The Innocent and the Playboy

by Sophie Weston

  There was no point in playing games. Rachel cut him short. ‘Not about the bank. Me. Personally. Look, Philip, I ought to tell you—’ She broke off, biting her lip.

  In the coldest watches of the night, telling Philip what had happened nine years ago had seemed logical. Indeed, it had seemed the only thing to do. As long as she was trying to hide it, Riccardo had the upper hand. He, as he had made perfectly clear, did not care who knew. No, the only sensible thing to do was to tell Philip and trust his discretion.

  As she was now finding out, however, it was one thing to reach a reasoned conclusion in the small hours, but quite another to carry it out. She found she was twisting her hands together and straightened her fingers quickly.

  ‘Tell me what?’ prompted Philip.

  ‘Oh, this is horrible,’ she burst out. ‘This is exactly what they always say women executives do—mess up business with feelings. And it’s so unfair.’

  Philip looked at her in the liveliest astonishment. He even stopped playing with the keyboard.

  ‘My dear Rachel. Feelings?’ He looked as if he could not believe his ears. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  Rachel fought for composure. She smoothed her skirt with hands that shook slightly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly after a pause. ‘I didn’t mean to get emotional. I won’t again.’

  Philip’s astonishment was comical. ‘Emotional? About Rick di Stefano?’

  Rachel frowned, not understanding. Then she realised that Philip was thinking she was much too dull and businesslike to get involved with his demon shareholder. In spite of the horrors of the previous day, Rachel gave a choke of laughter.

  It made her feel better. She sat up straight and told him an edited version of the truth. You could see that Philip found even the expurgated version difficult to believe.

  ‘A—er—flirtation?’ he said, torn between honest fascination and the English gentleman’s code which regarded all reference to feeling as a serious breach of good taste.

  ‘I was very young.’

  ‘Yes, of course. You must have been. So that was why—’ He broke off. ‘Oh, what’s the point? I’ve never been any good at hiding things. He was in here last night demanding to look at the personnel files.’

  Rachel felt slightly sick. ‘You didn’t—?’

  ‘No.’ Philip was quietly proud of himself. ‘I told him the bank had a duty of confidentiality to its employees. But I didn’t see any harm in giving him your CV. Damn it, Rachel, it’s practically a public document since you gave that interview to Women on the Ladder.’

  Rachel had to admit that was so.

  ‘He was spitting mad,’ Philip said thoughtfully. ‘I thought it was because we had employed someone so young to do such a crucial job. But it wasn’t, was it?’

  Rachel swallowed. ‘I don’t think so, no.’

  ‘It was personal.’

  ‘I don’t see why it should be, but—’ She shrugged.

  Philip looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, if you—er—turned him down... Men don’t forget that, you know.’

  ‘Surely he’s been turned down often enough since then?’ said Rachel, startled into indiscretion. ‘It can’t be that big a deal.’

  ‘It’s always a big deal,’ said Philip drily, forgetting the English gentleman’s code completely. ‘Probably worse if you’ve got a track record like Rick di Stefano’s.’

  He thought about it for a moment, his kindly face sober. Then he said, ‘I think you need to take care, Rachel. Rick obviously hasn’t forgotten and he might want to make you pay. I’d keep out of his way, if I were you.’

  She was careful not to let her relief show. ‘Do you think I can?’

  Philip waved an airy hand. ‘Of course. He’s only here till Thursday, then he’s flying back to New York. All you have to do is keep out of the office. There’s the project in Aberdeen. Go up and see how the site evaluation is coming along. Don’t come back till Friday.’ He gave her a sudden conspiratorial grin which reminded her why she liked working with him so much. ‘That will settle him.’

  So in the end her strategy worked, even though she had not played her own part quite as she had written it. Rachel walked out of Philip’s office not knowing whether to laugh or to be thoroughly ashamed of herself. It was not Philip’s ego that had come down on her side; it was his kindness of heart.

