‘Neither can I. Are you quite sure you haven’t had too much champagne?’
‘Positive.’
‘So how come?’
‘It appears that Mr Jenkins, bless him, has sung my praises to Paul Levens, one of Global’s directors, who happens to be a friend of Michael Denver’s.
‘When there was no available job for me with Global, Mr Levens, who knew that Michael Denver needed a PA, suggested me.’
‘And bingo!’
‘It may not be that simple. I may not get the job. But I certainly hope I do. It would be a dream come true to work for someone like him.’
Laura grunted. ‘Well, all I can say is, if he doesn’t realize how lucky he is and snap you up, he’s an idiot.’
Smiling at her friend’s aggressive loyalty, Jenny said, ‘Well, we’ll just have to wait and see.’
Finishing her tea, she added, ‘Now I’d better get off to bed, so I have my wits about me for the interview. I get the feeling that Michael Denver isn’t one to suffer fools gladly.’
Pulling a disappointed face, Laura protested, ‘Spoilsport. I was just going to ask you what you’ve found out about him.’
‘Hardly anything. But I’ll tell you what little I do know in the morning.’
‘It’s a deal! Sleep well.’
The following morning, after a restless night, Jenny was up early. By the time she had finished showering, her flatmate, who usually slept late on a Saturday, was already pottering round the kitchen making toast and coffee.
‘Sheer nosiness,’ she confessed in answer to Jenny’s query. ‘I couldn’t wait to hear all about the man himself. And I wanted to be up just in case he came in person to collect you.’
‘It’s hardly likely,’ Jenny said dryly.
‘Well, at least I’ll get to see his car… Now then, what about some toast?’
Shaking her head, Jenny admitted, ‘I’m too nervous to eat a thing. But I will have a coffee.’
Laura poured two cups before asking with unrestrained eagerness, ‘So what did you find out about him?’
‘Very little, except that he lives in a quiet block of flats in Mayfair.’ In a portentous voice, she added, ‘These days everything about him is shrouded in mystery.’
Only half believing her, Laura asked, ‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly.’
‘Why? There must be a reason.’
‘Well, as most of it seems to be public knowledge already, I’ll tell you what Mr Levens told me.
‘When Michael Denver first shot to fame after winning his second award, he became an overnight celebrity. But it seems that he’s a man who values his privacy, and he did his utmost to play it down and stay in the background.
‘Then he met and married a top photographic model named Claire Falconer—’
‘Oh, yes, I know her!’ Laura exclaimed. ‘Or rather I know of her.’ Then impatiently, ‘Go on.’
‘Both “beautiful people” and celebrities, they seemed to be madly in love with each other and ideally suited.
‘The media soon nicknamed them the Golden Couple, and followed them everywhere with their cameras. But while she enjoyed all the fuss and the media attention, he loathed it.
‘The attention was just starting to die down when a story that she’d been seen in the bedroom of a secluded hotel with another man while her husband was away got into the papers. She claimed it was a lie. But a follow-up story included a photograph of the pair of them trying to slip out of the hotel the next morning.
‘That gave rise to rumours that after only six months the marriage was breaking up, and the press had a field day. Michael Denver stayed tight-lipped and refused to comment, but his wife gave an interview in which she announced that she still loved him and was trying for a reconciliation. What he’d hoped would be a quiet divorce degenerated into a three-ringed circus—’
‘Now you mention it, I do remember reading about it. At the time I felt rather sorry for him.’
‘I gather from what Mr Levens told me that between his ex-wife, who continued to oppose the divorce, and the attentions of the gutter press, his life was made almost intolerable.
‘His refusal to give interviews or be photographed just made the paparazzi keener, and in the end he was forced to move flats and go to ground.’
‘It must have been tough for the poor devil.’
‘I’m sure it was.’
‘Do you know, in spite of all that press coverage I’ve no idea how old he is or what he looks like, have you?’
‘Not the faintest,’ Jenny admitted.
‘My guess is that he’ll be middle-aged, handsome in a lean and hungry way, with a domed forehead, a beaky nose and a pair of piercing blue eyes.’
