And from the look in his eyes she knew that he had got her unspoken message, but that didn’t stop him plying her with charm for most of the evening.
His name was Stephen Hancock, Steve to friends, and with an ease which she could only admire he proceeded to regale her with unasked-for details of himself.
He was from New York, he informed her in a voice that implied that New York was, in fact, the only place to be, and he was a stockbroker. He worked for the New York branch of Tom’s company, Carter and Co., and he was, he managed to tell her in so many words, only thirty but upwardly very mobile indeed.
She eyed him with amusement, thinking that he certainly seemed to possess all the upwardly very mobile accoutrements, including what looked very much like a designer suit, a pair of shoes with a very expensive and easily recognisable logo, and a suntan which, it transpired in the course of conversation, was the product of one week’s snatched holiday in the Bahamas.
‘Lucky you,’ Claire said, not sure whether to like or dislike this brand of effervescence. ‘I can’t even afford one week’s snatched holiday under a sunlamp at the moment, never mind the tropics.’
He laughed at that, and from across the room Jackie caught her eye and winked. Claire ignored her completely. She knew what her sister was thinking, that this was just the sort of young man to replace James Forrester, and there was no way that she was going to play that game.
It would have helped her case if Stephen had held back more, but he dogged her steps for most of the night, and, after four glasses of wine, she was light-headed enough not to care. He was likeable enough, wasn’t he? And he didn’t seem to mind the fact that she wasn’t telling him anything about herself at all. He seemed, in fact, to be perfectly happy talking about himself, and that suited her just fine.
By the end of the evening, from that pleasant, fuzzy wine-induced stratosphere she was inhabiting, Claire realised that she knew a great deal about Stephen Hancock. If there was anything mysterious about him, then he had done a good job keeping it to himself, because he had come across as a cocky but straightforward man with none of the dark complications that she had come to accept as part and parcel of James. True, she had occasionally found her attention wandering in the middle of one of his anecdotes, but that could have been the fact that her glass had been constantly topped up by one of the very efficient bar staff. And anyway, so what if he was a little self-centred and a bit on the boring side? After James Forrester, self-centred and boring came as very refreshing characteristics.
Nevertheless, when he told her that he would be in London for a couple of months and could he look her up, she shot him an alarmed look.
‘No involvement!’ he said, raising his hands placatingly, and something at the back of her mind told her that that didn’t add up. He was attractive enough, clearly eligible, as he had told her in no uncertain terms, so why would he be satisfied with a hands-off relationship?
Her mind wasn’t working properly, though. It was muddled, and she was finding it tricky to work out the logical conclusion to her thoughts, so she gave him a vague smile, and said,
‘Sure. Look me up some time.’
‘You think I won’t,’ he laughed, ‘but I will. You’re interesting, different. You have the body of a woman and the face of a child. I like it.’ Was there something wolfish in his grin or was her imagination working overtime? She nodded and made as polite an escape as possible, and by the following Monday had promptly forgotten all about him.
She was clearing her desk that evening, stacking her papers away neatly on to a massive clip file which she used for her first drafts, when a voice spoke from behind her and she swung around, surprised.
The office was quite empty. Tony was in his office, his door slightly ajar, and behind another partition two girls from Accounts were still working away, but apart from them there was no one around. She had decided to work late, partly because she had to redo some lettering she had been working on that morning, but mostly because work was preferable to inactivity. Inactivity bred too many memories.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, and Stephen laughed at the expression on her face.
‘I came to see you,’ he informed her. ‘I phoned your house and a girl there told me that you weren’t back from work, and she told me where I could find you, so here I am. You’re hard to get hold of, kid, aren’t you? I had to get your phone number from your sister; you must have forgotten to give it to me. They don’t call me Sherlock Holmes for nothing! And these are for you.’ He handed her a bunch of flowers, and she breathed in their aroma, distracted and a little put out by his appearance and by the flowers.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see Tony peering through at them, not making the slightest attempt to disguise his curiosity, and she gave him a bright wave.
She bent down to pick up her bag from the floor and then straightened up, asking him a lot of questions but mostly wanting to find out what he was doing here, really doing here. This all seemed a little overkeen and she wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of having to defuse a potentially aggravating situation. Hadn’t she told him that she wasn’t interested in a relationship?
In the cold light of day, she realised that he really was very attractive. His teeth were absolutely perfect, his hair was impeccably combed and he looked terribly well groomed. So what, she couldn’t help asking herself again, was he doing here? Tony was still watching them both from his office, wondering what was going on. She had never been one to bring her social life to work.
‘I’m surprised you made the trip here all the way from London, just to see me,’ she said conversationally, and his eyes skimmed over her once, resting fractionally on her breasts before meeting hers with easy camaraderie.
‘Why not? It’s not that far. In the old US of A we cover a lot more miles in the space of a day, babe!’
Babe? She smiled weakly and allowed him to usher her towards the door. He was asking her about eating places—were there any bistros? What kind of food did she fancy? French? Chinese? There were some great bars in New York. What about Greek food? Had she ever tried that?
