‘Yes.’ But her eyes didn’t meet his and she felt him staring at the telltale pulse beating hard in her throat.
He reached out a hand; one long finger slid down her cheek then down her neck, awaking pulses everywhere it rested, until it pressed down into that pulse in her throat. ‘What’s the point of lying? You’re not convincing me; you’re only lying to yourself.’
‘Don’t touch me!’ she muttered, knocking his hand away.
The taxi turned into a hotel entrance, set back from the road. She looked up at the grand façade, ornate and baroque, with ironwork balconies outside every other widow, flags flying on the steep roof. She had heard of the hotel but never been inside it; it was far too expensive. Normally she would have loved to go there for lunch, but not with him.
‘You get out here; I’ll go on to my office!’ she insisted, holding on to the seat with both hands.
To her relief and surprise, he got out without replying and paid the driver. Only then did he turn back towards Pippa. ‘Out you get!’ He reached over and undid her seat belt before she had notice of his intention.
She wanted to yell, scream, hit him, but the hotel doorman had appeared behind him, magnificent in livery dripping with gold braid, smiling an obsequious welcome, and she was too embarrassed to make a scene in front of such an audience.
‘I can’t. Let me go,’ she said instead, very quietly, still hanging on to the seat.
‘Let me help you,’ he blandly murmured, and the next second he had taken her by the waist and was lifting her out of the taxi. Keeping his arm around her, he guided her up the steps into the hotel foyer while the doorman closed the taxi door and followed them. A moment later Pippa found herself being propelled into a lift; the door shut and the lift began to rise.
There was nobody else in the lift with them; she felt free to break away from him, using every ounce of her strength, looking at him with angry hostility as she reeled against the lift wall.
‘How dare you manhandle me like this? And if you think you can get me up to your bedroom…’
‘Suite,’ he coolly corrected. ‘There’s a sitting room; we can have lunch there.’
‘I am not going with you! Bedroom or suite, I am not going anywhere alone with you!’
‘You’re alone with me now,’ he pointed out in silky tones, leaning over her in what she interpreted as menace, despite the laughter gleaming in his eyes. His proximity was threat enough, even when he didn’t touch her.
‘Stop it! Keep away from me!’ she whispered, trembling.
His face was inches away from her own. ‘What are you so afraid of, Pippa? Me? Or yourself?’
Confused, she muttered, ‘Don’t be stupid. How can I be afraid of myself?’
‘Of what you really want,’ he enlarged, eyes watching her intently. ‘Of your own instinct and desires. You’re so terrified of how you feel that you need to shelter behind a pretence of hating me. You can’t risk so much as a look at me, can you?’
Face burning, eyes flickering nervously, she said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do I have to remind you that I’m getting married in a week’s time?’
The lift stopped and the doors opened. Nobody was waiting on that floor; there was no one in view at all. He stepped out, grabbed her hand and jerked her out after him.
‘I am not going with you! Let go of me!’ She struggled to get away, flailing at him with one hand, managed to land a blow on his cheek, and gave a little cry of pain as she hurt herself on the hard edge of his bone structure.
‘Serves you right! You shouldn’t be so violent!’ He ran an exploring hand over his cheek where a red mark burnt. ‘That hurt me almost as much as it probably hurt you.’
‘Good!’
A room door nearby opened and an old lady in a pink linen suit, wearing a small black hat with a black lace veil which fell over her eyes, came out, gave them a startled, uneasy look.
‘Is anything wrong?’ she quavered.
Pippa hesitated fatally; he answered before she could. ‘She’s shy, that’s all. Honeymoon nerves! You know how women get on these occasions.’
The old lady blushed and then smiled; Pippa glared at him. He was maddening; he always had been.
‘I should carry you over the threshold, darling,’ he said, and suddenly grabbed Pippa off her feet before she could stop him, lifted her up into his arms and strode off with her while the old lady gazed after them with a romantic smile.
