by Penny Jordan
‘Be careful,’ she said quietly. ‘Be very careful, Silver…’
Silver smiled mirthlessly as she replaced the receiver. She had no need of Annie’s warning. She knew full well the enormity of the task she had set herself, but it would be accomplished, and without Jake Fitton’s help if necessary. There were other men.
But none quite as ideal, she acknowledged bitterly twelve hours later, standing on the platform waiting for the local train which would take her to Innsbruck. She was travelling light, the same way she had arrived: one piece of hand luggage, into which she had managed to pack everything she had brought with her.
In Paris she would buy new clothes, clothes for the woman she had made herself into. For the woman Annie had made her into, she amended grimly. She had no illusions about herself. Outwardly she now bore the physical attributes of a beautiful woman. The ability to reflect those physical attributes inwardly, to project the reality of being that woman—that task lay with her. She had the determination to do it… the motivation… she had the intelligence. And the skill? Only time would tell.
She now possessed the physical body and face of a beautiful woman; in Paris she would clothe that body as it needed to be clothed if she was to attract Charles’s attention and ensnare him. She knew exactly what kind of woman appealed to him. How he liked initially to be challenged, even dominated by the woman he desired… It was only later that his own true character surfaced and he began to need to inflict cruelty and humiliation on his lovers… to subjugate them…
She had learned a good deal about the real Charles since her father’s death… about the Charles who hid behind the mask of almost godlike physical beauty… behind the appeal of his tall, broad-shouldered body and his golden, deceitful face.
Yes, in Paris she would buy clothes: clothes from Valentino and Armani, from Chanel arid Yves St Laurent, clothes from those designers who knew all about how subtly to emphasise a woman’s sexuality without making a parody of it.
And from Paris she would go to London. To a new life… a new identity. Everything was arranged: the exclusive apartment that whispered sleekly of old money… the letters that would allow her to enter Charles’s milieu as an accepted member of that exclusive and very small world.
Everything was planned, right down to the smallest detail.
A frown touched her forehead as she acknowledged the one major obstacle still confronting her. She now had to find someone to take Jake Fitton’s place. Someone dispensable… someone who would give her what she wanted… what she had to have if her plan was to succeed.
Damn Jake Fitton. She had known he would be difficult to persuade, had known it instinctively, a gut-deep reaction rather than any logic. After all, by his own admission he needed the money… and she had counted on his needing that money too much to refuse her.
That she should have miscalculated so badly and so early on in her planning was more worrying than she wanted to admit. It spoke of an underlying lack of facts; of having made an emotional rather than a clinical decision; of having made the kind of basic error her father would have derided. He had taught her to play chess, he had taught her to gamble for the highest stakes, and he had taught her to run his business affairs, which were now hers… and she had thought she had learned those lessons well. She had thought there was nothing anyone could teach her about man’s basic greed and vulnerability; now she was having to rethink the assessments she had made… to backtrack… to look for an alternative route by which she could reach her ultimate goal.
The train arrived. She got on board without looking back, swaying easily down the carriage, knowing that people were watching her, but remaining outwardly oblivious to their interest.
She sat down and removed a magazine from her bag, coolly snubbing the attempts of the man seated opposite her to engage her in conversation.
Maybe in Paris she would find a man. She told herself it was stupid to allow herself to get so worked up over Jake’s refusal of her proposition, that there was no point in dwelling on what was after all a very minor matter, but it remained there like a small shadow, clouding her mood, growing as the miles passed. The fact that he had rejected her as a woman didn’t bother her… After all, she reasoned mirthlessly, that was something she was used to.
No, it was her own miscalculation that worried her… her own failure to correctly judge the situation, guess what his reactions would be. It showed a grave lack of judgement—a lack of judgement she could not afford. And only now did she admit that she had chosen Jake Fitton as much because he was such a challenge as because of his suitability for the role. It was that small piece of vanity that had been her downfall, and now she was furious with herself too for putting her whole plan into jeopardy simply for the unnecessary and trivial pleasure of putting Jake down, of forcing him to acknowledge her superiority.
His thinly veiled contempt of her had rankled after all… and that was a weakness she could not afford to have. After all, before she was finished, there would be people who felt far more than mere contempt for her…
She closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, ruthlessly regimenting her thoughts, forcing herself to admit her own stupidity…
The train rattled into Innsbruck.
She was spending the night in a hotel before flying out in the morning. A porter caught sight of her and hurried towards her beaming, only to grimace when he saw she had no luggage. She walked out into the sharp winter sunlight, looking for a taxi. A car drew up alongside her, the rear door opened and from inside it Jake Fitton said quietly, ‘Two million pounds.’
She wanted to refuse, to tell him that it was too late, that the deal was off. The words trembled on her tongue, but she fought them back. She couldn’t afford to give in to emotionalism now.
Instead she smiled and said coldly, ‘You put a high price on yourself, Jake. I hope you’re worth it.’ And then she slid into the car beside him, closing the door and settling herself into her seat while he instructed the driver.
