*You are sufficiendy aware of your own dttracdons, mademoiselle^' he said, 'to know that M(»isieur Cordet came for you.'
*You saw him? You didn't ask him to wait and have a word with me?'
*I informed him of the position and apologised,' Raoul told her, coolly impersonal. *You could not have told him any more than I did, mademoiselle, and he has promised to be in touch with you.'
*Thank you.' She glanced up at him briefly. *I only hope he understands that this is none of my doing.'
A black brow arched swifdy upwards and the grey eyes fixed themselves on her flushed face. Obviously he was unaccustomed to having his actions questioned, but nevertheless he made some kind of reply, albeit a discomfiting one.
*Are you concerned that Monsieur Cordet will gain the wrong impression of my detaining you?' he asked, and when Charlotte blinked at him curiously he pressed on, spelling it out just in case she had not followed his meaning closely enough. Terhaps,' he suggested, *you fear he will suspect me of having something other than business in mind.'
Charlotte looked at him with wide blue eyes and wondered, just for a moment, if he could be right about Jean Cordet's reaction. There was a certain sensual and almost primitive strength about his features that stirred unfamiliar sensations in her for a moment and made her briefly suspect something of the sort herself. But then it struck her how unlikely it was that Raoul Menais would have those kind of ideas about someone as low in the order of things as ^e was.
He was far more likely to amuse himself with wealthy international heiresses than with lowly secretary-companions. A glance at that sternly businesslike expression, however, made her doubt even that and without really intending to she shook her head and laughed to scorn the
idea of his keeping her from Je^ Cordet with lecherous intent.
*Oh, I hardly think Jean's likely to suspect that,' she told him, *He told me he's worked for the Menais company for five years now, and he'd know you better than that, wouldn't he?'
The silence in the big room was almost tangible and Charlotte could hear only the thudding urgency of her own heartbeat. She wished her hands did not tremble so much as she sat with her slim legs crossed one over the other and the notebook balanced on her knee. He stood by the desk still with one band resting on the edge of it and the other hanging at his side, but she noticed from the comer of her eye that the long fingers clenched slowly and tighdy into a fist.
*Is that your own opinion, mademoisellei"* he asked with remarkable restraint, *or that of Jean Cordet?'
She had gone too far, Charlotte recognised, and feared for Jean if she did not attempt to retract, however much it went against the grain. *It has nothing to do with Mon-- sieur Cordet's opinion, Monsieur Raoul,' she told him in a small and still faintiy defiant voice. *I was—^perhaps I spoke out of turn, but I was surprised the idea even occurred to you and I spoke without thinking.'
Briefly she managed to meet the steady grey eyes direcdy, but found it too disturbing and hastily looked away again, watching her own restless fingers twirling the pen round and round instead. If only he would get down to the business in hand perhaps she could soon escape and put an end to the most embarrassing situation she had ever experienced, none the less so because it was of her own making.
1 suppose I should apologise,' she guessed, glancing briefly upward. 'But you just don't seem '
*If you have finished speculating on my moral character, mademoiselle^ he said in a voice that seemed to shiver with
suppressed anger, *may I begin dictation?'
Charlotte said nothing; there seemed nothing she could say that would not make the situation even more discomfiting, so she sat with her pen poised and waited. The letters he dictated were to various company directors in England, men who had been his fellow delegates at the recent conference, she realised when she recognised one or two of the names she had seen in the newspaper.
He dictated in clear, pedantic English that was very easy to follow, but no matter how easy he made it for her, Charlotte could not help praying that whatever it was had laid Mademoiselle Duclair low would not be of long duration. She did not relish the idea of being her stand-in again.
It was more than an hour and a half before she laid the last letter on the desk in front of him for signing, and yet again, glancing at her wristwatch was automatic. Raoul, noticed it, however, and glanced up at her with narrowed eyes. *You consider that you have wasted an evening, mademoiselle^ he suggested, and Charlotte hesitated to be as frank as she felt inclined to be^
*I would have enjoyed dinner with Monsieur Cordet more,' she told him, and noted the slight tightening of his mouth at her frankness.
