by Penny Jordan
'Oh, well then, let me give you the dates we'll be at the cottage,' Ellen Townsend said more practically. 'Simon told me that he'd be making all the arrangements for your travel. Your grandmother and I are delighted that you'll be spending the entire month with us… I just hope you aren't going to find it too remote. It's several kilometres from the nearest town, right in the heart of the country. I was a bit worried that you and Simon might be bored—both of you seem to live such hectic lives in London, but he assured me that you'll both enjoy the rest. Engagements can be such a trying time. I remember ours… But I mustn't keep you. I'll look forward to seeing you in France, Jenna…'
She had another frantically busy morning at work, not made any easier by the fact that her boss phoned just as she was about to take her lunch hour, asking her to call round at the flat he was working on to bring him some colour samples he had left behind.
The flat was in Knightsbridge, and rather than walk she got a taxi. The fabric sample books Rick had asked for were heavy, and she didn't feel like carting them through the busy London streets.
This particular commission had come to them through the good offices of another client. The flat belonged to an American businessman who required a pied-â-terre in London.
The flat was at the top of a small, but very prestigious block, and this would be the first time Jenna had seen it. She often accompanied Rick in the early stages of a new commission, following him round and taking notes on his initial impressions, but this time their client had stressed that he wanted the work completed very quickly, and so there had been no time for Rick to make his usual leisurely scrutiny.
A doorman let her into the plate glass and marble foyer, when she had explained who she was, and directed her over to the lift.
Just as she was about to get into it a man sprinted across the foyer, obviously in something of a rush.
He smiled at Jenna when she held the lift for him, a flash of immaculate white teeth in a well-tanned face, his dark brown eyes a startling contrast to his wheat-blond hair.
American without doubt, Jenna decided after one discreet inspection. With those perfect teeth he couldn't possibly be anything else.
She saw him glance surreptitiously at the thin gold watch strapped to his wrist, and frown slightly as the lift started to rise.
He was standing close enough to her for her to be immediately aware of the fact that he wasn't as tall as Simon, and probably a little more thickset. Possibly seven or eight years older as well, but still a very attractive man. She had always had a weakness for blonds. She grinned a little to herself at her thoughts, and pondered the identity of that exceptionally clever woman who had first put it into the male mind that it was men who did the pursuing. Not that she had ever run after any man—but possibly only because she had not yet met one who tempted her to do so, she thought wryly. Nor did she feel she was likely to, at the grand old age of twenty-four, almost twenty-five.
Even so, this good-looking American… She glanced at him briefly, wondering if he had any hang ups about twenty-four-year-old virgins, and then the lift stopped abruptly. So abruptly that she was flung forward slightly.
He caught her, restoring her to her balance with gentlemanly concern.
Her face pink with mortification, Jenna stammered her thanks. The lift doors swished open and Rick was standing there, a frown on his face.
It cleared as he saw her.
'Ah, Jenna! Marvellous! Hello, Grant. Let me introduce you to my secretary, Jenna Armstrong. Jenna, meet our new client, Grant Freeman.'
So she had been right. He was an American.
Jenna remained discreetly in the background as the two men discussed the décor of the flat. Since Rick hadn't dismissed her, she guessed that he must want her to stay.
'I'd like to suggest lunch,' Grant Freeman announced with another frowning glance at his watch, 'but I'm afraid I just don't have time. What about dinner tonight? We can go through your suggestions for the décor more thoroughly then…'
'I'm afraid I can't make it,' Rick apologised. 'I already have an engagement this evening.'
'And I fly back to the States first thing in the morning. I know—' He turned to look at Jenna.
'—Why don't I take your assistant to dinner, and she can put me in the picture…'
Jenna felt acutely self-conscious with both men studying her. She could sense Rick's surprise, and then his shrewd, comprehending glance swept her and he said easily, 'Yes, of course… I'll brief her beforehand, and she'll have all the information you need.'
'Great. I'll pick you up at eight, Jenna…'
She gave him her address, thoroughly bemused by the unexpected turn of events, and then he was gone, promising Rick that he would ring him from New York to advise him of the timing of his next visit.
For a few moments after he had gone there was silence, and then raising his eyebrows slightly, Rick commented, 'You seem to have made a hit there, Jenna.'
'He's only taking me to dinner so that he can discuss the décor of this place.'
Rick's eyebrows lifted.
'My dear girl,' he drawled softly, 'if you believe that, you'll believe that there are fairies at the bottom of the garden. He doesn't give a damn about the décor of this place. He's already virtually given me carte blanche. All he came here for today was to tell me that he wanted to take possession at the beginning of October.'
Jenna didn't try to argue. After all, it was very flattering to be asked out to dinner by such an attractive man.
Grant was picking her up at eight o'clock, and she was ready at five to. Dinner, he had said, and she had dressed accordingly in a silk wrap dress in a shade of blue that made a vivid contrast to her hair.
The evening was warm enough for her not to need a coat, and the fact that Grant arrived promptly on the dot of eight added to her good opinion of him.
