Читать книгу Diamonds are for Deception: The Carlotta Diamond / The Texan's Diamond Bride / From Dirt to Diamonds - Julia James - Страница 6

‘LEAVING so soon?’ Anthony asked in surprise, when they went to say their thanks and goodbyes.

‘I’m afraid Charlotte has a migraine coming on,’ Rudy said mendaciously.

‘Oh?’ Turning to Charlotte, Anthony said, ‘I didn’t know you suffered from migraine. Nasty things. Do you get them often?’

Charlotte, who had never had a migraine in her life, answered, ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Just as well. I’ve always found that—’

‘We’d better be off,’ Rudy broke in quickly. ‘The sooner she’s in bed, the happier I’ll be.’

‘I’m sure.’ Anthony’s voice was dry.

In silence they retrieved their coats and were shown out. As they walked towards the car, Charlotte asked vexedly, ‘Why on earth did you tell Anthony I had a migraine?’

‘I had to tell him something.’ Rudy sounded sulky.

‘Anthony’s no fool. He knew perfectly well we were lying to him.’

‘And that bothers you?’

‘Yes, it does rather. So far we’ve had a good professional relationship—’

‘Which obviously means a great deal more to you than our relationship,’ Rudy groused.

‘No, of course it doesn’t. But goodness knows what he’s thinking.’

‘Does it matter a toss what he’s thinking?’ Rudy demanded angrily.

Charlotte bit her lip. All in all it had been a far from pleasant evening, and now they were quarrelling.

‘No, I suppose not,’ she said, slipping her arm through his.

But it did matter. And they both knew it.

The knowledge cast an additional blight on the evening, and during the journey back to Bayswater the tension was palpable. Charlotte could think of nothing to say, and Rudy drove in a moody silence, a scowl marring his handsome features.

His bad mood was by no means improved when they reached the flat and Sojo, who had apparently seen the car draw up, opened the door.

Finding that Charlotte and he wouldn’t be alone after all came as a nasty shock. Though so far everything had gone wrong, he’d been cherishing high hopes that a kiss-and-make-up situation might be just what was needed to get her into bed.

Now, seething with rage and disappointment, he realised that all his hopes were undoubtedly dashed and, after battling to come tonight, he’d be no further forward in his plans for Charlotte.

It was only too obvious from his expression how he felt, and Charlotte found herself wishing that she had never invited him back.

At that point, if he’d announced his intention of going, she would have made no attempt to stop him. But as he continued to stand there staring resentfully at Sojo, she took a deep breath and introduced them.

‘Hi! Pleased to meet you,’ the blonde said with casual cheerfulness. ‘Come on in.’

‘Rudy’s staying to eat with us,’ Charlotte explained as they went inside.

Looking horrified, the other girl protested, ‘I know it’s my turn to get supper, but I do hope you’re not expecting me to cook?’

‘No. I’ve already volunteered.’

Taking Rudy’s coat, Sojo hung it on the rack and, ushering him towards the couch, told him, ‘Which is just as well if you want to stay on friendly terms with your stomach.’

Plonking herself down beside him, she went on, ‘Cooking is definitely not my strong point. When it’s my turn to get supper we usually have sandwiches or a take-away. It’s Charlotte provides all the culinary delights. So what have we to look forward to, chef?’

‘Will a quick paella do?’

‘Wonderful!’ Sojo said. ‘I’ll be happy to set the table, and wash up afterwards.’ Then, turning to Rudy, ‘I understand you come from the States. Which part?’

‘Though my family now live in New York, I was born on the West Coast,’ Rudy replied.

Sojo sighed. ‘One of my dreams has always been to drive down Route 66.’

‘I once did it with a group of teenaged friends in a battered old Chevy…’

Furious with Charlotte for spoiling the evening, and with some idea of getting his own back, he set himself out to be charming to Sojo.

She responded by hanging on to his every word and fluttering her eyelashes at him, while Charlotte went through to the bedroom to exchange her dress for a belted chenille housecoat, before starting supper.

While the paella finished cooking, Sojo set the table and opened a bottle of Frascati, though she herself only drank fruit juice.

When they sat down to eat and she reached to pour the wine, Charlotte shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’ve had more than enough champagne. Rudy?’

‘I think I will have a glass.’ He spoke to Sojo rather than Charlotte.

