Читать книгу The Seduction Business - CHARLOTTE LAMB - Страница 8

THE news that the two companies had had lunch together at the Savoy appeared in several morning newspapers, next day, and the press kept the phone lines busy all morning, but no statement was issued by either firm.

Bianca worked with Don for several hours, before he flew to Australia, to tie up loose ends of various projects they had in hand. He went off to lunch with some of the other executives, leaving her at her desk with a pile of paperwork to read through, so when the office lunch trolley came round she bought a yogurt, an apple and some cheese.

Patricia, however, said she had a lunch date with her fiancé, and went out, abandoning the letters she had to type, to Bianca’s irritation. She continued to work, eating her lunch at the same time, which was why when her phone rang she had her mouth full of cheese and apple.

As Patricia wasn’t around she picked it up, murmuring, ‘Mmm?’ between chews.

‘I would like to speak to Bianca Milne.’ She recognised the voice before he added, ‘My name is Matthew Hearne.’

Flushed, and hurriedly swallowing the food, she finally managed to say thickly, ‘This is Bianca Milne. Hello, Mr Hearne.’

‘Matt,’ he said, a smile sounding in his voice. ‘Are you having lunch at your desk?’

Startled and pink, she mumbled, ‘Er…yes, actually.’ Had it been that obvious?

‘Snap. So am I. What are you having?’

‘A Greek yogurt, a Cox’s apple and a piece of Cheddar,’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt.

‘That sounds much better than my ham and pickle sandwich. Is your boss there?’

‘I’m sorry, he’s out.’

‘No desk-bound lunch for him, eh? I suppose he’s having a rich lunch somewhere special, with lots of wine. How does he work after that?’

‘Don doesn’t drink much,’ she lied. Not much he didn’t. ‘Do you want him to ring you when he gets back, Mr Hearne?’

‘No, it was you I wanted to talk to. I picked up the impression that you weren’t too keen on the idea of eating at my flat tonight.’

She was silent—how did she answer that politely?

He laughed softly. ‘So why don’t I book dinner in a good restaurant? Any preferences?’

‘No,’ she said with relief. ‘I’ll leave the choice to you.’

‘Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven at your flat. See you then.’

‘My address is…’ she began, her words trailing into silence as she realised he had already hung up. That must mean he already knew her address. Well, she knew his, so why should she be surprised about that? No doubt his people had been very busy checking her and Don out ever since their hit began. It didn’t worry her because she had no secrets to hide; however deep they dug his investigators wouldn’t find out anything they could use against her. Don was another story. Who knew what secrets he had to hide?

He came into her room at five-thirty that day, as charged up as usual, and barked at her. ‘Still here? Go home now and make yourself beautiful for Hearne.’

She leaned back in her chair, her body giving a weary but graceful stretch in the clinging grey jersey dress she wore.

‘I will, soon. What time’s your flight for Sydney tomorrow?’

‘First thing, God help me. Now, keep me informed of how your talks with Hearne go, won’t you?’

‘Of course. Fax or phone?’

‘Phone. Faxes are too risky for this one—other people will read them before I do. I’ll ring you at home in the evening from my hotel, okay? That way we can be fairly sure we aren’t being overheard.’ He turned to go, said over his shoulder, ‘And, Bianca, you won’t wear anything as boring as that dress, will you? I want you to knock Hearne for six and have him putty in your hand by the time I get back.’

She glared after him. ‘I’ll be polite to the man, I don’t promise anything else!’

Bianca arrived home half an hour later having taken a taxi instead of her usual underground train. The office was close to a tube station and so was her home—a spacious flat on the top floor of a large Victorian house in Pimlico, just a street or two away from Pimlico underground station. From the high bay windows of her sitting room she had a view across gardens bright with spring flowers to the river. Her bedroom overlooked the back of the house; a large magnolia tree grew right outside, the delicate pale pink candle-like flowers just below her windowsill.

She opened the window to air the room and a wonderful scent of wallflowers and stocks floated in. Whenever she got home she felt peace descend on her. She had taken a good deal of trouble to give her flat a tranquil feeling—soft, soothing pale colours, landscapes hanging on the walls, a waist-high bookcase running halfway round the sitting room, a good stereo music centre where she played her favourite CDs when she was alone each evening, pretty lamps here and there shedding low light, a spacious, open feel to the rooms. This was where she unwound after the tensions and pressures of the day at work. This was where she could be alone, at ease, untroubled.

