Beth joined in the laughter. 'I should hope not indeed! I don't fancy that man as a brother-in-law.'
The taxi drew up then, and they hugged each other and Gemma promised to send her address as soon as she knew it, and Beth promised to write often from Naples and send some picture postcards, and they were both very conscious that this parting was the end of a phase in both their lives, and neither of them was very far from tears.
Now Gemma glanced sideways at the strong, arrogant profile of the man beside her and a wriggle of fear caught at her inside. Beth had said, 'Your life is your own,' but it seemed to Gemma that Harn Durrant had taken her life into his unfeeling charge and was doing just what he liked with her. Everything he had asked (demanded?) of her so far she had meekly agreed to.
They had joined the motorway now and Harn flicked her a glance as he eased the Mercedes into the middle lane. 'You're not alarmed by a touch of speed, I hope?'
'I don't know,' Gemma confessed. 'I've never driven in a car like this before.'
'We must initiate you, then,' he smiled with a glance in the driving-mirror. The car moved to the fast lane, purring like a great cat, and streaked along, flashing past every other vehicle on the road. Gemma's eyes went to the speedometer. Ninety—ninety-five—just on a hundred miles an hour. She didn't know very much about speed limits but guessed that Harn was undoubtedly exceeding it, whatever it was. His fingers were firm but not tense on the driving-wheel and he sat back in his seat without a sign of strain. He was enjoying this. After a couple of minutes Gemma found that she was enjoying it too. It was as if everything in her were singing, and she felt all bubbly as you were supposed to do when you drank champagne. That was another experience she had never had. So many exciting things loomed ahead that she felt quite dizzy with the prospect, and already her fears and regrets about leaving home were getting more feeble.
Nearer to London they were in the heavy traffic and Harn had perforce to reduce his speed to a more moderate one. 'Well, did you enjoy it?' he asked.
'Oh, it was wonderful!' she breathed ecstatically. 'I haven't been so thrilled since I went on the big dipper on a day trip to Blackpool!'
He laughed aloud. 'What a child you are, Gemma! I fear I'm cradle-snatching, luring you away from home.'
All her pleasure evaporated. That had been a stupid thing to say, she scolded herself. 'I learn fast,' she said stiffly, and that observation wasn't much better, because he was still laughing as they left the motorway and he had to concentrate on London's crowded streets.
The clock on the dashboard said it was a quarter past six. Gemma supposed this was the rush-hour, and it certainly seemed like it. She was fascinated and impressed by the way Harn Durrant handled the big car, weaving in and out of the traffic, over bridges and through underpasses. At last he turned into the wide forecourt of a large modern complex of buildings and backed the car skilfully into one of the few empty parking spaces.
'I'll take you up and see you installed,' he said, and hauled Gemma's cases out of the back of the car.
There was a long strip of name-plates beside the front door and he pressed one of the bell-pushes. When there was no reply he said, 'Brenda's not back yet, evidently. We'll let ourselves in.' He took out a key and opened the door and carried the luggage across a hall that looked to Gemma more like the lounge of a hotel than the entrance to a block of flats—very plushy, with matt white paint and scarlet carpet and tubs of flowering plants. Harn pressed a button for the lift and when it came it was so small that Gemma couldn't see how they would both fit in, as well as her two large cases. But fit in they did, and it meant that she was pressed against Harn's side and couldn't move unless she climbed up on one of the cases.
She was much closer to him than she had been in the car and suddenly she felt breathless as she became aware that the softness of her breast was intimately in contact with a point somewhere in the middle of his ribs. He reached round her to press the third-floor button, and as the lift started to ascend silently his hand came down and rested on her shoulder. She didn't dare look up, for his face was only inches above hers; she could feel the warmth of his breath stirring her hair. And it was not only her hair that was stirred; the emotions that were wakening and flooding her body were terrifyingly new and disturbing.
