by Penny Jordan
‘I’m sorry but I’ve already made my arrangements for this evening.’ Her voice sounded reassuringly cool and serene, but she was jolted out of her hard-won calm when lean fingers gripped her wrist, making her bones protest painfully.
‘Yes, so I understand from Mrs Robinson,’ Scott agreed smoothly, letting her know that he knew exactly what her ‘arrangements’ were. ‘But I’m sure on this occasion Simon won’t mind eating alone. Will you, Simon?’
Simon would accept any suggestions Scott cared to put to him, and Scott, damn him, knew it, Philippa acknowledged wryly, watching her son shake his head.
‘So, I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out. I’ll see you at dinner.’ Anyone not knowing them might almost have believed that his voice held undertones of pleasure at the prospect, but Philippa knew better. If only she could persuade him to put aside his bitter resentment of her and to let her go. If she didn’t escape from the torment he seemed bent on inflicting upon her soon, she feared she would collapse under the strain of appearing impervious to his cruel taunts. But perhaps that was what he wanted. Perhaps? She mocked herself inwardly. What was the point in trying to hope that somehow the past could be wiped out? She kept on hoping that somehow the new Scott was just a barrier, a protective shield behind which the man she loved still existed. But even if it was would she ever be capable of breaching those defences? Hardly, she acknowledged with wry self-honesty, her eyes on Simon as she watched him walk up the flight of stairs which led to his room, before heading for her own.
It was all very well for Scott to command her to join his guests for dinner, but what on earth was she going to wear? At least all her clothes had arrived—she had a full wardrobe to choose from. The same faint spark of hope which urged her to believe the Scott she loved still existed led her to choose a dress she had bought in the sales some months previously. Made up of several soft layers of swirling chiffon in varying shades of pink from palest blush to deep rose, the elasticated neckline with its puff sleeves could be worn demurely on the shoulders, or more provocatively, off them. The sheer top bloused delicately at the waist before the skirt swayed out in a soft bell, the demureness of the almost ‘little girl’ style belied by the fact that the dress had no underskirt to it and was designed to be worn with the minimum of underclothes. Even at the height of the fashion for it, Philippa had preferred not to go bra-less, but this particular dress she owned, studying it, had to be worn without anything underneath other than the most minimal briefs. Luckily she had developed a light tan, but even so.… After hesitating for several seconds she pulled the dress off the hanger, telling herself she was going to wear it no matter what Scott might think, and telling herself with fine irony that whatever he did think he was hardly likely to guess the truth—that she was wearing it because she wanted him to see her in it. And what? Desire her? Hadn’t she had enough evidence of how he felt about her to know how impossible that was?
After she had showered she perfumed her skin with the expensive bodycream Sir Nigel and Lady Rosemary had given her for Christmas, as part of a gift set of her favourite ‘Femme’ perfume. The cream soothed her skin, the warmth of her body releasing the delicate scent. The pale pink silk briefs, which had been an extravagence she had since regretted, once on looked decidedly provocative. So much so that she found herself trying to avoid her own reflection in the full-length mirror in her room.
At last she was nearly ready. Unwittingly her eyes were drawn to the slender nakedness of her own body, her skin glowing silkily, wrapped in an invisible but sensual cloak of ‘Femme’. Her breasts were round and firm, the darker flesh of her nipples slightly puckered, but hardening perceptibly as though sensing the direction of the thoughts she was as yet, unwilling to admit to.
Against her will she found herself imagining the gentle drift of Scott’s hands against her body. Her breasts swelled, her nipples tautly erect. Hot colour glowed in her cheeks, and she grasped her dress hastily, trying to dismiss the treachery of her body. As she did so she glanced at her watch. Seven already! She had to be downstairs for half past, which didn’t leave her any time to do her make-up and find another outfit.