‘I really hadn’t…’ she began, wondering how she could edge herself out of this one, but the apologetic smile died on her lips as she looked up and had her second shock in the space of fifteen minutes. James was standing there, by the outer door. If she had been expecting him, she might have braced herself, but caught off guard she suddenly felt as though the ground had been jerked away from under her.
He was so damned vital. She blinked, half expecting him to vanish, but he didn’t. He was still standing there, his bright green eyes raking over Stephen, then flicking back to her, cool and expressionless.
He was leaning slightly against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets, and he was so terrifyingly sexy that her mouth went dry. Next to him, Stephen Hancock was the boy next door, a good-looking shell with no substance, none of that fierce aggressiveness that made James so devastating.
‘Who’s that?’ Stephen asked, in the voice of someone sizing up his opponent and finding the odds stacked against him. That brought her back down to earth with a bump.
‘No one important,’ she said hastily, dragging him towards the door because Tony would be in his element now and she didn’t see why she should have her private life made public. Her face felt stiff and her mouth was dry. ‘My ex-landlord.’
‘Oh, is that all?’ He relaxed and linked her arm through his, a gesture which took her by surprise, but she left her hand there, not liking the proprietorial significance behind it but not wanting to make a fuss.
James’s mouth had hardened and he continued to stare at her in a way that made her flush angrily. Why should she feel guilty just because she was in the company of another man?
She also resented the way that he remained standing where he was, waiting for them to approach, having the advantage of being able to watch their progress across the room.
‘Hello,’ she said, when her feet had fina
lly stopped moving and she was standing in front of him. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, Claire?’ he asked in a chillingly polite voice, and she fumbled over an introduction, angry and flustered.
‘I’m over here for a secondment,’ Stephen elaborated. ‘I’m in stockbroking, by the way.’
‘Riveting,’ James said with freezing politeness.
‘I work for Carter and Co.—you may have heard of them? I seem to recognise you. Have we met in the course of business? Who do you work for?’
‘The Forrester Group,’ James said abruptly, and Stephen nodded.
‘Big fish. What do you do there? Manager?’
‘Something like that.’ He had hardly looked at Stephen during this interchange. His eyes had been fixed on Claire and she had deliberately refused to meet them.
‘Something like that! You British! Masters of understatement! We have dealings with some of you guys. Which branch do you manage?’
‘All of them.’ He tore his eyes away from Claire and looked at Stephen with a touch of restless impatience.
‘All of them?’ Stephen grinned, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.
‘I own the company.’
There was silence as this snippet of information, offhandedly thrown out by James, was digested by Stephen. His face was red, and for the first time he looked uncomfortable and out of his league. He looked sideways at Claire, who had a sudden urge of protectiveness. Stephen had had no idea what he had been up against when he had been introduced to James, and it made her cross to see how he had been demolished in a few throwaway sentences.
‘What are you doing here?’ she repeated tersely, not meeting his eyes which, she knew, would only remind her of what she had lost.
‘You forgot some of your things at the cottage, in your haste to leave the other evening. I have them at the manor.’
‘Fine,’ Claire said, ‘I’ll collect them later. They can’t be that important because I haven’t even missed them.’ She glanced at Stephen, and then said, ‘I could get them now, if you like. Stephen, would you mind awfully driving me to—?’
‘Tomorrow would suit me better,’ James cut in smoothly.
‘You don’t have to be there to supervise,’ she returned heatedly and his mouth curled into a smile.
‘No, but I’d rather make sure that I were.’ Was she supposed to read mistrust behind that statement? she wondered. It would appeal to his sense of humour to know that whether she did or not was immaterial, since she was impotent to launch into a speech of self-defence in front of witnesses.
Tony had now approached them and was surveying the trio with interest. Reluctantly, Claire made the round of introductions, and as soon as James’s name was mentioned Tony’s face lit up into a broad smile. She knew what was coming. There was something of the born salesman in him and, sure enough, he launched into his rehearsed expose of what his advertising firm could do for some of James’s companies. Put them on the map, make them a household name. He carried this little speech around with him, the way some people carried snapshots of their children, ready to pull it out should the opportunity arise.
Claire groaned inwardly, not knowing where to look, and she was surprised when, at the end of five minutes of self-publicity, James actually appeared to be giving Tony’s suggestions some thought.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said, and Tony beamed and looked at her with self-satisfaction.
Claire smiled weakly back at him, confused at this turn of events. What did James mean by ‘I’ll be in touch’? Had it been a throwaway remark or did he really have plans to use their advertising firm?
Tony had strolled off, not wanting to overkill, and Claire edged away from James, automatically pulling Stephen towards the door. James’s hooded eyes followed the movement, but he didn’t say anything, merely opening the door and letting them precede him down the stairs and then out into the street.
‘I had to park my car a little way away,’ Stephen said. ‘I wasn’t too sure where you worked, so I left it a little higher up so that I could explore on foot. You wait here and I’ll fetch it. Nice to meet you, sir.’ He held out his hand to James, who pretended not to notice, and the minute Stephen was out of earshot she rounded on him.