She edged away a fraction and felt his hand tighten on her shoulder. 'Rather a squash in here,' he murmured just above her head. 'I always thought the lifts here were specially designed with lovers in mind.' His voice was light and amused, and when the gates opened he held her a trifle closer for a moment before she could step out. Her knees felt distinctly wobbly and her inside was churning. This was dreadful! She must somehow manage to keep a distance between herself and Harn Durrant in the future. That shouldn't be too difficult once the office work got under way.
Brenda's door was one of three on the fifth floor. Harn fitted another key into the lock and pushed the door open. Gemma wondered if he had a key to the living quarters of all his senior staff or if—
'In case you're thinking darkly that I'm very much at home here, having a key and letting myself in,' he said as he dumped her cases in the hall, 'Brenda and I work very closely together and it suits me to be able to use her flat for our consultations at times. There's nothing more to it than that, so you can put any dark suspicions out of your mind.'
Gemma faltered, 'I wasn't—I didn't think—'
He leaned his back against the front door to close it and smiled down at her, his long dark lashes brushing his cheeks. 'Oh yes, you did,' he said. 'You think I'm a playboy, don't you, Gemma? You've judged me already and are wondering whether you're safe with me.' His smile widened. 'I have news for you, young lady. When you look at me like that, with those blue diamond eyes of yours—you're not! Now come along in, and we'll raid Brenda's cupboard and see if she has any drinks to revive us.'
He led the way into a spacious living-room, and at once Gemma sensed Brenda's personality at work here, in the arrangement of coffee-coloured lounge chairs and sofas round a central low, square, glass-topped table. One pale-wood fitment ran the whole length of one side of the room, with shelves and compartments to hold books, records, hi-fi, a TV set, flowers, photographs. All the oddments that were scattered so haphazardly around at home were here arranged methodically but attractively.
Gemma stood looking around, admiring everything, and Harn said, 'Nice room, don't you think?'
'It's lovely,' said Gemma. 'Really lovely.' She walked across to the big picture window and stood looking down at a breathtaking view across the river. The sun had set, but the afterglow still lingered over the water, touching it with pinks and golds.
Harn had come up behind her and stood resting one hand against the window-frame, pointing out landmarks. 'That's Tower Bridge, of course. You're near the Tower of London here,' he added, gently mocking, 'so you'll feel quite safe and protected.' His other hand came down to rest on her shoulder.
Gemma forgot the room and the view and everything except the closeness of this man who had the power to turn her bones to water. She tried to make herself pull away from under his enclosing arm, but her legs refused to move.
'What a little thing you are,' he murmured. 'My hands could almost meet round you.' His hands slipped down her body, resting momentarily against her breasts as they did so, and enclosed her waist, drawing her back against him.
Strangely, it didn't surprise her; it seemed absolutely natural that she should lean back, resting her cheek against the smooth stuff of his jacket. It was as if she had done it a hundred times before.
'Not so very little,' she laughed shakily. 'Look, my head reaches up way beyond your shoulder.' Keep it light, she thought desperately.
'So it does,' he said. 'Just the right height for me.' He rubbed his mouth against her hair.
This was fooling, of course, Gemma reminded herself, just the merest of flirtations. Perhaps not routine behaviour with his secretary, but then their relationship had been somewhat out of the ordinary right f
rom the start.
'Just the right height,' Harn repeated, and he turned her round to face him, his hands still holding her waist. Her head was lowered; she didn't dare to look up at him, but now he removed one hand and tipped her chin up with his forefinger. Their eyes met and Gemma's senses reeled. It was just like it had been before, in the office. The space between them seemed to vibrate. She knew he was going to kiss her and the urgency of her need for it to happen was almost shocking. She began to tremble and her lips parted weakly, invitingly.
'You little witch,' he muttered, and pulled her strongly against him, forcing her head back as his mouth came down on hers, passionate, demanding. Shivers of delight passed through her as she strained against him, her hands reaching up behind his head to tangle in his thick dark hair. She was lost, floating in deep water, great waves washing over her, as she responded to his probing kiss. His hands slipped down from her waist, pressing her hard against him in one final convulsive movement, and then he pushed her away, not very gently.