He was driving a very solid and expensive-looking Mercedes, which he told her he had hired for the duration of his stay. He was staying at the Connaught, he told her, and Jenna was duly impressed.
She felt a small flare of unease when he told her that they would be dining there, but just because they were dining at his hotel, that did not necessarily mean that he was anticipating taking her up to his room immediately thereafter.
Even so, Jenna subjected him to a discreet but thoughtful scrutiny as he drove towards the Connaught, wondering if she was imagining that slightly self-indulgent and wilful curve to his mouth.
Well, he was a rich man, and like all rich men he no doubt thought his money entitled him to having whatever he wanted from life whenever he wanted it.
If the need should arise, she would simply have to discreetly but firmly disabuse him of the idea that she was sexually available.
The dining-room of the Connaught was busy, but they were shown to a table immediately. The head waiter arrived with menus, and Jenna declined Grant's offer of a pre-dinner drink. She noticed that he opted for a martini, giving the wine waiter explicit instructions as to how he wanted it made.
'I think today must have been my lucky day,' he commented when they were alone. 'It isn't often I get to ride in a lift with such a beautiful woman.'
Although privately Jenna considered that his flattery was a little heavy-handed, she smiled non-committally, wondering why she should suddenly picture Simon's mocking smile! What was wrong with her? She had accepted his invitation willingly enough. Yes, but now she was not so sure that that had been wise. There was a look in his eyes she mistrusted. Simon—forget Simon, she chastised herself quickly. She doubted that he was thinking about her. She had half expected him to ring her following his mother's telephone call, but obviously he had not deemed it necessary, and that had irritated her. Who did he think he was? Calmly taking over her life, telling her that they were engaged, committing her to a holiday she did not want, and to a relationship she most certainly did not want…
'What did I say?' Grant demanded, breaking into her thoughts. 'You're looking very fierce.'
>
It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she was thinking about her fiancé, just to see what his reaction would be, but she stopped herself, wondering why it was she had felt the need to invoke Simon's name and his imaginary status in her life. After all, she had accepted Grant's invitation to dinner quite freely, hadn't she? If she was now having second thoughts…
She was, although they sprang more from instinct than any real reason he had given her to think that he was expecting her to pay for what would be a very expensive dinner by going to bed with him.
If she had had such doubts, she ought never to have accepted his invitation, she told herself crossly, and then immediately remembered that their dinner did have another purpose, and fished in her bag for the notes she had made on Rick's plans for the décor of the flat.
Although Grant expressed an interest, it was very lukewarm. He seemed determined to turn the conversation on to more personal lines.
Jenna was barely aware of what she had ordered to eat, and perversely she blamed Simon for the situation she was in. If it hadn't been for him, she would never have relaxed her rule about dating men she didn't really know.
Already she was anticipating that the evening would end in the kind of scene she most disliked, and Rick wouldn't be too pleased with her either…perhaps it was just as well she was going on holiday for a month!
Their first course had been served and removed, and she had barely touched hers. The second arrived, and as Jenna took her first mouthful she lifted her head, alerted by some sixth sense she seemed to have developed, and found herself staring right into Simon's eyes.
He was sitting three yards away, directly facing her. His companions, another man and two women, were not familiar to Jenna.
'Is something wrong?'
Grant reached across the table, placing his hand on her arm, concern etching a frown across his forehead.
'No—that is—I feel sick…' she lied, seizing on the excuse he had unwittingly given her. And it wasn't entirely untrue. She did feel sick, and more sick by the minute, because Simon was walking towards them, quite plainly intent on speaking to her.
'Hello, darling, what a surprise!'
His hand on her shoulder pressed her into her seat, as his mouth grazed her forehead, his casual greeting completely throwing her.
Across the table Jenna could see Grant's confused anger. Simon straightened up and extended his hand to the other man.
'Simon Townsend,' he introduced himself. 'And you must be Grant Freeman. Jenna told me that she had a business dinner this evening, but I had no idea you would be dining here…'
Jenna could feel herself gaping. She had told him no such thing… How on earth…?
'Look, when you've finished eating, why don't you join us? I'm here with some colleagues. We've been discussing a particularly difficult case we're all involved in, and I must say I would welcome my fiancée's company…'
Jenna could almost feel Grant's shock.
She felt Simon take hold of her left hand and lift it towards his lips.
'I really must get you a ring, darling. Call it chauvinistic of me if you will, to want to decorate you with my badge of possession, but I'm afraid the male sex is like that. Wouldn't you agree, Grant?'
He left, having released Jenna's hand and kissed her fingertips lightly, returning to his own table.
'I didn't realise you were engaged.'
Grant was all stiff distance, and Jenna knew that she ought to be grateful to Simon for getting her out of a potentially embarrassing situation, but all she could do was to sit there and seethe. How dared he claim her as his fiancée in front of someone else! How dared he calmly announce that they were engaged, when for all he knew she might have wanted to go to bed with Grant!
In an attempt to salvage something of the evening, Jenna returned to the notes Rick had given her, and this time Grant did not try to turn the conversation into more personal channels.
