She had first gone to work at Webster Textiles, as it was then known, after she had refused to go on to university, and had kept the job on after she had divorced Christopher. Her original post had been as general dogsbody, making the tea and running all the errands, but the owner, Mr Webster, was becoming elderly and, as he had no children, had no real interest in running the company. It made various materials to order, but when his Sales Manager left, Mr Webster couldn't be bothered to go out and get new orders, and so the place ran down and more staff left. Zara found herself in the position of office girl Friday, having to do a hundred and one different jobs, from doing the accounts to dealing with customers. It made her angry to see a good firm going to waste, and on her own initiative she went out and got them some new orders. Then she began to chivvy and bully Mr Webster into a renewed interest which gradually grew as he realised how single-minded Zara was about putting the company back on its feet.
While Christopher was away at university, Zara went to evening classes nearly every night of the week, taking courses in accounting, textile design, business studies, marketing and office management. It all helped with her job which she very much wanted to keep, and it also took her mind off what she already knew was a failing marriage. Marrying Christopher on the rebound had been the biggest mistake of her life, and she knew that eventually they would split up and she would have to earn her own living. Christopher stayed on at university an extra year and Zara quite happily gave up a large portion of her salary to him, but on the day he finished his education they parted, with hatred and resentment on his part and relief on hers.
But by then Websters was not only back on its feet but was expanding rapidly. Mr Webster began to look upon her as the child he had never had, and he taught her all he knew, his step more sprightly with the new lease of life she had given him. Between them they took the firm into the women's clothes market, combining with an established firm to make up-market garments out of their own materials. They then took over this firm, enabling Zara to have more say in the designs, and then went into knitwear and separates so that they could open a shop in which all the clothes bore their own label.
This was quite a gamble and took a lot of work, but by now Zara had no other interest. She lived and breathed Panache and all it stood for, the exhausting but exhilarating work filling the deep void of loneliness and rejection. The shop was a huge success, and on the day they opened their tenth Mr Webster retired to marry an equally sprightly widow and enjoy the autumn of his life. He and Zara had long been in partnership, but now she was in sole charge of what was rapidly becoming an empire, for their shops not only sold women's clothes but men's too, concentrating on smart business and casual clothes for the executive and fashion-conscious market—the type of clothes Zara liked to wear herself and to see the men around her in. And now they were widening their scope into sportswear for the growing leisure market, and Zara had her heart set on expanding into fittings for the home for people who had grown tired of the 'country garden' vogue that had been in for so long. There was bound to be an about-turn of taste before very long and Zara was determined to take full advantage of it, if not to create the about-turn herself.
Her time was, as usual, extremely well filled; she worked hard but she played hard too, going every Saturday morning to a Pineapple health club to work out, and quite often going out with Richard or one of the other men who were more than happy to act as her escort. But Richard she began to discourage; he was becoming too serious, and she had neither the time nor the inclination to settle down and become domesticated. Besides, she was still only twenty-five and there were lots more ambitions she had yet to fulfil. On the day she had left Christopher she had determined to become a millionairess by the time she was thirty; she had not only done it by the time she was twenty-five but had repeated it several times over. No, she had no time for marriage, and very little for men except as colleagues, or escorts when she needed one.
It was just over three weeks after the board meeting that Colin Royle, the marketing manager, asked to see her and brought in a large folio to put on her desk.
'You know that new advertising company we approached on the sportswear promotion? Well, they've sent in some ideas already—and they're good.
Take a look at these.'
Zara did so with growing interest; the ideas were for advertising on a local basis in the areas around their shops rather than for a nationwide campaign. 'As we only sell in our own shops Masterads suggest a great deal of nationwide advertising would be wasted and the money better spent with local campaigns geared to each area. And they don't suggest just the usual sports sponsorship but have come up with some really original ideas,' he added enthusiastically.
'Mm, I'm inclined to agree. What sort of terms and timing do they offer?'
