What if he did that now? What if he went back to his desk and did not give up until he found her? Would she even want to see him again? And if not, could he persuade her?
He contemplated the prospect. His mouth curled with sheer delight at the picture it conjured up. Could he?
An hour later he was quietly furious.
‘You have not even tried,’ he said to Fernando.
‘I found the brother-in-law,’ said the assistant defensively. ‘I even sent him a fax.’
‘And look—’ Philip gestured at the file. ‘He’s up-country, watching gorillas. Your fax will either go straight into a waste-paper basket somewhere. Or it will take months to reach him. You didn’t think.’
‘It’s not my job to keep track of your girlfriends,’ Fernando muttered.
Philip stiffened. ‘No,’ he said evenly. ‘You’re right. It isn’t. But if you objected you should have said so. If you didn’t you should have shown more initiative. Now get out.’
Fernando did. He was shaken. Philip had never turned his famous displeasure on him before. Fernando felt as if he had been dunked in the Arctic. And all for a girl he had not even known Philip was interested in!
What, thought Fernando, would Soralaya say about that?
It was a long time since Philip had done his own research. He found he soon got back into the swing of it. You go down one line of enquiry, he thought, and when that ran out you went down another. You just had to keep checking back with the first line of results all the time.
If he couldn’t get in touch with the brother-in-law he would see if he could find the sister. She had not been helpful at Coral Cove but at least she wasn’t sitting in the jungle, watching primates with her husband. He found the expedition’s personnel lists on the internet.
An hour later he sat back, looking thoughtful. So Countess Lisa Ivanov was Lisa Romaine, newly appointed global bond strategist. Now, was he going to call her, out of the blue, and ask her for Kit’s address again? Or was he going to go to work in a more roundabout way?
It just depended what his contacts in the banking world could come up with. He smiled and picked up the phone.
‘Soralaya? Good to hear you. Look, I need a favour. Who do you know in London?’
Kit always enjoyed herself at Henderson’s book shop. It was a crowded, lively place, with every corner and table piled with books, rare and popular, new and secondhand. The shelving system was of the roughest, because books came and went so fast through Alan Henderson’s hands. But all the assistants knew exactly where to find any book.
Kit, as they often told her, was the only temporary member of staff they had ever had who managed to do the same.
‘How’s the self-improvement programme?’ Alan asked when she reported for work the first Monday morning.
‘I’m doing south-east Asian birds at the moment,’ said Kit.
She did not wholly want to forget Coral Cove, she found, even though she did not want to talk about it. So she had a project to identify some of the birds she had seen there. Some of the other birds. The ones her compulsive labeller had not given her the names of already.
Alan raised his eyebrows. ‘Inspired by the brother-in-law, eh? So you’ll be going to the Rainforest Ball, of course?’
Kit was alarmed. ‘Hey, I’m just reading a few books. I’ve not joined the charity set yet.’
Alan grinned. ‘If you don’t support it there’ll be no rainforest left in a hundred years. You’d better come as my partner.’
Kit was indignant. ‘That’s moral blackmail.’
‘Yup,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It’s on the last Saturday you’re with us this time. It can be your farewell present.’
She glowered. But between her new confidence, her new clothes and her tango lessons, she gave in eventually. She was even quite excited by the idea, although she did not say so.
‘Say, thank you very much, Alan, I’d love to come with you, you’ve swept me off my feet,’ said Alan, bubbling over.
‘You couldn’t sweep me off my feet with a supermarket trolley,’ said Kit frankly.
Alan was a seventy-year-old faun who came up to her shoulder. He laughed and agreed.
None of that made any difference. Tatiana announced that it was absolutely essential that Kit have a full-length ball dress.
‘Isn’t that a bit old-fashioned?’ said Kit. She did not know much about charity balls but she was no fool.
‘Alan Henderson is old-fashioned,’ said Tatiana superbly. ‘We will look at the weekend.’
Kit puffed but in the end she agreed. Secretly she was rather excited about having a ball dress. The only time she had really dressed up in living memory was when she had worn Tatiana’s borrowed finery at Coral Cove. It would be nice to see how she could look if she set about the enterprise properly. Within a reasonable budget, of course.
So on Sunday Tatiana took her on a tour of her favourite thrift shops.
It was not a success. Tatiana liked to flit from shop to shop; to go back to one and try a scarf or a handbag she had seen in one with a skirt she had seen in another. Given her choice, she would have had Kit in and out of outfits like a Barbie doll. Kit was beginning to wonder whether she should just march Tatiana home and start off again on her own, when a flash of iridescent blue in a tumble of black skirts caught her eye.
‘What’s that?’
‘Not blue,’ said Tatiana categorically. ‘Blondes always think they can wear blue and they can’t.’
But Kit was not taking any notice. She was scrabbling through the pile of creased stuff with the first enthusiasm she had shown all day.
When she pulled it out it was ragged, a black sateen underdress with a sweep of butterfly beading in purple and lilac; lapis lazuli, aquamarine and jade; all stitched onto net that was so flimsy it was falling apart.
‘Oh, it’s in holes,’ Kit said, disappointed.
But Tatiana pushed her out of the way.
