Читать книгу A Passionate Affair - Anne Mather - Страница 8

WITH the help of a capsule, Cassandra slept reasonably well, and awakened next morning feeling only mildly lethargic. It was months since she had felt the need for any assistance to sleep, and she had almost forgotten the heady feeling that lingered and the horrible taste in her mouth.

Needing to dispel that sense of inertia, she took a bath before breakfast, and then read the daily paper over her coffee. She was determined not to let thoughts of Jay Ravek disrupt her day as they had disrupted her night, but the latest wave of industrial troubles held little attraction.

Yet the night before she had spent far too much time wondering what his reasons for ringing her had been. After her moments of introspection, she had trudged back into the kitchen, and switched off the percolator without even pouring herself a cup of coffee. She had remained bemused, both by the evidence of the phone call and by what her mother-in-law had told her, and that was why she had taken one of the sleeping capsules the doctor had prescribed for her just after Mike had met his fatal accident. She had needed to sleep, to be alert to face the day—and it was annoying to discover that with consciousness came awareness, and the troubled conviction that Jay Ravek was not going to be that easy to dismiss.

She had an appointment that morning with the manager of a textile warehouse, and when she left the flat soon after nine o’clock, she drove straight to the address in north London. She usually chose the cloth the contractors were to use herself, and she always felt a thrill of excitement as she walked along the rows of bales, fingering their fine texture and admiring the variety of colours. There were so many shades, and such intriguing names for the different colours – oyster satin, damask in a delicious shade of avocado, cream brocade and bronze velvet. There were patterned cottons and rich cretonne, chintz and tufted fabrics, and lengths of chiffon and soft wild silk. Cassandra gained a great deal of satisfaction from choosing the materials, her decision was important, and the exhilaration she obtained more than made up for the long hours of hard work spent at her drawing board.

She and Gil Benedict spent over an hour discussing her requirements and the availability of the order, then she got back into the Alfasud and drove to Chandler Mews.

‘Any calls?’ she asked casually of Chris, as she shed the jacket of her fringed suede suit, and he lifted his head from the supporting prop of his knuckles and regarded her consideringly.

‘One or two,’ he conceded, reaching for the inevitable packet of cigarettes, and Cassandra’s nerves tightened. ‘Holbrook rang to say he can’t get those rails for the radiators until next week, and there’s been a tentative enquiry from a Mrs Vance, who’s apparently seen the Maxwells’ flat and would like to discuss us doing something similar for her.’

‘Oh.’ Cassandra hid her unwelcome sense of disappointment. ‘Is that all?’

‘Who were you expecting?’ Chris was laconic. ‘Oh, yes, a man did phone.’ He paused as Cassandra’s heart accelerated. ‘He said his name was—Ludlum, is that right? Something to do with your mother-in-law, I think.’

‘Paul Ludlum, yes.’ Cassandra’s voice was breathy as she sought escape from her foolish thoughts. She crossed the room, and picking up the electric kettle, weighed its contents before plugging it in. ‘He’s an accountant friend of hers, or rather his father was. She thinks we should have some professional help in that direction.’

‘I agree.’ Chris lit his cigarette and lay back wearily in his chair. ‘God, I’m bushed! Rocky cried on and off all night, and June said it was my turn to keep him quiet.’

Pushing aside her problems, Cassandra managed to smile. ‘Don’t call him Rocky!’ she exclaimed. ‘His name’s Peter. You know June hates you to make fun of him.’

Chris grimaced. ‘He still looks like a horror to me,’ he remarked, drawing the nicotine gratefully into his lungs, and Cassandra shook her head as she turned to spoon instant coffee into the cups.

Chris and June had only been married a little over a year, and baby Peter, the main reason for their nuptials, Chris maintained, was now almost six months old. It was typical of Chris that he should choose a nickname for his son, derived from the Rocky Horror Show, but Cassandra was very much afraid that June found this no less unacceptable than Chris’s previous decision to give up his well-paid job in the art department of a London television studios to go into partnership with her. Cassandra knew she could never have approached him. She would never have dreamed of asking him to give up so much on the strength of so little. But when Mike was killed and Chris heard the news, he contacted her himself and set up a meeting. It was the start of many such meetings, encouraged by Mrs Roland, and now, nine months later, their business was established and beginning to make the headway Liz had predicted.

