Miranda slumped back in the seat, her head feeling as if it were going to fall off, and no fight left in her. 'Docklands,' she muttered, and lifted her hands up to hold her head.
It seemed no time at all before she was giving him directions, and he pulled up outside her building. She got out of the car quickly, but Warren was there before her and took her arm, leading her grimly to the lifts. She started to say, 'I can manage,' but saw the look on his face and hastily shut up.
Graham had sent the key. Her neighbour gave it to her, looking at Warren in open surprise and asking if Miranda was all right.
'Yes, fine, thanks.' Miranda took the key and went to her door, unlocked it. Then she reluctantly turned to Warren. Their ayes met and for a moment her face filled with pain, as vulnerable as that of a young girl, but then her chin came up and she said as firmly as she could, 'Goodbye. I—I'm sorry for trying to ruin your company. But I never want to see you again.' And she quickly went into the flat and shut the door.
Not giving herself any time to think, Miranda had a quick bath and washed her hair, blow-drying out the unruly curls, then put on one of the rather severe suits that made her feel professional and capable, before calling a taxi to take her to the office. It was gone four when she got there and she didn't go into see Graham straight away, instead dealing with the work on her desk. Most of the staff left at five and when they'd gone Miranda walked along to Graham's office.
She stood in the doorway. 'Hi. Can I come in?'
'Of course.' He put down the pen he was holding and held an arm out towards her. Putting her hand in his, she let him draw her close enough for him to put his arm round her waist. 'So what happened to you?'
'A lot. And I'm afraid you're not going to like it.'
'Oh?' His eyes grew wary, as they always did whenever he felt threatened.
Miranda hesitated for a moment, then said, 'First I have to tell you about Rosalind, and I want you to promise that you'll never tell my parents or let Rosalind know that I've told you.'
'Of course. I can guess what it is; Rosalind's in trouble.'
'She was; she isn't now.'
'But why should that affect me?'
'Because of a mistake I made.' Taking a deep breath, Miranda told him.
'You did what?' Graham got to his feet and stared at her in horrified disbelief. 'You poached seven people from the same company?'
'It isn't illegal,' Miranda hastened to assure him.
'It's damned unethical. Do you realise that if this gets out our name will be mud in the business world? We could even be ruined!'
Miranda stood, stony-faced, letting him rant out his anger. 'How could you do such a thing—let alone get the wrong man? You had no right to do it. Why didn't you tell me what you planned? Don't you realise what you've done, what you've laid us open to?'
As the second man in twenty-four hours told her what he thought of her, and with equally good cause, Miranda wondered wistfully what it would be like to be a nun. But somehow she thought that no nunnery would be willing to accept a woman who'd slept with someone she'd known for less than a day. Tears pricked at her eyes at the thought, and tiredness let them fall. Graham stopped in mid-tirade and came over to her. 'Miranda?' he said wonderingly.
'I'm sorry.' She lifted her head and blinked back the tears. 'It's been a long couple of days.'
'Yes, I imagine it has. This isn't like you. You're usually so self-possessed.' Taking her hand he said, 'Tell me the rest. What did Warren Hunter say when you told him?'
'More or less the same as you, really. But he seemed confident that he could persuade the members of his staff to stay with the company.'
'Well, I hope so, but if he does we'll have the companies they were supposed to be joining to placate.' He sighed. 'You'd better give me his ad-dress and I'll go round there tomorrow and grovel for forgiveness, I suppose.'
'I'm sorry,' Miranda said stiltedly.
He gave a short laugh. 'Just don't do it again if Rosalind has another broken affair.'
'No, I won't,' she said with a catch in her voice.
Putting his arms round her, Graham drew her to him and kissed her. 'I take it you spent the night at Rosalind's place?'
'Oh—er—yes,' Miranda lied unhappily.
'How about Warren Hunter?'
'He—he went to a hotel.'
'And did he bring you back today?' Graham asked in surprise.
'Yes.'
'Well, I must say that was good of him in the circumstances. So how did you come to lose your bag?'