Quickly applying foundation and then blusher, she made up her eyes delicately, her normally swift, sure strokes unexpectedly clumsy, so that she had to wipe off the blue khol she had applied and start again. Her eyelashes, naturally dark, needed no mascara, which she hated anyway, her lips only the merest touch of soft pink gloss. She turned towards the bed, gazing apprehensively at her dress, before snatching it up and putting it on. It had no fastening, only a pink satin ribbon which tied in a bow at the waist. Her fingers trembled over the small task, her eyes not daring to lift to her reflection in the mirror. Shoes… where were her shoes?
She found them at the back of the wardrobe, soft pink kid sandals she had been able to buy cheaply because she was a small size; a lucky buy as they had been reduced to less than a third of their original price. It couldn’t be put off any longer. She turned slowly towards the mirror, studying her reflection shakily.
The chiffon glowed softly against her skin, the effect as delicate as mother-of-pearl. Deliberately she pulled down the elasticated sleeves, revealing the pure soft line of her shoulders. The gauzy pink fabric tantalised as she moved, revealing brief glimpses of her body without being openly suggestive. The discerning onlooker could just about make out the shape of her naked breasts, their pink nipples blending with the softly hued chiffon. She brushed her hair, pinning it up in a soft swathe of curls which revealed the vulnerable curve of her throat, soft tendrils lying against her skin. Twenty-five past seven. She couldn’t delay any longer.
She gave her reflection a final inspection. Let Scott disapprove and scowl if he wanted to. It was too late now to change a thing.
She wasn’t the first in the drawing room. Eve was already there talking to Sir Nigel. She smiled warmly as Philippa walked in, her eyes admiring the picture the younger woman made.
‘Philippa, my dear, you look lovely.’
‘Both of you look enchanting,’ Sir Nigel corrected gallantly. ‘Raschid will be even more determined to carry you off,’ he added to Philippa, explaining for Eve’s benefit. ‘Raschid, I’m afraid, is a very practised flirt, who complained bitterly when he discovered that Philippa was no longer working for me.’
Philippa saw Eve’s look and laughed. ‘And I am far too sensible to allow myself to become a member of Raschid’s doting harem.…’
A member of it, cherie?’ enquired the subject of their conversation in pained tones, as he followed Philippa into the room. ‘You do us both an injustice. Were you to consent to come back to Qu’har with me, you would be the only member of it. Ah, Philippa, one thousand and one nights of pleasure would not be enough were you to share them with me. I.…’
Philippa was laughing at his extravagances when she became aware of the cold trickle of ice along her spine. Without turning her head to look she knew that Scott had entered the room. ‘Ah, I see my host is not pleased that I monopolise his secretary,’ Raschid whispered mischeviously, ‘Why is that, I wonder?’
‘Probably because he doesn’t approve of Arabian Sheikhs mingling with the hired help,’ Philippa responded flippantly.
‘Dressed as you are tonight, who could resist you? This,’ he touched the soft filminess of her dress, his fingers just below the curve of her breast very dark against the pale fabric, ‘reminds me of the costumes of the harem dancers of old, both concealing and revealing. Promising and withholding.’ He laughed when she blushed. ‘Ah, such innocence, and so rare in these times, even among my countrywomen. What I would give to see your skin flushed with the pleasures of love, little Philippa, your eyes as dark as the velvet nights of the desert! But I see your august boss approaches and will no doubt wish to talk to me of far more mundane matters.’
Raschid was right. Scott was bearing down purposefully on them. His glance moved insolently over her body, probing its secrets, and unlike Raschid she was sure that Scott considere
d that her dress was more revealing than concealing. Certainly his dark sapphire gaze seemed to have no trouble in finding the soft feminine shape it cloaked nor in distinguishing where chiffon ended and skin began.
A heavy painful heat filled her body, an awareness of him she was powerless to control and she moved away on legs suddenly turned to boneless unsteady supports, leaving him alone with Raschid, but not managing to escape before he had let her know with the searingly contemptuous look he gave her that he had overheard most of Raschid’s conversation. Anger scorched her pale skin. Why did he always have to think the worst of her?
