She pushed Gil away with such force that he went in sheer surprise. 'No,' she said sharply.
He blinked, suddenly shaken out of that physical absorption in pleasure. 'What's wrong?'
'I don't want to get involved,' Caro said. 'Please, stop it. I'm tired, no doubt you are, it has been a very long day. Can we just say goodnight?'
The heated excitement drained slowly out of Gil's face as he met her cool stare. 'I didn't have you down as a tease!' he muttered, then dropped his hands and shrugged. 'Oh, have it your own way, then! Goodnight!'
Caro didn't hang about to be polite. She wanted to put as much space between them as she could, so now that she was free she just ran, without looking back. All the same, she felt his anger following her every step of the way.
CHAPTER SIX
Caro went in to work next morning so nervous that she twice changed her clothes before deciding to wear a straight black skirt and white V-necked sweater. It wasn't exactly eye-catching, but it made the most of her figure without being too obvious about it. She brushed her brown hair slowly in front of the mirror, gloomily eyeing her face and wishing she was prettier. What was the point of wishing, though? Men didn't turn to stare at her in the street, and that was that. She could spend hours doing her make-up, clip pearl earrings into her ears, fuss over her clothes—but it wouldn't make any difference. She had no glamour, and that was something the Countess of Jurby had in abundance.
There were butterflies in her stomach when she walked out of the lift and into Gil's office. His secretary looked up at her entrance and gave a brief nod. She still wasn't .my friendlier, but Caro was used to her hostility by now.
There was no sign of Gil himself, thank heavens. Caro knew he would spend most of the morning on his tour of the store, but although she expected that, the morning dragged by; Caro kept watching the clock but the more she watched, the slower the hands seemed to move. Gil didn't appear until almost lunchtime and, when he did arrive, had two senior members of his staff with him. They walked in talking, Gil wearing one of his beautifully tailored formal suits, a dark blue pin-stripe, with which he wore a crisp white shirt and blue silk tie.
He looked striking, and Caro was angry with herself for feeling an immediate stab of pleasure so sharp it was almost pain. What he felt, she could not guess from his expression. He nodded curtly, but didn't say anything, walked behind her desk and paused for a moment to observe what she was doing, then, still without a word, went back to his own desk, collected some documents from a locked drawer and walked out again, his employees following.
Stupidly, she felt as if he had slapped her in the face. He might have said something! A few polite words wouldn't have hurt him, would they? She forced herself back to work, but found it hard to concentrate.
Gil came back at seven minutes to three that afternoon. Caro knew what time it was because she kept looking at the clock and wondering, Where is he? She looked up as he walked in, tensing, but he still didn't say anything. She watched the hard outline of his profile, her throat dry with nerves. Just having him in the same room had become both an ordeal and a painful delight. His secretary walked into the office and Gil gestured to the chair in front of his desk. He smiled at the woman; Caro watched through her lashes and ached with stupid, pointless jealousy. He had no smiles for her, it seemed. He had become quite friendly for a little while; now they were back to the cold war, and Caro hated it.
He spent the next hour dictating to his secretary, then left again, without even glancing in Caro's direction. She understood. He regretted making love to her last night; he didn't want her to think it had meant anything. He was staying out of her way and treating her remotely so that she shouldn't be under any illusion about their relationship. Her father's intention of buying Westbrooks made them enemies. Well, he needn't bother to hammer home the point.
She had known, last night, just why he had been kissing her. That was why she had stopped him. Last night, Gil had been walking a knife-edge of anger and frustration. Of course, he should never have got involved with a married woman, but he must be unhappy, and Caro hated the thought of him...of anyone...being unhappy.
But being unhappy didn't give him the right to treat other people so ruthlessly.
He had kissed her and tried to make love to her without caring how she might feel. He had tried to take advantage of her—and now, no doubt, he was afraid that she might try to take advantage of him! What did he think she might do? Tell Miranda? Or perhaps his grandmother?