While the uncomfortable meal progressed and the conversation gradually faltered and died, his face growing ever more moody, he emptied the bottle.

Looking on, Sojo said nothing.

As soon as their plates were empty, concerned because he was driving, Charlotte made some strong coffee and refilled his cup several times.

When he rose to go, she asked carefully, ‘Are you sure it’s wise to drive? If you want to leave the car where it is, we could always ring for a taxi.’

‘No need, I’ll be fine,’ he answered ungraciously. Shrugging into his coat, he added, ‘It isn’t as if I’m paralytic.’

Feeling miserable and apprehensive, she accompanied him downstairs and opened the street door.

Seeing he was about to leave her without a word, she put a hand on his sleeve. ‘I’m afraid the evening hasn’t been much of a success.’

‘No, it hasn’t.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Unwilling to let him go without making some effort at reconciliation, she put her arms around his neck and touched her lips to his.

He pulled her close and, his passion fuelled by anger and frustration, began to kiss her with a fierceness that was punitive.

Shaken, she took a moment or two to realise that, framed in the lighted doorway, they were clearly visible to anyone passing. Disliking the idea of being on show, she made a determined attempt to free herself.

Angered afresh by what he saw as her rejection, he turned away abruptly.

‘Rudy,’ she addressed his retreating back, ‘when will I see you again?’

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he promised shortly.

With a heavy heart she closed the door and returned to the flat to find Sojo standing by the window.

Glancing over her shoulder, the blonde said drily, ‘Wasn’t he delighted to see me?’

Shaking her head, Charlotte said, ‘It wasn’t just that. Earlier we’d had a bit of a tiff.’

‘I wondered why he was venting his anger on you. What did you have a bit of a tiff about?’

Charlotte explained.

‘It doesn’t seem much to put him in such a foul mood. Unless he’s the kind of man who hates to be wrong-footed.’

Then curiously Sojo enquired, ‘Why did you want to leave the party so early? Or is that a rude question?’

‘Rudy wasn’t enjoying it, and I was upset. You see, when I was on my own for a while I noticed a man standing watching me.’

Seeing the look on Charlotte’s face, the other said sharply, ‘What happened? Did he insult you in some way?’

‘No. He just kept staring.’

Relaxing, Sojo opined, ‘He was probably hoping to get off with you.’

‘That’s more or less what Rudy said when he got back, but it wasn’t that kind of look at all.’

‘What was this strange man like? Tall? Short? Young? Old?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Charlotte said helplessly. ‘It was all over in a split-second. He was standing in deep shadow, and all I noticed were his eyes. A moment later, when I tried to point him out to Rudy, he’d vanished.’ She shivered.

Sojo frowned. ‘It isn’t like you to get all upset over nothing.’

‘It wasn’t nothing. There was so much animosity in his look. I felt…unnerved… I didn’t want to stumble across him again, and when Rudy suggested that we left I couldn’t wait to go. I just wish he hadn’t lied to Anthony.’

‘As that seems to have started it all, I bet he’s been wishing the same.’

‘I’m sorry he was in such a bad mood, especially when I wanted you to like him.’

‘I take it you didn’t warn him I’d be home?’ Sojo said.

‘No.’

‘Well, at least seeing him in a not so good light gave me a more rounded view than if he’d been on his best behaviour.’

‘So what did you think of him?’ Charlotte asked.

‘I thought he was every bit as handsome as you said. Very Byronic. I fancied him something rotten.’

‘I’m glad you liked him in spite of everything.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Sojo pointed out.

‘But you said you fancied him.’

‘I lusted after him. But lust has very little to do with liking.’

‘Then you didn’t like him?’ Charlotte was dismayed.

‘No. And before you get any ideas, it wasn’t just because of his mood. In some ways that was understandable. I dare say he was hoping to kiss and make up, big time, and finding me waiting must have been a nasty blow. Disappointment’s a sharp thorn,’ Sojo added reflectively, ‘and if he’d tried to make the best of things I would have given him full marks. But he was petty and vindictive, which is an unpleasant combination. If you just wanted to jump into bed with him, have yourself some fun and then walk away, I’d say go for it. But I know that isn’t your scene, and I’d hate to think of you getting emotionally involved with a man like that.’

Her voice a little uncertain, Charlotte said, ‘My, you have got it in for him.’