'It was on the way up yesterday,' Miranda improvised hastily. 'I left it behind when we stopped at a services place on the motorway. I phoned back but someone had taken it.'
'You'd better stop all your credit cards quickly, then.'
'Yes, I've already seen to that.'
They talked some more, and, although Graham was obviously shaken that she could do such a thing, she gradually coaxed him back into a good humour, and found that because she had cried and shown feminine weakness, a ploy she would never have used artificially, it was much easier than she'd feared. By abjectly apologising several times and swearing that it would never happen again, she won him round.
They went out to dinner and she ate ravenously, suddenly starving hungry. She would have liked to just forget everything about the last two days but Graham referred to it several times, which was natural enough as it was constantly on his mind. 'I won't try and make an appointment,' he said, 'I'll go round there in the morning and ask Hunter to see me.'
'You don't have to,' Miranda pointed out. 'It was my mistake and I've already apologised to him.'
'No, I feel that I ought to see him myself.'
'A letter would do,' Miranda said rather desperately.
Graham shook his head stubbornly. 'No, I must smooth this over as much as I can and hope that he won't spread the story around too much.'
'He won't talk about it,' Miranda said with sudden inner assurance. 'He isn't—he isn't like that.'
'Oh?' Graham raised his eyebrows and gave her a keen look. 'You sound very sure.' Miranda didn't answer and after a moment he said, 'What kind of man is this Warren Hunter?'
Not liking the question, Miranda shrugged off-handedly. 'The usual type of self-made man, I suppose. Married to his company.'
'And is that all he's married to?'
Miranda picked up her glass and took a drink. 'According to his record.' Realising that Graham was watching her, she reached out to touch his hand and said with a rueful little smile, 'I suppose I just don't want you to have to face him because of something I did.'
Mollified, Graham turned his hand over to squeeze hers. 'Don't worry; I'll put things right.'
Miranda sighed and pushed her plate away, no longer hungry.
When Graham drove her home, Miranda firmly told him that she was very tired and was going straight to bed, and for once he didn't try to talk her into letting him come in for a goodnight kiss. As soon as she was alone, Miranda got out her file on Warren and rang his home number. He answered almost at once. 'Hunter here.'
'Hello. This is—er—this is—'
'Miranda.' He said her name on a soft note of derisive satisfaction.
'You don't sound surprised.'
'No. I had an idea you might call.'
She paused and sighed; he was altogether too shrewd. 'I told my boss what happened; he's going round to your office to see you tomorrow morning.'
'Your boss also being your boyfriend?'
She hesitated only fractionally. 'Yes.'
'And you told him everything?'
The suggestive emphasis he put on the last word filled Miranda with a flash of rage, but all she could do was grit her teeth and say, 'No, not everything.'
'So what lies do you want me to corroborate tomorrow?'
'I told him I spent the night at Rosalind's and you went to a hotel.'
Warren laughed. 'If I ever want to blackmail you—'
'Damn you!' Miranda cursed. 'I wi
sh I'd never...' She stopped, biting her lip. She had been going to say 'never met you', but suddenly realised it wasn't true. She was fiercely glad that she'd known that night.
But Warren wasn't to know that and he said drily, 'You wish we'd never spent the night together.'
'I'd had too much to drink,' Miranda said quickly. 'Otherwise...'
'Of course. We both had,' Warren agreed shortly. 'All right, I'll agree to your story with your boy¬friend—if he asks. He may not, of course; he may trust you. But then you wouldn't have phoned if you'd thought that, would you?' He laughed again and Miranda could have killed him. 'Goodnight, Miranda. Pleasant dreams,' he added mockingly.
Graham went round to Compass Consultants the next morning, but Miranda had several appointments and didn't see him until late in the after-noon. 'It's all right,' he told her. 'I managed to smooth things over with Warren Hunter. He's per¬suaded all but one of the members of his staff to stay on, luckily.'
'Oh? What—what did he say?' Miranda asked tentatively.
Graham laughed. 'I think it would be better if I didn't tell you. You'd accuse him—and me—of chauvinism, if I did.'
