by Daphne Clair
'My parents wouldn't have thought so,' Carissa murmured, as that sank in. 'What do you mean, better?'
'Well, for the record, in case anyone asks—you're supposed to be a honeymoon couple. It'll explain why you're not seen about much, you see.
'I see.' Carissa digested that silently. She supposed it made sense. Her parents wouldn't have liked it, but they had both died four years ago in a car crash. And Clive, her brother, was living in Invercargill, in the South Island. Not that he would care if he had known. They had a good relationship, but never interfered in each other's lives.
As Morris drew the car into the carport in the courtyard of his smart, exclusive town house, she asked, 'How long are we supposed to stay at the lodge?'
'Well, the idea is for the bloke who's got his knife into our boy to show his hand, and let the police nab him. With any luck, he'll think his target is back at home, and—well, it depends how long they take to catch him. I'll keep in touch with you. I'm to be kept informed at once of any new developments.'
'In other words, it could be days—or weeks? I hope our—client—isn't going to stay "mad as hell" all that time.'
`So do I, dear. That's your job—to keep him sweet. I want him to do a tour for me some time.'
As Carissa went beside him to the door she said, `Morris, I hope you haven't given this singer a notion that it's my job to "keep him sweet". Some of them get the wrong idea about that sort of thing.'
He looked reproachfully at her. 'Would I do that to you? What the two of you do—or don't do—is your
business, personal business. I told him my personal assistant would be looking after him—and that's all.'
'But he knows about this plan of posing as a honeymoon couple?'
'Then I'd like it to be clear that I'm not expected to
do more than cook and—housekeep.' -
'Sure, Carrie.' He opened the door to the flat and said, 'I'm sure you'll make it very clear.'
The room they entered was empty, but curtains blew softly at the open sliding glass doors to the terrace at the other side, and a pair of feet and a glimpse of knife-pleated trousers indicated someone lounging on one of the comfortable deck-chars outside in the sun.
As they crossed the room Carissa plucked at Morris's sleeve, murmuring, 'Aren't you going to tell me who it is?'
'No names,' he, hissed back mysteriously. 'But you'll know when you see him.'
Resignedly, she followed him into the sun. The man rose swiftly even before they stepped out on to the little terrace, and she thought he might not be terrified, but he wasn't taking chances, either.
He was tall and dark, and the sunglasses he wore hid his expression, but she would have known him anywhere—anywhere in the world. That face had haunted her dreams for years, and for a moment she was convinced this was another nightmare. The whole rather fantastic sequence of events seemed to lend credence to the idea.
Then Morris Was holding her arm, pulling her forward, and saying, 'This is my personal assistant, Carissa Martin. Carrie—ere. Cade Franklin.' His meaningful look, and the emphasis he put on the name were meant to convey it was a pseudonym, of course, but she didn't need them, and he must have known it. She hadn't even known that Cadiz Fernand was in Australia. For years
she had effectively developed a technique of simply not reading anything in which his name appeared, of skipping over headlines containing it, of switching off at least mentally when anyone mentioned it. Of course, she couldn't avoid sometimes seeing his picture, or hearing his music, but as far as one can block a world-famous personality out of one's life, she had done it with him.
She didn't know she had put out her hand until she felt his strong fingers close around it, and his voice saying calmly, 'Hello, Miss Martin. I've been hearing about you from Morris. He says there isn't a more competent, charming and discreet personal assistant to be found.'
'Thank you—Mr Franklin.' For the life of her she couldn't manage another word.
Morris said, 'How about drinks?' And she said,- like a person offered water in the desert, 'Oh, yes please, Morris,' and sank into the nearest chair, a cushioned coolie chair opposite the lounger that Cade had risen from, and that he now returned to, but keeping his feet on the ground as he sat sideways.
