by Jessica Ayre
It seemed a very long time ago that London's bustle had provided her with a thrill, heightened by a tingling fear of its unknown vastness. Now she only wanted to disappear into the repose of her flat and muster her forces for an imminent battle with Paul. At least that was what her long hours of musing on the train had led her to expect.
'Hello, Lynda, where are you?' Tricia's voice crackled over the telephone.
'I'm back—at the station, at least. What's up?'
'It's Paul Overton,' Tricia spoke the name quietly. 'He's gunning for you. You'd better get over here right away.'
'It's too late now. Tell him I'll ring him from the flat.' Lynda was relieved that the return of the 'beep, beep, beeps' prevented Tricia from arguing further and she hung up.
She took a taxi home, ran a bath as soon as she was in the door and then, feeling she could no longer put it off, rang Paul. He was out of the office. She relaxed into her bath with a sigh of relief and then, as she rinsed the foaming shampoo out of her hair, lectured herself sternly. There was no earthly reason for her to be afraid of confronting him. After all, she had had permission from Mr Dunlop for her holiday.
She wrapped her hair in a large towel and rubbed herself dry. 'I must stop behaving like a frightened mouse,' she admonished her mirror image.
The doorbell rang shattering her reverie. She automatically pulled on her towelling robe, but then stopped in her tracks. Why bother answering? Whoever it was would come back if it were important. And Tricia must have her key. But the doorbell pealed insistently again and again. She marched to answer it, shouting, 'All right, I'm coming!'
She swung open the door ready to reprimand whoever was there, then her face fell. There stood Paul, looking for all the world as if he were ready to throttle her. He glowered as he strode past her into the room and with no word of greeting, flung the folio he was carrying on to the sofa. Then he turned on her.
'Where the hell did you run off to without warning?' He glared at her, his eyes blazing as he passed a long-fingered hand through his thick dark hair.
Lynda pulled the gown more tightly round her. She didn't dare meet the charge of his eyes and concentrated instead on the top button of his creamy shirt and the taut muscles of his throat just above it. She shivered. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off.
'I did speak to Mr Dunlop.'
'Mr Dunlop…' he breathed sardonically. Then he boomed out, 'You're working with me, not with Mr Dunlop! I—Tricia and I—have been trying to trace you for days!'
Lynda remembered that she hadn't specified to Tricia where she was going. It hadn't seemed necessary, but now she flushed. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured, 'I didn't realise…' She raised her eyes to his face, noticing the tension in his jaw, the long angry line of his smooth lips.
He seemed to look at her for the first time, taking in her towel-wrapped hair, and as his eyes travelled downward, the powder blue robe she held clenched tightly round her, her bare legs. He turned away and began to pace round the room.
'Go and get dressed, will you?' she heard him mutter. 'I'm only human!'
Lynda stood fixed to her spot, unable to make her limbs obey her will. Then she felt him looming behind her, felt a single finger moving gently along the exposed nape of her neck, lips delicately brushing the area the finger had touched. She shivered, aware that her every nerve was quivering, that the entire expanse of her body responded to his touch. With an enormous effort she impelled herself towards her room, closing the door softly behind her.
She sat down on her bed for a moment to still her pulse, gain control of her senses. Now she knew why she had been afraid to confront Paul. During her week away she had so pushed the memory of him into the background that she had forgotten the impact of his presence, the sheer animal force of him. She could cope with his anger, his bullying about work, but not with the lithe precision of his movements, the oddly dark vitality of his deep-set blue eyes.
Perhaps if I stay in here long enough, he'll just go away, she thought to herself. But she knew better. She forced herself to take a dress out of her wardrobe, a pair of black tights from her drawer. As she pulled the clothes on, she felt her body tingling, strangely alive. Maybe I should just give in, the thought leapt violently to the forefront of her mind. But before she could face it squarely the image of a radiant Vanessa possessively taking hold of Paul and murmuring, 'Not quite your type…' bounded in on her. Her stomach heaved dizzily. She wouldn't give in to him just to be used, for a few encounters. No. She touched the locket round her neck and her fingers met a new object—the ring. She flushed painfully. Her mother and David would give her strength, keep her in hand. She would not be played with lightly. If only she could still her body!