*No doubt,' he allowed in a flat impersonal voice that was quite at variance with the glitter in his grey eyes, *but this work was of some importance and you have served my purpose very well, mademoiselle. I am grateful to you.'
She had not expected thanks, Charlotte told herself, but he could have worded it a littie differentiy. 'I'm glad to hear it,' she told him, unconscious for the moment of being sarcastic.
She was about to excuse herself and go to her room; try to make the best of what was left of the evening, but he sat behind his desk with the pen he had been signing with twirling slowly in his long fingers, and watching her. It was
a scrutiny that could not be ignored, and she looked up and met his eyes.
*Why are you here. Miss Kennedy?'
Charlotte recovered her senses slowly and her surprise showed in her face, she felt sure. Yet he could not possibly know—he could not even suspect her real reason for being there, for applying for the job she held. 'I don't understand you,' she told him, and stepped back instinctively when he got up from the desk and walked around it to face her, that narrow, curious look in his eyes still.
Thrusting both hands into the pockets of his slacks, he regarded her steadily. *I mean that I do not altogether trust your reasons for applying to Madame Menais for this post,' he said. ^Although I am fully aware of the opportunities it offers,' he added quickly when she would have quoted just that reason herself. *But I am accustomed to judging people, mademoiselle; to—summing them up, and there is something about you that does not ring quite true.'
It was rather ironic, Charlotte thought, that he should pride himself, just as his grandmother did, on the ability to judge people's characters, and yet come to exacdy the opposite conclusion. She betrayed her uneasiness by glancing past him at the door, speculating on her chances of escape, but knowing there was litde chance of it at the moment.
*Why did you want this job, Miss Kennedy?' he insisted.
*I didn't want this job,' Charlotte reminded him, driven to rashness. *I wasn't given the option, if you remember! I'd never work for you personally from choice. Monsieur Raoul, and to be frank I hope if your secretary is going to be away for any length of time that you'll make some other arrangement!'
It was the moment to make an^xit and she prepared to do so, for he was angry; it showed in the steely ghtter of his
eyes. Before she could move he reached out for her, pulling her against him with such force that she flinched and instinctively started to struggle. But his hands were strong and he had a grip on her that was not easily broken, his arms clamping her so tightly to him that there was nothing she could do, hard as she tried.
His mouth was equally ruthless and his kiss much more of an assault than a caress, bruising in its hardness and stifling her attempt to cry out in protest. She struggled, using her hands to drum against his chest and push herself free, but he let her go only when he wanted to and then she was almost too tremblingly unsteady to take advantage of her freedom.
Hard fingers dug tightly into the soft flesh of her upper arms and held her for a moment, the target of his glittering ^rey eyes, then he thrust her from him so that she almost fell, and clutched the side of the desk for support. Looking up into his face, she saw his arrogant jaw angled stubbornly as he looked at her down his strong straight nose.
*You will be available if and whenever I require you, mademoiselley he told her harshly. 'If you are not yet aware of it, your contract states that you are to be available to other members of the company whenever other assistance is not forthcoming, as in this instance. Do you imder-stand that? Your contract is with the Menais company, not with Madame Lizette personally, although she has first call on your time. Is that clear to you?*
Charlotte swallowed hastily, but did not look up again. *I didn^t know that,' she confessed, and wondered if it would have made any difference to her signing if she had. It suited her well enough to be signed to a contract whether or not it had pitfalls like this in it. 1 didn't realise when I signed it '
It would have made no difference to your decision,'
Raoul declared widi disconcerting accuracy, and once more studied her with that narrow-eyed look she was beginning to know. *I am interested to know your reasons for wishing to work for us, Miss Kennedy. I do not trust you, although I cannot for the moment decide why it is so.' He shrugged his broad shoulders as he turned away, as if in dismissal. *But I will,' he added confidently.
