Her face paling slightly, Liza shook her head. "Of course not," she answered stiffly, because in spite of herself the past still faintly hurt. "I'm a bit too old for that, I'm afraid. Only," she hesitated, reluctant even now to hurt her mother, "somehow I don't think construction's quite my thing. I thought I might try for something more—well, feminine." At this point she didn't mention leaving the city.
Monica's still attractive face grew dubious. She wasn't over-fond of change of any kind. "I'd wait and see, darling, if I were you," she advised. "An office is an office no matter where it is. Unless you changed your type of work I don't think you could hope for anything much different—or better," she added, with emphasis.
"I suppose not," Liza murmured, but without enthusiasm, turning again to the window to avoid her mother's uneasy eyes.
"Of course you have your own life to lead, dear. You mustn't feel it necessary to worry about me."
Which wasn't quite so easy as it sounded, Liza decided wryly, when two days later Miss Brown departed for Majorca and, within minutes it seemed of her leaving, the phone rang to say that Simon Redford was on his way.
"He ought to be with you shortly after lunch." The voice at the other end of the line was clear and cool—very cool—giving a lightning picture of diamond-bright efficiency. There followed a faint icy tinkle as the girl rang off. A warning bell, still ringing in Liza's ear long after she had replaced the receiver. Momentarily, unable to suppress a cold shudder, she knew a wild inclination to scribble a quick resignation and flee. Only an ever-present concern for her mother tempered her natural recklessness and stopped her. Quickly she gulped a deep breath, knowing it would be foolish to panic at this stage. Distance often distorted voices, gave false impressions, and the girl she had just spoken to was a complete stranger. It could be illogical to think that because Simon Redford chose to surround himself with people of such sharp vocabulary, he was of a similar disposition himself. She was making a monster of him before he even arrived!
Such reasoning, however, did little to resolve Liza's nervous tension as the day wore on. After lunch, the usual packet of sandwiches, which she had scarcely been able to eat, she considered herself carefully in the rather cracked and rusted mirror which adorned one of the shabby cloakroom walls. Looking for reassurance she found none. Compared with Miss Brown's reed-straight, autocratic presence, she found herself totally inadequate. She wasn't tall—she was small and slender. Her hair, nut brown in colour, was thick but looked lustreless due to her recent illness, and, because it grew so quickly and, badly needed cutting and reshaping, was scraped into a tight knot at the back of her head. Her eyes were perhaps her best features—wide, blue, slightly tilted at the outer corners, but her skin, like her hair at the moment, lacked its customary healthy glow. Mouth—Liza gazed at it doubtfully, taking little comfort from the beguiling curve of her short upper lip. The whole scarcely amounted to anything even remotely impressive. With an impatient sigh she turned away.
Bill Bright, the civil engineer from field staff, pushed his head around the door, grimacing wryly when Liza told him the news. He could break it to the others in Accounts. It would save her a task. "He'll probably intend to make some changes, if he doesn't decide to sell out," she warned darkly.
"I reckon things could do with a shake-up around here," Bill said soberly, his lively grin fading as he advanced, closing the door behind him. "I've just heard that Boultons have snatched the new swimming baths job out at Little Milton which we were after. According to what I can make out, my dear Liza, our estimate didn't even arrive! Our new boss isn't going to be very pleased about that."
Liza glanced up at him, startled. Bill Bright was quite a clever engineer in his late twenties, and had been with the firm almost two years. In spite of his easy-going demeanour he found such things as lost contracts disturbing, as he had Silas Redford's dwindling interest in what went on. Liza knew this, having gleaned it from odd remarks and Bill's increasing visits to the office as Silas grew more and more reluctant to go out. "I'm trying to think," she said at last. "I distinctly remember putting it in the basket to post, so it must have gone out. Mr. Redford, I believe, spent some time checking it."
"Well, according to the Council it never got there. Did no one check that?"
"I'm not sure." Liza hesitated, her brow still wrinkled. "Mr. Redford might have done, but then again he tended to forget. Miss Brown couldn't have known or she would have let you know."
"But Miss Brown, bless her brown socks, isn't here! So we won't know, will we until she condescends to return from wherever she's off to?"