She tried to brush some order into her wet hair. Each brush stroke, she felt, added a new link in her armour against Paul. Finally she considered herself ready, and composing her face, she walked out to him.
He was sitting back in the sofa, gazing reflectively at the glass of whisky he held in his hand. He seemed lost in thought, oblivious to her presence. Lynda sat down at the other end of the sofa and his eyes met hers briefly. Ruefully he looked away.
'I helped myself to a drink. I hope you don't mind.' His tone was polite, distant.
She shook her head.
'Shall I fix you one?'
'I'll get it.' She was happy to be able to get up again.
As she put some ice into a glass, he asked, 'Where did you go?'
'Home. I felt I needed a rest.' She turned back towards him and sat down.
'Where's home?' She told him. 'Why didn't you tell me you were going?'
Lynda shrugged. 'It was a last-minute decision and you weren't around.' She lied a little and then asked defiantly, 'What's all this fuss about getting me back here for? I've finished the work.'
'That's what you think, young lady.' He said it humorously, but with a veiled threat in his voice. 'First of all there are these drawings to touch up,' he pointed to two drawings he had drawn out of the folio. They were the last two she had done. 'Then there are the others to get started on.' He paused. 'You aren't going to walk out on this now, are you?' There was a hint of entreaty in his voice as he met her eyes.
Lynda looked down at her drink and shook her head. 'No, I'll see the project through. Well, I'll try anyway,' she said quietly.
'Good, good.' His face lit up and he smiled. Lynda was astonished at the sudden pleasure his features could radiate. 'That's why I had the search warrant out for you. I had to know. And…' his eyes twinkled mischievously, 'we're due in Paris on Wednesday. I thought you might want a little time to prepare.'
'What?' Lynda gasped.
Paul chuckled. 'Don't look so appalled! It's a beautiful city, you know.'
'But what are we meant to go for?' Lynda didn't know whether she felt excited or dismayed.
Paul explained, 'Rees rang up last week and said there was a meeting of the consortium directors in Paris this Friday. Stately Homes is on the agenda for a final decision. He wants me to be there to explain the entire project again, in detail this time, to the group. And he expressly asked that you be there as well. Coming from Rees, that's an order.' He waited for her to respond.
'Well, aren't you pleased?'
Lynda considered before answering. She was secretly thrilled, flattered at the invitation. But she wasn't altogether prepared to let Paul see this. And she was nervous at the idea of more prolonged contact with him. He was looking at her expectantly.
'Yes, I am pleased,' she said calmly, 'but what will I have to do?'
'Just be prepared to talk about the project and go through your existing drawings with whoever's interested. It always helps when they can see things on paper. We can talk about the remaining houses now and over dinner, if you like.' He glanced down at his watch. 'Then you can make some more detailed notes on them tomorrow and tidy up these two drawings.'
Lynda got up to fetch a pad and pen.
'Let's talk now, but no dinner. I'm tired,'
she said, making a feeble excuse.
He waited for her to sit down again before speaking. Then he gave heir a long searching look. 'Lynda, you're not going to keep trying to avoid me, are you? I've taken the hint. I'll be on my best behaviour.'
She could feel her pulse beginning to race, the colour mounting to her cheeks. She avoided his gaze and shaking her head, said efficiently, 'Shall we begin?'
Paul's words brought the remaining houses in the project to life. Lynda asked questions and took copious notes. Then they went over to the drawings. When they had finished, Paul turned to her.
'Don't be offended, Lynda, but you will need some clothes. It's—well, it's the way things are in these circles. I'll lend you the money, if you don't have it on hand.'
She flushed, remembering the way she had flung the results of their last shopping spree in his face. 'Don't worry, I won't put you to shame. And I can afford a little more now,' she added, suddenly remembering her father's legacy. Her hand moved involuntarily to her locket, and Paul eyed her curiously.