Thinking of Liz, Cassandra realised she ought to give her a ring and thank her for lunch the previous day. Liz’s work, on a famous women’s magazine, entailed many such lunches, but for Cassandra it had been a less familiar experience. Lunches generally were spent at her desk, with a sandwich from the local delicatessen, and the chance to open the windows in Chris’s absence, and get rid of a little of the smoke haze. Chris usually went to the pub round the corner, eating his sandwiches with a pint and exchanging news with the staff from the hospital across the street. It was a popular meeting place, but although she was often invited to join him, Cassandra preferred to keep their association on a business footing.

As usual, Chris left the office at about a quarter to one, but after he had gone Cassandra felt curiously restless. Somehow the idea of sitting here enjoying a solitary sandwich had no appeal, and on impulse she got up from her chair and went to put on her jacket. It was a cold day, but sunny, and she decided to take a cab to Fetter Lane and surprise Liz. If she was free, they might have lunch together. If not, at least it would give her a break.

A car drove into the mews as she was descending the iron staircase, her heels clattering on the hollow slats. It was a dark green car, low and powerful-looking, and as she halted uncertainly, a man thrust open the door and climbed out.

It was Jay Ravek. There was no mistaking his lean indolent grace, or the silky hair that persisted in falling over his forehead. In a pair of dark pants and a corded jacket, his dark silk shirt opened at the neck in spite of the cold, he exhibited all the magnetism and sexuality she remembered, and just looking at him, she could feel every inch of her skin tingling.

He stood after closing the car door, inspecting his surroundings, and Cassandra guessed he was looking for her office. For an anxious moment she didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t seen her, that much was obvious, and she knew a ridiculous impulse to rush back up the steps and lock the door, before he noticed her. But that would have been silly and childish, and besides, she was taking it for granted he was coming to see her. He might not be, and in any case she was on her way out. Even so, it took a certain amount of courage to continue on down the steps as if she hadn’t recognised him, when every step she took seemed to echo horribly in the quiet mews.

He heard her at once, and the dark eyes she remembered so well fastened on her slender figure, his mouth curving into a wry smile as he came towards her.

‘Mrs Roland,’ he acknowledged her easily, as she reached the cobbled yard. ‘This is a coincidence. I was just coming to see you.’

‘You were?’ Cassandra assumed a cool smile of enquiry.

‘Yes.’ He inclined his head. Even in her heeled boots he was taller than she was, and it gave him a slight advantage. ‘Didn’t your mother-in-law tell you? I tried to phone you last night.’

Cassandra thought quickly. ‘It—er—it’s Mr Ravek, isn’t it?’ she exclaimed, ignoring his mildly incredulous intake of breath. ‘Why, yes. Yes, Thea did say something about a call.’

Jay Ravek’s eyes revealed his scepticism. Looking into their definitely mocking depths, Cassandra was left in no doubt as to his disbelief in the part she was playing, and remembering how his name had slipped out the day before, perhaps he could not be blamed for that.

Wanting—needing—to restore her credibility, Cassandra hastened on: ‘I was just going to lunch, but if there’s anything we can do for you, perhaps you could come back—–’

‘I was hoping to persuade you to have lunch with me,’ he interrupted her smoothly, and the frankness of his approach left her briefly speechless.

‘You—were hoping—–’ she got out, when she was able to drag sufficient air into her lungs, and once again he took the initiative.

‘Yes.’ He glanced round at his car. ‘I was reliably informed that you didn’t usually go out for lunch, but it seems my informant was mistaken.’

The hooded dark eyes were on her again, mildly amused now but interrogative, mocking her belief that she could handle any situation. She felt he could see right through her, and through any little ploy that she might use. He was not like Mike. He was not like any man she had known before. He was a totally new experience.

‘Was he?’ he asked at last.

