"I'd rather go back to my hotel. I'm tired."
"No, you're not. You're going to dance with me."
She thought of his arms coming around her and could not suppress a shiver. Roland was dead. He could not be standing in front of her like this.
"It won't seem so strange by tomorrow," he said quietly. "You still haven't got over the shock." Placing his hand beneath her elbow, he guided her forward.
Realising she had no option, Philippa went into the ballroom with him. His hands clasped her waist and, as she felt their warm pressure, it was as if the intervening years dissolved and she was once again the nineteen-year-old innocent who had been head over heels in love with him.
"How could you have run away?" she burst out. "If you only knew what it did to your mother."
He missed a step and faltered.
"Do you think I haven't had a million regrets?"
"I don't know. You seem so pleased with yourself."
"How little you know me." There was bitterness in his voice. "You're still judging me on the surface - the way my mother did. If she hadn't made a tin god out of me… oh, what's the use of trying to explain!"
Despite herself, Philippa felt a familiar tugging of affection. "Poor Roland. I don't suppose it's been easy for you."
"You can say that again! But now you've come back into my life, things are rosy again."
He swung her into an intricate step and she knew - as she had always known his moods - that he wanted to change the subject.
It was nearly two o'clock before he drove her back to the hotel in his small, fast sports car, and as he drew to a stop outside the entrance his words were almost laughably predictable.
"When am I going to see you again ?"
"I'm not sure. It depends on Mr. Paget."
"Are you worried because I'm with Callisto's?"
"It does make it rather difficult."
"I take it that also means you're sorry you promised to keep my secret?" She said nothing and he went on: "It's common knowledge that either Paget's firm or mine are likely to get the contract, and it would knock me out of the game completely if your boss told Rodriguez about my past."
"Oh, do be quiet," she said crossly.
"But it's true, isn't it? I forced you into a promise that makes you feel disloyal."
"I didn't make the promise in order to save your skin," she said. "I did it for your mother. Anyway, I'm not sure that Mr. Paget would tell Senor Rodriguez about you. He might think it an underhand way to win a contract."
"All's fair in love and war," Roland said seriously. "And to men like Paget, business is war."
She shivered, hating the truth of what he had said.
"Well," Roland asked, "will you let me see you again?"
"Do you want to?"
"More than anything in the world. Tonight has made me realise I've been dead from the moment I left you."
"Don't say that," she said shakily. "You can't change the past."
"Maybe I can change the future."
"No! I don't love you."
"Are you in love with anyone else ?"
"No."
He slid across the seat to face her. "You're a beautiful girl, Philippa. There must be many men who've wanted you."
"I haven't wanted them."
"You used to want me." With one hand he drew her close, and with the other forced her head up so that she had to look into his eyes. "If you don't love me, why are you afraid of seeing me again?"
"I'm not afraid," she said wearily, and knew it was impossible to make him see the difficult position she was in.
"Please, darling," he pleaded. "You can't stay in your hotel every night. And now Paget's back with Maya…"
Philippa tried not to think of this but a picture of the black-haired woman flashed in front of her, and threw discretion and guilt to the wind. "Very well, I'll see you."
"Tomorrow night."
"Perhaps."
"I'll call you and fix a time. "He brushed his lips lightly across her hair and released her.
Philippa's sleep that night was fitful, and dawn found her wide awake. She switched on the bedside light and tried to read, but it was difficult to concentrate and she pushed the book aside and gave herself up to thoughts of Roland.
It was strange how certain she was she no longer loved him. Or was her certainty a defence mechanism built up to stop her being hurt all over again ? Though it seemed the most logical reason, it did not satisfy her; nor could she believe she had stopped loving him, because she knew him to be a cheat and a coward; women did not stop loving a man because they found him unworthy; usually it made them love him all the more.
Her thoughts - disjointed and coming to no conclusion - meandered on, and she was glad when her watch showed seven and she could get up and dress. But even though she was in the sitting-room at eight, Lucas Paget was already there, papers spread out on the floor around him.
The look on his face was enough to tell her he was in one of his difficult moods, and hurriedly she opened her notebook.
"Don't bother with that," he said irritably. "You can't help me with these figures. I've got to work them out alone. There must be a way of getting the price down. If Callisto's can do it, so can I." He picked up a sheet of paper and looked at it. "Get me my Works Manager, and book calls to all my main suppliers."
Silently she did as she was told, and then sat by the receiver waiting for the calls to come in. Listening to Lucas talk, she knew he was at his most pugnacious. It was as though getting the contract had become a personal ambition rather than a business one. Could it be because of a desire to show Maya he would even be important on this continent? She shied away from finding an answer and concentrated on the work in hand.
He was in the middle of a call to his works manager when he glanced at his watch and gave an exclamation before cutting the call short.
"Why in Hades didn't you remind me I have to be at the British Embassy at eleven?" he demanded furiously of her.
She paled and reached for the diary. "I'm so sorry. I forgot." Hastily she dialled for an outside line and verified that the Ambassador could still see him; a fact which in no way abated his anger.
