`Good. You look better. I'm afraid the press is hanging around outside. You'll have a problem getting to your car, Mr Saxton—the street is packed with people.'
Randal frowned. 'Blast !'
As he stared, thoughtfully, at Sim there was a knocking on the back window of the room, and a small black face peered at them. Marcy got up, laughing, and opened the window. 'Wesley!'
`Marcy, you can come out this way,' he said, strutting proudly. 'You and your man will have to crawl along through the sunflowers to the fence through to Noah Road.' He looked at Sim. 'You go and ring for a taxi to pick them up, Mr. It can be waiting for them when they get there.' He gave Marcy a wide grin. 'I've thought of a good way of distracting their attention while you get away. Me and Dost are going to snatch one of the cameras and scarper, then while they're all running after us you can sneak out. Wait for five minutes, then go.' He winked at her. 'Good luck,, Marcy.'
`Wesley,' she said, alarmed. 'You'll get into trouble.'
`We'll drop the camera round the corner of Crancy Alley,' he said, indulgently. 'Don't you worry. Most of them reporters are out of condition. They'll never catch me and Dost.'
He had slipped out of the room before she could protest further..She groaned. 'Wesley is a genius, but I'm terrified of what's going to become of him.'
`He sounds as if he's going to be a Napoleon of
crime,' Randal commented in amusement. 'A sharp-witted boy.'
She looked at him eagerly. 'Oh, if only he could find somewhere to go where he could put his talent to work properly,' she said, her eyes sweet. 'Randal '
`No,' he said firmly. `If you ask me he's having the time of his life. Leave him alone, Marcy.'
`You don't know what I was going to say,' she protested, a sharp disappointment in her voice.
`I'm beginning to recognise the crusading instinct in you,' he said drily.
Her eyes challenged. 'And you don't like it, Randal?'
A strange look came into his face and he made a wry grimace. 'We'll talk about your Wesley later, Marcy,' he said, conceding defeat.
His eyes on his watch, he said, 'His five minutes is up. Over the windowsill with you, Marcy.' He looked at Sim. 'Ring for that damned taxi now '
Sim vanished from the room, and Marcy slithered over the windowsill, dropping to the ground lightly, crouching among the waist-high weeds. A moment later Randal joined her. 'This way,' she whispered, crawling between the thick stems of the sunflowers. Randall glanced with sardonic dismay at his expensive suit, then, with a sigh, followed her.
The trek through the great, topheavy flowers seemed to him to be endless. Marcy crawled without seeming to feel the strain on her back and knees and once looked round at him, dancing amusement in her green glance, as she took in his dry expression.
At last they pushed their way through the broken
.
fence on the Noah Road side of the garden just as Sim, in a broken-down white hire car, drew up, waving to them to jump in to the back of the car. 'My cousin, Gary,' he explained, pointing to the longhaired dark young driver, who grinned round at them. The car drew up two roads away and Sim got out. He came round to the window beside Marcy, who let it dawn and smiled at him affectionately.
`You'll be in touch, Marcy ?' he asked her, his eyes on her small face.
She nodded. 'Sim, you must be on the committee. We'll see you soon to talk about how it's all to be arranged.'
`Right,' he said, stepping back.
Gary drove on and Marcy turned to wave at Sim's tall, distinguished figure, then sat back, aware of Randal's watchful gaze. 'Where to, Guy ?' Gary asked him, half turning.
Randal gave him the address and a few moments later Gary dropped them at the white façade of the house. Walters opened the door to them, a peculiar look of glazed incredulity on his pouched face. As they passed him, Marcy looked at him in puzzled quiry. 'What's wrong, Mr Walters ?'
`Walters, Miss,' he begged, in a strangled voice.
Randal threw his butler a flat glance. 'Bring some tea to the drawing-room, Walters. Miss Marcy would like some of Anatole's almond gateau.'
`Certainly, sir,' said Walters, but he had that harried look on his face, and Randal gave him an irritated, impatient glance.
`Well, what is it, Walters ?'
`There was a news story on the radio, sir,' Walters murmured in an agonised voice.
`Oh, dear,' Marcy muttered.
Randal gave her a quelling look. `About myself and Miss Marcy?'