‘Was he—what?’ She felt disorientated.

‘Was my informant wrong? Do you normally go out to lunch?’

Cassandra took a deep breath. ‘Why did you ring me, Mr Ravek? What do you really want?’

‘You,’ he declared, without scruple, and as her eyes widened with incredulity, he added: ‘But first I must apologise if I’ve caused you any embarrassment. I had no idea you and your mother-in-law lived in the same building.’

She gazed at him. ‘I don’t see the relevance.’

‘Don’t you?’ He shrugged. ‘No, well, perhaps not. You are in business, after all. You must get a lot of calls.’

She drew a deep breath. ‘Is this business, Mr Ravek?’

His mouth turned down. ‘I think you know better than that.’

Cassandra gasped. ‘Are you always so direct?’

‘Would you prefer a different kind of approach?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not something I’m familiar with,’ she said blankly. ‘Mr Ravek—–’

‘Jay,’ he corrected her briefly. Then: ‘Look, it’s too cold to talk here. Do you have an appointment, or will you let me buy you lunch?’

Cassandra shivered, suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings again. ‘I don’t think—–’

‘Why not?’ His lean face revealed a trace of irritation. ‘You know you shouldn’t believe everything you read in the press.’

‘I don’t.’ That much was true. But Liz had been so vehement. ‘I just—–’

‘What harm can eating lunch with me do?’ he interposed swiftly. ‘I don’t bite, and I do know my table manners!’

Cassandra half smiled. ‘I’m sure you do.’

‘Is that a grudging acceptance?’

She made a decision. ‘All right.’

‘Good.’ He gestured towards his car. ‘Shall we go?’

Her determination wavered. Her impulsive consent to eat with him had not taken into account the method of getting to a restaurant, and somehow his car seemed such an intimate form of transport after what he had said. After all, what did she know about this man? Nothing that was good, certainly.

He seemed to sense her uncertainty, however, and his expression twisted into an ironic smile. ‘You can trust me,’ he said flatly. ‘I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. Now, can we get moving?’

Cassandra gave in, and at her nod of acquiescence, Jay Ravek swung open the nearside door of the vehicle and waited while she got inside. His own entry was accomplished with the ease of long practice, and after settling his length behind the wheel, he started the engine.

As they turned out of the mews, Cassandra spared a thought for Chris, realising she should have left him a message telling him where she was going. But to suggest doing so now would smack of over-caution, and she could well imagine Jay Ravek’s interpretation of her leaving some explanatory note.

The car was soon bogged down in the lunchtime snarlups, and feeling the need to clarify her position, Cassandra endeavoured to make light conversation. What he had said earlier, about his reasons for ringing her, didn’t seem credible somehow, and linking her hands together in her lap, she introduced the usual topics of weather and traffic.

His responses were monosyllabic as he concentrated on negotiating the busy streets, but once they had a clear stretch of road, he cast a lazy glance in her direction.

‘You knew I’d ring, didn’t you?’ he remarked, disturbing her anew. ‘What did your mother-in-law tell you?’

Cassandra bent her head. ‘Oh, only that you’d rung. As you said, she thought you were a client. Only most people ring the studio.’

‘Most men?’

Cassandra looked up indignantly. ‘Most clients,’ she corrected him shortly, and Jay inclined his head.

‘But you did know?’

Cassandra schooled her features. ‘How could I?’

‘I don’t believe you’re that naïve,’ he responded, his voice low and disruptive. ‘But—–’ he shrugged, ‘we’ll play it your way, if it suits you.’

Cassandra didn’t know how to answer him, so she didn’t try. Instead, she tried to guess where he was taking her, and what she was going to tell Chris when she got back.

Jay eventually turned the powerful sports car into the car park of a hotel north of Willesden. It was not a hotel Cassandra was familiar with, but judging by the number of cars in the parking area, it was a popular eating place.

A cocktail bar gave on to a small dining room, and mentioning that they could get a drink at their table, Jay preceded Cassandra into the restaurant. They were shown to a table at the far side of the room, overlooking the sunken garden at the back of the hotel, where wilting plants surrounded a murky rock pool.