'That's enough of that,' he muttered, and walked from the window, leaving her feeling lost and ready to burst into tears. 'I'm sorry, Gemma, I should never have started it. You're too damned tempting altogether, and I'm only too human.' He looked across the room at her broodingly. 'Perhaps I shouldn't have taken you on, much less brought you to London. I've never gone in for cradle-snatching.'
Gemma stood where he had left her, humiliation burning through her. She had been utterly shameful, responding to him as if she were starving for sex. She had never behaved like this before with any other man, never felt this overwhelming need. She should have stayed safely within her own league, with a nice, uncomplicated young man like Derek perhaps, not tangled with a worldly, sophisticated type like Harn Durrant.
He was opening a cupboard door, taking out glasses and bottles. She watched his shoulders, straining against the fine stuff of his jacket as he leaned forward, and she shrank inwardly from the threatening strength of the man. For a moment she felt lost, a prey to fear and dismay. Then, like flipping a coin, the other side of the situation came to her. You knew this would happen, so don't fool yourself you didn't. Now you've got to deal with it. It was a challenge, the biggest challenge of her life so far. Much more difficult than learning to use a word-processor, she thought, with a smothered little laugh.
Harn turned at the sound. 'What's funny?' he asked, and she knew from his face that he had been expecting her to be dissolved in tears. That was how he seemed to affect most women. But she wasn't most women, Gemma assured herself firmly. She was Gemma Lawson and she had come to London to learn about growing up—amongst other things. She would regard the scene that had just passed as part of the process. And if Harn Durrant thought that he was in danger of having another hysterical female on his hands he could think again.
She heard herself say in a cool, composed little voice, 'I'd like a bitter lemon, please, if there's one there.'
Harn Durrant's face never gave away much of what he was thinking. Apart from a slight lift of his brows it showed nothing now. He took out a bottle and poured her the drink, placing it on the glass-topped table. Then he poured a drink of some sort for himself—whisky, it looked like—and they sat down opposite each other like two opponents in a debate, and drank in silence.
'Thank you, that was lovely.' Gemma put down her glass, grateful for the cold, stinging liquid that bit at her dry throat.
He tossed down his own drink and began resolutely, 'Gemma, I think perhaps it would be wiser if you—'
'Please.' She lifted a hand and surprisingly he stopped. 'If you were thinking of giving me the sack because of that utterly unimportant little episode that has just happened, then forget it. It makes absolutely no difference to the fact that I've come up to London to work for you. I won't hold it against you that you're a man and I—' she pulled a wry face '—I seem to be a woman. We just won't let it happen again, that's all. Agreed?'
He cradled his glass between his hands and frowned at her across the table. 'You're a cool child, Gemma. Where did you learn all that wisdom?'
She said as she had said before, 'Intuition, I suppose.'
He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on her small, serious face. 'That's the thing women are supposed to have and men to be short on.' He added wryly, 'You'll have to teach me, Gemma.'
There was the sound of a key in the lock and Brenda walked into the room. She wore a snappy black outfit with floating emerald green round the neck and she looked as if she had just stepped out of a beauty parlour instead of having been working all day. 'Hullo, both of you, you got ahead of me. Jennifer had a bit of trouble with the print-out on the Ramsden report and I stayed to lend a hand. Did you have a good run up to town? Have you got yourselves drinks?' She spoke in a high, nervous voice and glanced at Harn in an uncertain manner, chatting on while she poured herself a drink. Gemma realised immediately that this was a different girl from the cool, self-contained Brenda that she had known before. The pressures of working in London, perhaps.
Harn didn't stay long. 'I'll leave you two girls to get yourselves sorted out,' he said. He turned to Brenda. 'Gemma says she wants to do some shopping. Have tomorrow morning off, both of you, and you can show her the best places.' He placed an envelope on the table in front of Gemma. 'A month's salary in advance,' he said. 'Plus the London increment. You'll need it, I imagine. I'll see you after lunch tomorrow.' He nodded to them both and left.
Brenda sank into a chair and kicked off her elegant, high-heeled black sandals. 'Whew! That's better, we can relax now. That man has a terrible effect on me. Makes me tense.' She didn't enlarge on that statement but sank back and closed her eyes.