Pippa knew she should call his bluff, struggle, hit him again, but with that happy, wide-eyed audience she simply couldn’t. In any case a moment later he paused in front of double doors, produced a key and unlocked the suite, carried Pippa inside, into a small hallway, and closed the door behind them with his elbow.
‘Put me down!’ she hoarsely demanded. ‘Put me down at once!’
He carried her into a bedroom and dropped her on the large, white-and silver-draped bed.
Her heart beat wildly in her throat. Surely he didn’t intend… She rolled over to the far edge of the bed and shakily stood up, looking around for a weapon to use if he tried to come anywhere near her. The table lamp looked heavy; it had a bronze cast base and could probably kill someone.
But he was turning back towards the door. Over his shoulder he casually said, ‘Use the bathroom, if you wish. Your hair could certainly do with some attention.’
The door closed behind him. She was alone and safe, for the moment. Her gaze wandered round the room, absorbing the luxury of the furnishings: high French windows covered with lace and floor-length curtains that matched the white and silver satin bed-cover, the bronze-based lamps with their wide silver satin shades, walnut-veneered furniture that was probably reproduction, not genuinely antique, a chest, a wardrobe whose doors were set with mirrors, a dressing table on which stood a vase of white carnations and roses.
She began to walk towards the door of the en-suite bathroom, paused to bend over the flowers, inhaling their faint scent then hurried on, in case he came back.
The bathroom was entirely white, with nineteen-twenties-style fittings, elegant fluted chrome taps. In a cupboard above the vanity unit she found his toiletries: aftershave, an electric razor, shower gel, shampoo. Somehow it was too intimate to stare at them. She quickly shut the door on them and opened her bag.
She found a comb and ran it through her hair, renewed her make-up, considered her reflection, disturbed by the feverish brightness of her eyes, the faint tremble of her mouth, the fast beating of that pulse in her neck.
It was crazy to let him do this to her. She had to pull herself together and somehow talk her way out of this suite. She had given him time to calm down, to think—maybe now he would realise he had to let her leave?
Turning away, she picked up her bag and left the bathroom, quietly opened the door of the bedroom. If he wasn’t in earshot she might be able to get away now.
She couldn’t hear a sound so she began tiptoeing back along the little hall towards the outer door. Before she reached it, however, a voice spoke softly behind her.
‘Don’t even think about it.’
She froze, looking round.
He was leaning on the open doorway into what she glimpsed to be a sitting room, his arms crossed, his body lounging with casual grace, those long legs relaxed, making her forcibly aware of his intense sexual allure, the gleaming display of the peacock. And he knew it, too; he was watching her with that infuriating mockery, knowing what she was feeling, amused and sure of himself.
She probably still had time to make a run for it, but he would only take a few seconds to catch up with her and her self-respect wouldn’t allow her to make a fight of this. In any case, she knew she would only lose. She had to use other weapons against him.
‘I have to get back to work.’
‘I’ve already rung your office and told them you fainted and would be going home to rest instead of going to work.’
She furiously broke out, ‘You had no business to do that!’
He ignored
her angry splutter. ‘I’ve ordered lunch, too—something simple. I thought you wouldn’t want anything elaborate. Salad, some cheese, cold beef and chicken, some wholemeal bread, pickles, some fruit, yogurt, and a pot of coffee.’
‘I’m not hungry. You eat lunch; I’ll get back to my office.’ She turned towards the door of the suite.
‘Do I have to carry you in here?’ his voice silkily enquired, and she froze.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she burst out. ‘What’s the point? You’re married; I’m getting married—we have nothing to say to each other.’
Four years ago she had joined his firm after the company she had been working for had gone into liquidation. Pippa had been shocked by the news that everyone was being made redundant, but by sheer good luck she had got a new job the same day. During her lunch hour she had gone into an employment agency to register and had been given an immediate interview with a nearby office.
She had walked down the road, very nervous, a little shaky, and been shown up to the personnel officer, who had tested her various secretarial skills and spent half an hour questioning her.