  The moment she got back to her own office suite, however, she stopped worrying over the ethical point. The place was full of exotic flowers. So full, in fact, that it looked more like a botanical greenhouse than a place of work.

  Rachel stopped dead in the doorway and shaded her eyes.

  ‘Mandy, are you in there?’

  Her secretary’s voice floated out from Rachel’s private office. ‘Coming.’

  She emerged carrying a woven basket of rushes and big waxy flowers. Rachel quailed. ‘Do they bite?’

  Mandy chuckled. ‘Wouldn’t be surprised. You should see the instructions that come with them.’

  Rachel looked round, feeling helpless. ‘What on earth is going on here?’

  ‘Well, he either thinks we should make a bid for Kew Gardens and is starting you off on the acquisition research or he fancies you,’ Mandy said calmly.

  ‘He?’ echoed Rachel, her heart sinking.

  ‘Riccardo di Stefano.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She sank limply onto a chair, found it was occupied by a basket of assorted foliage, and propped herself against the wall instead.

  ‘He’s been on the phone too,’ Mandy informed her helpfully.

  ‘Oh,’ said Rachel again.

  She moved the chunky basket to the floor and sat on the chair. Mandy wedged the rushes into the windowsill and turned. She folded her arms across her and considered Rachel.

  ‘Are you going to tell me?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘Or do you just want me to speculate wildly like everyone else in the building?’

  Rachel shook her head helplessly. ‘You can’t be speculating any more wildly than I am. I don’t know what the hell he’s playing at. Why all this?’ She spread her hands.

  ‘Didn’t he say last night?’ asked Mandy artlessly.

  Rachel stiffened. ‘Last night?’

  ‘I know he got your address out of Philip. Joan was worried about it.’ Joan was Philip’s secretary. ‘But by that time there was nothing much she could do. We thought about phoning you.’

  ‘What made you decide against it?’ said Rachel bitterly.

  Mandy was apologetic. ‘It seemed like we were overreacting a bit, when we got to talk it through. I mean he wasn’t going to do anything dramatic, was he?’ She looked round the exotic plant collection doubtfully. ‘At least, we thought he wasn’t,’ she ended on an uncertain note.

  Rachel took pity on her. ‘Don’t worry. He didn’t.’ She prodded a yucca plant distastefully. ‘At least, not until this morning. What on earth are we going to do with the plant life?’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ Mandy said. ‘One each to everyone on the Christmas Social committee. That will get rid of them.’

  Rachel looked at her with awe. ‘You’re inspired.’

  ‘All part of the service.’

  ‘They don’t have to take them home today. The plants can stay here till the end of the week. I’m going up to Aberdeen. I won’t be back in the office until Monday.’

  Mandy nodded in comprehension but she did not make any other comment. She reached for her pad and made a note.

  ‘Do you mind which flight you take?’

  Rachel grimaced. ‘The later the better, I suppose. I don’t have much packing but I need to make arrangements for the kids.’

  Mandy added the information to her notes. ‘Hotel?’

  ‘Whichever the others are staying in.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll get onto it.’ She peered round a spray of orchids to read her PC screen. ‘You’re seeing Mr Torrance at ten—did you remember?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  Mandy looked up, her eyes crinkl
ing in amusement. ‘And do you want me to get Mr di Stefano for you before or after your meeting?’

  Rachel snorted. ‘After the next ice age for preference.’

  ‘He’ll call again before then,’ Mandy said sapiently. ‘What do you want me to do about that?’

  Rachel was conscious of the beginnings of a headache. She sighed. ‘If he calls I’ll speak to him. But you’d better warn him that I’m on my way out of town.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ promised Mandy. Her expression said that she did not think much of it as an evasion tactic.

  In that she was wrong. Colin Torrance came and went and there was no message from di Stefano. Thereafter, Rachel steamed through her in-tray at a rate of knots and heard the telephone ring in the outer office several times. But no call was put through to her.