‘I don’t want to see you get hurt, and if you let yourself fall for him you will be.’

‘How can you be so sure after just one meeting?’ Charlotte asked.

‘In case you haven’t noticed, he has a petulant mouth and a weak chin. Oh, and while I’m being completely frank, I don’t think he’s to be trusted.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Experience.’

Seeing Charlotte’s downcast expression, she added, ‘You know what they say, Good judgement comes from experience. Experience comes from bad judgement. I’m not just being rotten… And I’m not trying to put you off him because I fancy him myself.’

‘No, I know you’re not.’

‘I just feel there’s something not quite right about him. But now I’ve had my say, forget it. You’re not a child. What you do with your life is up to you. If you’re already emotionally involved, I’ll just have to hope I’m wrong. By the way, does he have a minder?’ Sojo asked.

‘A minder?’ Charlotte echoed.

‘You know, someone who keeps tabs on him to make sure he’s OK.’

‘No. What on earth gave you that idea?’

‘When you set off for the party, a silver car followed you.’

‘Why shouldn’t it? It’s a public road.’ Charlotte shrugged.

‘Later there was some kind of disturbance outside—a drunk, I think. I was still at the window when you drew up. A silver car followed you back.’

‘There must be hundreds of silver cars in London.’

‘It was the same one,’ Sojo insisted.

‘A coincidence, surely.’

‘It parked a little way up the street and when he drove away just now, it followed him again. Too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’

‘It certainly seems odd. Next time I see Rudy, I’ll mention it to him,’ Charlotte said thoughtfully.

‘When are you seeing him again?’

‘I’m not sure. He said he’d be in touch.’

‘Presumably when he gets over his pique,’ Sojo said drily.

The following morning when the girls were just finishing their toast and coffee, the phone shrilled. Charlotte answered.

Sounding rushed and flustered, Rudy said, ‘I’ve only got a second. A short while ago my boss rang to say I’m needed in New York. Which is a blasted nuisance, but there’s no way I can get out of it.’

‘When will you be going?’ Charlotte asked.

‘I’m off to the airport now. The company car will be picking me up any second.’

‘How long will you be away?’

‘At the moment I’ve no idea. Not too long, I hope. I’ll be in touch as soon as I get back…’

Before she could even say goodbye, he was gone.

‘That was short and sweet,’ Sojo commented. ‘Wudolf, I take it?’

‘Yes.’ Charlotte frowned. ‘Apparently his firm is sending him to New York.’

‘For good?’ She sounded hopeful.

‘No.’

‘When will he be going?’

‘He should be on his way to the airport now.’

‘Funny he didn’t mention it last night when we were talking about the States,’ Sojo commented.

‘His boss only told him this morning.’

‘Now, that’s what you might call short notice. How long will he be gone for?’

‘He doesn’t know.’

As Sojo’s eyebrows shot up, she added, ‘But he said he’d be in touch as soon as he gets back.’

‘I wasn’t aware all the communication links between the US and the UK had been scrapped.’

‘When he’s working he’s probably too busy to think of anything else,’ Charlotte excused.

Sojo grunted. ‘If you ask me, he’s fed up with getting nowhere and he’s giving you the brush-off in favour of fresh fields and pastures new.’

Then, seeing Charlotte’s face, ‘Sorry, that was uncalled-for.’

‘Not at all; you may well be right.’

‘If it’s going to cause you serious pain, I’d sooner be wrong.’

‘Not too serious,’ Charlotte said as lightly as possible. ‘And if he’s the sort to do that, then I’m better off without him.’

‘That’s what I like to hear! Lord, is that the time? If I’m late for work I’ll be hearing things I don’t want to hear. By the way, I won’t be in for a meal tonight. It’s Mandy’s birthday, and a gang of us are going to paint the town. Want to join us?’ Sojo asked.

‘No, thanks.’

‘Sure?’

‘Quite sure. The last time I joined your gang it took me a week to recover.’

‘What’s the point of painting the town if you don’t do it in style? And as it happens I’ve some holiday due to me that I have to take before the new year, so when tomorrow’s over I don’t need to go into work until next Thursday. Four mornings of sleeping in late. Four whole days with nothing to do but laze about. Sheer bliss.’

‘You know perfectly well that by Tuesday you’ll be bored to tears,’ Charlotte pointed out with a smile.