'Monsieur ' Charlotte eyed his broad back anxiously.
He was the last person she wanted to discover her true reason for coming to France, for she was firmly convinced that if he had so much as an inkling of it he would not hesitate to act, and not in her favour. Even in the short time she had been there it had been forcibly brought home to her in various ways that the Menais family considered it a privilege to be one of their number. And Raoul most of all would not even consider the claim of a stranger with such a flimsy basis for her claim.
He swung round again and caught her eye before she could avoid it, his own gaze bright and steel-hard. *You have something you wish to tell me, mademoiselle^ he asked with deceptive sofmess, and Charlotte shook her head. 'Your conscience troubles you, perhaps?' he suggested, pressing home his advantage when she did not reply, but instead looked much too discomfited. *What is it that you have on your mind, mademoiselle^ eh? Who are you, and why are you here?'
He came and stood directly in front of her and Charlotte almost flinched from the sheer dominant force that emanated from him, and the fierce gleaming brightness of his eyes. Then he put a hand under her chin and forced her to look at him, looking down into her face for a moment without saying anything, then putting her brusquely away.
*You may go,' he told her curdy. Tor the moment!'
Charlotte had hoped that it would never again be necessary
for her to stand in for Raoul's secretary, but apparently the woman was more seriously ill than was &st suspected. To cope with the situation it had been decided that rather than bring in an outsider Michel's secretary, Annette Villeaux, and Charlotte between them should share the work and take turn about until such time as Mademoiselle^Xhiclair was fit to return.
Menais and Company traded internationally and there was a great deal of correspondence to and from England and America. It was that section of the work that fell to Charlotte's lot, while Mademoiselle Villeaux dealt with the rest. The initial idea, Charlotte suspected, had been Raoul's, for quite clearly Michel was much less enthusiastic about it; probably because it deprived him of his secretary's services for an hour or two each day.
Charlotte saw litde of the girl she shared her duties with, and on the few occasions when they did meet there was no exchange of pleasantries, for Annette Villeaux was not the kind of woman to make friends among her own sex. She was bold and sophisticated and about thirty years old, with dark hair and brown eyes and the kind of figure that always attracts attention. She was fully aware of her advantages and made the most of them.
It had crossed Charlotte's mind that perhaps Michel feared Mademoiselle Villeaux's physical attractions might lead to his cousin conmiandeering her permanently, but second thoughts decided it was improbable; Raoul was unlikely to be influenced by anything as basic as that. He valued the middle-aged Mademoiselle Duclair for her efficiency and for that reason would welcome her back.
In the nearly two weeks Charlotte had been there nothing had changed in the situation between Lizette and her husband. Michel Menais had never yet spent an evening at home with her; to everyone else he was charming, but his wife he virtually ignored.
There was so little similarity between him and Raoul that it was difficult to believe they were related at times. Michel was the elder by about ten or eleven years, shorter in build as well as inclined to corpulence, but he was still a good-looking man and fully aware of the fact. Curly brown hair gave him a deceptively boyish look at times despite his forty-odd years, and his brown eyes had none of Raoul's steely shrewdness.
Taking into account his taste for pretty women, which he made no effort to disguise, Charlotte found it hard to understand why he had married poor, colourless Lizette. Unless of course she had had other more practical qualities to recommend her. She had no idea of Lizette's background and if she had any family she had not been in touch with them since Charlotte's arrival. As far as she could see Lizette was a misfit among the self-confident Menais and all too aware of it.
It was her preoccupation with her employer's situation that had led to carelessness while she was typing one of Raoul's letters, and Charlotte was busy with an eraser when Raoul's voice cut abrupdy into her thoughts. Deep and quiet but tinged with impatience, it snatched her back to normality.
*Have you completed those letters, mademoiselle}^
*In just a moment, monsieur !'