‘What about his ears?’
‘Oh, a pair of those too. Unless he’s a tortured genius like Vincent Van Gogh.’
‘Fool! I meant flat or sticky out?’
‘Definitely sticky out, large, and a bit pointed.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because that’s what a brilliant writer ought to look like.’
Jenny laughed. ‘Well, if you say so.’
‘By the way, if you get back to find the flat empty, don’t be surprised. It’s Tom’s parents’ wedding anniversary, and later we’re off to Kent to spend the day with them.’
‘Well, I hope everything goes really well. Do give Mr and Mrs Harmen my best wishes.’
Her coffee finished, Jenny dressed in a taupe suit and toning blouse, swept her hair into a smooth coil, added neat gold studs to her ears and the merest touch of make-up.
With just a mental picture of Michael Denver, and no real idea of his age or what he might want in a PA, she could only hope he would approve of her businesslike appearance.
The car, a chauffeur-driven Mercedes, drew up outside dead on time.
Laura, who was stationed by the window, exclaimed excitedly, ‘It’s here! Well, off you go, and the best of luck.’
Trying to quell the butterflies that danced in her stomach, Jenny picked up her shoulder bag, and said, ‘Thanks. Enjoy your day.’
Outside, the air was cold, and Jack Frost had sprinkled the pavement with diamond dust and scrawled his glittering autograph over natural and man-made objects alike.
By the kerb, the elderly chauffeur was standing smartly to attention, waiting to open the car door for her.
As she reached him he bid a polite, ‘Good morning, miss.’
Jenny returned the greeting and, feeling rather like some usurper masquerading as royalty, climbed in and settled herself into the warmth and comfort of the limousine.
By the time they reached Mayfair and drew up outside the sumptuous block of flats, she had managed to conquer the nervous excitement, and at least appear her usual cool, collected self.
Having crossed the marble-floored lobby, she identified herself to Security before taking the private lift up to the second floor, as instructed.
As the doors slid open and she emerged into a luxurious lobby she was met by a tall, thin butler with a long, lugubrious face. ‘Miss Mansell? Mr Denver is expecting you. If you would like to follow me?’
She obeyed, and was ushered into a large, very well-equipped office.
‘Miss Mansell, sir.’
As the door closed quietly behind her a tall, dark, broad-shouldered man dressed in smart casuals rose from his seat behind the desk.
A sudden shock ran through her, and though somehow her legs kept moving she felt as if she had walked slap bang into an invisible plate-glass window.
While she was convinced they had never met, she felt certain that she knew him. Some part of her recognized him, remembered him, responded to him…
But even as she tried to tell herself that she must, at one time, have seen his photograph in the papers, she felt quite certain that that wasn’t the answer. Though there had to be some logical explanation for such a strong feeling.
Michael, for his part, was struggling to hide his relief. For
a man who was normally so confident, so sure of himself and the plans he was putting into action, he had been unsettled and on edge. Half convinced that she wouldn’t come, after all, and angry with himself that it mattered.
Now here she was, and though for some reason her steps had faltered and she had appeared to be momentarily disconcerted, she had quickly regained her composure.
Holding out his hand, he said without smiling, ‘Miss Mansell… How do you do?’
His voice was low-pitched and attractive, his features clear-cut, but tough and masculine rather than handsome.
‘How do you do?’ Putting her hand into his, and meeting those thickly lashed, forest-green eyes, sent tingles down her spine.
She had expected him to be middle-aged, but he was considerably younger, somewhere in his late twenties, she judged, and nothing at all like the picture Laura had painted of him.
At close quarters, Michael found, she was not merely beautiful, but intriguing. Her face held both character and charm, and a haunting poignancy that made him want to keep on looking at her.
Annoyed by his own reaction, he said a shade brusquely, ‘Won’t you sit down?’
Despite the instant impact he had had on her, she found his curt manner more than a little off-putting, and she took the black leather chair he’d indicated, a shade reluctantly.
Resuming his own seat, he placed his elbows on the desk, rested his chin on his folded hands, and studied her intently.
Her small, heart-shaped face was calm and composed, her back straight, her long legs crossed neatly, her skirt drawn down demurely over her knees.