Sojo grinned. ‘How well you know me. So maybe I’ll do a bit of sketching. The old man who lives across the road has an interesting face. See ya!’

When the other girl had hurried off, Charlotte cleared away and washed the breakfast dishes. Then, dressed in a grey skirt and top, her hair in a neat chignon, went down the back stairs to the shop.

One side was taken up by rows of shelves. On the other, between book-lined walls, there were several comfortable armchairs interspersed with low tables.

A hotplate, cups and all the necessary paraphernalia for ‘help yourself’ coffee were on a nearby trolley.

Providing free coffee for customers had proved a great success. Browsers, who in the past would have walked out empty-handed, now frequently stayed to drink and read, and ended up buying.

Having unlocked the shop door, she put two glass jugs of coffee on to heat, and brought fresh milk from the small fridge in her storeroom-cum-office.

The old-fashioned bell jangled discordantly and an elderly man came in and headed for New Fiction. He was followed by two women, then a moment later by a young man she guessed was a student, who made for the second-hand section.

Fridays were quite often busy, and this looked like being busier than usual. As well as needing to update the computer files and chase up some special orders, there was still yesterday’s delivery of new stock to be unpacked.

Margaret, who normally dealt with such tasks, was on holiday until the following day. A retired librarian, she had proved to be a godsend, and during the last week Charlotte had missed her help.

But it would be as well to keep busy, she told herself firmly. It would leave little time for too much thinking or repining.

Simon Farringdon paused outside the double-fronted shop that in gold lettering above the old bow-windows proudly bore the legend:

Charlotte Christie

New Books Old Books Rare Books and First Editions

Then with the air of someone going into battle, he pushed open the door and went inside.

Charlotte was in the storeroom when the doorbell jangled again. It was followed by the tinkle of the small brass bell that sat on the counter alongside a card reading, Please Ring For Attention.

She hurried out to find a tall, broad-shouldered man, with thick fair hair and a lean, aristocratic face, waiting.

He was somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, she guessed, and extremely well dressed, with a quiet air of authority and self-confidence.

Level brows, several shades darker than his hair, high cheekbones, a strong, bony nose and a mouth that was at once austere and sensual made him one of the most fascinating men she had ever seen.

Becoming aware that she was doing what Sojo would have described as gawping at him, she pulled herself together and said with a smile, ‘Good morning.’

The thickly lashed eyes that met hers were greeny-gold, like the surface of the sea with the sun on it.

Eyes you could drown in.

‘Miss Christie?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good morning. My name’s Simon Farringdon…’ His voice was clear and low-pitched. An attractive voice.

‘How can I help you, Mr Farringdon?’ she asked pleasantly.

‘I got in touch with you recently, on my grandfather’s behalf, concerning a set of rather obscure books, Par le Fer et la Flamme, by the eighteenth-century writer Claude Bayeaux…’

‘Of course… I’m so sorry, I’m afraid for a moment your name didn’t register. Your grandfather must be Sir Nigel Bell-Farringdon?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m pleased to say I’ve managed to find the volumes he wants.’

‘Excellent! He’ll be delighted.’

His white smile sent little shivers chasing up and down her spine.

‘I’m hoping they’ll be delivered later this morning. But if not, they’ll certainly—’

‘Excuse me,’ a shrill, impatient voice broke in, ‘but do you have a copy of The Old Fig Tree…?’

Dragging her gaze away from Simon Farringdon, Charlotte found there were several people waiting.

‘It’s by Rachel Radford,’ the woman went on.

‘If you just give me a minute, I’ll check,’ Charlotte assured her politely.

‘I haven’t got a lot of time.’

Simon Farringdon said quickly, ‘As you’re obviously up to the neck, and I’d like a chance to discuss the books with you, perhaps you’ll have lunch with me?’

‘I’m afraid my assistant is on holiday until tomorrow, so I won’t be able to leave the shop,’ Charlotte said regretfully.

‘In that case, dinner tonight. If you give me your address I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.’

It wasn’t until later that she found herself wondering at his calm certainty, how sure of himself he’d been.

Now, feeling a strange surge of excitement, she found herself saying, ‘I live above the shop.’

‘Seven-thirty, then.’ He sketched a brief salute and was gone.

The woman looked pointedly at her watch.