Don had never been invited, although he often dropped hints about wanting to see her home. She did not want the atmosphere ruined for her by memories of Don making a pass, or talking in his assertive, ruthless fashion about work.

First, she glanced through the mail waiting for her—a bill, a home shopping catalogue, a postcard. She knew who it was from as soon as she saw the picture on the front. Lake Como was where her father now lived. She read the few sentences in his large, black, sprawling handwriting. He was well and so was Maria, his second wife, and their son, Lorenzo, who had been eight yesterday and sent Bianca his love. The weather was wonderful; he hoped she was well, too. It could have been a card sent by a mere acquaintance.

That was what it was, she thought bitterly—a few words from a virtual stranger. What did she know about her father? From the day he walked out on her and her mother Bianca had only seen him half a dozen times.

Why had he got in touch now? Had something reminded him she existed? Made him feel a little guilty? Her mouth twisted icily. Well, he would soon forget her again. He always did. It would probably be years before she heard from him once more.

She dropped the card on the kitchen table and walked through to the bathroom to take a quick shower, then went to her bedroom, in her short black towelling robe, to put on a black bra and panties, then a matching, filmy black slip. Clicking through the clothes in her wardrobe, she finally picked out a simple black tunic dress, sleeveless, with a scoop neckline, and a hem just above the knee. If Matt Hearne should turn out to have expectations she had no intention of fulfilling it would help if she looked a trifle austere.

With her blonde hair swept up into a French pleat behind her head, tied there with a large black bow set with a diamanté clasp, her face smoothly made up, lips pale pink, lids brushed with green shadow which had a faint glitter to it, her reflection was elegant and cool.

Automatically she added a touch of her favourite French perfume on pulse points—at her wrists, behind her ears, in the hollow of her throat—then started violently as her front doorbell rang and spilled a little perfume on her dress and the carpet.

Groaning, she stoppered the bottle and put it back on the dressing table.

That’s all I need—to smell like a brothel! she thought, brushing her dress and waving her arms about to disperse the strong smell of perfume.

Why did he have to be early? She wasn’t ready to cope with him yet; she needed more time.

Why am I so nervous? she wondered, staring into the mirror and seeing a darkness, an anxiety in her eyes.

She had had so many business dinners and lunches with men, in the past, both alone and with Don. Why was it different this time? Pull yourself together! she told her reflection. He’s just another man. Nothing is different. You can deal with Matt Hearne.

He rang the doorbell again. Bianca dragged a cool mask over her face, took a deep breath, turned and picked up her purse and a warm cashmere wrap, because although it had been a warm spring day it was chillier now, and went to open the door.

She found him leaning casually against the wall outside, long and lean and elegant in tailor-made evening clothes, which made him look even taller, slimmer, his waist clipped by the smooth-fitting waistcoat, those very long legs smoothly encased in dark trousers, a white carnation in his buttonhole.

Bianca’s breath caught in her throat. Why did he have to be so attractive?

‘I was beginning to suspect you’d forgotten I was coming,’ he drawled, those cynical blue eyes flickering all over her, making a strange, hot pulse start to beat inside her body.

What is the matter with me? she angrily asked herself. She must stop behaving like a schoolgirl finding herself alone with a man for the first time in her life.

‘Sorry,’ she said tersely. ‘You’re early. I wasn’t quite ready.’

‘Are you ready now?’ he queried, one brow lifting in teasing query, and she thought, No! I need more time. Go away; come back later. Maybe then I’ll have got myself under control.

But she couldn’t say that because it would betray a weakness and in this fight between them she must never let him imagine he could win. She had to stay in command, give the impression she was invulnerable, he wouldn’t get anywhere with her.

It worried her that she was already having to struggle to keep her cool. Why did this man get under her skin, bother her so much? She had never felt this sort of reaction to anyone else. Oh, she had found men attractive, from time to time, but had always stayed calm, in control, had never felt this disturbing awareness before.

‘Do you want me to come in and wait while you finish getting ready?’ he offered.

‘No!’ she said, far too quickly, and saw amusement glint in his eyes. Crossly pulling the red cashmere wrap around her throat with hands that weren’t quite steady, she said, ‘I’m quite ready now, shall we go?’