She felt a little strange, but the hope that she was dreaming was fading every second. Cade hadn't changed much, but the small increase in the width of his shoulders, the few silvery hairs that glinted in the sun just at the temples, the more pronounced firmness of a mouth that had always held a trace of bitterness, that now held a hint of implacability most of the time instead of now and then, were real. The power and attraction that emanated from him, even offstage, were not the stuff of dreams.
She wished Morris would hurry back with the drinks. All small talk had deserted her. She should be chatting easily, putting the man at ease—as if he needed it. He looked quite relaxed, sitting back against the cushions
of the lounger, arms loosely folded, eyes hidden behind those enigmatic glasses.
Then she received the second shock of the day. He put up his hand and took the glasses off, and looked at her, a rather leisurely and thorough look, from her blonde hair, pulled back off her face into a soft French pleat, over her lilac pink blouse and flared skirt, to her slim ankles and high-heeled shoes, and back again. The dark eyes returned to her face with an unmistakable gleam of appreciation, and he said, `Morris neglected to say how beautiful you are.'
'She stared, and gasped, and then stated the obvious —unbelievable, but obvious. 'You can see!'
'You didn't know?'
'No.' She shook her head.
'I had an operation two years ago.' He looked at her. curiously, and she thought, he doesn't know me. There must have been dozens of women in those years since she had met him. He had never seen her, and obviously her name had meant nothing when .they were introduced. He probably thought it strange that someone whose job was in the entertainment world should have missed the news that one of its best-known stars had regained his sight. He didn't know how completely she had managed the difficult task of practically erasing all knowledge of him from her life.
Morris came back and handed her a gin and tonic, waiting for her confirmation that it was just as she liked it, before giving Cade a glass of whisky and having one himself.
'Now for arrangements,' he said. 'Carrie, I want you to arrange for a hire car, to be delivered here tonight. Do-it by phone so you can't be followed. You'll do the driving—you can start as soon as it gets dark. Take it slowly, there's some tricky driving in the gorges.'
'I know,' Carissa murmured, appalled at the thought of trying to negotiate some of those roads in the dark.
`Very slowly,' Morris repeated. 'You'll be followed from the time you leave here—by your bodyguards. They'll be with you all the way, so don't worry.'
Slightly reassured, Carissa sipped at her drink.
'Where are the bodyguards now?' she asked. 'Around —outside?'
'Yes. I saw one of them as we came in,' Morris told her.
'I'll need clothes,' she said.
'You can go and get some packing done later. Will you take long?'
'About half an hour. I don't suppose I'll need much for a fortnight in the wilds. I'd like to go back to the office, though. If I'm to be away for a while, there are things to be done.'
'That's probably, a good idea. Would look less suspicious, wouldn't it?'
'Look, do you think you were followed from Australia?' Carissa asked.
'No. But we can't afford risks—just in case.'
Cade took little part in the discussion, sipping his whisky and slipping his glasses back on so that it was difficult to guess what he thought about it all. He looked, if anything, faintly bored by the whale affair.
Carissa was glad to be back in the office, though it was hard work getting everything sorted and ready for someone else to take over tomorrow. She left the office at the usual time and went to her flat, which she shared with
another girl who worked at the city library. Cathy was used to having her flatmate go away for a few days, and wasn't too surprised at the suddenness of this trip and the uncertain duration.
By nine-thirty they were on their way, the comforting headlights of the green Mercedes that Morris had discreetly pointed out as their escort, shining in the rear vision mirror of their hired Zephyr as Carissa competently pulled out into the street and headed for the southern motorway.
She concentrated on her driving, trying her best to ignore the man beside her, as she trod on the accelerator and held it at the maximum of the speed limit, glancing in the rear vision mirror to ensure their shadow was still with them.
