Sophisticated Seduction

by Jayne Bauling

  ‘Oh, you’ve got Mirabai looking after you, then,’ he registered in a neutral tone, but Bridget still resented the implication that she needed looking after. ‘One more thing, Bridget. I don’t want you sneaking off to a hotel now I’m here and asking questions. Until I hear from my sister what this is all about, I want you here under this roof where I can keep an eye on you—or on her interests, rather. I’ll want reports on what you’re doing, too, as the Indian lines have always been her pride and joy, the focal point of her collections, and I won’t stand by and let you sabotage her reputation.’

  Sheer rage was choking her at hearing her professionalism so openly doubted. ‘Virginia herself trained me!’

  ‘And now you’re off to do business on her behalf,’ he murmured amusedly, his mood suddenly dramatically altered as his gaze dropped briefly to the white top she wore, his unexpected smile so full of wicked charm that Bridget’s breath caught in her throat.

  Then she glanced down and saw what had caused it.

  ‘Oh!’

  She must have been so preoccupied with her plans for the day that she hadn’t paid any attention to what she was putting on, and the pink and white candy-stripes of her bra were clearly visible through the thin white cotton of the shirt.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he enquired innocently as she leapt to her feet.

  ‘To put a plain white bra on, of course,’ she answered bitingly.

  ‘I never said a word,’ he protested, still using that mock-innocent voice and still with that smile that hinted at an aspect of his personality less impatient and cynical than that which he had so far shown her. ‘But fleshcoloured would be better. It won’t show at all.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t got one!’ She always bypassed fleshcoloured when shopping because it seemed so utilitarian, attracted by the more prettily frivolous colours. ‘You would be an expert on women’s underwear!’

  She heard him laughing at her as she stalked from the veranda into the house, and she thought tempestuously that she had never met anyone so vile in her life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘You got my message, then?’ With a quick, raking glance for Bridget, Nicholas addressed Sita Menon, having found the two of them together in the cool, spacious kitchen on his return to the house that evening.

  Bridget’s senses had given an odd little jump as he entered, and somehow the kitchen seemed smaller in response to the overwhelming vibrancy of his presence, as if he existed surrounded by an aura of energy that took up all the space around him.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ A slim, trim woman of thirty, the housekeeper and cook gave him an open smile. ‘And welcome back. It has been too long, but in fact your welcome dinner comes with the assistance of Bridget.’

  ‘I’m honoured.’

  Slightly sardonic as it was, his smile made Bridget catch her breath, and the reaction put her on the defensive.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’d have helped even if you hadn’t been here.’

  She had offered on getting back to the house and learning that Sita had been summoned, Nicholas intending dining here tonight. Her participation in preparing the meal certainly hadn’t been meant as a peaceoffering, since she didn’t owe him any such thing, but now it occurred to her that it might help create a more agreeable atmosphere between herself and this man with whom it seemed she would temporarily be sharing the house. She just wished she were in a position to ignore his warning not to retreat to a hotel, but as Virginia herself always stayed here the budget for this trip wouldn’t stretch to the expense.

  Not a fighter by nature, Bridget could usually find excuses for people’s bad behaviour, and of course Nicholas would have been irritated at discovering a mystery surrounding his sister and no explanation forthcoming from Virginia’s replacement, especially if he had business matters on his mind as well.

  Now he turned his gaze on Bridget, who had changed into a simple thin cotton dress with tiny creamy flowers scattered over a golden-yellow background and had pulled her dark hair into a single loose plait that hung down her back.

  ‘You cook?’ he enquired, considering her dispassionately.

  ‘And eat,’ she added, recalling his comments in that regard, before her enthusiasm for the discoveries she was making brought a shy smile to her face. ‘It’s fun cooking in a new country, a challenge because some of the things we use at home aren’t available here, but then there are all sorts of other fascinating ingredients I’ve never come across before. I’ve been shopping with Sita a couple of times and she has been teaching me some Indian dishes— only simple ones so far, so it’s tandoori chicken tonight. She says you like it?’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed almost absently, seemingly studying the pure, youthful curve of her cheek.