Pippa hadn’t expected to be given a job there and then, but the personnel officer had leaned back at last and said, ‘When can you start?’
Heart lifting, Pippa whispered, ‘Do you mean I’ve got a job here? You’re taking me on?’
The woman smiled, eyes amused. ‘That’s what I mean. So when can you start?’
She didn’t need to think about it; she knew she would be out of a job by the end of that week and would need to be earning again as soon as possible. She had no one to help her with her rent and the cost of living. She only had herself to rely on.
‘On Monday?’ Relief and delight were filling her.
‘Wonderful. Report to me at nine o’clock and I’ll have someone show you to your desk. You’ll be working in the managing director’s office. His private assistant will be in charge; she’ll tell you what she wants you to do. It isn’t a difficult job, but it’s vital that everything runs smoothly in that office and Miss Dalton is a tough organiser. Be careful not to annoy her. The MD insists on a smooth-running office.’
It sounded rather nerve-racking to Pippa, but the salary was good and the work not too onerous. She left there walking on air, and got back to find everyone else in her office gloomily contemplating living on social security until they found work elsewhere.
‘What about you, Pippa?’ asked the girl whose desk was opposite hers. ‘What will you do?’
‘Oh, I’ve got a new job. I start there next Monday,’ Pippa airily told her, and everyone else stared in disbelief.
‘How on earth did you manage that?’
‘Just luck.’ She told them what had happened and they were envious and incredulous.
‘I’m going there as soon as I’ve finished work,’ one of them said, and others nodded their heads.
By the end of the week at least half of them had managed to find new jobs—some just about adequate, although one of them had got a much better job. There was a much more cheerful atmosphere in the office. They had a big party in a local Chinese restaurant on the Friday evening, knowing that they would probably not see each other again, although some close friends would keep in touch. Working together was a matter of propinquity. Once they all split up their friendships would begin to fade.
It had been Pippa’s first job. She had only been sixteen when she started work there and now she was twenty but felt older because ever since she’d left her last foster home she had been living alone, in one room, managing a tight budget, always struggling to make ends meet. That had made her grow up fast, had taught her a discipline she relied on to help her through each day. She couldn’t allow herself to buy anything she could do without; thrift was essential on such a small amount of money.
Her clothes had to last and look good in the office so she bought inexpensive but well-made skirts and blouses which she could vary daily, and wash again and again. She ate little, bought cheaply in street markets, mostly vegetables and fruit, pasta, some fish now and again, or more rarely, chicken. She only had one electric ring to cook on; she had to choose easily cooked food.
She had never been able to afford to entertain so she didn’t accept invitations from other people, since she couldn’t reciprocate. Once or twice she had had a date with one of the young men in the office, but none of them had attracted her much and the dates had been rather dull.
She felt a little sad, saying goodbye to people she had worked with for four years, though. She was going to miss them. All the same, she was deeply relieved to have another job to go to immediately. She couldn’t imagine how she would have paid the rent otherwise. The life of the street people, homeless and hopeless, gave her nightmares for a while. Being made redundant like that had destabilised her life, made her feel threatened, even after she’d got that new job.
On the following Monday she nervously made her way to the office block where she would be working, was taken up in the lift from the personnel office by one of the girls who worked there.
‘You know who you’ll be working for? Mr Harding, the managing director.’ Her voice had a reverent note. ‘You’re so lucky. He’s gorgeous. And nice. But he’s married, worse luck! His wife is really lovely; she’s a model. You often see her in glossy magazines. They make a stunning couple.’
‘What exactly will my job entail?’ Pippa asked. ‘I was never told.’ That was what interested her, not the sexiness or availability of the boss.
The other girl shrugged. ‘Working on a word processor, sending out letters, sorting mail, taking phone calls—the usual office routine. There are half a dozen girls working in the office and Mr Harding’s PA is a dragon lady. Miss Dalton.’
‘The personnel officer warned me to be very careful with her.’
‘She wasn’t kidding. She bites!’