Caro stared at the window, seeing nothing of the London roofs, the blue spring sky it framed. Were all men opportunists, not to be trusted? Wasn't there one of the sex that you could rely on?
Gil's secretary came in to say coldly that she was now leaving, and reminded Caro about the time when the security staff would want her out of the building. 'I'm going now,' Caro said irritably, getting up. Amy rang her that evening, bubbling over with excitement. 'You remember Antony Calthrop?' 'No,' Caro said, half yawning. 'Yes, you do, darling,' insisted Amy. 'No, I don't,' said Caro, to whom the name was totally unknown.
'You do, he's a surgeon, ear, nose and throat ops, at St Luke's Hospital. He took my tonsils out last year. Tall guy, lanky, hair sort of straw-coloured. He isn't good-looking, exactly, but he has a terrific bedside manner.'
Caro gave a burst of laughter. 'I see! He's your latest, is he?'
'No, darling,' protested Amy. 'No, the point is... he's giving a flat-warming party, he just moved to St John's Wood, to be nearer the hospital, and he's invited me.'
'Wonderful, have a great time. Tell me all about it when we have lunch.' Caro was eager to have a bath, wallow in her misery, and then go to bed to wallow some more. The last thing she wanted was to talk about men. They were not her favourite subject at the moment.
'Hang on,' Amy said hurriedly. 'Caro, he remembered meeting you at the hospital when you visited me.'
'Well, I don't remember meeting him. It was over a year ago!' Caro couldn't actually remember much about her visit to see Amy except that her friend could only eat jelly and ice-cream and had kept whispering mournfully that her throat hurt. Fred Ramsgate had come along too, because Amy was one of his favourite people, and he had been very anxious about her.
'Oh, don't tell him that,' said Amy, sounding horrified. 'It will hurt his feelings. I said I was sure you remembered him, he had made a big impression on you...'
'Oh, did you?' said Caro indignantly.
Amy gave one of her little giggles. 'Well, he is so sweet,
I was sure he must have done! He was delighted to hear
you remembered him so well.'
'Oh, really, Amy!'
'So he invited you to the party!'
'What?' Caro exclaimed, appalled. 'I can't go, thanks all the same, Amy. Very kind of him, but I'm busy that night.'
'I haven't told you when it is yet!'
'Whenever it is, I am busy. I'm not being dragged off on one of your famous blind dates. Every time you meet a man who is too ghastly for words you kindly decide to land me with him, while you go off with the only good-looking guy in sight.'
'Antony isn't ghastly,' protested Amy. 'Honestly, darling, he isn't, he's funny and kind and sweet, and you'll love him.'
'I doubt that,' Caro said grimly. 'If he's so gorgeous, why aren't you dating him?'
Amy giggled. 'I'm going with someone else, or I would. Look, darling, if you really don't like Antony, it won't matter because he's invited hordes of people. He's the host, so he'll be kept busy... you know how it is at a party. You don't have to stay, but do come, or he'll be furious with me for taking another man to his party.'
'You're totally ruthless, aren't you?' Caro didn't know whether to laugh or be shocked. If her father could hear Amy now! His image of her as a sweetly feminine creature would be blown to smithereens.
Amy laughed, quite flattered by the comment. 'We'll call for you at eight next Saturday,' she said. 'Antony's new flat is only on the other side of the park from your
house, Rob says.'
'Rob? That's the newest heart-throb, is it?' asked Caro, but Amy just giggled and rang off. Caro hung up, too, her eyes thoughtful. Perhaps, this time, Amy was serious about someone? She wasn't usually so secretive about her men; she usually talked about them non-stop. Caro was curious about the unknown Rob.
Well, a party would make a change, and might even cheer her up, she ruefully decided, and went off to look through her wardrobe and choose something special to wear.
By the end of the following week, all the work on the Westbrooks accounts was finished, and her team had completed their detailed analysis, with the usual set of graphs suggesting future growth and areas of change, and corresponding graphs making clear the necessity to clear away dead wood and stop wastage. Caro saw to it that just enough copies were printed out for her father and the rest of his board, and then removed the master tape.