She saw Cade glance over his shoulder and felt the quick scrutiny he gave her before returning his eyes to the wide ribbon of road in their headlights. Consciously she tried to relax, reminding herself that so far as he was concerned he had never seen her in his life before today. Certainly she had no intention of reminding him of that other disastrous meeting. Her own tingling awareness of him, his strong profile, his shoulder almost touching her, his long legs stretched out before him as he folded his arms and settled comfortably back in the seat, was a hangover from an experience that had been traumatic at the time, but was done with years ago. Certainly he had shown no particular consciousness of her, except the natural casual interest of an experienced man sizing up a pretty woman.
All the same, she wished she was certain that Morris had made it clear to Cade just what duties she was expected to perform for him. Morris had a way of sliding out of any direct confrontation with embarrassment or unpleasantness, and she wasn't sure if her hurried whisper to 'make it clear to him that my "wifely duties" stop at cooking and cleaning, you hear?' had been taken to heart.
'You're a good driver,' he said. His voice was quiet, but it startled her into tightening her grasp on the wheel. 'Do you mind being talked to while you drive?'
'No, not at all,' she answered coolly enough. Normally she would have felt grateful fbr the company to
keep her alert. Now she was on tenterhooks, afraid of giving herself away, but he was a client and her job was to keep him happy. If. he wanted to talk she had better let him. With luck she could keep her replies to noncommittal commonplaces.
`How far are we going?' he asked.
'A few hundred miles. It takes about five hours. We'll be there about two in the morning.'
'I can count.'
He didn't sound annoyed, just faintly mocking, but she said, 'Sorry.'
His head moved sharply as he looked at her, making her nerves jump. What had she said to startle him, for heaven's sake?
Casting about for something neutral to say, she asked, 'Do you drive?'
There was a momentary silence before he said, 'Yes. It was one of the first things I learned after the operation on my eyes. Would you like me to do some of the driving tonight? I'm not used to your left-hand road rules, but '
'It's all right,' she said. 'Morris told me to do the driving.'
Again there was a small pause before he spoke, his voice mild but with a faint edge she couldn't quite analyse. 'You always do what Morris wants?'
'Mostly,' she said. 'He's my boss.'
She thought he was looking at her again, but kept her own eyes steadily on the road. In the darkness he couldn't see much, anyway, whatever he was looking for.
„He asked, 'How long have you been working for him?'
'Five years.'
'As his personal assistant?'
'I started as a receptionist.'
`And worked your way up. Clever girl.'
She didn't quite like the way he said that, but there was nothing in the words she could take exception to. She pressed her foot down a little harder on the accelerator as they came out of a curve, and said nothing.
Cade lapsed into silence, too, but in spite of his relaxed pose she thought she could feel a faint tension emanating from him.
The headlights leaped ahead of them into the darkness. Traffic was lighter now, and flicking a glance in the mirror she thought she could see the lights of the Mercedes, that had been dropping back before.
Cade must have had a similar thought. He stirred and looked back again briefly, saying softly, 'They're still with us. I suppose Morris did fill you in on what this is all about?'
'He said your life had been threatened and you were supposed to hide out until the police could catch whoever is responsible.'
He made a restless movement, and she had an idea that he hadn't liked the word 'hide'. 'They know who's responsible,' he said. 'It's a matter of proof, of connecting the criminal with the—crime.' '
'I see.'
'You're very calm,' he commented.
'It isn't me that's being threatened,' she reminded him.
He laughed softly, then, and at the remembered sound, so seemingly intimate in the closed, dark space of the car, she almost caught her breath, as painful memory flooded her being.
'You're with me,' he said. 'That places you in jeopardy to some extent, surely. For as long as we're together.'
'I gather there isn't really much danger,' she said. 'Morris was pretty sure you hadn't been spotted leaving Sydney. So whoever he is, he probably has no idea where you are by now. The guards are just. insurance.
You'll be able to enjoy a few days at the lodge and when the police have their evidence you can '
'Come out of hiding?' he supplied a little sarcastically. 'Are you reassuring me, by any chance?'
`It's part of my job, Mr—Franklin,' with the faintest trace of mockery.