Thrusting her clenched hands in the pockets of her skirt, Miranda gave him a tight-lipped smile, realising that any hope she'd ever had of being treated as an equal by Graham had now gone com¬pletely. In future he would always treat her as a weak female while he took the dominant role. And all because of one stupid mistake! If Graham had made a mistake he would just have glossed over it and made out it was no big deal, she thought resentfully. He certainly wouldn't have allowed it to change anything, especially his attitude, but she would probably have it thrown in her face forever.
Trying to put the whole episode out of her mind, Miranda plunged back into work and preparations for Christmas. It was a time she always looked forward to keenly because it meant the whole family being together at her parents' home in Norfolk. Rosalind would be coming down from York, of course, and there would be lots of relations and friends who lived in the area dropping in throughout the holiday. Graham was the only child of a widowed mother and usually spent Christmas with her, but his mother was of the 'merry widow' variety and this year had decided to go with some friends on a cruise that covered the whole holiday. 'So I shall be alone for Christmas,' Graham had said when he'd told Miranda some weeks earlier. 'Unless you think your parents could spare you this once?'
'Why don't you come and spend the holiday with us?' Miranda had felt compelled to ask, and Graham agreed so readily that she realised that was what he'd wanted all along. At the time she had felt quite pleased and flattered, seeing it as a major step forward in their relationship, especially as Graham had said, 'It's about time I met your people.' Now, though, she wasn't so sure. Al¬though on the surface they were the same, she knew that their relationship had subtly changed. Probably it was her fault. Perhaps it was guilt, but nothing seemed to be the same since that night with Warren.
They left London on Christmas Eve, driving up to Norfolk in Graham's car, the boot and back seat piled with presents and goodies that her mother had asked Miranda to buy for her in London. The roads were heavy with traffic and the drive took over three hours, but it was a mild day and Miranda enjoyed being a passenger and looking at the scenery for a change. Her father was a farmer and lived in a rambling old farmhouse that had started off being quite small but had been added to so often over the years that it was now a muddle of gables and stair¬cases and passages.
Her parents made Graham very welcome and tried hard not to show that they were sizing him up as possible husband material for Miranda. And Graham was at his most charming, driving round the farm with her father, offering to help her mother before Miranda had a chance, and being kind in a big-brotherly way to Rosalind. On the surface everything was great and Miranda should have felt very happy, but instead she felt restless and, al¬though she tried, she couldn't wholeheartedly join in the celebrations. She felt strangely detached, as if she was outside the rest of the household, looking on.
Boxing Day morning was bright and sunny so she went riding with Rosalind, wearing thick anoraks to keep out the cold breeze that blew off the distant sea, riding hats covering their blonde hair. Rosalind was glowing, chattering about her Christmas presents and the skiing holiday in Austria that she was going on with some college friends the following week. 'Why don't you come with us?' she urged Miranda. 'We could share a bed in the ski house.'
Miranda laughed. 'It's years since I've done that kind of thing.'
'You're not too old; you're only twenty-five.' 'That's light years older than you—but thanks for the offer.'
'Anyway, I suppose if you go on holiday in the future you'll want to go with Graham,' Rosalind remarked. 'And somehow I can't see him enjoying crowding into a ski house.' She stopped, aware of what she'd said. 'Although he's very nice, of course,' she added hastily.
'Yes, of course.' Miranda gave her a strange look. 'Do you...?' She went to ask Rosalind if she had any regrets about the abortion, but realised from Rosalind's happy face that the episode was all over for her and it would be wrong to remind her.
But, as if her thought had been on the same lines, Rosalind said unexpectedly, 'He phoned me, you know; Warren Hunter. Your Warren Hunter, that is.'
Miranda turned to stare at her. 'He did? When?' 'A couple of days after you came up to York.' 'What did he want?'
Rosalind gave a little shrug. 'To apologise and to assure me that he'd keep his mouth shut, that my—my secret was safe with him.'
'That was nice of him,' Miranda said, her voice unsteady.