A waiter provided menus, and Jay asked Cassandra what she would like to drink.

‘Oh, just a dry Martini, please,’ she answered politely, and he ordered a gin and tonic for himself before allowing the waiter to depart.

‘So,’ he said, when they were alone, ‘do you feel happier now?’

Cassandra fingered the red napkin in front of her. ‘I don’t know this place,’ she replied, without answering him. ‘Do you come here often?’

Jay lay back in his chair, regarding her with sardonic eyes. ‘I guess Liz Lester has been talking,’ he remarked. ‘What did she tell you?’

‘Not a lot.’ Cassandra kept her tone light, and forced herself to look at the menu. ‘What do you recommend? I rather fancy scampi. How about you?’

‘Food’s not a fetish with me,’ he responded easily, putting his menu aside. ‘So long as it’s reasonably cooked, a steak will do fine.’

Cassandra nodded, glad of the diversion from more personal matters. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I like steak, too. But I think I’ll stick to the fish. It sounds delicious.’

‘Good.’

His acquiescence was indifferent and she was glad when the waiter brought their drinks, and she was able to use her glass as a barrier between them. His eyes were too penetrating, his perception too shrewd; and she looked at the other diners in an effort to avoid looking at him, in case he could read her thoughts as well.

‘I suppose you do a lot of entertaining,’ he remarked at last, his voice lower, more persuasive. ‘In the course of your—work, naturally.’

Cassandra turned her lovely eyes in his direction. She had the distinct suspicion there was an insult there somewhere, but for the life of her she couldn’t understand why he should be baiting her in this way.

‘I—we—do entertain, occasionally,’ she agreed, shaking her head when he offered her another drink. ‘But the company is very small yet. We don’t have an unlimited expense account.’

‘No.’ He rested his arms on the table, cradling his glass between his palms. ‘And there’s just the two of you—you and this young man, Chris Allen?’

‘Yes.’

The waiter came to take their order, and after he was gone again, Jay continued his catechism: ‘Have you known him long? Allen, I mean?’

Cassandra shrugged. ‘About seven years, I suppose. I knew him before—before I was married.’

‘Ah—–’ Jay absorbed this with a curious expression. ‘Perhaps you should have married him. You might have been—happier.’

She held up her head. ‘Maybe,’ she responded, her tone a little chilly now, and as if realising she was beginning to resent his interrogation, Jay smiled.

‘I guess you’re wondering why you agreed to have lunch with such an ignorant swine, aren’t you?’ he suggested ruefully. ‘Forgive me, but—–’ he paused, ‘perhaps I’m not used to such sensitive companionship.’

Cassandra hesitated. ‘I should have thought that was patently untrue,’ she declared steadily, and his lean mouth took on a humorous twist.

‘So I was right—Liz has been talking. Am I allowed to say anything in my own defence?’

She sighed, putting down her glass, not quite sure whether to take him seriously or not. ‘You don’t have to defend yourself to me, Mr Ravek,’ she stated carefully. ‘The way you conduct your affairs is no concern of mine.’

It sounded abominably smug, but he seemed not to take offence, and the arrival of the waiter with their soup prevented any further intimate conversation. Much to her relief, the next twenty minutes were taken up in this way and Cassandra was free to concentrate on the meal and evade any further searching questions. But, inevitably, after she had refused a dessert, coffee was served, and gaining her permission to light a long, narrow cheroot, Jay resumed his cross-examination.

‘Suppose,’ he said, attracting her unwilling attention, ‘suppose I wanted to make it your concern; the way I conduct my affairs, I mean.’ His eyes narrowed, dark and sensual between the thick lashes. ‘Does it matter to you how many women there’ve been in my life?’

‘I—why—–’ Cassandra controlled her colour with the greatest difficulty. ‘Mr Ravek—–’

‘Jay!’

‘—are you trying to insult me?’

‘No.’ He rested his elbows on the table. ‘Why should you think that?’

Cassandra moistened her lips. ‘Perhaps I’m out of touch—–’

‘But not out of reach?’