Walters lifted a pair of appalled eyes to his face. `Yes, sir.'
`Well ?' Randal's mouth was sardonic. `Aren't you going to congratulate me, Walters ?'
Walters looked at him and then at Marcy, gulping like a stranded fish. 'Certainly, sir,' he mumbled. `Congratulations; sir, miss.' Marcy watched as he tottered towards the baize door.
`Poor Mr Walters! He looks quite stunned.'
`Stop calling him Mr,' said Randal. `He's my
butler. You call him Walters—that's his title.'
`He isn't my butler,' Marcy said defiantly. `I call
him what I like.'
`Oh, God,' Randal muttered with a look of maddened impatience. 'Come in here, you infuriating child, before I go out of my mind !'
'Marcy let him pull her into the drawing-room, and there, before she could grasp his purpose, he lifted her into his arms and sat down with her on the couch and began to kiss her hungrily, his hands cradling her head as if she were the child he called her.
`This is getting to be a habit of yours,' she said reprovingly, moving her mouth aside to escape him. don't know what's the matter with you.'
He groaned. 'No, I know you don't. That's what's
driving me insane.' He looked down into her face searchingly. 'Marcy, I'm in a painful dilemma. Help me.'
Puzzled alarm filled her face. 'Of course,' she said quickly. 'What do you want me to do ?'
`I'm a man of thirty-two who's fallen madly in love with a child,' he said softly, watching her. 'You're so good at crusading, Marcy. Crusade for me. What am I going to do about it?'
Her eyes grew very bright, her face flushing. 'Ran-dal, don't make jokes about things like that.'
`I'm not joking,' he said. 'I'm in deadly earnest. I fell in love with you at first sight. You dropped down on me like a ton of bricks from that tree, knocking all the breath out of me, and I've felt the impact ever since.'
She sat upright on his lap, gazing at him in stupefaction. She had felt uneasy about him from the first. She had laughed at him, made fun of him, liked him. Now she was quite unable to take her eyes off his hard, handsome face.
'Randal,' she said shakily. 'I . . . I don't know what to say to you. If you're serious . .
`Utterly,' he assured her.
`You've only known me for two days!'
`I fell all the way in the first two minutes,' he said blithely.
`Oh,' she said. She looked away, frowning. 'Randal, I've never even had a boy-friend.'
`Good,' he said, satisfaction in his face.
It made her laugh. 'In fact, you're the only man who's ever kissed me the way . .' She broke off,
blushing. `The—the way you kiss me.'
`Even better,' he said.
`Stop looking like a cat who's stolen the cream;' she snapped, affronted.
`That's how I feel,' he admitted. His arms pulled her backwards suddenly until she fell against his shoulder, in the position she had been in before, and she looked up at him crossly.
`Randal, stop it!'
`Oh, Marcy,' he said thickly. 'I can't . . .' And he began kissing her again, his hands caressing her thick mop of bright hair, his mouth gentle and warm and exciting.
When the door opened and Walters came in, wheeling a tea trolley, she pulled herself upward, bright pink, and sat down sedately beside him on the couch. Walters, looking like a man suffering acute shock, hurriedly departed.
`Shall I pour ?' Marcy asked him, her face averted. `Yes, please,' said Randa
l, leaning back with a faint sigh. 'I suppose we must have tea.'
There was a banging at the door. Marcy jumped. Randal laid a hand on her knee, calming her. `Walters won't let a soul into the house,' he assured her.
She heard voices, then the closing of the front door, and Walters appeared, his face blank. 'The press, sir. I told them you and the young lady had gone to Somerset to stay with Lady Anne.'
`Quick thinking, Walters,' Randal said approvingly.
Walters withdrew.
`Lady Anne ?' asked Marcy, cutting herself a slice of rich cream gateau. `Do you want some of this gorgeous cake, Randal ?'
`No, thank you,' he said in distaste, eyeing with amazement the size of her slice. 'How do you contrive to keep so thin? You eat enormous meals.'
`Sheer luck,' she said. 'I suppose I'll have to diet when I'm older, but at the moment I'm always hungry.'
`So I've noticed,' he said.
`Who is Lady Anne ?' she asked, returning to her question.