Jenna suspected that both of them were relieved when the meal was finally over. She refused Grant's offer of a liqueur, and when he stood up and excused himself, explaining that he had an early flight in the morning, she stood up with him, fully intending to leave the hotel without any further contact with Simon.
She had reckoned without his sharp eyes. The moment she stood up he was at her side, his hand on her arm giving her no option but to follow him across to where his companions still sat at their table.
On the way over she hissed furiously at him, 'Quite a coincidence, you dining here tonight of all nights.'
'No coincidence, Jenna. When I rang your office and they told me you had left early because you were dining with a client, it didn't take long to work out that since said client was staying here he would give you dinner in the hotel restaurant. So much more convenient for his bedroom…'
She stiffened beneath the grip of his fingers, her eyes glittering with fury.
'How dare you suggest that Grant wanted…'
'To take you to bed? Of course he did.' Simon seemed more amused than annoyed. 'I must say I felt quite sorry for him when he realised that someone else had a prior claim. And after he'd bought you that expensive meal as well… '
'If you knew what he wanted, why did you come over? I'm not your property, Simon. You had no right to interfere…'
'You mean that rather sickly smile you had pinned to your face wasn't because you'd just realised what you'd got yourself into?' he mocked.
Jenna could have hit him, but wisely she refrained.
'All right, Mr Know-it-all! But I don't want to join your friends, Simon. I'm going home.'
'Not yet, you're not…'
He wouldn't let go of her, propelling her relentlessly towards the table.
A waiter brought up another chair. Drinks and coffee were ordered, and Jenna either had to sit down or look an absolute idiot by walking away.
Simon's fellow diners were another barrister and his wife, and a solicitor with whom Simon had recently been working on a case.
All three of them made her feel very welcome, and to her relief Simon introduced her as an old family friend.
She might actually have been able to enjoy herself if Simon hadn't taken advantage of the diversion created by the others' animated conversation to whisper in her ear, 'There, aren't you enjoying this much more than going to bed with your American friend?'
She ached to repudiate his mocking comment, but in all honesty knew she could not. Even so, his superiority, the way he was mocking her, the way he dared to interfere in her life, were all insupportable, and she wanted to show him as much. Since she could hardly simply get up and walk away, she did the next best thing, manoeuvring her glass so that its entire contents spilt into her lap.
It soaked straight through the silk, spreading into a huge stain.
Jenna sprang up immediately, refusing the gentlemanly offers of clean handkerchiefs to mop it up, and the waiter's solicitous concern.
'No, please, it's my own fault for being so clumsy. Simon will confirm that it's always been a fault of mine. I think I'd better go straight home, before I do any more damage… '
'Luckily it's only white wine,' the other women commiserated.
'Yes,' Simon agreed in a murmur against her ear. 'What would you have done if there had only been red?'
To her shock she then heard him saying, 'Please excuse me, everyone. I'd better see this careless young lady home, and make sure she doesn't throw herself under the wheels of a taxi… '
General laughter greeted his remark, and no one made any attempt to delay him.
'I don't need you to come with me,' Jenna muttered furiously.
'My dear, I'm your fiancé. Think how bad it would look if I left you to go home on your own. Think what my mother would say—not to mention your grandmother.'
Jenna ground her teeth. 'We are not engaged!'
But they were standing in the foyer—and Simon was saying something to the doorman. Before she could pull away from him someone had brought round hi
s Aston Martin.
'In you get,' he instructed her, giving her a small push.
She loathed domineering men, Jenna decided as she was forced to get into the car. Loathed and hated them… When she married, it would be to a man who respected her views, who treated her as an equal, respected her intellect… Why was it, then, that this paragon should suddenly emerge through the channels of her imagination as a bespectacled, weedy-looking character, with a hang-dog expression?
Conditioning, she told herself wrathfully, that's what it was. All her life she had… all her life… She foundered helplessly in a confusing morass of thoughts as her imagination tormented her with another mental picture, this time of Simon. Of course he was not her ideal of all that a man should be. How could he be? She hated him! Loathed him!
'OK, out you get!'
They were parked outside the small Chelsea mews house where Simon lived. She stared at the door bemusedly.
'I thought you were taking me home… '
'I shall later, when I've got you dried out, and you and I have got one or two things straight.'
Suspicion straightened her spine. 'Such as?'
'Inside,' Simon told her. 'There isn't enough room in here for me to avoid you if you take it into your head to throw things at me, Red.'
'Red'—that did it. The sound of that mocking, youthful taunt on his lips sent her into an immediate fury. She was out of the car and accompanying him up the steps to his front door before she realised what was happening.
No one called her 'Red'! She hated it. Just as she hated all those unjust accusations about the mercurial state of her temper.
'Working up a good head of steam, are you?' Simon approved, as he opened the door. 'That's my girl. Keep it up and you'll be all dried out in no time.'
She ached to hit him. No, not hit him—to throw something, something expensive and noisy. Yes, that was what she needed. She looked round the small sitting-room of Simon's house, and her eye lighted on a very pretty pair of china ornaments. They were antique and far too expensive and delightful to break, she decided regretfully.
'Why don't you go upstairs and take off your dress? I'll find you something to wear while it dries.'