'I don't think you quite understand, Miss Darcy.' Mr Benson seemed to have elected himself as spokesman. 'Mr Fallon is now the principal shareholder in our firm and as such he has the right to make policy decisions. It's some of these decisions he wants to discuss with you.'
Gina was aghast. For the last year, the trio of elderly men had been content to accept Jimmy's advice, her own suggestions, on the way the programme should develop. She knew there was no way Tod Fallon was going to be so complacent. Fear fluttered in her stomach, a fear she would not show and that made the thrust of her chin more belligerent.
'Well, bully for Mr Fallon,' she said. 'Perhaps he's looking for a new presenter, since he's obviously dissatisfied with the way things are.'
For the first time since her arrival, Tod Fallon spoke. 'Let's say I have certain plans for you, Miss Darcy.'
'What plans?' she demanded. 'Do I have any say in what I'm asked to do?'
'You will be consulted.'
And any objections she might have would be overridden, Gina thought angrily. So far she had remained standing, her body tense with anger. Now she perched herself on the arm of Jimmy's chair, a study in casually insolent indifference, as she consulted her wrist watch.
'Shall we get to the point then?'
Disconcertingly, he was shaking his head.
'My ideas are far too complex for a brief session. Besides, I wish to speak to you alone. I suggest we take a working lunch and then spend the rest of the day discussing the future. Fantasy Woman will be off the screen for a while, until certain other plans have been put into execution.'
Gina was stunned, but she was not going to let this man see the extent of her reaction.
'In that case,' she said, 'I think it would be better if you hold this discussion with Mr Riley. He can keep me advised of your "plans".'
'I don't wish to deal with your producer, Miss Darcy.' His icy politeness matched her own. 'I wish to deal with you. Mr Riley accepts that fact and so, I'm afraid, must you.'
Looking with an appeal at Jimmy, she saw the regretful nod of his ginger head, the helpless spread of his hands.
'Very well.' She sought to hide her angry frustration. 'Then I want Jimmy present at our discussion.'
But Tod Fallon was inflexible. He wanted everything his way, she seethed, as she saw the negative movement of the dark head.
'Just you and me, Miss Darcy. Oh, don't worry. Mr Riley won't be adversely affected. It's accepted that he's to remain the producer of the show in any event.'
'Oh, and suppose I refuse to accept your ideas? I'm not just a puppet that you can manipulate.' There had never before been any unpleasantness in her discussions with the sponsors and she could feel the charged surprise of the three elderly men, who had never known her to be anything but charmingly co-operative.
'We'll deal with that problem if and when it arises,' Tod told her. He shot his cuff, consulting the expensive Rolex watch that banded his strong wrist. 'It's too early for lunch, so I suggest we begin over a coffee. I have a premonition that this discussion is going to take longer than I anticipated.'
He sounded edgy, impatient, as though he were not accustomed to having to negotiate. In whatever field he operated, he was probably surrounded by 'yes' men. He was probably used to women, too, deferring to his lightest word, totally bowled over by his male charisma. Well he would find her a very different proposition!
Tod had already come to the same conclusion, even before this meeting. This was no auburn-haired equivalent of the dumb blonde. His first glimpse of that strong chin had reinforced Marcha's warning. But he felt only reluctant admiration for her fiery, independent temperament stir within him; and a man would have to be lacking in some way not to appreciate her appearance, which, this morning, was singularly dramatic. He was pretty sure she knew just how effective her outfit was against the cream of her skin, the red glow of her hair. A fine striped, black wool jumpsuit, worn with a red leather belt and red shoes. A red pigskin clutch bag and a stylish black fedora hat, tilted at a defiantly rakish angle, completed the picture. Yes, she was quite something. This was definitely not a woman who could be domineered, and she would require more subtle handling than he had originally intended to employ. But whatever tactics he had to use, he was determined that the result would be the same in the end. She might be strong, but he was stronger and, something he had not expected, he had a weapon against which, he had already discovered, she was not, after all, immune. Marcha need never know what methods he had employed; the means justified the end, which would be to her benefit.