  ‘Sita could have the evening off, couldn’t she?’ she went on quickly, taking advantage of his mood. ‘If you don’t need her to serve? Remember I told you she has got a relative in hospital? I could do it just as easily.’

  ‘You are eating with me?’ he prompted, his tone unfathomable.

  She didn’t really relish the thought of being alone with him, but Sita’s need was real, and perhaps by now he had accepted that Virginia really had given her this assignment and that she must therefore be capable of doing the selecting and ordering it entailed.

  ‘If I may,’ she responded demurely, and he laughed.

  ‘Then fine. I’ll be with you shortly. I want a shower.’

  It was a start, she reflected with relief as she departed.

  ‘Thank you, Bridget,’ Sita said gratefully. ‘I didn’t like to ask so soon after his arrival, but my nephew relies on me now that the doctor has ordered my sister to bed for this stage of her pregnancy, and my brother-in-law is away on these army exercises. He gets so bored if no one comes, and upsets the whole ward with his mischief.’

  ‘Poor little thing.’ Bridget already knew all about the nephew’s accident. ‘Maybe I could visit him too one evening?’

  Sita had departed by the time Nicholas returned, wearing casually stylish trousers and an open-necked shirt.

  ‘Time for a drink first?’ he asked, finding Bridget in the living-room, and she nodded. ‘I don’t use spirits here—the Scotch in the kitchen is just in case my grandfather was right to swear by it for scratches and cuts in a hot climate. I presume you’ve been warned to be careful if you acquire any sort of wound? Have you tried Indian wine? It’s in the Portuguese vinho verde tradition. You know about Goa? But I’m not sure if you should have any ’

  ‘Just how old do you think I am?’ Bridget demanded, peaceable intentions blown.

  He looked amused. ‘I wasn’t referring to your age, but this is your first time in India and if you’re not acclimatised yet you should stay with soft drinks. Take lots of liquid anyway. Don’t fight the heat. Give in to it, slow down, drink lots, forget fashion and go for comfort—only I notice you don’t follow fashion anyway, although that’s a pretty dress, and it suits you. Strange, that, for someone from Ginny’s.’

  He would spoil it. She had been about to apologise for jumping to conclusions, but that last observation killed the impulse.

  ‘Perhaps they’re following a different trend in your elderly circles! You’re the rudest, most bossy man I’ve ever met,’ she told him in a soft, angry rush. ‘What makes you think I need all that advice?’

  ‘Since most people in my experience are incapable of taking care of themselves in any environment, why should an innocent like you be any different?’ he derided.

  ‘So you think you’ve got to look after them?’ Bridget taunted. ‘Most people would rather be left to get into trouble all by themselves.’

  ‘That’s generally what I let them do,’ he returned dismissively.

  ‘Not your family, though.’

  ‘That’s different,’ he snapped, a glint of annoyance in his eyes. ‘Wine, then, Bridget? I saw Anand Bhandari today, incidentally. You’ve really made an impression on him, haven’t you? He kept referring to you as “that love
ly young girl”.’

  ‘Oh!’ Unaffected surprise and pleasure made her face light up. ‘That was kind of him.’

  ‘I think he was being truthful rather than kind,’ Nicholas commented unexpectedly. ‘You’re certainly going to be very lovely once you’ve acquired some poise and maturity. You could make a lot of yourself.’

  ‘There has to be a sting in the tail of everything you say, doesn’t there?’ Bridget accused in some confusion, anger warring with amusement as he brought her a glass of wine. ‘Was Mr Bhandari able to help you? About Virginia, I mean?’

  ‘No, not at all, and he didn’t have any wild theories such as yours to offer, either. She merely told him she’d had to cancel this trip for herself but was sending you in her place.’ Nicholas was frowning. ‘I cannot believe she’s stupid enough to sacrifice her favourite part of her job for what she might imagine is true love, and yet I have to believe that she doesn’t know what she’s doing, sending a child like you out here as a buyer.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Sarcasm was new to Bridget and she spoilt the effect by continuing with her habitual sincerity, ‘I really am a trainee buyer, you know, and Virginia would have started sending me overseas next year.’