'Yes, I liked him,' Rosalind said unexpectedly. Her heart thumping, Miranda asked, 'Was—was that all he said?'
'No, he asked me a couple of questions about Piers. You know, the man...'
'Yes.' A pinched look had come into Rosalind's face so, not wanting to spoil the day, Miranda quickly changed the subject.
Their ride over, they were heading towards a neighbouring farm where they, their parents, and Graham, had been invited to an open-house lunch party. But when they rode in sight of it, Miranda reined in and said, 'I don't really feel like more food and drink; I still feel queasy from all I ate yester¬day. Give them my apologies, will you, Rosalind?'
'What are you going to do?'
'Ride for a bit longer and then go home. It seems a shame to waste all this sunshine.'
Turning the horse, she cantered to one of her favourite spots, a rise in the ground that in that flat countryside could be called a hill, and where, at the very top, she could see the faint edge of the coastline in the distance. Slipping from the saddle, Miranda went to lean against a tree, the horse grazing con¬tentedly beside her. She tried to picture Graham on the kind of skiing holiday that Rosalind had de¬scribed and couldn't imagine him enjoying it, either. He would want a decent hotel to come back to after a day on the slopes, and his own bathroom to relax in without anyone banging on the door to tell him to hurry up. And no way would he consent to sharing a single bed, even if it was with her.
But surely that was what work and ambition was all about, wasn't it? To buy space and what lux-uries you could afford. There was nothing wrong in that. As long as you didn't lose all the fun in life. Unbidden, her thoughts went back, as they often did, to that night on the boat with Warren. Then, they had shared a sleeping-bag on hard wooden boards and it had been the most wonderful night of her life. Until the morning; until he'd woken up in the cold light of day and realised what had happened.
Miranda sighed and straightened up, pushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. She knew that Graham was becoming serious about her and after this holiday would probably ask her to marry him. But now, at this moment, she decided that it was all over between them, that they had no future together. Catching the horse, she swung herself up into the saddle and took a last look at the sea, then gave a wry smile; it was just as well that she'd come to that decision—because she was almost certain that she was expecting Warren's child.
CHA
PTER FIVE
MIRANDA half expected Graham to propose to her while they were in Norfolk, and gave a sigh of relief when he didn't. But he was full of spirits on the drive back and let fall one or two remarks that let her know that she was definitely included in his future. Perhaps he wouldn't propose, she thought; perhaps he'd just ask her to live with him—or he with her. But no, on second thoughts he was much too traditional to go in for anything other than marriage. And he would never want to live in Docklands.
She gave a small smile and Graham said, 'You look happy. It's been a great holiday, hasn't it? Thank you for inviting me.' And he took his band off the wheel to pat her knee.
Miranda came to another decision and was about to tell him, but remembered from past experience that it wasn't such a good idea to shock a man while he was driving; she had no wish to end up in a ditch again. So she waited until they reached London and Graham had carried her case up to her flat for her before she turned to him and said, 'Graham, I've something to tell you. I'm sorry, but I've decided to leave the company.'
'What did you say?' He shook his head as if he hadn't heard properly. 'I'm afraid I don't under-stand.' He gave an uneasy laugh. 'You're joking with me.'
'No, I'm very serious. I want to leave.'
'What's brought this on?'
'It's just that I don't want to work there any more. I—er—I feel that it's time my life took a new direction.'
He stared at her. 'Good lord, you haven't been headhunted yourself, have you?'
'No, of course not.'
'Then why?' An idea occurred to him. 'This isn't something to do with that mess-up over Warren Hunter, is it?'
She gave a small shrug. 'Yes, partly.'
'But that's all over. Look, you mustn't let one mistake get to you. You're good at your job. You're sensitive to personality, and that's vital to bringing off a sucessful deal.'
'You mean I use essentially feminine intuition,' Miranda said on an ironical note. It was something he'd certainly never said that he appreciated in the past. Before he could answer she went on shortly, 'It's kind of you to say so, Graham, but I've made up my mind. I shall give two months' notice from the first of January.'
CHAPTER ONE Page 8