by Liz Fielding
She picked up her tray and carried it downstairs, heading for the back of the house in search of the kitchen.
‘You needn’t have brought that down!’ Mrs Harper exclaimed as she opened the door.
‘I’m not used to being waited on, Mrs Harper. But I was wondering if you had last week’s evening papers?’ She could make a start on finding somewhere temporary to live while she looked around.
‘Well, there’s the Friday edition. Will that do?’
‘It’s a start. Is there somewhere I can use a telephone?’
‘Use the morning room, Miss Lizzie.’ She pointed her in the right direction and left her to it.
The morning room was fresh and bright, with French windows standing open to an inviting courtyard garden. It was decorated in pale blues and greens and furnished for comfort rather than elegance with an overstuffed sofa and a couple of chintz-covered armchairs, one of which was occupied by a large and very battered cat who opened an eye and regarded her stonily for a moment, daring her to make any claim upon his chair. Apparently satisfied that he had made his point, he closed it again.
Lizzie tickled his ear and then dropped the paper on a small desk that occupied a corner. She found some notepaper and a pen and began to work her way through the small ads offering accommodation, noting anything that might possibly do.
The first flat had already been let when she telephoned. She dialled the second number on her list and it began to ring. The phone was answered by a man. ‘Good morning,’ she said, ‘I’m ringing about the advert for a flat—’
The phone went dead. Lizzie stared at it, shook it, then pressed the handset button. Nothing. Then, sensing that she was no longer alone, she spun around in the chair. Noah was leaning against the doorway with the other end of the telephone connection in his hand.
‘You’ll need a jacket, Elizabeth,’ he drawled. ‘I’ll be waiting for you in the car.’
CHAPTER FOUR
LIZZIE’S protest died on her lips. Noah hadn’t waited to hear it. Besides, she had come somewhat painfully to the conclusion that she would never get the better of him by direct confrontation. So, she would let him take her out to lunch. Tomorrow he had a gallery to run, and she would be free to do as she pleased. And she would be very pleased to leave his house.
The only jacket she had with her was a navy blazer, but it looked surprisingly good with the jeans and T-shirt. She still had the silk chiffon scarf and wrapped it around her head bandeau-style, then scowled at her reflection. If she had hoped to annoy him with her choice of clothes she had gone wide of the mark. Despite the jeans, she looked oddly stylish.
He made no comment on her appearance, however. Perhaps because he was wearing a pair of close-fitting denims himself, and a well-rubbed leather bomber jacket that had certainly seen better days. He was leaning against the huge silver Bentley, arms folded, regarding the toe of his shoe as if it held the answer to the world’s problems, and for just a moment she hesitated in the doorway, startled by an unexpected feeling of warmth for the man. Then he glanced up.
‘At last.’ He opened the car door for her.
‘I’m sure you’re used to waiting for women, Noah,’ she said, sweeping past him with all the poise she could muster.
‘The results are usually worth waiting for,’ he replied as he shut the door on her. She pushed the seatbelt strap home with rather more force than was necessary, surprised how much that remark had hurt. She had doubtless asked for it, but he didn’t have to be quite so frank.
She kept her eyes straight ahead as he started the car and headed south towards the river, leaving it to Noah to reopen hostilities or not as he chose. It wasn’t long before he broached the subject on his mind. ‘What’s the rush to move on, Elizabeth?’ he asked, with every appearance of amiability. She was not deceived. ‘Has my charm faded so quickly?’
‘What charm?’ she asked, and this time was rewarded with a tightening of his lips that might—just—have been described as a smile in acknowledgement of her strike. She lifted her shoulders a little awkwardly. ‘The truth is, Noah, I don’t care to be described as your “house guest” in the Sunday newspapers.’
‘But you are,’ he reasoned, his smile deepening at her discomfiture.
‘Me and a cast of thousands.’
‘That impertinent tongue will get you into serious trouble one of these days. Some people aren’t as tolerant—’ He broke off, clearly exasperated with her. ‘Just tell me what you’re looking for in the way of a flat and my secretary will find some for you to look at.’