She did not want any copies falling into the wrong hands. Anyone who saw that report and could understand its significance could make a killing on the stock market before the Westbrooks sale went ahead.
Gil had been in and out of his office over the last few days, and he, for one, would love to see that report. If she had not removed the master tape and taken it away with her each night, she was sure he would have come in early one morning and managed to break into her computer to check over the material. Of course, all the originating accounts were his; but it was her conclusions Gil wanted to read. He knew everything there was to know about the way Westbrooks was running—what he was dying to know was, what did Caro think of the store's financial condition? And what were her plans for the future, should her company take over the store?
Her father read her report that Friday evening, after dinner, and sat up until the small hours with it in his study while Caro went to bed early. When she got up next morning, she found him at the breakfast table, heavy-lidded and yawning over his boiled eggs and toast.
'Late night?' she asked, pouring herself coffee.
He grunted, pushing his own cup towards her. 'I was up reading that tome of yours! I must say, you did the job thoroughly.'
'Thank you,' she said, smiling. It was always nice to be praised for work well done.
'I just had a few queries,' Fred said, pushing a pile of notes towards her.
She viewed them with wary amusement. 'A few?'
'One or two points that needed clarifying,' he amended as she picked up the sheaf of paper and glanced through it, groaning.
'Dad, this means going back to Westbrooks and putting in at least two or three hours' work! I thought I'd finished with the place.' And with Gil Martell, she thought grimly.
'I'm sorry, love, but it's essential that we have the answers to those points before the board meeting on Monday. Could you pop in there this morning? I'm sure it won't take you long. You're so efficient.'
She gave him a grimacing smile. 'Very flattering, Dad—if I didn't know you were just saying it to get me to do what you want!'
'Nay, love,' he said in his broadest North Country accent, grinning at her. 'As if I'd lie to you! Nay, you're smarter than a whip, and I'm that proud of you!'
She had to laugh at that, and to shrug in resignation. 'OK, I'll go! That's my Saturday at the club gone!' She had intended to do a number of things that morning, and play squash, with friends, at the local sports club on the edge of the park. She knew quite a few of the members; Saturday was the day most of them spent there. After squash they would swim for a while before having a light salad lunch in the poolside bar, and then have their hair styled by the club hairdresser. Caro enjoyed her Saturday mornings at the club. Some members visited it every day; it was the perfect place to meet clients and friends in a relaxed, social atmosphere. She was sorry not to be able to go, after all. Oh, well, she thought. She would just have to ring the club and make her excuses. She wasn't going to be popular with the friends she had been going to meet, but they were all busy working women, they would understand she had had no alternative but to let them down.
By nine-thirty she was back at the desk in Gil's office, working intently, when he strode into the room, black-browed and vibrating with rage.
'They told me you were here! I thought you had finished with our accounts? We showed you everything you asked to see, heaven knows! We didn't hide anything, so why are you back here again?'
Caro fought to hide the confusion she felt at the sight of him; he was dressed more casually than usually, in an old sheepskin, a red sweater and cord trousers. He looked as if he had just been about to go for a walk with his dog, or practise golf shots informally. Had he been at home when the accounts department rang to say she had asked to see the books again? It couldn't have been his secretary because she wasn't around this morning; obviously she had Saturdays off. Where had Gil been? At home? Didn't he work on Saturdays either? Caro would have loved to ask him, but she couldn't risk it. He would probably bite her head off.
'My father read my report last night- ' she began
instead, and Gil interrupted furiously.
'And that's another thing—I allowed you to study all our account books, we were totally open with you, but you didn't let me have a copy of this wonderful report! Every member of your board will see it, but not me!'
'It's confidential,' she stammered nervously, and he snarled at her, dark eyes glittering.
'I'm sure it is! You don't want me to know exactly what value you put on my store. If I guessed that, I might warn my grandmother to ask for a much higher price than your shark of a father intends to offer her!'