"I didn't bring you halfway across the world to have you sit and moon! I suggest you look at the diary night and morning and refresh your memory."
"I don't usually forget your appointments," she protested.
"Only the most important ones!" He strode into his room and banged the door behind him.
She trembled with anger at the unjustified attack, but as the minutes passed she grew calmer, seeing his irritability as an outcome of tension. She heard the farthest door of his bedroom close and guessed he had left without returning to the living-room. Hoping he would be in a better mood on his return, she went in search of some aspirin and then rested on the bed.
She was still lying there when the telephone rang. It was a call she had put in earlier to the Sheffield factory that was one of their biggest suppliers. The Managing Director was on the line and she debated whether to talk to him herself or delay the call. Afraid they might not get through again she decided to speak to him, making a guess at the questions Lucas would have asked. Some twenty minutes later she looked at the rows of figures she had jotted on her pad. None of them made sense to her but she hoped they would to Lucas Paget; if not, her head would assuredly roll!
Setting notebook aside, she wandered over to the window and looked at the breakers that beat themselves to a frenzy on the white sand. A vividly patterned scarf worn by a young woman walking on the narrow strip of promenade fluttered in the breeze, but she knew that to open the window would only bring in humid air and she dropped her hand regretfully from the handle. She longed to go out, but was afraid to do so in case Lucas returned and did not find her here, and, in order to give herself something to do, she began to tidy the folders. The sight of the large pink one bulging with details of the dam brought Roland vividly to mind. What irony that he and Lucas should be busi
ness rivals. The knowledge made her feel more disloyal than ever, and she wished with all her heart she had never met Roland last night. If only she could tell Lucas the truth about him and leave him to make the final decision.
The doubts she had tried to stifle returned with full force, and she knew that despite Roland's assertion that he was running Callisto's in an honest manner, she was afraid that if it came to the point he would use every method - fair or foul - to get the contract.
Restlessly she paced the room. From all Lucas had told her about Rodriguez, she was sure the Minister would have nothing to do with a company that was controlled by a man with Roland's past. The Latin mind - with its long memory and love of vendetta - would find it difficult to give a man the benefit of the doubt; and once Rodriguez had any doubts of Roland, he would automatically veer towards Lucas.
The aspirin she had taken was not1, sufficient palliative against the anxiety of her thoughts, and her head began to ache again.
The sitting-room door opened and she stiffened defensively as her employer came in. But his ill humour seemed to have vanished and he smiled as he flung off his jacket and sank into a chair.
"Pour me a drink, there's a good girl. Whisky, with lots of soda. And have one yourself."
She shook her head but poured him the drink he had asked for, and he gulped half of it down. "Have a sherry if you don't like whisky. You look pale."
"I have a headache."
"Probably had too late a night."
"I was in before you." She went scarlet at what she had said, but he didn't take offence, and said equably: "I'm used to late nights."
"How do you know I'm not ?"
He smiled. "You look too innocent."
"You shouldn't judge by appearances."
"I don't. If I did you'd be surprised at the assumption I'd jump to about you!"
She knew he was teasing her and though she longed to ask him what he meant, she decided it would be safer not to do so.
"I spoke to the Sheffield factory," she said quickly. "The call came through while you were out." Briefly she told him what had transpired and handed him the figures she had written down.
As he looked at them, his mouth tightened into a hard line. "Just as I thought. It is possible to get the price down. Book another call for me, will you - and order lunch at the same time. We'll have it up here and then I can go on working."
"Do you want anything special to eat?"
"Cold meat and salad. But order what you like for yourself."
A little later, the call made and luncheon set before them on a round table, Lucas Paget brought up Roland's name.
"It's strange your meeting him the way you did. Was it in the garden ?"
"Yes. I bumped into him."
"Did you tell him you were my secretary?"
"He - er - he asked me why I was in Rio."
"What business was it of his ?"
"Because I'm English, I suppose and…" She let the rest of her sentence trail away, hoping he would not continue the conversation. But it seemed he was only beginning.
"I'm pretty sure he must have known who you were when he arranged to bump into you. I didn't like the look of him."
"Judging by appearances again?" she asked as coolly as she could.
Appreciating the point, he smiled. "More than that, Miss Smith. A man doesn't get to be head of a firm like Callisto's without being unscrupulous."
"You're head of Langland's, and you aren't unscrupulous."
"I took longer to get to the top than Masterson. He's only been here a few years and he's already knocked out all his other competitors. You don't do that by playing straight."
Trembling, she pushed aside her plate. "You have no right to say that about him. Not unless you've got proof."
"I'm prepared to bet on my intuition. It isn't only women who have it, you know!" He speared some meat on his fork. "And while we're on the subject, I think it would be best if you didn't see him again."
"Why not? I thought you wanted me to be friendly with your competitors."
He looked surprised, as though he could not credit she was questioning his decision. "You won't learn anything from Masterson. He's too sharp."
"Are you afraid he might learn something from me?"
"Of course not," he said stiffly. "I have no doubts about your loyalty."
She warmed with pleasure at his words, though it cooled quickly as he said: "That settles it, then. If he gets in touch with you again, fob him off."