This was too much. ‘I’m quite capable of finding somewhere to live, Noah.’
‘Really?’ His voice was cutting. ‘Shall we run through the method? You ring a number advertised in the newspaper. You have no idea what the area is like, but a nice young man says “Come around and have a look”. And you go. On your own. Have I got it right?’
Put like that it sounded positively reckless. ‘That’s the way most people—’
‘No. Only ignorant young girls who know no better. No wonder your father was so insistent—’ He stopped abruptly, apparently too annoyed with her to continue. ‘Have you any idea which part of London you want to live in?’ he asked.
‘No. I just want something temporary while I look for a job—’
‘You’ve already got somewhere temporary,’ he interjected. ‘As I know to my cost.’
She ignored this. ‘Then I’ll look around for something to buy,’ she continued.
‘Buy?’ She had clearly taken him by surprise. ‘You don’t want much, do you? Or is that your price for leaving Olivia and James in peace?’
Lizzie stared at him. Whatever kind of monster had Olivia painted her as? She snapped her head back to stare through the windscreen, dismissing any attempt to convince him that she was...what? ‘I’m a good girl, I am.’ Eliza Doolittle’s plaintive wail popped into her head. No. If you had to say it, it didn’t mean anything. And she told herself that it didn’t matter one jot what Noah Jordan thought of her.
‘Dad is going to need every penny he can raise for his new...responsibilities. I have a little money of my own.’
‘Enough to buy a flat in London?’ he demanded.
If she wasn’t too fussy, she thought. But that was none of his business. ‘How’s your bank balance, Noah?’ she probed, flashing a glance from bright blue eyes. ‘You tell me how much you’re worth and I might repay the compliment.’
He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘It’s a good time to buy,’ he said. ‘Not such a good time for job-hunting, though.’
‘I’ll get a job,’ she said.
‘Eventually. With a little help from me.’
This casual dismissal riled Lizzie. ‘Surely you wouldn’t wish me on any of your friends?’ she enquired a little waspishly, but she didn’t wait for the answer. ‘I assure you I am quite capable of getting a job on my own initiative.’
‘Are you indeed?’ He turned a pair of forceful grey eyes upon her. ‘What as, I wonder?’
What indeed? Not that she had wasted her time during the past five years. As well as being a competent cook, she could type and was an efficient bookkeeper, keeping her father one step ahead of the tax man and VAT inspector, and she was treasurer for a local charity. ‘I’ll think of something,’ she assured him. ‘I’m not totally unemployable.’
‘Would you care to make a small wager on that?’
‘Why keep it small? Make it as big as you like,’ she invited, feeling reckless.
‘A proper job,’ he warned. ‘Nothing temporary, and I won’t consider dishing out hamburgers in a fast-food chain,’ he insisted. ‘A job that will support you and offer some prospects.’
‘You don’t want much, do you?’ she asked.
‘What’s the matter? Scared of a challenge?’
‘Certainly not.’
Apparently satisfied, he smiled. It was not, however, reassuring. ‘Then we’d better decide on the stakes.’
‘When I get a
job you can take me to see Aida,’ she said, naming the first opera that came into her head.
‘It’s not on this season’s repertoire,’ he objected.
Lizzie hadn’t thought of that but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. ‘If it’s too difficult you could always back out,’ she offered tormentingly.
He took a deep breath, as if barely holding onto his temper. ‘No, I’ll think of something. Aida it is. Now, the big question is what will you do for me if I win?’
His eyes flickered over her briefly, and Lizzie felt her cheeks grow warm. Surely he wouldn’t...? ‘I think you’ll have to give up wearing jeans,’ he said, and his taunting eyes told her that he knew exactly what she had been thinking.
‘That’s not fair,’ she blustered, to cover her blushes. ‘You’re wearing jeans.’
‘They are working clothes.’ And a broad grin unexpectedly lit his face. ‘Unlike you, I haven’t been lying in bed all morning.’