‘That can be fixed. You have a better eye than I thought,’ she said. She held it up against Kit, her lips pursed. ‘Ye-es. Dramatic. You’re coming out of your shell, aren’t you? We’ll take it.’
Kit’s doubts were reinforced by the nice volunteer who was manning the till. The woman looked so dubious when Tatiana waved the dress at her that Kit muttered in her ear, ‘Leave it. It was a nice idea. But the thing is falling apart.’
Tatiana chose not to hear.
‘All right,’ said Kit on the way home. ‘We’ve got a dress for the price of a packet of dusters. That’s good. Only I won’t be able to wear it. It’s so old, it’s indecent. So I’ll have to go looking for something else next week. I can’t go before my driving test on Tuesday and the dance is on Saturday.’ Her voice began to climb in panic.
Tatiana was unimpressed. ‘There’s a lot of work to do, that’s all. I am going to introduce you to the crochet hook.’
She did. In the end Kit was so fascinated by the intricate knotting and stitching that the dress required that she actually began to enjoy it. For the first time she put on a dress and actually wanted to look at it in the mirror. By Saturday it was a work of art. And she had passed her driving test too.
‘Licensed to drive. Licensed to knock ’em dead,’ said Kit, turning this way and that in front of her Dracula mirror.
What would Philip Hardesty have said to this? Not, Let my colleague escort you back to your cottage, you poor, sensitive little shrimp, that’s for certain, thought Kit, baring her teeth at her reflection.
‘No jewellery, said Tatiana, surveying her professionally. ‘That dress is all the jewellery you need. But you will need to do something with your hair. Will you let me put it up?’
Kit was too enchanted with herself to demur. She preened. The dress was the simplest possible shape, sleeveless and low-necked. Yet somehow the glittering colours made it look as if her body was impossibly slim and lithe under it, as graceful as a dragonfly.
Or an Asian fairy bluebird, thought Kit, stroking the cobalt ir
idescence with gentle fingers. She had not told Tatiana why she had seized upon the dress. That was still her secret, along with Philip Hardesty.
But when she looked at herself in the mirror before Alan arrived to collect her she found herself wishing with all her heart that Philip could see her like this. With her corn-gold hair looped into a series of soft and complicated swirls and her lips painted an enticing cerise, she looked like an exotic creature. Not any longer the naïve idiot he had encountered on Coral Cove. Would he be able to resist her now?
Well, she was never going to find out. Kit told herself she was glad she was not going to. But Alan’s reaction was nevertheless balm to the soul.
‘Wow,’ he said reverently. ‘I’m going to be with the hottest babe at the party.’
And Kit, who winced and blushed and fled when anyone paid her a compliment on her looks, laughed with delight.
‘I’m beginning to know how Cinderella felt,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
Philip nearly didn’t go to the ball. He had only arrived in London the day before and he had to go down to his country house the next day. There were things that he had put off too long, that had to be done before he could turn his attention to the hunt for the unicorn.
He rented a car for the next day and then tried all the contacts he had thought would help him find Kit. He drew a blank. Lisa Romaine was travelling, probably somewhere in Switzerland. Nobody knew her sister.
He did not even know which telephone book to scan. After all, there was no evidence that she lived in London. His Kit did not feel like a city swinger. He gave a tender smile but it soon died.
He had flung himself back on the bed in the luxury hotel room he hardly noticed, hands behind his head. Then one of the friends of friends of friends rang back.
‘Look, Sir Philip, there’s the Rainforest Ball tonight. The Ivanovs are great supporters. They would be there if they were in London. Anyway, lots of people who know them really well will certainly come. Maybe someone will know an address for the sister-in-law. We’ve taken a table. You could join our party, if you liked.’
Philip’s heart sank. He did his share of charity dances and private views in New York and they were not his idea of a good time. But the man was so transparently trying to be helpful. And Philip was fresh out of other ideas.
So in the end he said ‘Yes’ and looked forward gloomily to a boring evening.
First of all, to his annoyance, he had to hire a dinner jacket. He had not brought his own. It had not occurred to him that he would need it. Anyway, he had packed so fast when he decided to go to London to look for her that he had brought the bare minimum. It would be lucky if the dinner jacket was the only thing he had to supply himself with, thought Philip ironically.
He did not recognise himself in this impulsive man. Normally he planned to a fault. Whenever he travelled he had a comprehensive list of every last thing he had ever needed. Yet here he was in the most expensive hotel in London with one carry-on case.
His mouth lifted in a wry smile. Living for today was obviously going to be more of a challenge than he had bargained for.
At first the dance fulfilled all his bleakest expectations. The bankers were pleasant but he did not know any of them. They welcomed him but they did not know what to talk to him about and ended up asking him about his work. Philip began to feel he was back on duty.
And then he looked up. And saw her.
Saw her.
He went cold.
It had never occurred to him that Kit would be here. It was the last place he would have expected to see her, his shy unicorn girl. He thought of her alone and free. In his imagination she ran through forest paths. Or played unselfconsciously in the water.
She did not dance, laughing, in the middle of a jewelled and artificial crowd. Philip could not take his eyes off her. Nor could half the other men in the room. He had not bargained on that either.