She closed her front door; Matt Hearne stood back to allow her to go down the stairs first. In the communal hallway of the apartment block they met one of her neighbours, a young man in jeans and a vivid striped sweater, who gave her a smile, nodding.

‘Hi, Bee.’

‘Hello, Gary,’ she said coldly, stalking past. A medical student at a London teaching hospital, he was the only son of wealthy parents who had spoilt him.

One night soon after he’d arrived he had come back drunk and tried to push his way into her flat. They had had quite a tussle until she managed to thrust him out and lock her door. He had banged for ten minutes before giving up and going downstairs. He had a studio flat at the back of the ground floor where he played heavy metal rock, far too loud, infuriating the other tenants, who would have had him evicted if the whole house had not been owned by one of Gary’s doting aunts.

To do him credit, Gary had come up next day with a bunch of flowers and an apology, but Bianca had kept him at a distance ever since. She did not want a repeat performance of his attempt to get into her flat.

Matt Hearne gave her an amused look, asking softly, ‘An admirer?’

‘A nuisance,’ was all she said, going out of the building.

A sleek white sports car was parked outside the gate, under the street lamp. Bianca eyed it appreciatively, slowing to stop beside it. ‘Is that yours?’

He shot her a sideways glance. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Love it,’ she said, wishing she owned it. It must cost a fortune, which would be right out of her reach. ‘It looks very fast. What can it do?’

‘A hundred and fifty, if I put my foot down.’

‘Please don’t, tonight,’ she said.

He walked round to open the passenger door and held it open while she got into the car, eyeing her long legs with sensual appraisal. Bianca wished she had not worn such a short dress. Sitting down in the low-slung vehicle instantly made her skirt rise. Hurriedly, she smoothed her skirt down to her knees again while Matt Hearne watched, his mouth twitching with mocking enjoyment.

He shut the door at last and came round to get behind the wheel, his lean body gracefully adjusting to the driver’s seat. His long legs almost touched hers, his left arm brushed her elbow, and she hurriedly jerked away. She was intensely conscious of being close to him in a very small space, of the light fragrance of whatever aftershave he was wearing, of his slow, calm breathing, his hands lightly resting on the wheel, the possibility of contact, of touching him.

Her mouth was suddenly dry. She stared at his hands—powerful, elegant, a sprinkle of dark hair on the backs of them, his long fingers shifting to start the car with a roar like a lion.

The silence was making her ears beat with hot blood. As he drove off, fast, she swallowed and asked, ‘Where are we going?’

‘My favourite restaurant, Les Sylphides…it only opened this year but the cooking is marvellous. French provincial, with new twists. I hope you like French food?’

‘I do,’ she said. ‘We often eat it. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of this place. I thought I knew every good restaurant in town.’

‘This isn’t really in town. It’s on the edge of Epping Forest, at Loughton—do you know Essex?’

‘Vaguely. Well, I know where it is, east of the city, but I’ve never actually been over there.’

‘It’s a very special place. Loughton was a village; now it’s a growing suburb but still has a village atmosphere.’

‘Will it take long to get there?’ She had no real idea of the outskirts of London; she rarely left the centre of the city.

‘Not at this time of night. Half an hour or so. And the great point is, we aren’t likely to see anyone who knows either of us so we’ll be able to talk without alerting anybody to what’s going on.’ He laughed curtly. ‘Although, of course, there are whispers already. If you start buying up shares, forcing the price up, the market soon knows what’s afoot. But as neither of our companies have given a statement to the press, so far the rumours are only that—rumours. The longer we can put off an announcement the better. It will only cloud the issue if we have the press on our backs.’

‘I agree. We don’t want press intervention, either.’ Bianca stared out of the car at the faintly dirty, shabby streets through which they were driving. This was a part of London she had never seen before. ‘Where are we now?’ Scraps of torn paper, crumpled drink cans, fastfood boxes blew along the gutters, and there was an air of decay and indifference on all sides.

He gave her an odd look. ‘Haven’t you ever been here before? This is the East End.’

She should have guessed. ‘Not very attractive, is it?’

‘You may not think so. Over the last hundred years it has looked like heaven to the immigrants from Europe, the Jews who fled from Eastern Europe, during the twenties and thirties, and now the place is home to Pakistanis and West Indians, not to mention some streets where you find nothing but Cypriots, both Greek and Turkish, and Africans whose countries are caught up in civil war. There are so many ethnic shops and restaurants here, it is like the world in miniature.’