"Majorca," Liza supplied automatically. "And there's no need to be sarcastic, Bill. Mistakes can happen, but if someone has slipped up here, then I'm sure it won't be Miss Brown's fault."
"Nothing," Bill grimaced wryly, "is ever Miss Brown's fault, and seriously, Liza, I suppose you're right. But a lost estimate, all that hard work, she'll have it filed away under unsolved mysteries! And if that's the end, then so be it, but I only hope such a catastrophe doesn't rebound on me." He perched himself heavily on the edge of Liza's desk. "I don't know if our new boss is going to be brighter than the old man, but I hope so. For everyone's sake I hope so!"
"That's not quite fair, Bill, and you know it!" Surprisingly defensive, Liza lifted her dimpled chin, although she could not have said why. In absolute fairness she was prepared to acknowledge that she did owe Silas Redford something, even if it amounted to just an outward show of loyalty. He had, if only in his own way, been very good to both her and her mother. It was true he hadn't been very diligent lately, but perhaps his health hadn't been so good either. This might easily have been responsible for his apparent lethargy, as what else could account for the odd, lost contract, the steady decline in business generally? "Silas," she said steadily, "was good at his job. He worked well, I think, but maybe none of us realized he was getting older. As I said before, perhaps, his nephew will sell out, so let's not go on about it. Who knows, we might soon belong to another firm."
"Maybe…" Bill shrugged indifferently and Liza started to tidy her desk. He watched closely. So far as he could see the polished top was as neat as a new pin. His eyes lingered with dry amusement on her pale slender hands before returning to her face. "If we happen to be swopping advice," he grinned, "then I could tell you to go easy yourself. Your fingers are shaking."
Liza stopped, alarmed, her fingers tightening nervously around her note-pad. Then noting his teasing expression as she glanced up, she smiled back at him impulsively. "I can't seem to concentrate," she admitted frankly. "But I can't just sit here doing nothing until he arrives."
"Right-ho," Bill continued to gaze at her thoughtfully. "Well, how about having dinner with me this evening? You look as if you needed something to relax you. You're far too tense and thin. I shouldn't like you to fade away."
"I've lost a bit of weight lately, but I'll soon put it on again, you needn't be so flattering." Liza made a little face, mildly flirtatious, playing for time, oddly reluctant to commit herself.
"Never mind about that." Impatiently he read her like a book, persisting stubbornly in spite of her obvious deviation. "How about dinner? You're adept, my dear Liza, at putting a chap off, but don't think you can escape me for ever."
Liza stared at him, her face flushed, her lashes flickering uncertainly, wondering why his insistence only alarmed her. She liked him, enjoyed his company, but he was getting too serious, and she wasn't that kind of girl. Their relationship was changing subtly from the casual friendship she valued. Bill was very easy to know. He laughed a lot, and fortunately they shared the same sense of humour, but subconsciously she was aware that his emotions were becoming involved, while hers hadn't changed much one way or another.
She was beginning to get a crowded feeling, an apprehension within herself which she recognised of old. The symptoms were familiar: the peculiar withdrawal from anything more complicated than a simple attachment, an inherent dislike of a more intimate touch tha
n was strictly necessary. Something which, almost despairingly, she tried to hide from others, just as she tried to ignore it in herself, feeling a growing need to experience a deeper relationship with a man, yet unable to respond with any depth of feeling in a man's arms. Sometimes she held an ecclesiastical upbringing responsible for breeding a delicate fastidiousness which she didn't altogether appreciate.
Now, as Bill slid off the edge of the desk, she swallowed painfully, speaking at random. "I do wish you'd be sensible, Bill, especially in the office." Swiftly, as he swivelled threateningly, she jumped to her feet, backing away from him.
"There are still several things I should do before Simon Red-ford arrives, and you, Bill Bright, shouldn't risk being caught here, apparently passing the time of day with me."
"Oh, come off it, Liza!" Taking no notice of her prim little speech, he advanced, the absence of Miss Brown's restraining influence obviously going to his head. "You know how much I like you and enjoy a bit of fun. Surely you don't need an excuse at your age. Besides, you haven't answered my question. Are you coming out to dinner or aren't you?"