  ‘She has always handled the Indian trips herself, though,’ he mentioned thoughtfully. ‘Just as I and my cousins have for Stirling Industries when a presence from head office has been required. Our grandfather spent years in pre-Independence India as an engineer, and my father and his brother were both born here. I was only twelve when the old guy died but even the younger of my cousins, who was just five, remembers his stories, and I suppose something in them got hold of us and drew us back, although it’s a very different India today, better in most ways.’

  ‘Is that why—this house?’ Bridget asked with a shy laugh. ‘It’s not my idea of a company house.’

  ‘Yes, in fact it was the city residence of former, minor Rajput royalty. You’ve probably noticed that sun with its writhing rays carved into the front doors. Many of the more important royal town residences around here house embassies these days. If you’re going to Rajasthan for material you ought to stay with the previous owners. Tell me when and I’ll let Chiranji know.’

  ‘Those bright tie-and-dyes…’ But Bridget was more interested in the man now that he had forgotten to be so superciliously condescending. ‘What are you here for?’

  ‘Some extra factories we’ve acquired. The present safety standards do meet current regulations, but I want to be sure there won’t be any tragedies, so I’m having a look and then Anand can implement any upgrading I feel is necessary.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard you like to do that personally rather than delegating.’ Then pain passed across the young smoothness of Bridget’s face like the flying shadow of a cloud in the wind as she remembered that it was Loris who had told her that, and she stood up swiftly. ‘Can we take our drinks with us? I think I’d better serve now or it won’t be so nice. I’ll have to improve my timing.’

  ‘Why, are you planning to cook for me on a regular basis?’ Nicholas asked, rising and following her, and the idly mocking note in his voice prompted one of her uncontrollable blushes, leaving her fleetingly tongue-tied before resentment restored the power of speech.

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up!’

  ‘Not before I’ve sampled the fare, anyway,’ he retorted, with one of those quick, scintillating smiles that kept upsetting her perception of him as an arrogant archcynic.

  ‘What do you think?’ she ventured, when they had begun their meal in the beautiful dining-room which was furnished in western style, the teak table bearing a bowl of pale pink roses from the garden, and then wished she hadn’t because she didn’t want him getting the idea that his opinion mattered to her; it didn’t!

  Nicholas regarded her with detached amusement. ‘How much of it was you and how much Sita? I’m just wondering what’s behind this. Possibly the fact that having realised that you cannot divert, let alone seduce me in the most obvious way, you’ve decided to turn what is clearly a real talent to distracting me from finding out what my sister is really up to.’

  This further evidence of his absolute cynicism had an unexpected effect on Bridget. She felt weighed down by something very close to despair.

  Strangely enough, the feeling gave her the courage to return his look steadily.

  ‘And why in the world would I want to seduce you?’

  ‘On the surface, for the reason I’ve just cited—to distract me from asking any more awkward questions about Virginia. Then again, you must be about the age when girls start thinking it’s high time they acquired some experience, and you wouldn’t be the first to look to me to supply it.’

  ‘Experience for experience’s sake?’ Bridget was scathing. ‘Not this girl!’

  ‘If you want me to believe that, you’d better stop those speculative looks I keep catching from you,’ he advised her coolly. ‘Not that they’d get you anywhere. I’m not interested in initiating innocents. So what are you really hoping for with all this?’

  ‘If anything, that once you’ve got a good meal inside you you’ll become human enough to respect the promise I made Virginia,’ she said flatly, following it with a shrug. ‘If not, I’m sorry—but I’m still sorry; you’ll just have to wait until she phones with an explanation.’

  ‘If she phones.’ Nicholas spoke equally flatly and was then silent, scrutinising her mercilessly for some time before apparently deciding to abandon the topic, if only for now. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-one.’ Bridget concentrated on the delicately flavoured pink-tinted chicken on her plate.