'They're good too. They would organise everything to coincide with the goods going into the shops at the beginning of May in time for the summer. Look, they've detailed everything here. They seem extremely well organised.'
Zara smiled at Colin's keenness. 'So they do, but it won't do any harm to wait until the other two companies let us have their ideas. But I'd like to talk to the head of Masterads. Is there one person or is it a group?'
'No, just one man in overall charge.' The marketing manager picked up the letter that accompanied the folio and handed it to her, pointing to the director's name.
Zara looked and the room seemed suddenly to zoom about her head, to sway and pitch like a fairground ride. Only the name stayed in focus, the words screaming out at her from the paper. 'Heath Master- son, Managing Director'. Heath Masterson! It couldn't be right. It must be someone else. But how could there be two men with such a distinctive name, and both in advertising? She gasped aloud and caught hold of the edge of the desk, her knuckles showing white as she tried to make the room stay still.
'Zara! Are you all right? Here, sit down.' Pushing her into her chair, Colin ran to get her a glass of water, calling out to Mac as he did so.
But by the time Mac came running in in alarm, Zara had recovered sufficiently to sit up straight and thrust her trembling hands under the desk. 'Sorry. Felt dizzy for a minute. I'm all right now,' she insisted, her voice growing stronger.
'You don't look it. You look as if you've seen a ghost,' Mac told her. 'What's that—water? I think a brandy would be better.'
They fussed over her with the best of intentions, worried frowns on their faces, but all Zara wanted was to be left alone. 'Please. I've said I'm all right now. No, I don't need to see a doctor. I forgot to have any breakfast, that's all.'
'Then I'll walk you round to the nearest restaurant and make sure that you have a decent lunch,' Colin declared.
'You've been working too hard,' Mac informed her. 'You need a holiday. I can't remember the last time you took one.'
'Oh, for heaven's sake! All this fuss just because I felt giddy for a moment. I'm okay, I tell you. But if it makes you happy I will go and have something to eat. But alone, if you don't mind. I don't need a nursemaid.'
'Huh! If you ask me, that's just what you do need,' Mac told her roundly. 'I'm sure you don't bother to eat or look after yourself properly.'
Zara somehow forced herself to laugh. 'Nonsense! I'm shockingly healthy.' She stood up on legs that felt too weak to hold her and managed to pick up her bag and walk to the door.
'What shall I do about those Masterad ideas?' Colin asked her.
With her hand gripping the door knob, Zara was seized with a sudden wave of hatred. 'Burn them,' she said fiercely. 'Tear them into pieces and burn them!' Then she hastily strode out of the room, leaving the two men staring after her.
She didn't keep her promise to eat, and it was too cold to walk in any of the London parks, so instead Zara hurried through the damp and windy streets until she came to the National Gallery. Here she went inside and sat on a leather seat in one of the huge rooms, staring blindly at a large portrait on the wall while trying desperately to come to terms with the fact that
Heath was back in London and probably had been for some time. In one way she supposed she had been lucky; she could so easily have told her marketing manager to set up a meeting with Masterads without bothering to ask the name of the managing director. And then she might have walked unsuspectingly into a room and come face to face with Heath. Her heart froze at the thought. It had been bad enough just seeing his name again, it had brought back so many memories, memories of rejection and humiliation, of hurt and hatred.
Her mind centred on that last thought. God, how she hated the swine! Even now. Even now… Zara's hands tightened into white-knuckled fists in her lap. If only she could hurt him as he had hurt her. But then she gave an inward laugh of bitter irony; the man probably wouldn't even remember her. After all, it had only lasted a few weeks, and it had been so long ago. Heath had more than likely forgotten her by the time he had arrived in America, relieved that he had got away in time from a situation that might have turned nasty. Obviously all he had wanted was an affair, while she had offered him love, herself, her hopes and ambitions, everything. But he hadn't even bothered to say goodbye.