Irrationally Liza shook her head, not willing to be persuaded. "I don't think it would be a good idea—not this evening, anyhow. But you could always ask someone else. Someone," she added dryly, "who might provide more fun than me."
Laughing at her pink, indignant cheeks, he shook his head, although his eyes were slightly wary. "Don't be silly, darling. You could be quite good fun if you let yourself go a bit, but you don't need to take me too literally." As if intent on proving his point, he grabbed her before she could move and hauled her against him, his good-natured face alight . with mischief. "You could always start by giving me a kiss, which is long overdue—just as consolation."
It was at that moment, when the door opened, that Liza caught her first glimpse of Simon Redford. A minor commotion in the other office didn't exactly register, so intent was she on trying to escape Bill's arms. Then, to her utter horror, over his shoulder, she found herself gazing straight into Simon Redford's eyes!
Long afterwards Liza was still trying to convince herself that such things didn't happen to her. She was almost choking with outrage, the flush in her cheeks deepening wildly as she sought to disentangle herself from Bill's embrace. When she caught sight of him there was not time to move or think, and her eyes widened with frantic dismay.
He was, as her mother had thought, tall and dark and big. Too big, Liza decided with a sinking heart as he towered behind Bill, seeming to dwarf him although Bill was no lightweight himself. His eyes frightened Liza most—light grey eyes, yet almost black in the centre pupil. Darker than any she had seen before and, at the moment, they held little expression, just a peculiar awareness, as they assessed her feeble struggles, which sent cold drawn-out shivers speeding down her spine.
Something about the tenseness of her body must have alerted Bill, who glanced swiftly over his shoulder and released her with a half smothered exclamation, his fair face almost as red as her own as, like her, he realized who it was. "Sorry, sir." With attempted flippancy he straightened up, turned around, adjusted his tie with fingers which belied his apparent composure. "I just looked in to see if you'd arrived. Bill Bright, engineering." His hand shot out too quickly as with a slight, indifferent nod, Simon Redford stepped into the room. He ignored Bill's hand and the wide grin which split his homely face.
"I'll be in touch," he said smoothly, his voice threaded cynical with amusement, his eyes lit up with a kind of sardonic humour. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Bright. I think I'll start at this end first."
"Oh, sure." Trying to pretend Liza didn't exist, and looking slightly hot around the collar, Bill sidled past him out the door, almost as if he was surprised to get out alive. There was a look of apprehension on his face which Liza had never seen before.
Not that Liza felt she could blame him! A little desperate herself, she watched as the man started to remove the heavy sheepskin coat which he wore over his jacket, uncertain whether she should offer some assistance.
Bill, in spite of his avowed devotion, had left her to flounder. Unhappily she couldn't retreat as he had done, but must stay to face this man alone. Such a prospect was not inviting, and staring at the back of Simon Redford's dark head as he slung his coat on to the nearest peg, she doubted very much if she was really up to it. Her mother and Miss Brown might have thought they had supplied an adequate description, but their conclusions had been totally deceptive. She had pictured someone tall and quiet, but this man could never be classified thus. He was too rudely male—a man's man, yet at the same time wholly familiar with women. She could see it in those strange eyes as he swung back to her, as his glance flicked her face and her slight body.
"You weren't here when I was here before," he said crisply, his words forming a statement and question at the same time.
"No…" Liza sagged fatalistically against her desk, her limbs quivering. Her mind went weak, too, and she didn't think to introduce herself as Bill had done, and she had always thought herself quick-witted. Instead, she added stiffly, "I'm sorry, Mr. Redford, but Miss Brown is away. She thought I could manage."
"Did she indeed!" His black brows drew together in a swarthy, weather-brown face. "Do you mean to say you've just been called in, from a typing pool, perhaps?"
"No, no, of course not," Liza heard herself spluttering. "I was off when you came for your uncle's funeral." Oh dear! She stopped abruptly, in a daze of indecision. Did she sound too familiar?
He sighed, his brows still drawn, obviously finding her answer inadequate, probing with ill-concealed impatience. "When you say Miss Brown is away, do you mean for the day? Has she gone on business!?"