She swallowed, wishing that she had never started to bait him. It was a game that he was able to win every time and she would do well to remember that and keep her mouth shut. ‘Will I have to give them up for ever?’ she asked quickly.
‘That’s not a condition I’m in any position to enforce. While you’re staying with me will do.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, that’s no imposition,’ she replied, well satisfied with her bargain. ‘I don’t intend staying for long.’
‘You’ll stay until you get a job,’ he insisted. ‘And somewhere suitable to live.’ She didn’t bother to argue. But she didn’t agree either. They had arrived at St Katherine’s Dock, and he pulled into a parking space near the marina. ‘But, for the purposes of our bet, you have until close of business next Saturday.’ He offered his hand to seal the bargain. ‘Agreed?’
‘A week?’ she protested. ‘That’s not very long.’
‘If it’s too difficult you are perfectly free to back out,’ he advised her, and he lifted his dark brows a taunting fraction.
Impetuously she placed her hand in his. ‘Agreed.’ He grasped her hand in his broad palm momentarily, but when he released it she let out a little gasp.
‘What is it?’
Lizzie didn’t answer, but gently traced the row of red marks left by her nails with the tip of her finger. She had promised him that she would kiss it better, and on an impulse she bent to drop a kiss on his palm. For a moment there was silence. When she looked up his eyes were shaded, yet she was sure that her whimsical gesture had shaken him. Well, that was hardly surprising. She had shaken herself. ‘I promised,’ she muttered awkwardly. ‘Better late than never.’
‘Maybe. I’ll let you know. Are you hungry?’ he asked.
‘Or shall we walk for a while?’
Thankful that he hadn’t dwelt on a gesture that she hardly understood herself, she said, ‘I’d like to walk, please. I had a late breakfast.’
‘Ten o’clock? On a Sunday? The crack of dawn, I promise you.’
‘You were up a great deal earlier,’ she reminded him.
‘There was nobody to keep me in bed,’ he replied softly, and she snatched her hand away from his, blushing to the roots of her hair.
‘I’m sorry if I’m cramping your lifestyle, Noah. If you had taken me to Islington...’
‘Forget Islington,’ he commanded, and, swinging his long legs out of the car, he walked around and opened the door for her. ‘And you can safely leave me to worry about the way I run my life.’ He shrugged. ‘Right now I’m in the middle of organising a new exhibition, and there are always last-minute details to sort out. Sunday is a good day for that. No interruptions.’
‘Not even from your French actress?’
‘For a girl apparently addicted to the gossip columns you are remarkably ignorant. Simone returned to France last week to start work on a film.’ He slung his jacket over his shoulder.
Lizzie blushed again. ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
‘There’s no need to be, Elizabeth.’ His smile was wolfish. ‘It leaves me with so much more time to devote to you.’
‘Is she coming back soon?’ Lizzie asked hopefully.
‘Sorry,’ he said, with a grin. ‘I won’t see Simone again until the next time she and her husband are looking for someone to finance—’
‘Husband? But you said you never... Oh!’
‘Would you care to change the subject, Elizabeth?’ he invited. ‘Or would you like a blow-by-blow account of how I met them when they bought a Matisse last year? Or maybe you are more interested in how I introduced them to some friendly bankers with the money to back their film, or how I just happened to be the one they didn’t cut out of the photograph when the three of us went out to celebrate—’
‘No!’ Lizzie held up a hand to stop him. She’d got the picture. ‘I’d rather you told me about your new exhibition,’ she suggested.
‘New American artists. Fran should enjoy it,’ he added a little slyly. ‘You’d better give some thought to the dinner party afterwards, since you’ll be hostess. There’ll be twelve of us altogether.’
‘Sorry, Noah, I’ll be far too busy job-hunting. And flat-hunting.’
‘I thought you might like to start with the quenelles you made for dinner the other evening,’ he said, ignoring her objection.
‘You liked them?’