Gina had been well aware of his scrutiny and she wondered what thoughts were passing through that well-shaped head. Some sixth sense warned her they were thoughts which, in some way, boded her no good.
Suddenly the brief consultation with the other sponsors was over and Gina found herself, Tod's large hand at her elbow, being urged towards the door. Over her shoulder, she cast a glance at Jimmy. His features were drawn into angry lines, but there was also a worried expression in his eyes. By nature, Jimmy was an optimist and that he should so openly show his anxiety added to Gina's own sense of unease. Just what had Tod Fallon got in mind that was going to take so long to discuss? Would she be forced into taking a stand or was there the remotest possibility that his suggestions would be acceptable to her? Bemused by the rapidity of events, she allowed him to usher her into the gleaming, chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce.
An expensive car, and he was expensively dressed. From the corner of her eye, she was conscious of muscular thighs in taut, well-cut dark trousers; the Gucci shoes. His shirt was undoubtedly of pure silk, his tie a discreet statement in slate blue. Her mental catalogue ended as her eyes lifted further, to his face, and met a brooding black gaze intent upon her. He had been fully aware of her comprehensive assessment. Unconsciously, her chin lifted.
'Where are we going?'
'My hotel.'
'Oh! I thought you had an office. Isn't a hotel rather a public place?' Especially, she thought, since their discussion might well become acrimonious.
'I don't have an office in London. But I do have a suite at the hotel. I think that will ensure us complete privacy, if that's what you have in mind.' A quizzical, sideways glance caught her face creased into an expression of doubt. In the last year, the only man with whom she'd been completely alone was Jimmy Riley and he didn't present any threat to her composure, as she knew, from the other night, this man did.
'Unless you'd rather we went to your place? I assume you live in London?'
'No!' she snapped, then, 'I mean, yes, I do have a flat in London, but no, we're not going there.'
'Private love nest is it?' His deep, incisive voice mocked her.
'It's private,' she agreed levelly, 'but nothing else.'
'What?' He was openly incredulous. 'No "Mr Fantasy"?'
'Mr Fallon,' she said icily, 'I'm perfectly prepared to answer your questions where they concern my work. My private life is not for discussion.'
The laugh that greeted her remark was a short, cynical bark.
'That means no man! If there had been, you'd have been only too ready to claim his existence.'
'Why should I need, or want, to lie about a thing like that?'
'Pride?' he conjectured. 'No woman likes to admit that she hasn't got a man in tow.'
'But then, perhaps I'm different to the other women you know, Mr Fallon.'
His glance assessed her, very comprehensively.
'Oh no!' he drawled insinuatingly. 'I don't think so.'
She could feel the angry colour rising, was furious that she couldn't control or hide it. Though the width of the seat was between them, she was unwillingly aware of his overpowering virility and his look had been blatantly sexual in its implications.
Against her will, she was impressed by his suite; that he was used to such a lifestyle was evident in his casual ease, the way in which he summoned room service, ordered coffee and announced that his guest would be staying for lunch. Invited
to sit down, Gina sank into the luxury of a settee upholstered in a soft pile, cream velvet, but wished she had chosen an armchair when he joined her.
'Tell me, Miss Darcy, are you totally satisfied with your screen image?'
'Not totally,' she admitted slowly. 'I love meeting people, satisfying their ambitions. That part's fine.'
'Then in what way are you dissatisfied?' He was watching her all the time he spoke, as if he were taking face and figure item by item, assessing all the component parts that made up Gina Darcy, and she turned her head aside, made half annoyed, half self-conscious by his scrutiny.
'I'm not keen on the mask, the loss of my identity.'
'Aah!' It was difficult to interpret the sound. 'Tell me more.' Was he trying to trap her into an expression of displeasure; looking for some reason to replace her?
'I'd rather you told me just what you have in mind,' Gina said, still deliberately not looking at him. 'That's why we're here.' But he was not to be diverted.