"Don't you think you're being unfair to assume he only wants to see me because I work for you?"
One eyebrow lifted. "I have got under your skin, haven't I?" His tone was equable. "I'm not denying your attractions but I hope you equally won't deny that Masterson might have another reason - apart from the usual masculine one - for wanting to see you again."
"I prefer to give him the benefit of the doubt," she said icily, and stopped as the telephone rang.
Roland's voice, warm and intimate, sounded in her ear, and she glanced at the man opposite her. Here was her chance to show him she was entitled to a life of her own.
"Why, Mr. Masterson," she said sweetly, "I was just thinking about you."
"From the way you're talking, I assume Paget's there ?" Roland's voice was low.
"Yes."
"O.K., Phil, I'll keep it short. Can you meet me for dinner tonight ?"
"What time?"
"Eight-thirty. I'll pick you up."
"I'll meet you downstairs."
"Still playing safe, eh?" He laughed and hung up and as she did the same, she was aware of Lucas looking at her angrily.
"If you arranged to see Masterson in order to annoy me, you've succeeded, Miss Smith. I told you I don't want you to meet him!"
"And I told you I won't accept your authority over my spare time. If you think I'll tell him about my work for you, then say so, and I'll resign at once."
"I'm not questioning your loyalty."
"Then don't tell me what to do with my free time! I don't tell you what to do with yours."
Lucas's expression was incredulous, and no wonder, she thought nervously, for she had never spoken to him so candidly.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I shouldn't have said that. You brought me out here and you've every right to -"
"Forget it." His voice was crisp. "You're quite right, I'm not entitled to tell you what to do in your free time."
Although the apology should have pleased her, tears unaccountably pricked her eyes.
"I don't want to quarrel with you," she said huskily, "and I don't want you to think I'm going out with - with Mr. Masterson to spite you."
"Such a thought never entered my head."
"And you're not cross with me ?"
"Cross?"
The word seemed to puzzle him and, from the slight drawing together of his brows she knew he was only analysing her question but also his own answer to it.
"Cross isn't the right word," he said at last. "I suppose that until now I've tended to regard you as a part of my working life and it's strange to see you as" - There was another hesitation - "as a woman with her own life to lead."
"I'm glad you realise I'm not just a dictating machine!"
"I've never seen one with curves before!"
She smiled at him and the earlier mood of anger disappeared completely. While speaking, he had moved from the table and was once more sitting on the settee, his head resting against the back. Even as she watched him his eyes closed and the tension went from his face. Tenderness pierced her and she felt an intense longing to touch his mouth. Appalled, she drew back, knocking against the table as she did so. The sound alerted him and he opened his eyes and stared at her intently.
"I like your hair that way," he said slowly. "It's a most unusual colour."
"Apricot," she said, and could have bitten out her tongue as he smiled.
"Corfu honey," he corrected. "Honey varies in colour, you know, depending where the bees get their nectar. A
nd on Corfu it's a particularly wonderful shade of amber gold."
"I rather like that," she replied with an effort at lightness. "Corfu honey sounds much more unusual than being an apricot blonde!"
"Corfu honey hair and Jersey cream skin," he said. "That describes you exactly. Plus perfect shorthand and typing and an ideal telephone manner."
"Thank you, Mr. Paget."
"Don't mention it, Miss Smith." There was no doubting his mockery. "Don't you think it would be less formal if I called you by your first name."
She was too pleased to be able to hide it. "Of course. It's Philippa."
"I know. Is that your only name ?"
"Yes. Some people call me Phil."
"I won't. It's too masculine. Philippa is just right. Prim and provocative at the same time!"
She laughed. "Your first name suits you too, Mr. Paget."
"Then you'd better use it."
She reddened. "It might be better if I didn't. When we're in London the other girls will -"
"Damn the other girls! We aren't living in the Middle Ages. Lots of secretaries call their boss by their first name."
"You aren't like the usual boss," she said drily.
"I know. I'm too autocratic and demanding." He walked over to the table and poured himself some coffee. "I suppose Masterson is the type that appeals to girls like you. I don't like him, as you know, but I can't deny his charm."
As Roland's name returned to the conversation, Lucas's good humour vanished, and irritation lingered on his face like a veil. Philippa wondered if he were jealous; and felt great pleasure at the thought.
"Don't stand there gawping!" His words shattered her mood. "Ring for someone to clear the table. I hate seeing the remains of a meal."
She rang the bell for room-service as he went into his bedroom. He did not close the door and she heard him lift his telephone. After a short pause he started talking in Portuguese, and though she could not understand a word, his tone told her he was speaking to Maya. A moment later he uttered the name, confirming her belief.
The jealousy that engulfed her was the worst she had experienced and she was filled with shame. She went into her room and made a pretence of tidying her hair. The mirror gave back her reflection; a sun-kissed blonde; tall, slim and cool. Lovely if you liked the Corfu honey type - which Lucas obviously did not. He preferred the sultry darkness of jet and almond shaped eyes.
Rachel Lindsay - Brazillian Affair Page 5