He regarded her with amusement. ‘Have I touched your vanity, Elizabeth? Perhaps you should consider a career in—’
‘That does seem to be the general consensus of opinion,’ she snapped. And maybe they were all right, she thought. She had certainly better start considering the matter very seriously indeed if she was going to get a job by the end of the week.
They continued walking along the edge of the marina, listening to the ropes clanging noisily in the rigging of the yachts and watching the general bustle as the boats left their moorings. Noah pointed out several craft that belonged to well-known personalities.
‘Do you have a boat?’ she asked.
He regarded her with a slightly jaundiced expression. ‘What did you have in mind? Something very large, with a little house on top and a giraffe looking out of the window?’
‘What...?’ Then her cheeks grew warm. ‘Oh, Lord, I didn’t mean...’
He took pity on her confusion. ‘It’s all right. I’m afraid being born on an island in the middle of the Thames during a flood is apt to make one a little sensitive on the subject of boats. But no, I don’t have anything larger than an outboard dinghy down at the cottage. Even if I was so inclined, I’m away too much for it to be worthwhile.’
‘Where do you go?’
‘Wherever works of art are being bought or sold. New York at least once a month, and I’ve been in Eastern Europe a lot during the past couple of years—Prague, St Petersburg, Budapest, even Moscow. A lot of art has turned up since the break-up of the USSR. Someone has to authenticate it.’
He paused to watch the comings and goings of people on the boats. The breeze coming off the river ruffled the immaculate cut of his thick dark hair and billowed the soft linen of his shirt in stark contrast to the way his faded blue denims clung to strong, well-muscled thighs. He had turned back the cuffs of his shirt, and as he leaned on the rails Lizzie’s eyes were drawn irresistibly to the sleek line of fine dark hairs that moulded and emphasised the sinewy power of his arms.
‘I’d love to travel,’ Lizzie said, looking quickly away.
‘Then perhaps you should try and get a job with an airline,’ he advised, with every appearance of sincerity.
‘Oh, that’s not travelling.’
He turned his head to glance at her, his dark, wellmarked brows rising slightly in query.
‘Travelling is a dusty road disappearing into the distance. Not knowing what you’ll find at the end of it, and not being in any great hurry to find out because there are so many interesting things to see on the way.’
‘Scratch any modern girl and you’ll find a romantic. It never ceases to amaze me. But when it comes right
down to it I find that most of them prefer first class.’
‘Well, you’ve scratched more than most, I dare say,’ she responded impulsively. ‘So you’re probably an authority.’
He grasped her elbow and led her across to a wine bar, where the chairs and tables had spilled out onto the pavement, and sat her down rather firmly. ‘Perhaps lunch will give your mouth something useful to do’
She opened her mouth to retaliate, then closed it again quickly. There was a blackboard leaning against the wall and she fixed it with a furious eye. Not that she was taking in anything that was written upon it. Instead she fumed helplessly at the insufferable rudeness of the man. But then, she hadn’t been exactly polite herself. And she had promised herself that she wouldn’t allow him to provoke her into further unguarded responses. She just couldn’t seem to help herself.
‘Well?’ he enquired after a while.
‘A salade niçoise, please,’ she said.
‘And then?’
‘I’m not very hungry.’
He turned to the waiter. ‘Smoked salmon with horseradish, a salade niçoise, and two fillet steaks, very rare...’ He ordered wine and, before she could utter a word of protest, said, ‘You didn’t eat any of the supper Mrs Harper left for us last night.’
‘I was too tired to eat.’ And too miserable.
‘If you’re to start job-hunting tomorrow, you’ll need to keep your strength up.’
The dangerous spark of annoyance that immediately leapt to her eye made him laugh, and suddenly she was laughing too.
‘You are the most... infuriating man I’ve ever met,’ she declared roundly.
‘I’m the only man you’ve ever met,’ he responded, with somewhat jaundiced conviction.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she declared, then faltered momentarily under the challenge of quizzing grey eyes. The truth was, she knew only too well what he meant. She had thought that Peter was a man, but measured against the self-assurance, the ruthless determination of Noah Jordan...