She looked—different. Exotic, somehow. Still vivid with life and pleasure but with a secret there. Surely the secret was new, he thought. There had not been that reserve in her eyes when he held her in his arms on Coral Cove.
His body stirred at the memory.
She was dancing as unselfconsciously as she swam. Under the gleaming dress her body was never still. She was supple as water. Philip felt sweat break out on the back of his neck.
She was laughing at something her partner was saying. And yet there was something about her that looked so alone. Alone and heartbreakingly sexy.
Hardly knowing that he was moving, Philip got to his feet.
‘Thank you,’ said his neighbour, misunderstanding. ‘I’d love to dance.’
Philip jumped and looked down. She gave him a polite smile and stood up. She was so plainly doing her duty that he laughed in spite of himself. He held out his hand.
‘Excellent. Maybe you can very kindly tell me who all these people are.’
‘I don’t know many,’ she demurred.
But it turned out that she knew the older man who was making Kit laugh so uninhibitedly.
‘Alan Henderson. Owns one of the best independent book shops in London. Don’t know the girl. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ said Philip proudly.
When their dance was over he went out to the lobby and scanned the seating plan. Kit was sitting at a publishers’ table. It looked as if she had come with Mr Henderson.
Well, that was all right, Philip told himself. She loved books. She had even wanted to be a librarian, for heaven’s sake. Maybe this was professional networking, though it did not seem like her. But she could not be interested in Alan Henderson in any other way, of course.
She could not be interested in any other man. Of course she could not. She was his.
He began to prowl the rooms restlessly, seeking her.
Kit would not have believed that a big formal dance like this could be so much fun. Everyone had been so nice to her. The women had admired her dress, envied her hair aloud. The men had plied her with champagne and queued up to dance with her. She was on top of the world.
In fact, she should be perfectly happy. She would have been perfectly happy. If only she could stop thinking about Coral Cove and the tropical night when Philip Hardesty had not admired any damn thing about her at all. He couldn’t have done. Or he would not have found it so easy to leave her.
And then the voice from her dreams said roughly in her ear, ‘Come and dance with me.’
Kit froze. Then she swung round, staring.
He was here.
He was here.
He put his hands on her bare arms and it was like walking into a force field. She gasped.
‘You look wonderful.’ He didn’t sound pleased about it for some reason.
Kit found her voice. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for you.’
‘What?’
He did not answer. ‘Dance with me,’ he said again.
It was heaven to see him.
No, it wasn’t, it was terrifying. He looked so distinguished in his formal black clothes, with his crisp shirt gleaming and his black tie in an expert bow. Not only distinguished but effortlessly in command. He was at home among these sorts of people. He had probably been tying bow ties since he was six. He must be able to see instantly that she did not belong here in her ragbag dress.
She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I don’t dance.’
‘Yes, you do. I’ve seen you. Not very good for my blood pressure, either.’
‘Oh, with Alan!’
The dark eyes lifted at her tone. ‘Alan doesn’t count?’
Kit flushed. ‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’
But there was a look of quiet triumph about Philip. ‘Alan doesn’t count,’ he said, nodding with satisfaction. ‘So you can risk being in his arms but not in mine.’
It was not a question. Kit flushed harder.
‘Dance with me, Kit,’ he said softly.
Against all
her resolutions—against all of her instincts but one—she did.
When they got onto the dance floor the band had switched to the slow, smoochy stuff. Help, thought Kit.
Philip put his arms round her and drew her close. But not too close. They kept time to the whispering music, moving as if they were in a dream. He held her loosely, his cheek against her hair.
Kit thought, He wants me now because he’s got some free time on his hands. It’s convenient. If only he wanted me when it wasn’t convenient.
She thought her heart would break.
Which was crazy. Because Philip Hardesty was nothing to do with her and never would be. Never could be.
As if to turn all her certainties on her head, he murmured into her hair, ‘Do you know how hard you are to find?’
Kit swallowed. There was no answer to that. Or not one that she wanted to risk.
He held her a little away from him and looked down at her. ‘Didn’t you wonder why I hadn’t been in touch?’
‘No,’ said Kit, lying hard.
‘I knew so little about you. I didn’t know where to start. And then the only links I had to you, your family, had to take off round the world.’
‘You’ve been in touch with Lisa?’ said Kit with foreboding. After her sister had fallen out with her husband in order to protect Kit’s privacy! How would she take that? And what on earth would Kit say when Lisa phoned, demanding an explanation? As she inevitably would.
He shook his head. ‘Not since she first refused to tell me how to get in touch with you on Coral Cove. She moves too fast. Every time I thought I’d caught up with her she’d moved on. It was very frustrating.’
Kit pulled herself together. ‘She wouldn’t have told you anything anyway. She would have got in touch with me first. And I would have said—’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d have said, tell him nothing,’ announced Kit firmly. She was trying to convince herself as much as him. Maybe more.
He pulled her back into his arms with a soft laugh. ‘Sure you would.’
She leaned back against his arm, looking up at him through narrowed eyes. They were jade in the artificial lights glinting up from her dress.
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