‘Mr Ravek—–’

‘Mrs Roland?’ His eyes were mocking her now. ‘You’re an intriguing lady. I can’t make up my mind whether you want to go to bed with me or not, and if the answer is no, what the hell am I doing here?’

Cassandra remained in her seat mainly because she doubted her legs would carry her across the room. But her face was red with embarrassment now, and anger at his outrageous statement far outweighed the attraction she had felt towards him.

‘Do you only take a female out to lunch if you think she wants to go to bed with you?’ she demanded, in a low angry voice, and his mocking smile briefly lit the dark contours of his face.

‘In these circumstances, is it so surprising?’ he countered, drawing on his cheroot. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Mrs Roland. It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?’

Cassandra could only assume the worst. Obviously, he believed she had been warned about him, but had chosen to ignore the warning; and in essence it was true. But she had not truly taken everything Liz had told her as gospel, and in consequence, she was left to face this humiliating confrontation unprepared.

‘I think I’d like to leave now, Mr Ravek,’ she declared stiffly, glancing round, as if she hoped some stalwart knight in shining armour might come and rescue her. ‘You’ve had your fun. Could you please ask the waiter to call a taxi for me.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ With an abrupt movement, he thrust back his chair and got to his feet.

His action brought the waiter to his side, and while he was attending to the bill, Cassandra took the opportunity to escape. She had no desire to drive back to the office with him, but when he emerged from the building, he found her thwarted, on the car park.

‘I’d prefer to take a cab,’ she declared, when he appeared, but Jay only moved his shoulders in an indifferent gesture.

‘But as you can see, there aren’t any,’ he observed, his dark gaze sweeping the car park. ‘Come on, I’ll take you back. You can warm your cold feet in the Ferrari.’

Cassandra’s blood boiled. ‘You’re despicable!’

‘Yes, so I’ve been told,’ he agreed, without rancour. ‘Now, stop looking so outraged, and get in the car. Believe me, my ardour has been satisfactorily doused.’

If she hadn’t felt so furious with him, Cassandra knew she could have seen the funny side of this. The trouble was, in spite of everything, he was still the most disturbing man she had ever met, and if he had not made her feel so insignificant, she might well have given into his sensual attraction.

To her relief, Chris had not returned when she got back to the office, and glancing at her watch she was amazed to discover it was only a little over an hour since she had left. Somehow it had seemed so much longer than that, and her face was still burning as she seated herself at her desk.

Jay had not spoken on the journey back to the studio, and after depositing her in Chandler Mews, he had driven away without a backward glance. She wondered what he was thinking, what interpretation he had put on her behaviour, and wished she understood herself what it was she really wanted.

By the time Chris came back, she had herself reasonably in control, but the bright flags of colour in her cheeks attracted his attention.

‘You look busy,’ he remarked, no doubt imagining the heat she was displaying was due to honest toil. ‘Didn’t you go and get a sandwich? Don’t start missing meals. You’re just beginning to lose that lean and hungry look.’

‘Well, thanks!’ Cassandra tried to adopt a humorous tone. ‘I’ll bear that in mind when I’m tipping the scales.’

‘There’s no fear of you doing that,’ he retorted, lighting the inevitable cigarette. But then, with unexpected perception, he added: ‘You haven’t been having a fight with somebody, have you? You look a bit hot and bothered.’

‘I forgot to open the windows,’ replied Cassandra, hiding behind the hornrims of her spectacles. ‘Did you have a pleasant time at the Black Swan? I don’t know how you can eat pies every day of the week.’

‘Oh, I vary them with sandwiches,’ Chris answered airily, taking his seat and picking up his pencil. ‘And if you’d ever tasted June’s cooking, I guarantee you’d welcome the change.’

Cassandra’s laughter was not forced. ‘You exaggerate,’ she exclaimed. ‘Nowadays, anybody can learn to defrost a beefburger or put a tray of chips in the oven.’

‘Want to bet?’ Chris grinned across at her. ‘So—why don’t you invite me round to your flat and show me how a proper meal should taste?’