"Oh, no… That is…" Suddenly Liza hated Miss Brown. "Actually," she explained in a rush, "she's on holiday."
"You don't say!" His tone was tight with annoyance, his dark eyes narrowed on Liza's blue ones reflected anger. "Would it be presumptuous of me to ask where she's gone? I'm not here to waste time with some half trained assistant." His gaze enclosed her completely, leaving her in no doubt as to whom he was referring.
Somehow that tone of voice stiffened Liza's backbone, strengthening her own voice, enabling her to reply coolly. "I can assure you, Mr. Redford, I am not a half trained assistant. You will find me extremely competent. Miss Brown wouldn't have gone to Majorca if she hadn't thought me entirely capable of carrying on."
"As you were doing when I came in, I suppose? Or does the redoubtable Miss Brown condone such behaviour? From now on, let me assure you, Miss—whatever your name is, that I will not! And by the way," he added, with devastating sarcasm, "would it be too much trouble to tell me what your name is? You didn't mention it before."
CHAPTER TWO
Long afterwards Liza remembered that first meeting, every detail of it impaled on her mind, refusing to be eradicated. Simon Redford swept into her life with all the force of a cyclone. She had imagined he would be an image of his uncle, but he was so unlike that she found herself totally confused by him. She had meant to be cool, calm and collected, but from the very beginning a tangle of circumstances appeared to be working against her, not least his obvious attempt to embarrass her about Bill.
Liza's face flamed, clear colour running beneath her skin as his taunting words fell about her hapless ears. She would have expected him to gloss over the incident, not to use it as a weapon for his particularly agile tongue. She might have known that men like Simon Redford didn't pass up such things. First impressions were all they ever went by, as afterwards they rarely spared a girl like herself a second thought.
With dignity she decided not to argue over Bill. On the face of it her case was too weak to defend. Her mind skipped to what he had said next—the last bit. It would seem that he had no idea who, she was. He mustn't know that her mother had been married to his father's cousin. It did occur to Liza that someone sharper than herself might have immediately claimed a distant relationship. Not many knew that she had not been John La
wson's real daughter. It could have been one way to have paved an easier road for herself, although she doubted it would have made any real difference with Simon Redford. He wouldn't be impressed by that sort of thing. Glancing at the lines about his brow and well cut lips, she knew intuitively that he was tired, although such a thought was belied by the hard fitness of his strong, lean body.
Aware that his patience was limited, she drew a quick breath, said a silent if illogical prayer and concentrated on his last remark. "My name is Lawson," she answered. "Liza Lawson. My mother kept house for your uncle, but of course you will know?" The last she tacked on in a burst of inspiration, under the heading of turning the tables, because she knew quite well he wouldn't know the domestic details of his uncle's life. Not yet. It wouldn't have crossed his mind. But she felt a great urge to get under his skin, to annoy him a little as he had annoyed her. Which was really crazy, Miss Brown would have said, considering her position, which Liza did not. She was too busy shooting him a quick sideways glance so as not to miss any possible reactions.
She had not long to wait. "Delightful," he taunted her with his eyes. "You're very bright, Miss Lawson. You aren't by any chance trying to take the wind out of my sails?"
Guiltily her lashes fluttered downwards. "Most certainly not, Mr. Redford," she said primly.
"No—" The light eyes flashed over her sceptically as he pulled out a chair, whipped it around, straddled across it, arms folded along the back of it, and surveyed her grimly. "So—I didn't have time to go into the domestic side of my uncle's affairs, although it did occur to me that as he wasn't married he might have a housekeeper. Nor is it surprising that he provided his housekeeper's daughter with a job in his office. It has been known to happen before. Now is there anything else you wish to enlighten me about before we get down to business?"
Hating him, Liza shook her head. It wouldn't be easy to get the better of this man—he was too wily by far. But she still had at least one card up her sleeve which he didn't know about, only there might be a better time to play it than this. "Nothing more, Mr. Redford," she murmured, picking up her pad. "Do you intend to use your uncle's office?" She didn't know if he'd got as far on his previous visit, and waited politely for his reply. Not for her to risk a snub by offering to show him through.
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