'It's part and parcel of the same thing. So, the mask?'
'All right! I don't go for the incognito approach, but the sponsors wanted it, so ... I want my face to be seen and recognised. I'm ambitious, Mr Fallon. I don't believe the show's popular because of my anonymity. It would be just as successful, perhaps more, if the viewers could see me. Like you,' she added resentfully, 'half of them probably think I'm disfigured.'
'Except that now I know that's not so, but very much the opposite.' To her alarm, a strong hand captured her chin and forced her to face him. For a moment his voice had been caressive, than it snapped back into interrogative mood. 'So you want to be famous? Fame can be a chancy thing.'
'It was pure chance that got me into television in the first place, plus experience in providing people with what they wanted.' She wasn't going to volunteer any further information, matters which didn't concern Tod Fallon, matters which included the failure of her marriage.
Tod watched as she brooded. He knew a fair bit about her past, mainly from Marcha. By all accounts, Gina Darcy was a hard-headed woman, selfish, not one to take a back seat, which was going to make his task that much harder—not initially, but later, when he had to reveal the full extent of his plans.
'Drink your coffee,' he urged.
The coffee smelt delicious, but Gina was more interested in the answer to certain questions.
'According to Mr Benson, you're the principal shareholder in TLM Enterprises, so why have we never met officially?' She flushed hectically as she recalled the nature of their second informal encounter.
'I've only become a shareholder in the last month. We may not have met "officially", but I've been making a close study of you.'
'Why?' Gina asked suspiciously. 'Aren't you satisfied with my work?'
'Not entirely.' This was blunt. Tod Fallon certainly didn't believe in pulling his punches. But Gina wasn't going to show him that this one had struck below the belt. 'Certain changes will have to be made.'
She kept her voice level, purposely unconcerned.
'Does that include replacing me?'
CHAPTER THREE
'That depends on whether you're prepared to cooperate.' Tod was aware that he was bluffing. Suppose she called his bluff? Mentally, he crossed his fingers. If Gina proved recalcitrant, it could take him a long time to find another woman anywhere near as suitable.
'Co-operate?' she murmured non-committally.
'Don't sound so suspicious.' His dark eyes mocked her fears. Again he reached out one large, bronzed hand to grasp her chin, and she had to force herself to meet his gaze as he made an itemised study of her features.
'Great green cat's eyes,' he mused, 'and red hair. An inflammable combination. Redheads are reputed to be quick-tempered, as are cats, and I think I've already seen the flash of your claws.' With interest, he watched the colour flood her lovely face.
'Could we confine our discussion to business?' she asked coldly, trying to ignore the feelings the warmth of his hand was producing. As he had intended, she had a sudden terrifying image of Tod Fallon making love to her on this sofa. What kind of subconscious tricks was her mind playing? Or was it her mind? She was a normal, healthy young woman; except for one thing, she thought bitterly, and for a long time she had been suppressing normal urges. No, that wasn't quite right. The urges hadn't been there. But now ...
'Did you know that your nose has the most delightful sprinkling of freckles?' he continued, as if he hadn't heard her demand.
'I know my failings!' she snapped, very much afraid that soon, if he didn't release her, loss of control would be one of them.
'Failings?' He repeated the word thoughtfully. 'The freckles? Oh no, they give you a reassuring touch of humanity. Too much perfection can be rather frightening. But then,' he added softly, 'you're far from perfect, aren't you?'
'What do you mean?' Gina tried to jerk away from him, but Tod's fingers had a vice like hold of her. He couldn't possibly know about...
'Oh, I'm not referring to your physical attributes.' His dark eyes were bold as they swept downward from her face over other, more concealed, yet still apparent aspects of her femininity; and an outraged Gina could read his mind. It was quite beside the point that, a moment or two ago, she had been imagining much the same thing; but his words had broken the spell.