She found it nerve-racking to have him looming over her, so she pushed back her chair and got to her feet, confronting him, her chin up. 'My father isn't a shark! He is offering her a very fair price.'
'Well, you would say that, wouldn't you? After all, he trained you—you're just like him, as predatory, in your own way, as he is!'
She flushed scarlet, so angry that her hand shot out to slap him round the face, but Gil was too quick for her. He caught her wrist, pulling her arm down and at the same time jerking her forward until their bodies touched. An electric shock went through her and for a moment she couldn't breathe.
'Oh, no, you don't!' he ground out. 'No woman hits me!'
Her breathing started again, but it was painfully fast; she couldn't bear being so close to him. 'Why did you insult me, then?' she whispered huskily. 'Do you think you can say what you like to me?'
He frowned, staring down at her. 'I lost my temper...'
'You're always losing your temper!'
'Only around you,' he said, oddly, and she looked up into his eyes, startled by something in his voice. Why was he looking at her like that? Her ears pounded with aroused blood; she was so hot, her temperature must have shot sky-high. Something important, something world-shattering, seemed to be happening to her; time stood still, the world stopped spinning.
And then there was the click of the office door opening, and a voice said, 'Hello? Oh ... sorry... am I interrupting anything?' And there was an all too familiar giggle.
Amy! thought Caro dazedly, still staring up into Gil's face. That is Amy. What is she doing here? For an instant, she even thought she was imagining things. How on earth could it be Amy? But just for that second of time she didn't care who it was, she didn't look round, she didn't want anything interrupting her concentration on Gil.
He had ignored the new arrival too; or perhaps he simply hadn't heard a thing. He looked as dazed as Caro felt, his eyes riveted on her flushed face, as if he was trying to read her thoughts. She stared back at him, trying in her turn to read his expression. She wished she knew what was happening, what he was thinking. Was she going crazy, imagining all of this? Was it nothing but wish-fulfilment? Maybe in a minute she would wake up and find she had been dreaming?
Then she heard that giggle again. It wasn't her imagination; that was Amy and she was wide awake. Gil heard it too, this time—he let go of Caro, his head jerking round; Caro reluctantly turned, too.
'Hello,' Caro said flatly. What on earth was Amy doing here? She was the last person in the world Caro wanted to see right now. She certainly didn't want Amy meeting Gil, but from the bright-eyed interest Amy was showing in him, that might well be why Amy had come. Caro had been fool enough to confide the fact that she-was sharing an office with Gil Martell, and Amy had been dying to meet him ever since she saw that photograph of him in the newspaper. I should have known she would show up to see him sooner or later, Caro thought bleakly. I've known Amy for years; when will 1 learn?
'I came to see if we could have lunch,' Amy said, her eyes on Gil and smiling her sweetest smile. 'I rang you at home and your father said you were here, so I popped along to find you, and that lovely man on the main door showed me up here.' She gave Gil an appealing look. 'I hope you don't mind me visiting your private office?'
'Of course not,' he said, smiling back indulgently, the way men always did when Amy fluttered her lashes at them.
Caro mumbled an introduction, reluctantly, and Amy held out her hand.
'Caro and I were at school together.'
'What was she like at school?' Gil asked her, sliding Caro a teasing look. 'As bossy as she is now?'
'Bossier,' Amy said, still holding his hand and looking up at him, and Caro wondered why she had ever liked her. How had they stayed friends for so long?
'I had to come into town to buy a new dress for a party I'm going to,' Amy confided to him. 'And I l nought... why not meet up with Caro? I thought she might want to buy a new dress too, although she always has such wardrobes full of wonderful clothes, lucky girl! I wish my father owned lots of department stores, but I'm an ordinary working girl, I have to buy my own clothes.'
Ordinary working girl! thought Caro. So that's her new image, is it? She gritted her teeth and stoically watched Gil watching Amy.
The Threat of Love Page 9