by Penny Jordan
‘We’re here,’ Simon told her unnecessarily, as he shook her awake. ‘Here’ was obviously the underground carpark to his apartment, and Christy was glad of the lack of proper daylight to hide her flushed confusion from him. How could she have fallen asleep, and leaning on Simon’s shoulder too, to judge from the angle at which she was sitting.
‘I’ll take the bags,’ Simon told her, unlocking the boot. ‘Come on,’ he added once he had got them, ‘it’s this way.’
A lift bore them upwards, the atmosphere inside it thick with tension and a certain amount of hostility. Gone was the man she had come to want as a friend and lover while they had been in the Caribbean. This man who stood in his place was the one she had shrunk from and loathed the thought of seeing again the summer she was eighteen and during the intervening six years. Perhaps it was England that had that effect on him, Christy thought acidly, as the lift stopped and Simon gestured to her to precede him. Or perhaps it was just her. It hurt to think that someone else had shared that softer, almost tender side of him while she had been shown the cold face of his hostile indifference.
They were in a small bare foyer. Simon put down their bags and unearthed a key from his pocket, fitting it in the lock.
‘The front entrance operates on a security system,’ he told her briefly as they walked inside. ‘Later I’ll familiarise you with it.’ He looked at his watch. It was just gone ten o’clock in the morning and they had been travelling most of the night. Waves of weariness beat down on Christy. All she really wanted to do was to go to sleep.
‘This way.’
Christy followed Simon from the hall into a large elegantly furnished drawing room. The apartment must be huge, she reflected studying the acres of impossibly pale cream carpet and the smooth masculinity of the matching leather furniture. Paintings on the walls provided the odd touch of colour, together with several silk cushions and the heavy, rich velvet curtains. A man’s room, uncluttered without being too cold.
‘Dining room,’ Simon intoned, opening another door so that she had a brief glimpse of a startlingly Oriental room in rich reds and black. ‘Kitchen’s on the other side of it—you’ll find that’s mainly Mrs Pargetter’s domain. She must be out shopping now. I telephoned to warn her to expect us.’ He indicated another door and pushed it open so that she could see the book-shelf lined walls and the huge desk. ‘My study…that’s where we’ll be working. Unfortunately large though the apartment is it doesn’t enable me to provide you with your own room.’
He took her back across the drawing room and opened another door into an inner hallway. ‘Two bedrooms,’ he told her, ‘each with its own bathroom. Mrs Pargetter’s is on the other side of the kitchen, together with her sitting room. This room’s mine.’ He indicated the first door without opening it, ‘and this one will be yours.’ He pushed open the door and Christy followed him inside. The room was large, the double bed surrounded by elegant fitted furniture. The colour scheme was predominantly peach without being over-feminine. ‘Bathroom over there,’ Simon told her indicating yet another door. ‘I’ll bring in your bags and then leave you to get settled. If you feel like having a sleep by all means do so, I shan’t need you now until tomorrow.’
‘And you?’ Christy questioned, suddenly paralysingly shy. Here, back in London he was like a different man almost. ‘Will you sleep?’
His expression was sardonic. ‘I doubt it. You forget I’m more used to the long flight than you. I find it difficult to sleep during the day anyway. I’ve got some notes I want to work on—there’ll be post to catch up on, and then I want to check that the crate’s delivered properly. So you see,’ his voice was tautly mocking, ‘you need not fear that I’m likely to disturb your chaste slumbers. I’ll be far too busy.’
Her cheeks stung at the deliberate cruelty of the jibe and Christy turned her face away. ‘It never occurred to me that you might,’ she said with quiet dignity, unaware of his quick frown, or the way he moved fractionally towards her, only to draw back.
‘I’ll leave you to sleep then.’
‘Your apartment is very pleasant.’ Heavens how stilted she sounded and yet she was so reluctant for him to go away; even to the extent of making polite conversation simply to keep him there. If only life could be more simple; if she could just say to him, ‘I love you and I want you to stay with me. I want to go to sleep in your arms, my body satiated by your lovemaking,’ but of course to say anything of the kind was completely impossible.
‘I bought it from the previous owner with everything included. He was an interior designer.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Some of the decor—in the dining room for instance—is not exactly to my taste, but as a temporary abode it isn’t too bad.’
Temporary? Christy’s heart started to knock heavily against her ribs. Was he planning to leave Britain then? Live in America perhaps. Or make his home on St Paul’s? She could hardly ask him, and it was an indication of the intensity of her feelings that she should experience such a deep sensation of loss simply at the thought of him living in another country.
Fool she derided herself as he left and she wandered into her luxuriously appointed bathroom. Tired though she was she could not go to bed without first showering away the grime of the journey.
She showered apathetically, the warm sting of the water doing nothing to revive her, and it was only as she was drying herself that she remembered that she had nothing to wear. Shrugging she wrapped herself in a dry towel. She would find a nightdress when Simon brought her bags, for now she felt so tired that all she wanted to do was to lie down.
She walked into the bedroom and discovered that her cases were already there, but it was too much of an effort to bother opening them. Without even stopping to pull back the covers she lay face down on the bed still wrapped in the protective towel, knowing that she would be asleep within seconds.
