 'If I'm not in to work by noon to-morrow give this to Graham and tell him to act on it, will you?' She glared at Warren. 'It tells him exactly where I'm going.' Her eyes added, So you needn't think you can try anything underhand.
He read the message all right, but his lip merely curled in disdain. 'Are you finally ready now?'
Her eyes shot fire at him but she nodded. 'Yes.' And walked ahead of him to the main door, but had just reached it when she said, 'Oh, my gloves.' and ran back to the desk. But as well as picking up her gloves she also grabbed up a portable phone that she'd seen lying there and shoved it into her bag. Then hurried back to join him.
His car was a red Lotus, long, lean and powerful. Completely wrong for a traffic-choked city, but just the car to attract young girls, Miranda thought sav¬agely. He opened the door for her but Miranda, realising that she was going to show a lot of leg, said coldly, 'I can manage, thanks.'
'Suit yourself.' Warren went round the other side and got in.
The car was so low that Miranda felt as if she was sitting on the ground, but it was far more com-fortable than she'd expected. Which was just as well if they were going all the way to York. Warren handled the car with expert ease, and was at home in London, ducking down side streets to avoid the major traffic jams and soon heading north to pick up the motorway. As they drove, Miranda began to wonder what on earth she was doing there, sitting beside this man who had done such harm to her sister. She was sure that it was just going to be a wild-goose chase that would inevitably end with upsetting Rosalind all over again. So why had she allowed herself to be coerced into it?
She stirred uneasily and raised her hands to put up the collar of her coat, lifting her hair out from under it. Glancing at her, Warren said, 'Cold?' and reached out to turn up the heater.
Leaning back against the head-rest, Miranda stole a look at his profile. She had looked at him before, of course, but taken in only the outward signs that she had been expecting to see; the self-confidence and handsomeness that had so attracted Rosalind. But that verbal duel in her office had shown her that there was steel below the surface, and a domi¬nant will-power that somehow didn't fit the Casanova figure that she'd expected. It just didn't seem right. And it was this shadow of doubt, a moment's terrifying fear that she might be wrong, that had led her to come with him.
But then Miranda remembered Rosalind saying that he was the type of man that Miranda herself might have gone for. Well, that was true enough; if she hadn't known Warren's history she might well have fancied him. And he wasn't married, he was free to... Her mind froze. Free to seduce young girls like Rosalind. Which must make him some kind of pervert. And she had been stupid enough to agree to go on this journey with him. The thought sent such a strong tremor of trepidation running through her that Warren noticed.
'Still cold? I'm afraid I can't turn the heater up any higher.'
'No, it's OK.'
Cursing herself for being a fool, Miranda knew that she had to find out about Warren Hunter one way or another, and she certainly didn't intend to wait until they got to York and found Rosalind. Thank goodness she'd had the forethought to grab the portable phone. Now all she had to do was create a chance to use it without Warren knowing. They reached the motorway as dusk fell and he put his foot down, zipping confidently through the traffic.
'Could you stop at the next service station?'
He nodded but then gave her a quick glance, but could see little of her face in the dim light. After a moment, he said, 'How long have you been working for the headhunters?'
'Executive searchers,' Miranda corrected auto¬matically, then added, 'Nearly eighteen months.' 'What's the attraction?'
She considered not answering him—she certainly didn't feel like having a conversation—but the atmosphere was tense enough, so she said, 'It's challenging work and it pays well.'
'And you get to meet such interesting people,' he said on a derisive laugh. 'You sound like a can¬didate in a beauty contest, repeating something parrot fashion. Tell me, don't you ever wonder what effect your—work—' his lip curled '—has on the employers you steal personnel from?'
'The people don't have to leave,' Miranda pointed out. 'A lot of them use our approach as a lever to get more money from their current bosses. And as for the others,' she shrugged, 'I suppose it's some-thing like a marriage bureau; we find employers and employees who are compatible.'
Warren gave a harsh laugh. 'What a way to look on such a low occupation as yours.'
'Are you saying that you wouldn't use head¬hunters if you were looking for a new employee?' Miranda retorted, goaded into arguing the issue.
'Certainly not. I prefer to recruit my own staff.'
Well, you'll certainly be doing that a lot sooner than you envisage, she thought with satisfaction.
But she didn't speak and Warren said, 'I suppose the fact that another company was looking for someone with Jonathan Carter's qualifications gave you an ideal opportunity to try to get back at me?'
'Obviously.'
'But you must have done some detective work to find out about my company and employees?'
'Of course. It's part of my job.'