  The fact that his surprise was entirely genuine was hardly flattering.

  ‘I was imagining you as about eighteen, and probably still living at home with your parents.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’ll realise at last that you’re wrong about a lot of other things as well,’ she snapped.

  ‘All the same, I hardly think the twenty-one counts for much,’ he remarked slightingly. ‘If anything, it increases the likelihood that you are in fact hoping either to satisfy your curiosity, or at least to make some sort of gesture that will proclaim you irrevocably an adult woman.’

  ‘I can promise you I don’t feel the least curiosity about you, and I don’t know why you think being thirty-four makes you so superior. It just makes you cynical and decadent and—and used!’ she concluded inarticulately.

  ‘Do you mean used up?’ he quipped. ‘Not yet, darling. Not by a long way.’

  ‘Obviously not,’ she allowed tartly, ‘judging by Wanda and your army of female fans who’ve been arriving at the door all week, hoping they’d find you, when they realised someone was living in the house. You’d better gladden their hearts by letting them know you’re in town, hadn’t you? There was an air hostess, and someone from the Embassy, and a girl from AIR.’

  Laughter lurked in his eyes. ‘Are you very shocked?’

  ‘Why should I be? They didn’t say so, but they all struck me as being single—not like Troy Varney,’ she added impulsively, picturing the rock star’s wife who managed to be one of the most glamorous women in England despite a downbeat style that somehow mixed raggle-taggle with Goth.

  It banished the amusement and she saw his features tauten slightly.

  ‘Ah, so that did shock you,’ Nicholas surmised silkily. ‘Are you expecting me to defend myself, Bridget?’

  ‘Hardly!’ she snapped.

  ‘At least you possess that much intelligence.’ Somehow the insolent comment carried a warning edge, cautioning her against trespassing further, but then his mood changed as something else occurred to him. ‘Tell me one thing. I think you can do it without breaking your promise. This man Virginia is supposedly in love with. Is he married?’

  ‘Separated years ago,’ she answered him, hoping it wasn’t something Virginia would count as a betrayal, but sensing real concern behind the question.

  Now she thought she detected a flicker of relief in the grey
eyes, and she supposed the way he managed and directed his family’s lives could be ascribed to protectiveness, even if he did take it too far, to the point of interference. Of course, given his own past relationship with Troy Varney, he couldn’t have any moral objections to Virginia’s becoming involved with a married man, so presumably he simply wanted her to be spared the sort of pain that was integral to relationships in which one partner wasn’t free.

  During the remainder of the meal, Nicholas questioned her about the materials she would be buying for Ginny’s. Bridget had a feeling that he was testing her, but she responded equably, talking about the heavy silks in brilliant contrasting colours that Virginia wanted from the south, white voile with chikan embroidery from Uttar Pradesh, Benares or Varanasi brocades, lovely off-white shot with gold from Bengal, Chanderi cottons with their tiny floral motifs in gold, expensive and beautiful Jamdani muslins, an inch of which it might take eight men a day to weave, summer material from the Deccan, the variations in texture rather than patterns favoured by the Maheshwari, and the intricate designs woven by a secret process handed down from generation to generation that characterised the Baluchar fabrics.

  ‘Show-off,’ Nicholas murmured when she paused, and Bridget laughed.

  ‘Just trying to ease your suspicious mind,’ she corrected him limpidly.

  ‘So you know a bit, but I still don’t trust you, Bridget, and I mean to keep an eye on you, at least until I have Virginia’s assurance that you haven’t somehow manoeuvred her into giving you this assignment,’ he warned her casually.

  ‘Because my word on that isn’t good enough for you?’ she challenged scathingly.

  ‘I don’t know you,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Whereas you know your family are always honest?’ she prompted bitterly, with a thought for the way Loris had misled her, not with outright lies, admittedly, but through his silence about the other woman in his life. ‘Sita says you don’t like puddings, so there isn’t one. Shall I make coffee?’