She didn’t even hear the door open and was completely oblivious to Simon’s presence as he hesitated beside her, a mug of coffee in one hand and a deep frown creasing his forehead as he stared down at her. At last with an almost angry sigh, he unwrapped the damp towel from her body, pulling down the bedclothes and gently easing her beneath them. She moved only once, when his hand accidentally grazed the side of her breast, a half smile parting her lips, a small sound of pleasure murmuring from them. Slowly Simon straightened up and stared down at her, his frown deeper, a derisive smile twisting his lips as he studied her for a moment before turning and walking out.
When Christy awoke it was late afternoon. She stretched indolently, tensing when she suddenly realised that she was naked and that moreover she was lying beneath the sheets when before she had been lying on top. Who had put her there, not Mrs Pargetter surely? Her skin flushed at the thought of Simon seeing and touching her, and yet it was not resentment or anger that brought the soft colour up under her flesh.
Up and dressed she wandered aimlessly round the apartment for half an hour before deciding to go out. Pulling on a jacket she hurried down to the main foyer, explaining to the commissionaire who she was.
‘That’s all right, Miss,’ he told her reassuringly. ‘Mr Jardine’s already told me about you.’
Once outside she shivered slightly in the cool June breeze. London felt unmistakably chilly after the Caribbean. She would need some warmer clothes if she was to stay here for very long. Which reminded her that she would have to ‘phone her mother. Knightsbridge itself was busy, thronged with shoppers and tourists, but she managed to find a small bookshop where she was able to purchase a couple of magazines and a light novel to read.
She had no idea what time Simon would return, or indeed how she would be expected to spend the evening. Simon could well have a date. A knife-sharp pain twisted her heart, but it was something she had to force herself to face, she decided as she re-traced her steps in the direction of his apartment.
‘Christy!’
For a moment the sound of her own name startled her. She stopped and looked round, a smile breaking out
across her face as she recognised Miles hurrying towards her.
‘Christy…what on earth are you doing here? Your mother told me you were in the Caribbean working for Simon Jardine.’
‘I was…I am…’ Christy responded breathlessly, returning his briefly casual kiss. ‘That is I am working for Simon and we were in the Caribbean but now we’re back.’
‘So I see. I’ve just driven your mother to the airport.’
When he saw her surprise he told her, ‘Jeremy persuaded her to go with him to America to talk about a new deal for her books. Look, what are you doing tonight?’ he asked her. ‘Can you manage dinner?’
‘Well, I don’t know… . I’m not sure what Simon’s got planned—if he wants me to work,’ she amended. ‘He’s out at the moment and as I was at a loose end I decided to come out and get myself something to read. How are you?’ she asked belatedly, ‘I hear your book’s doing very well.’
‘No little thanks to my extremely able assistant,’ Miles agreed with a wry smile. ‘I’m fine—if somewhat disillusioned by the side-effects of fame.’
Christy’s eyebrows rose, as she sensed the tension in him. ‘Problems?’ she enquired.
‘Of a kind. While I was on tour in Germany I became very friendly with a man I met over there—a very powerful personality in the German publishing field. The only problem is he’s got a daughter and said daughter seems to believe she’s fallen in love with me.’ Miles smile was extremely wry. ‘She’s barely nineteen and extremely persistent. She and her father are in London at the moment. I was supposed to be taking them out to dine tonight, but Daddy has cried off at the last minute and it seems that she and I are to dine a deux…’
‘Oh dear, poor you.’ Laughter sprang readily to Christy’s eyes, although she felt a small tug of sympathy for the German girl. She too knew what it was to fall madly in love with a man who was totally uninterested…Although that wasn’t completely true. Simon had been interested in her, if only in a purely sexual way.
‘I’d give anything to get out of it, but Jeremy is adamant that I mustn’t offend Daddy. When I saw you I was hoping you might be my salvation and that I could persuade you to join us.’
‘As what?’ Christy asked him bluntly.
‘As protection.’ He was equally honest. ‘Imogen’s a nice enough girl but I’m not in the market for marriage, Christy. Not now…not ever perhaps.’ His expression was faintly defensive as he added. ‘You know how it is with me, sex isn’t and never has been a driving force in my life. You must have guessed that when we were in India?’
Christy had, and she had been relieved to discover it, knowing that there would be no unwanted complications such as having to fend off his advances and risk offending him in doing so. They were good friends; she knew that Miles preferred the company of older women, and although they had never spoken of it she guessed he had a slightly ambivalent feeling towards her sex. However, that was his private affair, and she liked him enough to feel sorry for him because his almost too-perfect blond good looks were bound to draw her sex to him, and she guessed that as he grew more famous Imogen would not be the only female he would have to fight off.
‘When I saw you, I thought you could be the answer to all my prayers,’ he added with a grimace.
‘You mean a shield to use against Imogen? The faithful “girlfriend” perhaps?’
‘You’ve guessed it,’ he admitted. ‘I know we never discussed it when we were in India, but then there didn’t seem to be anyone particular in your life. If there still isn’t and if you could help me, I’d be extremely grateful to you, Christy.’