'I find that thoroughly abhorrent,' he said shortly. 'To have vultures like you digging into my business makes my flesh creep.'
'Anyone who starts a business lays himself open for inspection,' Miranda returned. 'There are a whole lot of people who look into companies: the inland revenue, auditors—'
'Those are to be expected; they're hardly scavenging predators like you.'
Re
alising that they were only heading for an¬other argument, Miranda gestured towards the side of the road. 'We just passed a sign for a service station.'
'Yes, I saw it.'
Cutting through the lanes of traffic, he pulled off the motorway and parked in front of the service area. It was completely dark now and the air struck very cold as Miranda got out of the car. She shivered, pulling her coat close around her against the cutting wind. Warren followed her as she hurried across to the brightly lit entrance, which was a nuisance; she'd hoped he would stay in the car. But evidently he didn't trust her because he watched her until she went into the ladies' cloakroom.
Luckily Miranda's handbag was the organiser type and contained her address book. She looked up Rosalind's number and called it, hoping that there would be someone in the lodging house where Rosalind had her digs. The number rang and rang and she was on the point of giving up when somebody finally answered. The line was terrible, which was only to be expected when she was stuck inside a concrete block. Moving as near to the door as possible, Miranda had to yell to make herself heard. 'Can you get Rosalind Leigh for me, please?'
'I'm not sure she's in. Hang on.' The words were almost lost in the static.
Another long wait as Miranda tapped her foot impatiently; maybe she would have done better to wait until they were further up the motorway, but she just had to know.
'Hello? Rosalind Leigh here.'
'Oh, thank goodness. Roz, it's Miranda.' 'Who? I can't hear.'
The door was screened outside by an arch. Miranda took a chance and went through the door to stand in its shelter. 'Is that better? It's Miranda.'
'Oh, yes. Is anything the matter?'
'Roz, this is most important. You have got to tell me the name of the man. You know who.'
'I can't.' Rosalind's voice rose in distress. 'I told you, I—'
Aware of the passing of time, Miranda said desperately, 'Is his name Warren Hunter?'
Even over the bad line she heard her sister gasp. 'How did you find out? 1—'
A hand grabbed hold of Miranda's collar and yanked her out into the open, pulled her round so that Warren could see the phone in her hand. 'Of all the dirty tricks. I thought we agreed to face your sister together?'
Miranda pushed down the aerial and glared back at him. 'No, you ordered me not to phone her; I certainly didn't make any promise not to.'
'And did you reach her?'
'Yes, I did.'
He looked at the triumphant anger in her hazel eyes and turned away.
'Aren't you going to ask me what she said?' Miranda demanded, catching his sleeve.
'I don't have to; it's written all over your face.'
'So you can stop lying, then, and end this farce of a journey.'
He looked down at her, his lips set into a thin line, his face cold. 'Now there's even more reason to go to York, because your sister is the one who's lying her head off—and I'm going to find out why.'
Turning, he strode out of the building and, after a moment's surprise, Miranda ran after him. He got back in the car and for a horrible moment she thought he was going to drive away without her, but then he reached across and unlocked the car from the inside. She got in and stared at his set profile. If Rosalind hadn't given herself away like that she could almost have believed him. But it was impossible for there to be two people with such an unusual name and both directors of a computer company; that was stretching coincidence too far. And it also knocked to pieces his suggestion that someone might have used his stolen credit card, be-cause Rosalind had met him back in the summer and his card had only been stolen a few weeks ago.
He's crazy, Miranda decided, to go on with this stupid charade. What on earth does he think he has to gain by it? They resumed the journey and she looked at the man sitting beside her in growing unease. Maybe she would have done better to stay behind at the service station. If he could treat Rosalind so brutally then heaven only knew what he might do to her. As a safeguard she said firmly, 'They know at the office that I'm with you and where I'm going, remember.'
He threw her a moody look, but saw the way that she had drawn into the corner of her seat and his eyebrows rose in surprise. 'Good lord, you're not afraid of me, are you? I assure you, lady, that you're absolutely safe from me—I wouldn't touch you if you were the last woman left on earth!'
Which should have been a comforting remark but definitely wasn't. Miranda glared at him but settled back in her seat more comfortably. The miles sped by as the powerful car headed further north. The air grew colder and Miranda could see frost on the ground and on the roofs of houses. They stopped at another service station to fill up with petrol and frost patterns gathered on the windscreen in just that short time.