‘Is Loughton like this?’

‘No, Loughton is way out of town, and much of it has been built since the war.’ He gave her one of his slow, amused smiles, and she couldn’t help noticing his charm, a quality Don really did not share. ‘You obviously aren’t a Londoner.’

‘No, I’m from the West Country…’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Dorset, actually—Lyme Regis.’

‘Ah, French Lieutenant’s Woman territory.’

‘That’s the place. It’s lovely.’

‘Did you grow up looking for dinosaurs? Aren’t there lots of them in the cliffs at Lyme Bay?’

‘Well, lots of fossils, yes. And we did do expeditions to hunt for fossils, from school.’

‘That would have prepared you for working for Don Heston. He’s a bit of a fossil himself—into moneymaking for shareholders rather than creating jobs for people. The red-in-tooth-and-claw capitalist only cares about making money. A modern boss looks to making his company work for the people he employs, which means both making money and giving staff a good working environment.’

‘Don is a very good boss, Mr Hearne.’

‘Matt.’

She gave him a cool stare. ‘Matt. Don is very go-ahead and modern. I couldn’t ask to work for a better boss. He has encouraged me from the day I joined the firm.’

His long mouth curled mockingly. ‘Yes, I noticed the interest he took in you.’

Coins of red appeared in her cheeks. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Don’t try to tell me his interest is purely philanthropic because I wouldn’t believe you. You’re lovely, and Don Heston wants you.’

‘That’s insulting! But then men like you think women are only good for one thing, don’t you?’

‘Oh, I think women are good for many things,’ he drawled. ‘We can talk about that later. For now, tell me how you got the job with Heston? Did he pick you out of the typing pool? I know I would have done.’

Frozen-faced, she bit out, ‘No, I joined TTO straight from college.’

‘Which one?’

‘I went to the London School of Economics.’

‘Oh, yes, I remember reading that you were at the LSE.’

‘Don recruited me because my tutor was a friend of his and recommended me.’

They were driving through a suburb now, but as she stared out Matt Hearne slowed and queued up at what was clearly a motorway junction.

‘The M11—this is a fast route to Loughton,’ he told her as she looked around in some doubt. Where on earth was he taking her? How much further were they going? Before she could ask he said, ‘Do you know Heston’s wife?’

She gave him a wary look. Was he going to give her a third degree on the subject of Mrs Heston?

‘Not really. I’ve met her once or twice, but she prefers to live in the country, with their children, whereas Don spends the week in town, in his flat, and only goes home at weekends.’

‘From what Sara told me, he goes home very rarely.’

She turned to look at his profile and found it unusually sombre in the bright lightning flashes of the motorway light as they drove very fast along the outside lane. A lock of his light brown hair flopped over his temples; his mouth was straight, his jaw taut, his blue eyes hidden by drooping lids as he stared straight ahead.

‘You know her well?’ She had picked up something yesterday, at lunch. Don had been odd when Matt Hearne mentioned his wife and Bianca’s instincts had prickled with a sense of something not being said.

‘No, I only met her recently, but by a strange coincidence I found out she was at school with my wife.’

So that was it! thought Bianca. If Matt Hearne had loved his wife and still missed her it would have meant something important for him to meet an old school-friend of hers. What irony for Don to target Matt’s firm soon afterwards!

‘Sara Heston’s a very special person.’

Had he seen her again, since that first meeting, or had there only been that one occasion?

‘She deserves better than being married to Heston,’ Matt Hearne murmured, half to himself. ‘But maybe you don’t agree?’

Coldly, Bianca said, ‘I don’t know her, I have no opinion.’ Except that no woman deserved to be married to a selfish bastard like Don, but she would not say that to him.

Don was her boss, nothing more. She preferred to stay out of his private life.

He made no comment on that, slowing down and moving over to leave the motorway. ‘We’re turning off here. It isn’t far now.’

‘I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever get there!’

They were out in the country a moment later, driving between hedges of hawthorn in white flower, a beaten crescent moon rising in the cloudless sky, touching the edge of a forest, giving the dark interior a mysterious gleam, silvering church spires, windows and the roofs of cottages.

‘Magical,’ murmured Bianca, and he gave her one of his slow, charming smiles. Her heart appeared to have developed a disturbing flutter. Or had she swallowed one of the moths that were flying around them as Matt slowed to take another corner?