Tod, too, had been surprised at the trend of his own thoughts. Whatever kind of co-operation he hoped to wring from Gina Darcy, it wasn't that kind. His idea had been to flatter her, to seduce her into agreement with his plan; seduction of a metaphorical, not a literal nature. But, damn it, he was a man wasn't he? Just because he was committed to one woman it didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the rest of the species. Outwardly, Gina Darcy was something quite spectacular, even if he didn't much like what he'd been told about her character.
'Just what are you referring to?' she demanded.
He prevaricated. He had no wish for Gina to learn how much he knew about her. Not unnaturally she would be curious about his sources of information and that was something he was not yet ready to divulge.
'Whatever contributed to the break-up of your marriage. That would suggest failings of some kind. Your marriage didn't last very long.'
She gasped. Still, she shouldn't be surprised. Tod Fallon was the kind of man who would make it his business to know all about anyone on his payroll.
'That's past history,' she snapped. 'Something I prefer to forget.'
'Maybe. But it's all part of you, made you what you are. Tell me, why did you divorce your husband?'
'You mean,' sarcastically, 'there's something you don't know?'
'I've heard one version,' coolly, 'but I'd be curious to hear yours.'
'Well, you won't. It's none of your business.'
'Oh no, Miss Darcy. You're wrong! From now on, everything about you is my business.'
Their eyes met. His were so dark that the pupils were indistinguishable from the velvety irises; it was as if she were being drawn into the depths. Her expression must have changed, revealing her awareness of him, for he smiled slowly, that lop-sided, attractive smile which made such an alteration to his normally grave face. Something, somewhere deep inside her, leapt wildly. Oddly breathless, she gave him back look for look.
What on earth was the matter with her? She didn't like Tod Fallon. She didn't trust him. She'd known from the very beginning that there was an element of danger in his acquaintance. From their very first encounter he seemed to have gone out of his way, sometimes to taunt and insult her, sometimes to flatter, insinuatively, almost seductively. Why? And yet, against her will, there was something about him that drew her.
After Keith, she'd sworn that no man would ever have the chance to come near her, mentally or physically, to affect her pulse rate; but Tod seemed to have achieved all of these things, insidiously, but surely. Yet she felt certain he'd had no intention of doing so. He seemed to like her as little as she liked him; and that was another puzzle. Apart from their brief, previous clashes, she had done no
thing to earn his censure. But it was almost as if he disapproved of her. Was it her work, or her personality?
"Were you ever in love with your husband?' His voice broke her trance-like state.
'Of course, when I married him,' she said curtly, still unwilling to discuss her private affairs. It seemed to her that the more knowledge he had of her, the more power he could exercise over her.
'And afterwards, before the divorce?'
'No. He'd succeeded by that time in killing every vestige of feeling I'd ever had for him.' She shivered as she remembered that claustrophobic possessiveness and jealousy, but most of all, how he had finally destroyed her.
Tod was surprised at the curiosity he felt about Gina and her husband. It had nothing to do with him, nor with their future association. Probably it was because she was such a damned attractive woman that he wanted to hear her deny what he'd been told, convince him that she had not been the one at fault.
'So you put all the blame on him, then?' His enquiring tone sounded derogatory, accusing, to Gina's over-sensitive ear.
'No!' she said and saw that she'd surprised him. 'I know my ambitions contributed to our break-up. Keith was bitterly jealous of my work, my friends. He wanted a Hausfrau running after him, feeding him, doing his washing and ironing, and it just wasn't me.'
'Is that all he required?' Tod asked in an insinuative tone that made her flush. 'Surely there were some fringe benefits?'
'There's more to love and marriage,' she retorted, 'than good sex and a few shared tastes. There has to be trust. If you want to hold someone, then you also have to know when to let go.' Then, with a return of her indignation, 'I don't know why I'm telling you all this.'
'Because I have my reasons for needing to know. And has there been anyone else since?' He went on inexorably with his catechism.
'No, Mr Fallon, there has not! And I don't intend that there will be. I discovered that marriage and a career don't mix, so I've settled for the career, freedom, independence.'
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