`My godmother,' he said. 'You'll love her.' He gave her a quick, amused grin. 'And she'll adore you. I'll take you down to see her tonight.'
`Tonight ?' Her eyebrows rose. 'Randal, I'm going back to Paradise Street to start the project, remember.'
`The people there can handle that,' he said. 'It's my house,' she protested.
`You want them to have it, don't you?' he asked. `Let them decide what they want done with it.'
She stared at him, munching cake. When her mouth was empty, she said, 'But, Randal . .
`I thought you believed it should be done democratically,' he said.
`I do!'
`Then let democracy work. If you go down there pushing them in one direction or another it's going to be your project instead of theirs. This Sim of yours can see that it's fair and above board,' he ended a little drily.
Marcy finished her cake, eyeing the rest of it with greedy regret. 'I'd better not have another slice.'
`No, you'd better not,' he said. 'Drink your tea and let's get back to where we were before.'
Her mouth set mutinously. 'Randal, I want to talk to you very seriously . .
`Oh, very well,' he said, leaning back. 'What now? Not Wesley ?'
`No,' she said, shaking her mop of wild curls. `Randal, this autumn I'm going to start at drama school. I want to be an actress,- if I can, or at least teach drama.'
`Good God,' he exclaimed, gazing at her. 'An actress!'
`So you see why I can't take you seriously, don't you ?' she ended gravely.
Randal's eyes were charged with violent electricity. `Oh, can't you ?' he asked, and the ruthless hands took possession of her, sweeping her across his lap again, while he bent his head to find her soft mouth.
Marcy felt a strange beating, pulsing excitement begin to grow inside her as she felt the demanding pressure of the hard mouth. Oh, no, she thought wildly, beginning to struggle. I want him to . . . I can't . . . Her arms flew up in movements which lacked direction, and without her volition closed around his neck. Innocently, awkwardly, her pink lips parted and she groaned almost inaudibly as she began to return his kisses, her hands jerkily caressing the muscled hardness of his neck, the wiry strands of dark hair which seemed so rough against her own white fingers.
Drowning in novel sensations, she told herself to snap out of it, and her hands unlocked from around his neck, moving down to push at his chest, driving him away from her. They had as much effect upon him as a fly might upon an elephant. The long hands which controlled her head, forcing it to remain beneath his kiss, did not even bother to move to stop her frantic little struggles. Gasping, breathing hard, she twined a finger around one of the buttons on his shirt, incoherently begging him to stop.
The button slid undone. She felt the warm naked flesh beneath the open shirt and a sudden tension came into her body. Randal seemed unaware, kissing her deeply, tenderly, his fingers moving constantly over her hair, her cheeks, her ears. Marcy undid another button and slid her hand inside his shirt, feeling the steady hard beat of his heart against her palm. A flood of heated colour swept over her whole body. She was dumbfounded by the way she was feeling, by the things she wanted to do. Slowly she undid all the buttons on his shirt and began to stroke the rough, muscled chest with curious, exploratory fingers.
She had never experienced curiosity about a man's body before, but now she felt an acute, aching need to know all the things her fingers were telling her .. . the rough, dark hair on his skin sending shivers down her spine, the feel of muscle and sinew beneath that skin, the hard bony ribs beneath the chest, the flat midriff which her fingertips searched over slowly.
Randal lifted his mouth at last, his lids almost heavy as he looked down into her eyes. Now tell me
you can't take me seriously,' he said thickly.
Marcy stared back at him, her mouth dry. 'I .. .
. . .' Her stammered reply brought mockery into his face. He put both hands over her small fingers, pressing them hard into the naked skin of his chest.
Someone knocked on the door at that moment, making her jump in startled alarm.
Randal held her hands under his, smiling at her teasingly. 'I told you, Walters will keep everyone out,' he said.
`He may come in,' she stammered. She looked at the bare brown chest with flushed cheeks. 'Randal, do up your shirt!'
His eyes mocked her. 'You undid it, wanton,' he said softly. 'You do it up.'
She blushed, bending her head, and hurriedly began to do up his buttons, but before she had got halfway through the task the door behind her opened ' and someone rushed into the room, saying sharply, `Randal, what the hell is all this about an engagement?' Halfway through the sentence the voice faltered, but carried on, watching the slight body of the girl who lay across Randal's lap, quite obviously doing up his shirt.