Cassandra looked at him for a moment, then shook her head, bending over her desk. ‘You’d better finish off that layout for the kitchen,’ she said, avoiding any further complications. ‘I want to drive down to the house tomorrow afternoon, and I’d like to take the designs with me.’

‘Okay.’

Chris shrugged, taking his dismissal without rancour. They had had many such exchanges since they began to work together, and so far Cassandra had found no difficulty in keeping their relationship on an impersonal basis. But she couldn’t help wondering how he would react if she told him what Jay Ravek had said to her, and while the inclination to avail herself of his sympathy was attractive, she knew she could be inviting a far more explosive situation.

The telephone rang in the middle of the afternoon and she let Chris answer it, stiffening when he held the receiver out to her. ‘That man,’ he mouthed, frowning at her look of consternation. ‘You know—the accountant I told you rang this morning.’

‘Oh!’ Cassandra’s sigh of relief aroused a look of curiosity in Chris’s eyes, but he said nothing, just handed over the receiver, and resumed his calculations as she spoke into the mouthpiece.

‘Mrs Roland?’ Paul Ludlum’s voice was young and attractive. ‘I hope I’m not ringing at an awkward time, but I did ring you earlier.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call.’ Cassandra was contrite. ‘I—er—it’s been quite a hectic day.’

She made a face at Chris’s disbelievingly raised eyebrows, and listened with assumed concentration to what the accountant had to say. Obviously, the fact that his father and Mike’s had been friends gave a certain partiality to his tone, and in spite of her misgivings, he seemed to think she could well afford professional advice.

‘I’d like to call and look over your books,’ he ventured at last. ‘When would that be convenient? I don’t want to interfere with your working schedules.’

‘Oh—–’ Cassandra shrugged her shoulders, and put her hand over the mouthpiece so that she could speak privately to Chris. ‘He wants to come and look at the books,’ she said, looking anxious. ‘Do you really think it’s a good idea?’

‘Sure,’ Chris nodded. ‘Tell him to come tomorrow, while you’re down at Windsor. I guess I could manage to show him round.’

Cassandra nodded. ‘Oh, good.’ She removed her hand, and spoke to Paul Ludlum again. ‘Would tomorrow morning be all right?’

‘Tomorrow morning? Yes, I think I could manage that. Around eleven?’

‘Around eleven,’ Cassandra repeated in agreement, then rang off before she could change her mind.

‘What’s your problem?’ Chris demanded, as she chewed unhappily on the end of her pencil. ‘We’re going to need an accountant, Cass. You can’t keep on burning the candle at both ends.’

‘Hardly that,’ she grimaced.

‘No. But you do work in the evenings, when you should be out enjoying yourself.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Cassandra was sardonic. ‘Chris, I don’t honestly think I was cut out for enjoying myself.’

‘What rubbish!’ Chris was impatient. ‘Look, just because Mike made your life a misery—–’

‘Let’s not talk about that, Chris.’

Cassandra interrupted him, but Chris was determined to be heard. ‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘I know he’s dead, and you don’t want to say bad things about him, but let’s face it—he wasn’t the man to make you happy.’

Cassandra went to plug in the kettle. ‘Maybe it was my fault,’ she mumbled, her back to him, smarting from the remembrance of her lunch with Jay Ravek. ‘Maybe I don’t—well—–’

‘Well—what?’

‘I don’t know.’ She sighed. ‘Maybe I attract the wrong kind of men.’

‘What—–’ muttered Chris, swearing under his breath, but Cassandra heard him and shook her head.

‘I mean it. Perhaps the kind of man I really need isn’t attracted to me.’

‘Oh, Cass—–’

‘Well, why not?’ She grimaced. ‘I guess I give the wrong impression. Mike used to say that.’

Chris raised his eyes heavenward. ‘Cass, you’re a sexy lady—–’

‘I may look that way, but I’m not,’ declared Cassandra firmly, her lips twitching a little at the incongruity of this conversation. ‘Honestly, Chris, I don’t think I’m cut out for—well, for that kind of a relationship. I thought I was—but I was wrong.’