Although the meal Mrs Robinson served them was delicious Philippa couldn’t really have said that she enjoyed it. She was too keyed up, too acutely aware of Scott sitting at the head of the table, his dark, bitter glances slicing from Raschid to her at intervals throughout the meal, making her conscious of the fact that he was listening to Raschid’s bantering conversation and probably putting a totally false interpretation on it. Philippa knew for a fact that Raschid was deeply in love with one of his own countrywomen and that she was at university in Paris where she intended to get her degree and prove her independence before committing herself to marriage. While Raschid approved of her determination, he also regretted it, as he had told Philippa when they had last met. ‘You have a way of coaxing the most wary heart to unburden itself to you, cherie,’ he had told her wryly when he had finished. ‘And because of that you are deceptively dangerous.’
‘Your secrets are safe with me, Raschid,’ she had assured him, and he had laughed, she remembered, ‘Ah yes, mine are,’ he had told her. ‘But there will come a day when a man gives not only his secrets and his pain into your keeping, but his heart as well.’
Philippa’s mouth twisted bitterly. The only heart she wanted was made of marble, cold, hard and totally unfeeling. And as for unburdening himself to her. That was the last thing Scott would do.
When the meal was over Raschid joined Eve and Sir Nigel on the settee in front of the fire. Eve had asked Philippa if she could attend to the coffee. Her arthritis, although much less painful than it had been, still made such tasks difficult at times. Philippa complied willingly and was just bending towards the tray, when she became aware of Scott behind her. Her nape prickled defensively.
‘It seems that Sir Nigel thinks very highly of you,’ he murmured sardonically, referring to her ex-boss’s lavish praise of her during dinner. ‘Is that why you’re so keen to leave here? Has he promised you your old job back?’
‘You know why I want to leave here, Scott,’ she managed tonelessly, concentrating on her task. ‘Raschid seemed most impressed with the computer,’ she added, trying to change the subject and lighten the tense atmosphere between them.
‘Yes. He’s already promised us an order.’
‘Large enough to replace the one you would have had from Cara’s father?’
‘Why do you ask?’ His mouth twisted derisively, ‘Surely you don’t expect me to believe you feel guilty because you were instrumental in the company losing it?’
At his words a sharp pang of pain knifed through her. Nothing she could say or do would ever alter his conception of her, and the knowledge reinforced her desire to escape; to leave Garston before the explosive situation between them escalated out of control, hurting Simon as much as it had already hurt her.
‘No,’ she agreed, lifting her head proudly. A brief glance at the settee showed her that the others were deep in conversation and that for a few seconds at least she and Scott had some degree of privacy. ‘You know why I want to leave Garston, Scott. Surely what has happened between us already has proved to you that the past is best left dead? With Raschid’s contract your company will be well established—you’ll have no further need of a cut-price secretary. Please let me go.’
There was a hint of pleading in her voice, and he reacted to it strangely, his eyes dark with something that flickered on the edges of her subconscious, gone before she could recognise the indefinable emotion she had glimpsed briefly.
‘Very well then,’ he agreed tersely. ‘Once the contract is signed you can go.’ His mouth twisted. ‘To tell the truth once it is signed we shall be so busy that I won’t have time to.…’
‘Get full value out of the situation you’ve forced me into?’
‘Careful.’ The blue eyes darkened instantly. ‘You don’t want me to change my mind and insist on keeping you, do you?’
Keeping her! He would never know how much she yearned for him to do just that. But she wanted his motivation to be love not hatred; she wanted the impossible she told herself jeeringly as he moved away and she completed her task.
For Philippa the remainder of the evening passed in a daze. Once or twice she was conscious of Scott’s eyes resting on her, but whenever she looked up he glanced away before she could read his, expression. He had agreed to let her go so easily; far more easily than she had expected. Did that mean his hatred for her was lessening or was it simply that he was growing tired of tormenting her?