Gemma waited in thoughtful silence. Was Brenda yet another of Harn's conquests? If so, it must have been some time in the past. She eyed a large silver-framed photograph next to the TV set. A man in Naval uniform with crinkly fair hair, laughing blue eyes and a firm faintly sensual mouth. Brenda's husband, no doubt. Married to a man as attractive as that there wouldn't be any room left in Brenda's life for Harn now, whatever there had been before. Or would there? Gemma wasn't sure. She had come into a new world where all the values were different from the ones she had grown up with.
If Brenda had been coming to live at her home, Beth would have been showing her her room, giving her a meal, making her feel wanted. As she sat looking at Brenda now, lying back with closed eyes taking no notice of her at all, Gemma suddenly felt lost and lonely.
'I usually drive in to the office,' Brenda said as she led Gemma into the underground car-park after lunch next day.' I have to have my car there because I never know when I'm going to be called out to some computer system that's playing up.' They reached the little white Mini and she unlocked the door. 'You'll want to be independent, so I'd advise a bus—I'll show you where you get it. Of course,' she added casually, 'if our times coincide I'll be happy to give you a lift.'
'Oh, I don't want to be a nuisance,' Gemma said hastily. 'You've been very kind to take me round the shops this morning, but I must get along under my own steam now.'
Brenda gave her a thoughtful look as they got into the car. 'Are you going to like working in London, do you think?'
'Oh yes, I'm sure I will, thank you,' Gemma said formally. She and Brenda had been curiously formal with each other since she arrived yesterday. When Brenda had been training her they had seemed to strike up a friendship, but here in London everything was different. Even this morning, as Brenda took her round the shops and advised her which clothes to buy, it hadn't really been very enjoyable. Brenda had seemed polite but rather bored and Gemma was glad when the shopping expedition came to an end.
Harn's office was in a high white, imposing building in the City. Brenda drove her car through a narrow tunnel and into a parking space marked with her name, Mrs B. Johnson, painted in black letters on the cement. They went into the building by a back entrance and up in a lift to the tenth floor.
'We have this floor and the next one up,' she to
ld Gemma, briskly leading the way into an open-plan office the size of two tennis courts. The whole area was divided by screens into a series of smaller units, each furnished with its own desks, electronic devices, computers, typewriters, telephones. Young men in business suits and careful hair-styles and girls who all looked to Gemma quite equal to being considered for the Secretary of the Year Award were sitting at the desks or moving about purposefully between them. Plate-glass windows lined one side of the office and feathery green plants in copper containers stood about in carefully chosen locations. The whole environment was light and cool and airy and about as different from the office of Durrants (Fine Paper) that Gemma had left behind in the Midlands as it could possibly be.
'It's so quiet,' she whispered to Brenda in amazement. 'All these people about, and hardly a sound!'
'Acoustic screens.' Brenda tossed the words carelessly over her shoulder, and Gemma felt like a new girl at school.
She was aware of some interested glances as she followed Brenda across the acres of cinnamon brown carpet. Brenda said 'Hullo,' and 'Hi,' to one or two of the people she passed. 'No use trying to introduce you to all these bods now,' she said, pushing open a glass door at the end of the office. 'We'll throw a party soon and you can meet them. They're quite a bright crowd.'
Up a short flight of stairs. 'Cloaks and loos here,' Brenda pointed the door out. Round a corner and up another few stairs to a corridor carpeted more thickly than the one below.
'Top Brass up here. That's Paul Jevon's office— he's Harn's second-in-command and quite a poppet. Next door's Mrs Fothergill—she's P.R. Very much on the ball—knows everybody in London. Then there's our accountant, Mr Weston—very keen. Next to him a reception and interview room.'
Gemma tried to take it all in, but butterflies were careering round her stomach at the thought that Harn was somewhere up here, behind one of these doors, and in a minute or two she would see him.
They had reached the end of the corridor now and Brenda opened a door and said, 'Hullo, Cynthia, I've brought your replacement along.'
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