'You've got something new around your neck.' He moved to touch the ring and she pulled away as if his fingers were fire. 'A ring,' he said suspiciously. 'Your mother's?' She shook her head and offered no further explanation.
'I see. So that's it.' He stood up to his full height and put out his hand rigidly. 'Should I extend my congratulations?'
Lynda got up too, ignoring his gesture. 'We're finished now, aren't we?' she said simply. She could see him trying to control his anger as he pulled his jacket brusquely over his broad shoulders.
Then he turned the full force of his eyes on her. 'I'll pick you up at four on Wednesday. Don't do a vanishing act again.' He thrust a cigarette into his mouth and with no further word turned to go. As he let himself out the door, she heard him greeting Tricia.
Tricia walked in shaking her head and threw her bag on the sofa. 'What's up between you two? He's been growling at me like some ferocious bear urging me to search for you, and now that you're here, he seems no happier. Couldn't you manage to placate him a little. He's making everyone's life miserable.' The words came out of her in a rush. 'And why didn't you tell me where you were going?'
Tricia stopped herself abruptly, 'Sorry, I haven't said welcome back yet. I'm a wreck!' She came to give Lynda a hug.
Lynda hugged her warmly in return, genuinely happy to see her again.
'I had no idea anyone would want me, and some-how I just assumed that you knew where I was going.'
'Well, you said home in your note, but I had to rack my brains to think where that might be. I finally remembered something that David had said and just hoped the telegram would reach you… What's it all about anyway? His arrogant highness didn't say.'
'We have to go to Paris on Wednesday for a meeting.'
Tricia looked at her in amazement. 'Why the glum faces all around, then?'
Lynda shrugged. 'I don't know. I guess I said the wrong thing.' Remembering, she raised her hand to her throat.
'Something significant?' Tricia queried as she caught sight of the ring.
Lynda didn't quite know what to say. It was difficult to put the truth simply and she wasn't altogether sure what the truth was. 'It's from David,' she offered. 'A sign of our continuing friendship.'
'Nothing more?' Tricia looked at her sceptically.
'Perhaps something more. We don't know yet.'
Tricia whistled softly through her teeth. 'You don't know when you're lucky!' She groped in her bag and pulled out her hairbrush, passing it through her long silky hair.
'You look well,' she said, eyeing Lynda up and down. 'The break has done you good. Are you going to get some new clothes for Paris?'
Lynda nodded. 'Boss's orders,' she added wryly.
Tricia chuckled, 'Well, he's so carelessly elegant himself, you don't want to put him to shame.'
Lynda flushed.
'Oh, I didn't mean it like that,' Tricia rushed to say. 'You're quite lovely enough for anyone. It's just that… well, Paris!' She walked across the room, mimicking a model's exaggerated gait.
Lynda laughed. 'You look wonderful! You've missed your calling.'
'I've done it, you know, but I gave it up—couldn't stand the people,' Tricia grimaced. 'Here, let me give you the address of the shop I go to. It's good and quite inexpensive.' She wrote a name down on a piece of paper and handed it to Lynda. 'Shall we have some food? I'm starved!'
Lynda nodded.
As the two girls sat down to table, Tricia said, 'Listen, Lynda, I've got something to confess to you. I've been meaning to tell you, but I haven't quite known how. Now that you and David—well…' she looked meaningfully at Lynda's ring, 'it's easier.'
Lynda looked at her expectantly.
'Robert and I have started up again.' Tricia seemed to be waiting for a reaction, but Lynda said nothing. She continued, a little hesitantly, 'It happened that weekend when you stood him up. We went out together and talked… talked about our rupture, about the child that I'd wanted and thought I had.'
'Oh, Tricia, how painful!' Lynda blurted out.
'Yes, it was rather.' Tricia smiled ironically as if she were gazing back at a distant self. 'But, in any case, that's in the past, a past full of misunderstandings. Anyhow, we've sort of patched things up now.'
Lynda couldn't stop a look of surprise coming to her face.