  It was, she thought, half-annoyed, half-amused, oddly frustrating. She did not want to have to talk to him. After last night there was nothing she wanted less. But she was left with the unpleasant feeling that it was inevitable at some point and that she was just marking time while she waited for the axe to fall.

  In the end she could bear it no longer. She flung down the pen with which she had been doodling for ten minutes and went out to Mandy’s office.

  ‘Er—messages?’

  Mandy looked up, unsurprised. She gestured at the screen in front of her. ‘They’re in the postbox.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Rachel still lingered in the doorway. Mandy took pity on her.

  ‘Di Stefano wouldn’t leave a message. He said he’d catch you later.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Rachel in quite a different tone. She looked at her watch. ‘I think I’ll take an early lunch. You don’t know when I’ll be back.’

  In the reception hall the security guard opened the door for her.

  ‘Your car’s waiting, Mrs Gray.’

  Rachel stared. ‘My car?’

  ‘Chauffeur came in to say he’d wait on the corner until he was moved on. Been there about twenty minutes.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Not my car, Geoff. Maybe Mr Jensen’s?’

  Geoff was unconvinced. ‘It was you he asked for.’

  An explanation occurred to her. ‘Maybe Mandy ordered a car to take me to the airport this evening. They must have got the pick-up time wrong. I’ll have a word. Thanks, Geoff.’

  But when she went to the corner the vehicle was not her usual hired car with a friendly driver she knew but a dark-windowed limousine. The man who got out wore full chauffeur’s uniform, including leather gloves. Gloves! Rachel goggled.

  The chauffeur showed no emotion. Impassively, he opened the rear nearside door and stood to attention. It was quite clear that he knew who she was.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Gray.’

  ‘I think there’s been some mistake. I didn’t order a car.’

  No reaction to that either. He simply stood there, like some flunkey waiting to take her to her coronation. Another suspicion presented itself.

  ‘Perhaps you can tell me who did order the car?’ she suggested affably.

  ‘I do not have that information, madam.’

  ‘Then let me guess. Di Stefano’s private office?’

  But the wooden face was not giving anything away.

  ‘All right,’ said Rachel. There was something exhilarating in the battle of wills. She was almost beginning to enjoy herself. ‘Let’s come at this from another angle. Where were you supposed to take me? I mean, you do know where to go, don’t you? I don’t just get the car and driver to go joyriding all over the Home Counties, wherever I want, do I?’

  ‘My instructions are to drive you to St Thomas’ Court.’

  She frowned, sifting rapidly through her memory. It was not an address she knew. Briefly she wondered whether it was a hotel and was astonished that Riccardo would stay anywhere but the best hotel in London. Then it clicked into place.

  ‘Chelsea. By the river, right? One of the apartment blocks at the harbour?’

  The chauffeur unbent sufficiently to give her a stately nod in response to this.

  So Riccardo di Stefano had decided to get her onto his own territory. His own private territory. While the harbour development was not exactly off the beaten track, it was hardly central either. Getting away from there could be complicated and time-consuming if she wanted to leave before he chose to let her go. She looked at the chauffeur assessingly.

  ‘Are you also on stand-by to bring me back?’

  He did not know. He was only given one instruction at a time. He did not know what his next job might be.

  ‘Which means no,’ interpreted Rachel.

  She felt suddenly, gloriously angry. She had been spoiling for a fight all morning. Now, it seemed, it was being offered to her. She got into the car.

  It took the chauffeur by surprise. It was a good few seconds before he collected himself sufficiently to close the door on her. He got into the driving seat and set the car in motion. They slid into the traffic.

  As soon as they were on the Embankment and Rachel was satisfied that she could do so without distracting his attention dangerously, she leaned forward.

  ‘I’d like to make a phone call, please.’

  He unhooked the car phone from its stalk and passed it back to her. She dialled Mandy.

  ‘Change of plan,’ she told her crisply. ‘Di Stefano sent a car. I seem to be lunching at St Thomas’ Court in Chelsea.’

  In front of her the chauffeur’s shoulders stiffened. No doubt he would report back to di Stefano’s private office. Rachel hoped that he would. She hoped he would report verbatim.