His formality often tempted her to try and arouse the same kind of passionate response as on that first evening she was called upon to help, only so far she had lacked the nerve to attempt it. He glanced at his watch. *You have a 4ate?'
Gathering up the letters Charlotte carried them across to him for signing, standing there while he scrawled his big, bold signature across each one before handing tbem back. 1 hope to be seemg jean cordet,' she told him, and caught his eye before turning away.
Raoul said nothing, except to murmur a word of thanks, and Charlotte studied him secredy while she folded the signed letters and put them into envelopes. He was not only impossibly arrogant, but incredibly attractive too, though he seemed not to take advantage of it the way his cousin did. Sometimes she felt she could quite easily hate him, and yet when she sought for reasons for her violent reaction to him, she could never quite find one.
His long hands had a curious grace that she found fascinating, for they reminded her of the hands of an artist, and yet there was nothing of the dreamy artist about Raoul Menais. His face too, in repose, had a certain tranquillity that was never ever in evidence when he was conscious of being observed, and that too she foimd curiously fascinating.
He was a virile and sensually attractive man who conversely exhibited litde of his cousin's predilection for pretty women. She realised that she was judging him entirely on her own experience, but there was no other rule for her to judge by and, apart from that one brief slip, he had remained stricdy businesslike. It was a fact that sometimes rankled without her being fully aware of it.
As if he became aware of her scrutiny he looked across suddenly and narrowed his eyes in the way she was becoming all too familiar with. 'I have given a great deal of diought to you in the past week, mademoiselle^^ he said, and Charlotte stared at him for a moment too starded to know what to say.
^MonsieurV she ventured after a second or two.
Raoul continued to look at her without responding for a while and Charlotte tried hard to still the sickening urgency of her heartbeat. He was leaning back in his chair and the grey eyes had the dismayingly steely brightness that was so hard to face, especially when her mind lighted inevitably on her main reason for taking the post she held.
^ *You do yourself an injustice if you imagine you are so _ quickly forgotten,' he told her, and kept his eyes on her still, ^although it has taken me some time to recall the first occasion on which we met. Did you not realise that sooner or later I should remember where I ha
d seen you before, mademoiselle^
Charlotte wanted to look away, but there was something hypnotic about his gaze and she sat there mesmerised by it and slowly shaking her head. It had not for a moment occurred to her that he would remember bumping into a strange girl in the lobby of the hotel in London, but when she thought about it it was inevitable, sooner or later, as he said.
*I didn't expect you to remember that,' she confessed, and was appalled to notice how unsteady her voice sounded.
*0r you hoped I would not remember?' Raoul pressed relendessly. 'Who was it you came to see on that occasion, mademoiselle? Or does the question embarrass you, perhaps?'
*It does embarrass me!' Charlotte agreed, remembering how hopefully she had gone to the hotel in search of the man she hoped would prove to be her father. She could, hardly tell him the truth, not at this point, and yet she could not immediately think of another reason; it was one of those moments when the mind goes completely blank and refuses to come up with a logical answer. In the circumstances she resorted to indignation as a defence. *I don't think I have to answer questions about something that happened before I came into your employ. Monsieur Raoul, and you have no right to ask me!'
Above the steely grey eyes his black brows glowered at her and Charlotte fought down a sense of panic as she got to her feet. *I think I have the right in the circumstances, mademoiselle. The men at that conference were not only fellow delegates, some of them were business rivals too, and
there are certain matters ' He waved an impatient hand,
but continued to make his case. *If you were in that hotel in your capacity as secretary to one of the delegates *
*I wasn't!'
*It is too much of a coincidence that you turn up once more at the same hotel only two days later to apply for the post of companion-secretary to my cousin's wife. Which is, I might venture to suggest, the kind of post that most young women of your age would not consider because of the duties involved. When such a coincidence happens. Miss Kennedy, I am suspicious—I am very suspicious!'
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