She hadn’t exaggerated, Pippa discovered a few minutes later, contemplating the tall, cold-eyed woman who ran the office.
Felicity Dalton wasn’t beautiful, but she was striking—very thin and elegant, with long, straight black hair she wore drawn off her face and held with a large black clip. In her beautifully shaped ears she wore diamond studs. Her white blouse was immaculate, her black jersey skirt emphasised the sleek lines of her body. She looked as if she had been sculpted out of ice. A snow queen who clearly did not like people much, especially those of her own sex, whom she treated with hostility and contempt.
She gave Pippa brusque instructions, left her seated at a desk and went back to her own private office.
The other girls all grinned at Pippa once Felicity Dalton had gone. ‘Scary, isn’t she?’ one whispered. ‘I’m Judy, by the way.’
She was the same age as Pippa, and immediately likeable, a short, rather plump girl with curly brown hair and bright brown eyes, the pupils circled by golden rays which made her look like a lion.
‘Hi. I’m Pippa.’
‘Lovely name. Mine’s so ordinary.’ Judy sighed, then went on, ‘If you need any help, just ask. It’s not so long since I was new here; I know how it feels.’
Over that first week Pippa had to go to Judy for help more than once. Some of the letters they had to send were automatic replies to particular types of complaint; she wasn’t always sure which reply to send but Judy knew the office routine by heart.
The managing director himself was away, Pippa discovered, so their workload was not as heavy as it would be when he was working there.
‘What’s he like?’ she asked Judy, whose brown-gold eyes turned dreamy.
‘Very sexy. The Dalton’s crazy about him, but she’ll never get anywhere. He’s married to a really stunning woman; he never notices the Dalton at all. That’s what burns her up, why she’s so frozen and nasty. She’s hurting, so she makes sure we all feel the same.’
‘Poor Miss Dalton,’ Pippa said, with the first real sympathy she had felt for the older woman, who was never pleasant to her.
‘Don’t feel sorr
y for her! Just because her heart’s breaking is no reason why she should make our lives hell, is it?’ Judy was made of sterner stuff; her brown eyes glinted crossly.
Pippa grinned at her. ‘No reason at all, no! Anyway, you didn’t say what he was like to work for!’
‘He’s quite tough, too, actually, but in a different way. He expects us to work very hard, and he won’t tolerate mistakes, but he isn’t nasty, like Dalton. So long as you work hard he’s decent to you. Half the girls in the office are nuts about him, but he never encourages them. He’s a happily married man.’
‘Has he got children?’
‘One, a boy, around four years old, called Johnny. Randal has a big silver-framed photo of him on his desk. And another photo of his wife in evening dress—she really is fantastic. Wait until you see her!’
She was not to see Mrs Harding for some months, but Randal Harding was back at work the following Monday. Pippa had got in early to give herself a head start; she was only just able to keep up with the work as yet, and Miss Dalton was watching her like a hawk, pouncing on her every mistake. Pippa could not afford to lose this job, so she’d got an earlier bus that morning.
It was a fresh, blustery day; her curly chestnut hair had got blown about as she’d walked along the road, and her skin was flushed with exercise and cool air.
Nobody else was in her office; she sat down in front of her word processor and switched on, arranged her pens beside a pad next to the phone and was about to start work when the door opened. Looking round with a smile, Pippa was startled to see a man entering the office. She got an immediate impression of height and dark, brooding good looks.
He looked surprised too, staring at her. ‘Who are you?’
She didn’t like his curt tone. Coldly, she answered, ‘I work here. Who are you?’
‘I’m the managing director.’
She gulped. Oh, no! She should have guessed. She had known he would be back at work today.
‘Would you make me some coffee and bring it through to my office?’ he asked. ‘Bring a pad, too. I want you to take dictation.’
The door shut again; he was gone, leaving Pippa breathless. Well, that hadn’t been a good beginning, had it? She wouldn’t have left a very favourable impression on him. And she had been so keen to impress him!
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