‘Philippa, are you all right?’ Eve was watching her worriedly. Poor Eve, she so desperately wanted the sort of fairytale ending that Philippa knew was impossible. Even though she had admitted to Eve that she still loved Scott, part of her recoiled from his angry bitterness even while she understood it. Nothing could dim or lessen her own love, but it was not enough to pierce the barriers Scott had erected around himself. Had he still been the Scott she had known, she would have been able to tell him the truth—that she was unable to stay because of her love for him, but the Scott he had become would simply use that admission to hurt her. What wouldn’t she give to wipe out the past; to wipe the bitter cynicism from Scott’s face and to restore to his eyes the look of love and wonder she had once seen there. She was asking for the impossible, she reminded herself bitterly. Scott would never look at her like that again. She had destroyed that look, and it made not the slightest difference that she had acted, mistakenly she now realised, for his protection. He had condemned her.
CHAPTER NINE
‘HONESTLY, Scott, I don’t know what’s the matter with you,’ Eve scolded her son. ‘You’ve just said that you’ve got the contract. Raschid is having all the documents drawn up—such a charming man,’ she said in an aside to Philippa, ‘he even made my heart beat faster, although I noticed you seemed immune to him.’
Philippa knew quite well what Eve was trying to do, and for both their sakes she had to stop it.
‘Seemed is probably the operative word,’ she said lightly, ‘I seriously doubt that there’s a woman alive who could remain indifferent to Raschid’s persuasive flattery for very long.’
Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Scott’s frown deepen. So did Eve. ‘I don’t know why you aren’t more excited about this contract,’ she complained to her son. ‘You really ought to take Philippa out to celebrate. After all if it hadn’t been for her connection with Sir Nigel.…’
‘That had nothing to do with Scott getting the contract,’ Philippa felt bound to point out. ‘Sir Nigel knew a great deal about Computex long before I came to work for Scott. He has an eye for up-and-coming business, following their progress is almost a hobby with him.’
‘Mother is right.’
Philippa stared up into Scott’s shuttered face, wondering what it was about the intimacy of the breakfast table that brought this unignorable ache to her heart. His jaw, newly shaven, enticed her to reach out to touch the smooth skin, so much so that she had to forcibly resist the temptation. Her love for him seemed to increase with every day that passed and she lived in mortal fear of betraying to him how she felt. It would be like setting alight explosives. How he would relish her weakness.…
‘We ought to go out and celebrate,’ he continued, watching her. ‘After all I owe you something for all the hard work you’ve put in. Philippa plans to leave us shortly, Mother,’ he added without turning his head in Eve’s direction, ‘so taking her to dinner will also be in the nature of a farewell pa
rty.’
No, no, I can’t endure it, Philippa screamed silently inside. The words even trembled on her lips, but Scott would surely interpret them as a betraying sigh of weakness. Quelling her strong urge to refuse she forced a shaky smile. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘Good, I’ll make the arrangements. We’ll go out tonight.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up, ‘Oh, and by the way, why don’t you wear that pink thing you had on the other night, it suited you.’
It was only after he had gone that Philippa allowed herself the luxury of examining his last words, as carefully as though they were primed bombs, looking for the insult she felt sure was wrapped up somewhere in the softly spoken words.
‘Oh, Philippa, I’m so glad you accepted his invitation.’ Eve glowed with anticipation.
‘His invitation?’ Philippa emphasised wryly. ‘Eve, it won’t do any good. You heard what Scott said. I’ll be leaving soon.’
‘But you love him.’
‘Too much to stay. Surely you can see that? He hates me, Eve, so much that I can almost feel it.’
‘He does feel very strongly towards you,’ Eve agreed, ‘but hate and love can sometimes become so inextricably mingled that we can’t even tell which is which ourselves. Remember, Philippa, that according to Scott’s reasoning he has every reason to hate and despise you. Add to that the fact that he is still very strongly attracted to you physically, and it’s bound to cause something extremely explosive, perhaps almost violently so. I’m not completely blind, you know,’ she added calmly, surveying Philippa’s flushed face. ‘Simon told me about seeing Scott in your room. Remember this, Philippa, Scott wouldn’t have been there unless he wanted to be.’
‘He sees making love to me as a means of punishing me for preferring Geoff.’ Philippa said unevenly.