'Tell me about the other parts,' he invited, with deceptive mildness.
`Well, I'll show you about the place—the lodge has extensive grounds, and there are beautiful bush walks in every direction. And a boat, if you want to go on the lake. I'll see to your meals, look after the lodge, and—generally make you comfortable.'
'Comfortable? It sounds delightful.' She tried to ignore the inflection in his voice, but he went on to say, 'Haven't you missed out something?'
'What do you mean?'
'I gather this rather melodramatic plan of Morris's involves a little play-acting. You, I understand, are supposed to be my very new bride?'
Crisply she replied, 'If anyone asks, yes. It shouldn't involve much play-acting. The lodge is quite secluded, and there aren't a great many neighbours.'
:Now you sound exactly as Morris described you.' I `Do I?'
He waited, and when she didn't continue, he laughed. 'You won't ask, will you? He said you were competent and level-headed and completely trustworthy. Unlikely to lose your head in any circumstances. He made you sound quite formidable. That's why I was surprised when I saw you.'
'Were you? I wouldn't have known.'
'Wouldn't you ? You were rather surprised yourself, weren't you?'
'Yes,' she admitted, adding quickly, 'I hadn't known about the operation to cure your blindness. I'm afraid --I must have missed that bit of news.'
'You don't follow my career, then? Morris knew. I gathered the story had been fairly widely published here.'
'I've always admired your work,' she said..
'You're being tactful,' he mocked. 'No wonder Morris finds you the perfect assistant. Except'—unexpectedly he reached out and took her left hand from the wheel, running his thumb over her fingers—'you forgot to buy yourself a wedding ring.'
The contact sent a physical shock coursing through her, and she snatched her hand away from his.
'You shouldn't have done that,' she said to cover the action. 'I'm driving.'
The road was perfectly straight just now, and he glanced through the windscreen and then turned his head to look at her face. 'You, think it's dangerous?' he asked. 'Here?'
'You took me by surprise,' she explained.
'I beg your pardon. Next time I'll give you fair warning.' His voice was amused, and she wondered if he guessed at the real reason behind her sudden naive withdrawal. She should have shrugged and laughed, and casu
ally taken her hand away.
'I don't think anyone thought of a ring,' she said. 'But It shouldn't matter. No one should be close enough to notice, anyway.
'How soothing you sound, Carissa.' He leaned into the corner, watching her. `So calm and confident. One would think you do this kind of thing every day.'
'Not quite this kind of thing,' she said. 'To tell the truth, it doesn't seem quite real—death threats and bodyguards aren't part of our scene, in New Zealand. At least, that sort of thing is pretty rare.'
'Do you always tell the truth, Carissa?' he asked softly.
His using her name made her feel uneasy. She didn't particularly like Morris's nickname, but she said
hastily, 'Morris calls me Carrie, Mr—Franklin.'
'I like Carissa better, my pretend-bride. And don't you think it's a trifle old-fashioned to address your new husband as "Mr-er-Franklin"? Try "Cade".'
'Yes, of course.' He seemed to be waiting, but she didn't try it. Instead she asked, 'Would you like the radio on?'
Indifferently, he said, 'If you would. You're driving.'
She found the switches and put it on, and music flowed into the spaces in the conversation, which got longer as they drove on.
Once they left the motorway behind the road became more winding in parts, and she travelled more slowly. When, after three hours, she turned off the main road, she slowed to be sure their escort was still there, and as she saw the car turn picked up speed again. After a mile or so, though, the headlights behind them began to blink off and on, and she pulled in to the side of the road.
'What is it?' She had thought Cade was dozing, but he was wide awake now.
'I think they want us to stop,' she said, about to turn off the engine key.
He stopped her with a hand on her wrist. 'Leave it running.'
Asia shape emerged from the car behind them and began coming towards their car, he took a torch from the glove box and leaned over to snick down the lock on her door, staying there, half across her as he switched on the torch and lowered the window.