‘Why were you so rude to him? You treated him like a complete idiot! First you turn up here, where I work, knowing that I’d be embarrassed, then as if that wasn’t enough, you proceed to make a fool of Stephen!’
‘That wasn’t altogether difficult,’ James drawled, looking down at her. ‘Who exactly is he?’
‘You were introduced,’ Claire muttered, taking his question at face value. ‘Stephen Hancock. A stockbroker.’
‘Yes, yes,’ James cut in impatiently, sticking his hands into his pockets and staring at her, ‘I know that. He made a point of giving me a resume’ of himself within the first five minutes of being introduced.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’ she asked innocently. ‘You know who he is.’
‘Stop playing games with me, dammit.’ His voice was curt.
‘And stop acting as if you own me! We’re over. Remember?’
‘Where did you meet him?’ he persisted, as if she hadn’t spoken, reaching out to curl his fingers around her wrist, and her heart rate accelerated painfully at this physical contact, her body wildly alive.
‘At a party,’ Claire admitted reluctantly.
‘That was fast work,’ James murmured, and there was a ferocious undertone to his voice. ‘Good catch, is he?’
She raised furious eyes to his. What was it he had said? That he wasn’t finished with her yet? That he still wanted her, even if it turned out that she was a gold-digger? She could imagine how he must be feeling now, the great James Forrester who just had to speak softly to be obeyed: he must be thinking that someone else was circling his prey, and he wouldn’t be liking that feeling at all.
‘I won’t even bother to answer that,’ she returned, flushing hotly as he swiftly released her wrist to link his fingers through hers, a gesture implicit with threat. ‘And will you let go of me? Stephen will be here any minute.’
‘I don’t see what that has to do with my touching you. Are you seeing that boy through some stupid act of defiance? You can’t possibly be attracted to him. He’s vain and he’s quite possibly an opportunist as well.’
‘But at least he’s not a liar!’ she retorted, and his fingers tightened over hers.
‘I never lied to you.’
‘You just skirted round the truth! Well, it doesn’t matter any more.’ She carried on with sudden inspiration, ‘I happen to find Stephen very attractive, if you must know. He also happens to be entertaining and witty and, yes, a very good catch!’
‘You’re a fool. He’s not your type. He’s dangerous.’
‘Oh, please, spare me,’ she said on a heavy, impatient sigh. ‘Next you’ll be telling me that you recognise him from Crimewatch.’
His car pulled up to the kerb and she snatched her hand away from James, massaging the blood back into her wrist.
James was looking at the car, his eyes narrowed, debating whether to continue their argument or not.
‘Can I go now?’ she asked with heavy sarcasm. ‘Or are there a few more little insights you’d like to share with me?’
‘Oh, you can run along now,’ he said lazily, though his eyes were like flint. ‘And don’t forget to collect your things.’
‘Oh, I’ll make sure that they’re out of your girlfriend’s way by the middle of the week.’
She hadn’t meant to say that, and she wished that she hadn’t when she saw dark amusement flicker in his eyes. He would love to think that she was jealous, she realised, to know that he still had a hold over her, because wasn’t that what he wanted: to have her back in that subservient position?
She turned around and walked off towards the car, her body stiff with the awareness that he was watching her.
She had no idea what she talked about for t
he rest of the evening. Stephen, she recognised vaguely, was charming, but James’s appearance had managed to ruin her concentration.
They had dinner at an Italian restaurant in the centre of the town, which was packed even though it was a Monday, and Claire did her utmost to have a good time, laughing in all the right places, asking all the right questions. But her mind was busily playing back that scene with James, lingering over the way her skin had tingled where he had touched her.
It was a relief when they were back at her house. It was becoming difficult to maintain the facade of cheeriness which was the least that Stephen deserved. He had driven out of his way to come and visit her and it would not have been fair to have burdened him with a litany of her own sorry problems. Not that he seemed particularly interested, she thought. He was more interested in finding out about James, his company, his latest expansion into financial consultancy which had been covered in great depth a few weeks before in several of the newspapers.
Claire met these questions blankly, and he laughed at her ignorance, touching her cheek softly so that she jerked back in surprise, then looked apologetically at him. It was hardly a threatening gesture, she told herself with a nervous laugh at her over-reaction. The man wasn’t villainous, only a bit egotistic.
She opened her car door and would have slipped out with a little wave and a thank-you, but he detained her before she could do that and asked her when they could meet up again.
‘I really don’t think it’s such a good idea,’ Claire said with a frown, not wanting to commit herself.
‘You wouldn’t want to be responsible for breaking a man’s heart, would you?’ he asked. ‘How about Saturday?’
Claire looked dubiously at his handsome face. It would be silly if she allowed James’s warnings to lodge themselves in her head and gnaw away at her. Anyway, he had only said those things in an attempt to put her off Stephen. She smiled, and said, ‘Perhaps. Why don’t you call me? Just as long as you remember that I’m not looking for any kind of relationship.’
Shadows of Yesterday Page 10