‘I’m sorry,’ Charlotte apologised. ‘I’ll only be a moment or two.’

For the remainder of the day she was on the go constantly, managing only a snatched sandwich and a cup of coffee at noon.

Though there was no time for actually thinking, Simon Farringdon stayed in her consciousness like a burr clung to clothing.

It was almost a quarter to seven before the last customer departed and she was able to lock the door. Dog-tired, both mentally and physically, she climbed the stairs back to the flat to shower and change.

Normally, feeling as she did, she would have looked forward to a quiet night by the fire, but now she felt a fresh surge of excitement and anticipation at the thought of dining with Simon Farringdon.

Disconcerted by his effect on her, she told herself crossly not to be a fool. This wasn’t a date, it was simply a business dinner.

But even that stern reminder failed to dim her sense of expectancy.

Wondering where he was likely to take her, she was trying to decide between a midnight-blue dinner dress and a simple black sheath, when, catching sight of the dress she had worn the previous evening, she realised with a little shock of surprise that she hadn’t given Rudy a single thought.

Simon Farringdon’s attractive face and those extraordinary green-gold eyes had driven everything else from her mind.

How could she have believed herself on the verge of falling in love with one man, and within twenty-four hours be obsessed by thoughts of another? Especially a man she had met only briefly.

It wasn’t like her at all.

Finally deciding on the black sheath, she dressed and—unusually for her, having very little personal vanity—made up her face with care.

Then, hoping for a businesslike look, she re-coiled her cloud of dark hair into a chignon. A style that, had she known it, emphasised her long neck and pure bone structure and gave her an appealing air of fragility in spite of her height.

She had just slipped into her coat and picked up her bag when the doorbell rang. Feeling ridiculously nervous, like a girl on her first date, she took a quick glance out of the window. A sleek silver car was standing by the kerb.

As she hurried down the stairs to open the door it occurred to her that, having magnified his image in her mind into something special, seeing him again she could well be disappointed.

She wasn’t. If anything the impact was stronger.

Dressed in a well-cut dinner jacket, his tanned face smoothly shaven, the light from the street lamp gilding his corn-coloured hair, he would have been almost any woman’s dream escort.

Taking her hand, he said, ‘You look absolutely delightful, Miss Christie.’

He seemed even taller and more charismatic than she remembered, and her voice wasn’t quite steady as she said, ‘Thank you, Mr Farringdon.’

‘Won’t you call me Simon?’

‘If you’ll call me Charlotte.’

‘It’s a deal.’ He smiled at her and her heart turned over. ‘By the way, I’ve reserved a table at Carmichaels. I hope you approve?’

Carmichaels was one of the smartest dining and dancing places in London.

With an outmoded courtesy that she found quite charming, he helped her into the car. Then, sliding in beside her, he reached over to fasten her seat belt. Just for an instant his arm brushed her breasts.

That touch, brief as it was, sent heat running through her and made every single nerve in her body leap uncontrollably.

Her cheeks grew hot and, afraid he would notice, she turned her head and stared resolutely out of the side-window while he fastened his own belt.

She was still tingling when the engine purred into life and, having checked his mirror, he pulled out to join the traffic stream.

Totally thrown by his overpowering masculinity, and her instinctive feminine response to it, Charlotte found herself thinking in startled wonder that no other man had ever made her feel like this.

Not even Rudy.

When she was sure she could keep her voice steady, striving to sound cool and businesslike, she said, ‘I’m pleased to say the books your grandfather wanted were delivered this morning.’

‘That’s great. How many volumes are there? Apart from noting their publication in 1756, the family archives were unclear as to the precise number.’

‘There are six in the set.’

‘Have you had a chance to look at them yet?’

‘Only a brief glance, but they appear to be in excellent condition. Of course they’re a collector’s item, and rare, which is reflected in the price,’ Charlotte commented.

‘Apart from some historical detail I doubt if they would be of much interest to anyone but the Farringdon family or a collector,’ he replied.

‘I must admit I’m curious to know how they came to be written.’

‘In March 1744 Claude Bayeaux, writer and poet, married Elizabeth Farringdon, and, discovering that there were strong French connections—several of the Farringdon men had taken French wives—began to research the family history. Apparently he found it absorbing, and those six volumes—which took him practically twelve years to write—trace the fortunes of the Farringdons from the 12th century up until the 18th…’

‘The title Par le Fer et la Flamme suggests they were fairly militant,’ Charlotte murmured.