When Warren got back in the car he turned on the radio and they heard the forecast of snow in the north on the weather report. As Miranda listened she wished heartily that Rosalind could have chosen Cambridge or Oxford to go to uni¬versity instead of somewhere so far away. There were hold-ups on the approach to the city and it was almost eight o'clock before they reached York, then Miranda wasn't sure of the way to Rosalind's digs and they had to ask so it was almost eight-thirty before they finally pulled up outside the house.
As Warren switched off the engine she turned to him. 'If you upset Rosalind, I'll kill you,' she threatened. 'She's gone through enough. I don't know what you're trying to prove by this game you're playing but—'
'My innocence,' Warren cut in forcefully. 'And your crass stupidity. Come on, let's get this over with.'
He got out of the car and locked it, then strode down the path to the front door and hammered on the knocker. One of the students came to open it and he strode past him with Miranda close on his heels. 'Which is her room?'
'Upstairs. No, let me go first.'
He hesitated, then stepped aside. Rosalind's room was on the second floor. Miranda ran up the worn-carpeted stairs and knocked.
'Door's open. Come in.'
Miranda reached out to the knob, but hesitated uncertainly, her heart thumping, worried at what this confrontation might do to her sister.
'What are you waiting for?' Warren demanded tauntingly. 'Afraid of being shown up for a fool?'
She glowered at him and opened the door.
Rosalind was sitting at a table, working on an essay, and jumped up in surprise when she saw who it was. 'Miranda! What are you doing here? And why did you make that phone call? How did you—?' She broke off as Warren followed Miranda into the room. 'Oh, sorry, I didn't realise you had someone with you.' She looked at Warren with politely masked curiosity, but there was no other reaction, no cry of hatred or lost love, no look of despair, or even embarrassment:
Miranda looked into her sister's face and knew that she had made the most ghastly mistake. At that moment she would gladly have been struck into oblivion by a merciful bolt of lightning, anything rather than have to face Warren again.
'Hello.' Rosalind looked at Warren and smiled. 'Do come in, both of you. I'm afraid the place isn't very tidy.' She went to straighten up the settee but saw Miranda's face and said, 'Is anything the matter?'
Her voice sounding terribly unnatural even to her own ears, Miranda said, 'I take it you haven't met this man before?'
Rosalind looked mystified. 'Why, no. Did you think I had?'
Weakly Miranda said, 'Well, yes, I thought you might have done. You see, his name is Warren Hunter.'
Rosalind's mouth dropped open and she goggled at them both. 'But he isn't... He isn't the man I—I told you about.'
'You're quite sure?' Miranda asked in futile despair.
'Of course I'm sure. I should know, shouldn't I?' There was a moment of awful silence until Rosalind, completely bewildered, said, 'Is that why you rang me?'
'Yes.' Grasping at waterlogged straws, Miranda said accusingly, 'You said his name was Warren Hunter.'
'No, I didn't!'
'Well, not exactly, no. But when I asked you if his name was Warren Hunter, you asked me
how I'd found out.'
'Yes, I know that,' Rosalind retorted. 'But...' she hesitated '...oh, I suppose I'll have to tell you. The man—his name is Warren-Hunter, but that's his surname; his full name is Piers Warren-Hunter. I thought you'd just found out his surname.'
'What! Good grief, I should have guessed.' The words came from Warren and they both turned to stare at him. 'He's probably a distant connection of mine,' he explained. 'Warren is a very common name in my family; it's a tradition going back a long way to pass the name down to the eldest son. But about a hundred years or so ago one of the side branches adopted it into their surname.'
Miranda's legs suddenly lost their strength and she tottered to a chair and sank in it. She put her head in her hands, unable to look either of them in the face. Oh, lord, she'd made Such a hash of things. He'll kill me, she thought, and he'll have every right.
'But I don't understand,' she heard Rosalind saying to Warren. 'Surely you told Miranda that—that you didn't know me?'
'I did, but she wouldn't listen. She was con¬vinced she was right. Weren't you, Miranda?'
He waited for her to answer and she stole a glance at him but couldn't bear the look of smug satis¬faction on his face and hastily turned away again.
'That's why I insisted that we come here to see you,' Warren went on. 'To put the record straight.'
'But I still don't understand how Miranda found you in the first place. I didn't tell her the name of—of—'
'Of your boyfriend,' Warren said helpfully. 'Naturally not. If I were you I'd tell her as little as possible about my private affairs as well. Tell me, does she always charge into things like the prov-erbial bull at a gate?' Without waiting for Rosalind to answer, he went on, 'It seems she saw the name Warren-Hunter on a form at the clinic where you were a patient, and you told her your boyfriend was in computers so she did some scouting around and came up with me. And that, of course, was as far as she bothered to look.'
CHAPTER ONE Page 4