  To put a bit of ginger into his report, she said, ‘No, it’s not a kidnap yet. I don’t intend that it shall turn into one either. If I’m not back by two, send a car out there to pick me up, will you?’

  She handed the phone back to the chauffeur.

  ‘Thank you.’

  As she expected, the building was a tower. The chauffeur swept into a cordoned stopping-off area and helped Rachel alight. A uniformed attendant opened the security-coded door for her. He did not bother to ask her name. He clearly knew she was coming.

  ‘Mr di Stefano is on the fourteenth floor,’ he said kindly. ‘Fine view.’

  Rachel smiled, not committing herself. She paused, looking round the ultra-modern interior. It was cool and high, with an impressively glassed and domed entrance hall and elevators walled with coloured glass. If big money had a scent, it would smell like this, she thought: high-tech electronics overlaid with the scent of flowers out of their season and out of their natural habitat.

  In fact, the entrance hall was full of enough plants to make a botanical-garden director jealous. At one end the source of all this vegetation was clear. It was a shop, small. enough to call itself a boutique, large enough to house two very expensively dressed women. Orchids and Friends, it was called, and it lurked behind a dense hedge of jungle leaves. Rachel strolled over, to the confusion of the lift attendant.

  ‘Can I help you?’ said one of the women.

  ‘I think you already have. Did you send a shipment to Bentley’s Investment Bank this morning?’

  ‘Bentley’s? I don’t think they’re one of our clients. I can check, if you like.’

  She did. She came back looking respectful—and a good deal more curious.

  ‘Mrs Gray? Yes, we did. At the request of Mr di Stefano. I’m sorry, did we forget to put in a card?’

  ‘No,’ said Rachel. ‘Thank you.’

  She turned back to the hovering attendant.

  ‘All set for the fourteenth floor, then.’

  He did not come up with her. He did not need to. There was only one apartment on the fourteenth floor and the lift did not open without a key. As soon as she arrived, there was a little whirring sound, and the door was flung open.

  Expecting yet another uniformed flunkey, Rachel was disconcerted to find herself face to face with the man himself. He stood looking at her for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable.

&
nbsp; ‘You came,’ he said at last.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT TOOK Rachel several moments to recover from her astonishment. She could not read Riccardo’s expression. But, as the world rocked back into balance and became manageable again, she had the distinct impression that he felt he had won a battle. An important battle.

  It made her furious. It also made her feel seriously uneasy.

  Well, she had built a few defences in the last nine years, to say nothing of acquiring a whole range of social weapons. It had cost her, that armour. There were months when she went out into the world every day expecting to face an enemy. It had taught her self-reliance—and the ability to return fire with fire. What was the point of all that experience, if you did not use it?

  So she gathered herself together, ignored the way her heart seemed to be shaking within her ribcage, and prepared to enter battle.

  ‘What else could I do in the face of such a pressing invitation?’ she said sweetly.

  He laughed then, ushering her into the room with a mock bow. He did not pretend to misunderstand her.

  ‘I know it was kind of dramatic. But what else could I do? You refused all my regular invitations.’

  Rachel was feeling more in control than the previous evening. For one thing, she was dressed in her professional camouflage—dark suit, cream blouse, earrings. For another, by calling Mandy from the car, she had held her own against his underhand tactics. At least so far.

  So she strolled in and looked around in a leisurely fashion, quite as if she had expected to come here for ages and was not wildly unnerved by the events of yesterday. She even pretended to give his question serious consideration.

  ‘Well, I suppose you could have got yourself a mask and broken into my room at midnight, like something out of a silent movie,’ she observed.

  ‘Ouch,’ he said, his expression wry.

  Her smile got even sweeter, even deadlier.

  ‘Or you could have done what civilised people do and accepted that I do not want to go out with you.’

  He flung back his head and laughed aloud at that. ‘I’m not that civilised,’ he told her.

  ‘So I infer,’ she said sharply.