'Yes, I know, it's a little sudden. And he still makes up to everyone, if that's what you're thinking. It was one of the problems in the first place. But I've decided that's his way. Part of it is just his natural ebullience, and kindness.' She looked at Lynda intently, a little suspiciously.
'Oh, I am glad,' said Lynda, realising that she fully meant it. 'And the two of you look wonderful together.' She suddenly remembered Robert's distress that evening he had taken her out and had not wanted to talk about himself and Tricia. 'I think he does love you.'
It was Tricia's turn to shrug. 'Well, we'll see how long it lasts this time. He's not altogether to be trusted.'
They looked at each other and both burst out laughing, saying in unison, 'Men are just not to be trusted!'
The next morning Lynda woke with a sense of excitement. Tomorrow she would be going to Paris. And she would enjoy every moment, despite Paul, she determined. But there was so much to do first. She threw on some clothes, drank a quick cup of coffee and sat down at her desk to make the drawing alterations Paul had suggested. Then she rushed to the office to type up notes on the remaining house interiors. As she went up in the lift, she resolved to keep a professional mask on where Paul was concerned and hold her emotions on a tight rein. She practised a swift bright smile and pushed her hair back from her face.
Pleased with herself, she walked into the office. Paul for once was sitting at his desk, his head buried in plans. Lynda thrust the portfolio of drawings on his desk and with the bright smile uttered a crisp 'Good Morning' and strode off. He looked at her unseeingly and muttered a greeting in return.
A few moments later she could sense him coming up to her. She braced herself and looked up with the same bright smile.
'Are the drawings all right?' she queried coolly.
He gave her a long look from beneath thick lashes and then answered in the same tone of voice.
'They seem all right. I just wanted to tell you that I've instructed Cindy to type up the notes when they're done. I'll pick them up from her tomorrow and go over them.'
Lynda nodded her thanks and turned her face back down to her desk. Paul stood above her for a moment. She felt he wanted to say something more, but she didn't allow herself to look up at him. Finally, he walked off saying, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
Lynda breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't so bad. If she could keep that up, it would just about be possible to see the whole thing through.
She worked without a break until she had finished the notes and only then looked at her watch. It was almost four. If she was to go to the shop Tricia had recommended, she would have to hurry.
> The boutique turned out to be a small one run by a tiny but exquisite Frenchwoman who seemed prepared to offer advice or not—as the customer preferred. Lynda explained that she wasn't altogether sure what she wanted, but—she was surprised to hear herself saying all this—she was going to Paris and she wanted something that would travel well. The woman looked her up and down, walked to the rear of the shop and came back with a beautifully tailored cream-coloured woollen suit.
'How about this?' she asked in her slightly accented English.
Lynda slipped the straight skirt on. It fitted perfectly, moulding her hips just a little. Small slits on either side made walking comfortable. She was about to try on the jacket when the woman passed a striped cream and black silky shirt through the dressing-room curtain.
'This would go very well with it,' she suggested.
Lynda gazed at her reflection in the mirror-covered wall at the back of the shop.
'Perfect, my dear. You look stunningly elegant,' the manageress said as she adjusted the wide belt around Lynda's slender waist. 'Now try this with it.' She reached for a soft felt broad-brimmed hat and handed it to Lynda.
'Oh, I couldn't!'
'Why not? Here, let me do it for you.' She placed the hat at a slightly rakish tilt on Lynda's head and played with the brim, looking at her with her head to one side. 'It would be better still if you put your hair up.' With one sure gesture, she coiled Lynda's hair and tucked it under the hat. 'There! You look as if you've. walked straight out of the pages of Vogue.'
A quick look in the mirror reassured Lynda. She looked poised, coolly sophisticated. Paul would be aghast. She flashed the quick bright smile she had practised into the mirror and said, 'I'll take it… all.'
She didn't dare ask the price, but when the woman asked her whether she'd like to see anything else, she voiced her misgivings.
'I did want a dress as well, but I don't think I could afford one on top of this.'