He was taking her back to his chalet, she realised, listening. Two million pounds. Well, she could afford it—easily! She closed her eyes again; her heart was thumping frantically. Until this moment she hadn’t wanted to admit to herself how important it was that it was this man who completed the final hurdle for her… that his acceptance of her terms had a symbolism that was very important to her. Far more important than the man himself.
On the drive back to Gstaad he addressed no comment to her, and she was skilled enough to make none of her own.
She had been brought up by a father whose realisation, eight years after her birth, that she would be the only child he could ever have had led him to pour into her all that he himself had learned in his determination to make her a fitting heir to his name and possessions. Car journeys, for her, were always a reminder of those times when she had sat beside him in the back of the Bentleys he had always chosen over the more status-laden Rolls-Royces, listening while he talked, answering while he questioned. So Jake’s silence was an added burden.
She wondered if such silence was habitual to him, or if he was deliberately trying to unnerve her. Apart from that afternoon in his chalet, she had never really been alone with him, having always encountered him only in Annie’s company.
On those occasions he and Annie had talked as old friends did. There had been silences, generated when he’d become aware that she was there, a silent third, an interloper on their intimacy, and then it had been Annie who had talked, sensing the atmosphere between them and trying her best to disperse it.
The road twisted and turned, offering superb views that were not designed for the nauseous or nervy. In Gstaad they had to stop to allow returning skiers to cross the road. Silver recognised Guido Bartoli among them. Even now it was not too late to change her mind.
The skiers cleared, and the car pulled away smoothly.
‘Second thoughts?’ Jake said quietly beside her, focusing on her as though he could see her.
She had known from
the moment she met him that he was dangerous, ruthless—a merciless foe—but such enmity demanded a degree of involvement, of intimacy even, that would not enter their relationship.
Allowing only polite coldness to inform her face and voice, she said quietly, ‘Two million pounds is a lot of money.’
He smiled at her, a curling, taunting smile that said what they both knew: that her second thoughts had nothing to do with money.
As she looked away from him, Silver wondered why, when, since he was blind, she was completely free to look at him, to study and assess him, she found it so difficult to do so.
Where did it come from, this innate distaste for breaching his privacy even when she knew he would be unaware of it?
It was true that he was conspicuously formidable, hardened by life into something almost indestructible. You could see that in him by just looking at him, by seeing how he reacted to his blindness, how he accepted it and adapted to it, daring it to imprison him.
They had reached the chalet. Silver fumbled for the door-handle and got out, waiting for Jake to join her. He stopped to say something to the driver and then walked across to her, finding her unerringly.
He unlocked the chalet door, telling her calmly, ‘Just as a matter of interest, I’ve had the locks changed.’
Silver followed him inside. The stove was burning warmly, and from the kitchen came the mouth-watering aroma of something cooking.
‘I thought it might be as well if you moved in here for the duration of your… tuition. I’ve allocated you a bedroom—second on the left. It doesn’t have a private bathroom, but there is a shower. Since I’m sure neither of us wants to draw this out any longer than necessary, I suggest we make a start this evening. Since you specifically mentioned that seduction was your prime objective, I have to assume that where the non-sexual aspects of such a role are concerned you require no enlightenment.’
He paused, as calmly polite as a lecturer addressing a student, which of course she was.
Silver inclined her own head and replied evenly, ‘Your assumptions are correct.’
‘Mm… you sound confident, but a confident woman wouldn’t have worn that perfume you were wearing the other day. It’s too strong… too obvious. Unless, of course, your prey has a particular penchant for it.’
Silver almost gasped at his astuteness. He was so close to having guessed exactly why she had chosen that particular perfume. The perfumer who had mixed it for her had disapproved.
‘Tuberoses are not really for you,’ he had told her critically, but she had ignored his advice, insisting that he made the strong, heavy scent.
‘I’m sure I don’t need to say this, and you must forgive me for being crass, but since the object of this exercise is not to seduce me I’d prefer you not to use it…’
It took her several seconds to assimilate the subtle insult. When she did she was tempted to retaliate, but she forced herself to say mildly, ‘It costs a thousand pounds an ounce. In view of your extortionate fee, every little I can save is a bonus.’
He didn’t smile, but simply gave her a level, assessing look which she withstood only by reminding herself that he could not actually see her.
‘Next point—clothes. Since you are ultimately to play the seductress, I have no doubt you will probably want to dress for the part. Again, I would caution you against overstatement. I personally find nothing particularly erotic about a woman who has obviously dressed herself with sex in mind. However, the discovery that a woman dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, with her face free of make-up, is wearing silk satin underwear… now, that…’
Silver was tempted to lie and say that she was allergic to silk, but controlled the childish impulse, saying curtly, ‘I’d like to go up to my room and unpack.’
He shrugged, looking at her impatiently.
‘In a moment. There are still some points we have to discuss. The first, and I should have thought one of the most important as far as you are concerned, is that I have a clean bill of health, at least as far as any sexually transmitted diseases are concerned.
‘The second is that I have assumed that you will have taken the necessary precautions to ensure that no pregnancy occurs.’