Randal's face was bland as he met the newcomer's stare over the bright mop of Marcy's tousled hair. `Hallo, Julia,' he said coolly. His arm tightened around Marcy as she attempted to get up, forcing her to stay put unless she cared to make an undignified and probably useless struggle for freedom.
Marcy abandoned her attempts both to get off his lap and to do up his shirt. She turned a very flushed,
fevered gaze upon the new arrival, who was staring back at her in utter incredulity.
As Marcy looked at her, she sensed sharply that the other woman was deeply angry. There were ice floes in the grey. eyes, a bitter hardness about the smooth, intelligent face. Marcy saw a woman of Randal's age, with sleek dark hair and a well-groomed body, a chic clothes sense and an air of assured confidence, but beneath all these things the fact which struck her deepest was the other woman's burning anger.
`Marcy,' Randal said calmly, 'this is Julia Hume, one of the directors of Saxtons. Julia is a legal expert and has a brain like a razor. Julia, this is Marcy, my fiancee.'
Marcy smiled politely at the other woman. Was Randal blind, she asked herself, not to see that Julia was almost sick with jealousy as she looked at them? Then she thought, in a sudden and totally new instinct of jealousy herself, just how well does he know this woman ?
CHAPTER FIVE
MARCY was forced to admire Julia's ability to control and disguise her temper. Even as she realised just how badly Julia felt, a shutter seemed to fall down over the other woman's face, and a whimsical smile appeared, a calm, indulgent smile intended more for her benefit, she sensed, than for Randal. 'So you're the little girl from Paradise Street,' she said in what on the surface sounded a friendly voice. Her grey eyes glanced fleetingly at Randal, then back at Marcy. `Well, I'm fascinated to meet you at last. You've been giving us all a lot of headaches at Saxtons. I was beginning to get really worried about the drain of money the delay was costing us. I might have known I could trust Randal to cut the Gordian knot with one deft blow!' Her laughter had a melodic, artificial sound. 'I'm awed with admiration, Randal.'
Marcy slowly leaned her head back against Randal's half bare chest, her cheek resting on the dark hair on
his brown skin. 'He turned a massive defeat into a magnificent victory,' she murmured softly, her mouth curving into a provocative smile. She let her bright head swivel to look up into his face, her eyes veiled by their bright-tipped lashes. 'Didn't you, darling?'
She felt Randal's hand tighten round her body. His face was bland, though, as he said smilingly, 'The
Campion Project will be a credit to Saxtons, I'm sure.'
Julia swept a glance over the tea things. 'Feeding little Marcy rich cream cake isn't very sensible, Randal. I'm sure at her age it can only lead to spots and the need to diet. I remember when I was an adolescent I was always terrified of eating anything fattening.'
`Marcy doesn't. need to worry,' Randal returned. `Her skin is as clear as a baby's and she's so small I can get both hands round her waist . . .' He demonstrated, his spread fingers just touching.
`Good lord,' Julia admired, smiling patronisingly. `So you can—she must be as thin as a boy.'
To Marcy's startled surprise and irritation Randal's long hands moved softly upward to rest just beneath the small rise of her breasts, their touch openly intimate and possessive.
`A boy ?' Randal repeated, smiling. 'Oh, I hardly think so.'
Marcy felt a pang of real pity as she saw Julia's uncontrollable, wincing jealousy. The other woman turned away, almost stumbling. 'Well, as the incredible news is true, I'll be off,' she said thickly. 'I hate to intrude on newly betrothed lovers.'
`Goodbye, Julia,' Randal said smoothly.
Marcy said nothing. She was too weak, too moved by pity. The door closed, and she swung off Randal's lap in a sharp movement, turning to look down at him with eyes which did not hold any liking. He lay back, slowly doing up his shirt, watching her shrewdly. They both heard the front door slam behind Julia, and the house grew silent.
`Don't waste any of that spilling compassion of yours for Julia,' he said crisply. 'You don't understand the situation, Marcy, and you have a tendency to leap to conclusions.'
`I may not understand the situation, but I have eyes,' Marcy said quietly.
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