‘How very diplomatic,’ Simon mocked, with a glinting sideways glance. ‘In truth, going to war was their way of life. They changed allegiance whenever it suited them and fought for the highest bidder, tactics that made them rich and powerful, not to mention feared. The Farringdon women made their mark in other ways. Many of them, noted beauties with strong characters, married into other powerful families, and wielded influence rather than swords. With one notable exception. In the 15th century, Nell Farringdon is said to have killed her elderly husband, the Earl of Graydon, with his own sword, because he had betrayed one of her brothers…’

Charlotte was still listening, fascinated, as they drew up outside Carmichaels. In a privileged position overlooking Hyde Park, it was quietly discreet on the outside, openly opulent on the inside.

The latest smart society venue, it smacked of money and privilege—public school, Oxbridge, skiing in the winter, taking the family yacht to Monte Carlo in the summer.

In such a setting Charlotte could easily have felt under-dressed and overwhelmed, but strangely enough she didn’t. With Simon Farringdon’s hand at her waist, she felt supremely confident.

When they had been greeted with deference and her coat had been whisked away, they were shown to a table on the edge of the dance floor.

Most of the other tables were occupied, and a few couples were already dancing to an old Jerome Kern tune played by a six-piece orchestra.

As soon as they were seated, and had been handed gilt-edged menus, the wine waiter appeared with a bottle of Bollinger’s Recemment Degorge in an ice bucket. Having eased out the cork, he poured the sparkling wine, and waited for Farringdon’s nod of approval before moving away.

Smiling at Charlotte, Simon lifted his glass in a silent toast.

She smiled back and took a sip. It was the finest champagne she had ever tasted, and she said so.

‘I hoped you’d like it.’ He looked straight into her long-lashed eyes, eyes of a clear dark grey with an even darker ring round the iris.

His look was so direct it was more like being touched than looked at. After a moment, her head spinning, she dragged her gaze away and tried to concentrate on the menu.

God, but she was lovely, he thought, studying that haunting heart-shaped face with its wide mouth and delicately pointed chin, the neat little ears tucked close to her well-shaped head and that long, graceful neck…

Now he knew what poets meant by swan-like.

And though she might have neither morals nor scruples, she had class. She wasn’t the kind of woman he could have paid off, even if the Carlotta Stone hadn’t been rightfully hers. So that left him with only one alternative. To seduce her away from Rudy.

Which would be no hardship.

Glancing up, she was shaken afresh to find that Simon was still studying her closely, a lick of flame in his eyes that made her stomach clench.

‘Seen anything you fancy?’ he asked smoothly, indicating the menu.

‘Lots. I just can’t decide.’ To her annoyance, she sounded breathless.

‘Do you like fish?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Then may I suggest Sole Veronique, followed perhaps by the blackcurrant cheesecake?’

‘Sounds delicious, she agreed.

His glance brought the waiter hurrying.

When their order had been given and they were alone once more, he asked, ‘Is there a current boyfriend?’

Taken by surprise, she stammered, ‘N-not exactly.’

He waited, his eyes on her face.

When she made no attempt to elaborate, he said, ‘Tell me about yourself. What made you decide to keep a bookshop?’

‘I’ve always liked books, so it seemed the right thing to do, especially as I had quite a lot of stock that I’d inherited from my mother.’

He raised a brow in tacit enquiry.

‘She used to run a second-hand bookshop in Chelsea before she remarried and went to live in Australia,’ Charlotte explained. ‘I’d hoped to take over her business when I left college, but the premises were due for demolition, so when I was offered a lease on the shop I have now and the accommodation above it, which was quite nicely furnished, I snapped it up.’

‘And it’s worked well?’

‘Yes, very well indeed. At first I had a bit of a struggle financially, but now sales are up and I’m able to afford an assistant.’

‘How long have you been in business?’

‘About two and a half years.’

‘Not bad going,’ he said admiringly.

As the orchestra started to play a quickstep, he rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Would you care to dance?’

The mere thought of being held in his arms made her go funny all over, and as she hesitated he added with the faintest hint of derision, ‘Or perhaps you only disco?’

‘I’d love to dance,’ she said coolly. Rising to her feet, she put her hand in his and quivered as shock waves ran through her.