Didn't want to risk an hysterical scene, most likely, Zara thought, trying to drown the pain in cynicism. But she couldn't help wondering about him, wondering if he had changed, if she would recognise him. All she had was one tiny photograph of him, taken in a passport photo booth when they had been waiting for a train one night and had a few minutes to kill. But she had always kept it; even after he had dropped her so cruelly she had been unable to destroy the photo, keeping it hidden away so that Christopher could never find it. But even without it Zara knew that she would always know him, that his features were etched for ever on her brain and memory.
She wondered, too, if he was married. He probably was, to some American girl with long legs, big boobs and a brain, someone who was a perfect hostess and a tremendous support in his career, Zara decided with resentful jealousy. Perhaps he even had children. Her heart caught, seemed to swell with pain. She would have so loved to have his children, to have this closest of all ties.
People walked and talked around her, looking at the pictures as they passed a wet lunch hour, but Zara was totally unaware of them or of the huge portrait of a cardinal in his red robes in front of her. She was glad that she had found out in time. It would have been terrible if she had agreed to do business with Heath and had to face him. But despite herself she felt an overpowering longing to see him again, to find out whether he did in fact remember her. And she would very much like to grind his face into the dust, of course, that too.
She came back to reality for a moment, her eyes focusing on a black speck on the skirt of the cardinal's robe on the painting. It bothered her, that black speck. Getting up she went to have a closer look and saw that it was a big black fly, but even as she lifted her hand to brush it off she realised that it was part of the picture, that the artist had played a trick that would amuse people long after he and his sitter were dead and gone. It helped to put things back in perspective, that silly little fly. Zara smiled and straightened up. She too had a brain and knew how to use it. And maybe she would give some thought to making Heath smart a little for behaving so badly to her.
The smile widened but it didn't reach her eyes as Zara began to walk out of the gallery and back to her office. She realised that now she was in the position of power and that it might be very amusing, not to say satisfying, to woo Heath with the lure of handling all her company's advertising, now and in the future, to keep him dangling, and then drop him just as he had dropped her.
Mac was waiting for her in the office and looked up at her anxiously when she strode in. 'Are you feeling better?'
'What?' For a second it didn't register, but then her face cleared. 'Yes, of course. Get me Colin Royle on the intercom, will you?' And when the phone rang in her office Zara picked up the receiver and said, 'Have you—er—got rid of that folio from Masterads? Oh, good. No, you're right, I didn't mean it. In fact I think you can let them know that we might be interested. But nothing definite, you understand. Let them know about the other two agencies we've approached. Yes, I want to know if they'd be willing to really put themselves out for us.'
'What if they suggest a meeting to discuss it?' asked Colin. 'Do I say yes?'
Zara paused for a moment, then took a deep breath. 'Yes. But make it a business lunch, something like that; I don't want a long meeting. Oh, and just say that you'll be bringing one of the directors, don't say which one.'
Colin said he would get on to it right away, slightly surprised, but happy to do her bidding as it coincided with his own ideas.
Zara sat back in her chair, her heart beating too fast as she realised that there was no going back now. Then she began to plan.
As she had expected, Masterads were very keen to get the Panache contract and suggested an early date for a meeting. Zara agreed it, but then cancelled at the last moment and played them around a little before settling for another date. By that time they had received outline ideas from the two better-known and longer-established agencies. Their ideas were good too, very good, but they lacked the almost audacious originality that Masterads had come up with. But it helped to know the terms and ideas of the other agencies when Zara finally arrived for that lunch-time meeting.
It was in London, of course, at one of the very old coffee-houses that had become a restaurant. A place where businessmen had met for centuries to trade and deal, and whose original members had helped to found the London Stock Exchange. It had panelled walls dark with age, narrow twisting wooden staircases, big bow windows overlooking the street, and the tables sectioned off to ensure complete privacy.