What if she agreed? It would help both of them. Simon already seemed to believe there was some sort of romantic attachment between them; if she agreed to pose as Miles’ ‘girlfriend’ she could reinforce that view. She doubted somehow that now they were back in London Simon would make any attempt to make love to her; she was safe enough from that point of view, but what about her own feelings; her own helpless sensation of needing to reach out and touch him? Could she control that? Wouldn’t giving herself the official status of being Miles’ girlfriend help her to keep her own feelings under control?
‘Christy?’
She pushed aside her thoughts and smiled into Miles’ anxious blue eyes. ‘Yes, of course I’ll help you,’ she told him. Who knew? she might even be doing Imogen a favour in preventing the younger girl from falling too deeply in love with Miles before it was too late.
‘And you’ll join us for dinner tonight?’
How could she refuse? Simon had said he wouldn’t want to start work until the morning. She could hardly see him objecting.
‘Yes.’
They arranged that Miles would pick her up from Simon’s apartment at eight, and then as she realised that she had nothing with her that was suitable to wear to go out to dinner, she excused herself, telling him that she would have to do some shopping.
She could hardly be living anywhere more convenient, or tempting, she reflected half an hour later, studying her reflection in the mirror as she tried on a particularly sensational Valentino outfit.
The rich blue silk shimmered seductively against her skin, the sleek outline of the dress hugging her slender figure, outlining the curves of her breasts and thighs. Buttons fastened the dress from top to bottom, tiny shoestring straps showing off her golden tan. A matching jacket went with it, and closing her mind against its extortionate price she produced her credit card, reflecting that it was just as well that Simon was paying her a good salary.
Shoes came next, and then some make-up since she had not taken more than the basic necessities to the Caribbean with her. Although supposedly all this expense was for the benefit of Miles and Imogen a tiny voice inside her whispered that it was Simon she wanted to see her dressed in the rich blue silk, looking remarkably like the wildly passionate gipsy girl he had once, derisively, called her.
The apartment was empty when she got back but she found a note in the kitchen from Mrs Pargetter saying that she had had to go to Kew to see her sister, who had apparently suffered a bad fall. ‘Fridge and freezer stocked,’ Christy read. ‘Back as soon as possible!’
She took her time getting ready, ears straining for the sound of Simon’s return, not wanting to admit her own disappointment when she was eventually ready and he had not come back. The dress looked more revealing in the privacy of her room than it had done in the shop. It also seemed to mould her body far more seductively than she had remembered, the rich blue fabric clinging to her body with every small movement she made. She had used slightly more theatrical make-up than usual—dark eyeshadow which brought into prominence the slanting wantonness of her eyes, blusher frosting her high cheekbones and her full mouth warmly pink.
The satin shoes she had found in Rayne’s were an excellent match for her dress, and as she sprayed herself lightly with the Joy which she had bought as a duty-free present from her mother, she wondered if Imogen would be impressed.
Simon had still not returned when Miles came to pick her up, his eyes widening fractionally as he studied her. She could sense his shock and wondered if she had gone a little over the top.
‘You look…stunning,’ he said at length, ‘I’ve never seen you looking like this before.’
Come to think of neither had she, Christy reflected, studying her reflection for a moment in the full-length wall mirror in the hallway. Tonight she looked every inch the wild gipsy girl Simon had once called her; even her eyes seemed to gleam with dangerous wantonness, her mouth provocatively full, her body slimly supple in its sheath of blue silk, unexpectedly unfamiliar to her, just as her whole reflection gave back the image of a woman with whom she was unfamiliar. She looked quite different and the knowledge shocked her, almost as though she had come face to face with a part of herself from which she had previously hidden.
They were a little late arriving at the hotel where Imogen and her father were staying. Miss von Trecht was waiting for them in the cocktail bar, a uniformed
waiter informed Miles.
All the sympathy Christy had been feeling towards the younger girl vanished when she came face to face with her. Only nineteen Imogen von Trecht might be, but there was no pretension to youth or innocence in the hard blue eyes and the sulky, over-painted mouth. The look she gave Christy was insulting in the extreme, her blonde head tilting towards Miles and she took his arm in a proprietorial gesture.
‘Ah yes,’ she said when Miles had introduced them. ‘You were Miles’ assistant in India, I believe.’
The way she said it made Christy feel as though she were a duchess talking about the lowest scullery maid, but she held on to her temper, and remembering her supposed role stood at the other side of Miles, her fingertips resting lightly on his arm as she said softly. ‘Yes, that’s right, isn’t it, darling?’
The endearment hung on the air between them, and in other circumstances Christy would have been impelled to laugh, so acutely uncomfortable was Miles’ expression, and yet there was no mistaking the plea in the look he sent her and she responded to it, smiling at him again, letting her lashes veil her eyes seductively, pressing her body a little closer to his, as the waiter came to inform them that their table was ready.
The von Trecht’s were staying at the Connaught, and although Christy had dined there before, the hotel had a sufficiently impressive reputation for her to feel slightly ill at ease.