Before he had completed the turn another car flashed past along the lane they were entering. The driver was going far too fast. Matt had to brake violently to avoid a collision. Bianca was flung forward and almost hit the dashboard; was held only by her seat belt.

‘What an idiot!’ Matt angrily said. ‘Are you okay?’ He moved closer, his face concerned, helping her to sit back again. ‘You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ she said huskily, her heart racing with shock. It couldn’t be beating so fast just because this man had touched her?

He looked into her eyes with a slow, sensual gaze that made her pulses flicker and leap.

‘You’re out of breath,’ he murmured, and her mouth went dry.

‘Shock,’ she said hoarsely.

He smiled. ‘I feel the same.’

And neither of them was talking about the near-miss they had just had.

From between their seats a phone began to ring, making her nerves go haywire all over again. After a few seconds Matt slowly leaned down to pick up the receiver.

‘Matt Hearne.’ His voice was curt, breathless.

Bianca couldn’t hear what was being said to him, but she saw his face changing. In the moonlight he suddenly looked pale, or was she imagining that? Was it just moonlight on his skin?

‘How serious is it?’

Another pause while he listened, and he was definitely pale, his features tense.

‘No!’ he abruptly said. ‘Please, don’t do that. I am on my way now; I should be there in about half an hour. Could you stay there until I arrive? Leave her in bed; don’t wake her up.’

He listened again, briefly, then said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Morley. I’ll get there as soon as humanly possible.’

He pushed the phone back down between the seats and started to drive much faster between the high, flowering hedges.

‘Look, I’m sorry, Bianca, I have to cancel dinner. That was a neighbour ringing to tell me my mother has been taken to hospital with appendicitis and will be having an operation at once. But don’t worry; I’ll stop somewhere en route and find you a taxi to take you back to London.’

Quickly she protested, ‘I can get a train. Don’t worry about me. I hope your mother’s operation is successful and she recovers quickly.’

‘So do I,’ he said in heartfelt tones. ‘At the moment, it isn’t just my mother I’m worrying about. My little girl is asleep upstairs in the house. The police wanted to take her off to a foster home for the night. I want to get there fast to stop that happening. She would be petrified. She’s far too young to understand. All she would know was that strangers were taking her away from her home in the middle of the night.’

Bianca could imagine how scared the little girl would be, and why Matt wanted to make sure his child didn’t have such a shock. ‘How old is she?’

‘Three.’ The car roared on along the empty country lanes; he really had his foot down. She watched the needle flickering upwards; he was doing eighty miles an hour.

‘Oh, poor baby!’ Bianca said with sympathy. ‘It would be a nightmare for her, wouldn’t it? Couldn’t your neighbour take care of her?’

He sighed. ‘She’s eighty years old. She couldn’t possibly cope with Lisa. No, I shall have to collect her, take her back to my flat, and in the morning find someone to take care of her for the moment. The problem is, I want to go to the hospital, too, to see my mother, and I can hardly take Lisa with me. And tomorrow’s Saturday; it won’t be easy to find a temporary nanny during the weekend.’

‘What about your sister? You do have a sister, don’t you?’

He gave her a dry look. ‘I imagine you’ve been looking for her in the hope of buying her shares. Yes, I have a sister, but I have no idea where she is at present. She’s probably abroad somewhere.’

‘Haven’t you got a mother-in-law?’

‘I had one, but she died last year. She never recovered from Aileen’s death. She had a heart attack in bed one night and was found dead in the morning. And I have no other relatives to take Lisa, unhappily. Neither my wife nor I came from big families. But I can look after Lisa myself, tonight, although this comes at the worst possible time, with all the workload of the take-over to deal with.’

‘I could look after her tonight,’ offered Bianca before she even knew what she was going to say. Her mouth had opened of its own accord and out the words had popped. Instantly she realised what a stupid offer it had been. What did she know about taking care of small children? She had never had anything to do with children. Hadn’t she got enough to do without taking on such a responsibility?

But it was too late to have second thoughts or doubts. Slowing down, Matt Hearne looked round into her eyes again, smiling.

‘You’re an angel. Thank you. That would be an enormous help.’

What have I done? she thought, staring back at him and smiling stupidly. I must be out of my mind. I’m probably going to regret this.

But ever since she’d heard about Matt Hearne’s wife’s death and the fact that his little girl lived apart from him, with his mother, she had felt a link, a strange sense of kinship, with the child.