Zara had arranged to meet Colin Royle there, but she was deliberately late, which was totally unlike her. She had taken a lot of trouble with her clothes and looked, she knew, quite sensational, in a loose, pure white coat, high-heeled black boots, and a small tricorn hat at a jaunty angle on her upswept hair. There was a small bar opening off the main entrance. Someone opened the door for her and Zara paused in the doorway, looking round, for effect as well as to give her a chance to control her features. Colin was standing at the bar talking to two men who had their backs to her. As he saw her, Colin straightened up and the two men turned round to look, as did several other men in the room.
Heath hadn't known it was her he was to meet, but he recognised her all right. His eyes widened with interest as he saw her, but then he gave a slight frown which turned to stunned surprise as recognition came. For a moment he stood perfectly still as if he were frozen to the ground. Zara, however, made sure that no sign of recognition or any other emotion showed on her face as she walked forward and smiled at Colin. 'So sorry I'm late—a last-minute phone call that just had to be dealt with.' She turned an innocently smiling face towards his companions. 'Do forgive me—I'm not usually this unpunctual.'
'Of course.' The man with Heath looked towards him, but Heath was still gazing at her as if he couldn't quite believe it.
'May I introduce our managing director, Zara Layston,' Colin said quickly to break the awkward little silence. 'Zara, this is Heath Masterson and Eric Jennings of Masterads.'
'How do you do.' Zara held out a gloved hand first to Eric and then to Heath.
Slowly, Heath took her hand, but held it rather than shook it. 'How do you do—but I'm quite sure we've met before.'
Zara raised a cool, arched brow. 'Really? Were you with some other advertising agency that we've done business with? I'm afraid I don't recall…'
'No. We met—socially. Quite some time ago.'
'You must remind me of it some time,' she answered dismissively, removing her hand from his and putting it into her pocket so that no one would notice how unsteady it was.
They went upstairs to the dining-room almost at once, Zara handing her coat to a waiter and revealing a crisp black and white suit underneath. She was ushered into her seat and Heath slid in opposite her, but the table was wide enough for them not to touch. Colin sat next t
o Zara and Eric opposite him, and for a while the talk was general as they chose what they wanted to eat, knowing that whichever of the traditional dishes they chose would be superbly cooked and presented.
When they had ordered, Heath looked at her and said, 'You seem to have come a long way since last we met.'
'Have I?' Zara tried to keep her voice light, to hide the crazy swell of emotions that raged behind her coolness. He had changed so little, hardly looked any older at all. There was no grey in his hair, it was still dark and thick, and no lines on his face, except perhaps round his mouth, and those were more the twists of cynicism or mockery than age. He was thirty-five, in his prime now, she supposed, and as devastating as ever. Yes, she would have known him anywhere, because this was the man she had loved, the man who had tossed her aside like a boring book. 'You said we met socially, I think?'
'Yes, at a party. It must be—seven years ago now. Yes, that's right.'
'Good heavens!' Zara gave a little trill of laughter, 'What an astonishing memory you must have, Mr Masterson. I can hardly remember people I met at a party last week, let alone that long ago.' Deliberately changing the subject, she said, 'Colin tells me that your agency is comparatively new?'
Heath's dark eyes settled on her speculatively for a moment before he replied. 'Yes, that's right. I had been working in the States, but I came back to London two years ago and started the company.'
'You didn't take over an existing one and change the name?'
'No. I preferred to start from scratch and recruit my own staff.'
'You must find England quite a change after America. What made you decide to come back?'
Heath shrugged and gave a slightly twisted smile, an action Zara remembered so well that her heart lurched and she didn't hear what he was saying for several minutes. She came back to reality to find him looking at her rather quizzically and realised that he had asked her a question, but she was saved from having to ask him to repeat it by the arrival of the waiter with their first course. Heath went to pour her some wine, but she put her hand over the glass. 'No, thanks, I prefer water.'
Passionate Revenge Page 4