‘I have,’ agreed Silver coldly.
‘Good. Now, since I’m hungry, we may as well start the first lesson now. You can leave your unpacking until later. Right now, try imagining that you’ve invited your prospective victim round for a meal. During the course of this meal you intend to make him sexually aware of you and also of your availability. How would you accomplish that?’
Silver felt her heart thumping just a little bit too fast. This was what she wanted, but now that it was here… She tried to blank out of her mind Jake as a person and instead use her imagination to create the scenario he had just described.
She closed her eyes, summoning concentration, asking him a little huskily, ‘Two questions…’
She opened her eyes. He seemed to be watching her.
‘One: how long have we known one another? Two: what is our existing relationship? Do we work together, or…?’
‘We’ve met twice before,’ he told her immediately. ‘The first time a mutual acquaintance invited us both to dinner. The second was at a cocktail party when you discovered that my existing lover has gone to spend a fortnight with her parents. This invitation for dinner was given on the pretext of your having been asked to keep an eye on me, so to speak, by my lover.’
Silver gave him a sharp look spiked with dislike.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked her evenly. ‘Don’t you like the character I’ve cast for you?’
She digested his silky-voiced comments in silence. Annie had obviously told him a great deal. Too much. ‘I have no feelings at all about her. I was just wondering why you accepted the invitation.’ She wasn’t going to let him guess at her disquiet. He was trained to play on people’s weaknesses. For all she knew, he might simply be assessing… guessing… He smiled at her then, a mocking, warning smile that made her muscles lock.
‘Ah, now that’s for me to know and you to gamble on, isn’t it?’ he told her softly. ‘After all, surely that’s what this is all about—knowing your victim’s vulnerabilities? You’ve got five minutes and then we begin. I’ve arrived at your front door and you’ve let me in.’
She closed her eyes, blotting out both the man and her surroundings; the latter was easy to do, the former surprisingly difficult. She tried to superimpose on his granite-tough features another man’s smoother, younger face and to hold on to that vision. She waited until she had only seconds left before saying softly, ‘Jake… you’ve made it. Marvellous,’ and wondered if he’d notice her subtle and deliberate betrayal of the fact that she had doubted that he would arrive. ‘Come on in and make yourself at home. Dinner won’t be long… It won’t be anything very special either, I’m afraid.’ She mimicked the warm gurgle of laughter she had once heard an acquaintance use to devastating effect. She had a good ear and was adept at reproducing intonations and nuances. ‘I was running late at the gallery and only had time to rush into my local delicatessen on the way back, but then I did warn you that I was no cook, didn’t I?’
She gave a slow, warm smile that promised that she was far more accomplished in other areas, which she hoped was carried through into her voice, because Jake could certainly never see the smile.
‘What should I do with my coat?’
The interruption was unexpected, as was the way Jake feigned uncertainty, looking back over his shoulder as though searching for a hallway.
‘Here… let me take it.’
Silver knew she was several seconds late in picking up her cue. She also had an odd reluctance to approach him and take the jacket he was slipping off.
‘It’s freezing outside, isn’t it?’ she improvised wildly, thrown off-key by his unexpected participation. And then, remembering something a friend had once told her, she added quickly, ‘I’ve lit a fire in the sitting-room. Come on through.’
&nb
sp; She still hadn’t taken his coat and he checked her abruptly, saying briefly, ‘Adequate, Silver, but not good. The fire was good, but you failed to make good use of the opportunity I gave you when I asked what I should do with my coat, and the suggestion that something more exciting than dinner might be on offer was very precious… some might even say tacky. We’ll go through it again, only this time we’ll reverse the roles. Still, at least you didn’t pretend I’d arrived early and caught you in the middle of getting changed,’ he said drily. ‘I suppose that’s something. Now listen…’
Speaking as though he were she, he turned to her, matching the smile she had used.
‘First, before he even sets a foot inside the door, you’ll have prepared a mental dossier on him: what he likes and doesn’t like, his weaknesses and strong points. Let’s say this particular victim is an up-and-coming producer of television documentaries with a slant towards the political. You just happen to number among your acquaintances a politician you know he’s been keen to meet. And if you don’t, I’m sure you’ll be able to find a way to make sure that you do.
‘You open the door. He’s on edge, not sure what the evening’s going to hold. He’s aware of the signals you’ve been sending out, enjoyed the prelude to flirtation, but is now getting cold feet, wondering if the evening is going to end up heavy and problematical.
‘You surprise him, get him off guard. You pull a pretty regretful face and tell him you’ve been trapped into joining some old friends for dinner, but that he’s included in the invitation. He breathes relief. The pair of you leave for the kind of venue you know is going to impress him. Your tame politician is already there. You introduce them and discreetly pretend not to notice how impressed he is.
‘At a suitable opportunity, whenever the politician’s gone to the bar or whatever, you tell the victim how marvellous he’s being, helping you to entertain your father’s brother’s cousin’s dull friend. If you’ve done your homework well, you can even get the politician to dangle some tempting bait in front of him, by praising his work and suggesting that the two of them get together.