There was no sign of the femme fatale, not the faintest suggestion that she might try to employ any sexual wiles, which seemed to confirm that she was different from the women who had, in the wake of his divorce, seemed to think he was fair game.
Appreciating the natural look, after all the artificial glamour of the modelling world, he was pleased to note she wore very little make-up. But with a flawless skin and dark brows and lashes, she didn’t need to.
Up close, the impact of those big brown eyes and the wide, passionate mouth was stunning. But though she was one of the loveliest and most fascinating women he had ever seen, it wasn’t in a showy way.
Her hands were long and slender, strong hands in spite of their apparent delicacy, and he was pleased to see that her pale oval nails were buffed but mercifully unvarnished.
On her right hand he glimpsed the gold ring she had worn the previous night, but her left hand was bare.
Becoming aware that she was starting to look slightly uncomfortable under his silent scrutiny, and wanting to know more about her, he instructed briskly, ‘Tell me about yourself.’
‘What exactly would you like to know?’
She had a nice voice, he noted—always acutely sensitive to voices—soft and slightly husky.
‘To start with, where you were born.’
‘I was born in London.’
‘And you’ve lived here all your life?’
‘No. When I was quite small, we moved to the little town of Kelsay. It’s on the east coast…’
With a little jolt of excitement, he said, ‘Yes, I know it.’ The fact that she came from Kelsay seemed to confirm—though he hadn’t really needed any further confirmation—that she was the girl he had seen at the castle.
‘So how come you’re back in London?’
‘When my great-grandmother, whom I was living with, died just a few weeks after I left school, I enrolled at the London School of Business Studies. Then when I had the qualifications I needed, I applied for, and got, a job with Global Enterprises.
‘I started work in the general office, then became PA to Mr Jenkins, one of the departmental heads.’
‘I understand from Paul Levens that Mr Jenkins is retiring, and that the department he ran is being merged with another. Which is why you’re looking for a new position?’
‘That’s right.’
‘He also mentioned that Mr Jenkins spoke very highly of you, praising your loyalty, your tact and your efficiency. All attributes that as far as I’m concerned are essential.’
When she said nothing, merely looked at him steadily, he went on to ask, ‘What, in your opinion, is a PA there for?’
‘I’ve always thought that a good PA should keep things ticking over smoothly and do whatever it takes to keep her boss happy.’
‘Even if it includes running his errands and making his coffee?’
‘Yes,’ she answered without hesitation.
Thinking that after some of the women he had known she was like a breath of fresh air, he asked, ‘You wouldn’t regard that as infra dig?’
‘No.’ Seriously, she added, ‘I’ve always thought of a PA as a well-paid dogsbody.’
Managing to hide a smile, he said, ‘Good. Though the majority of the work would involve taking shorthand then transferring it onto a word-processor, it’s that part that slows me down, I’m looking for a PA who isn’t going to quibble about exact duties.
‘I also need someone who, as well as being efficient, is discreet and trustworthy.’
‘Mr Levens explained that.’
‘And you think you fit the bill?’
‘Yes, I believe I do.’
‘Though the monthly salary will stay the same, between books there may be longish periods when I won’t need a PA at all.
‘But I must warn you that when I am writing, I often work seven days a week, and should I decide to work in the evenings, I’ll expect my PA to be available. Would you be happy with that kind of “all or nothing” arrangement?’
She answered, ‘Yes,’ without hesitation.
Michael was well satisfied with that firm ‘yes’. If he did decide to give her the job, and it was still a big if, it sounded as if she might well take it.
CHAPTER TWO
JUST for a moment the thought stopped Michael in his tracks. Was he seriously considering letting a woman into his life again, even on a purely business basis?
He wished he could come up with a resounding no way! But somehow this woman was different. And he was strangely reluctant to let her walk away from him for a second time.
Glancing up, and finding Jenny was looking at him expectantly, he rounded up his straying thoughts and resumed his questioning. ‘While you’ve been working for Global Enterprises, how many times have you been off sick?’
‘None at all. Luckily, I’m very healthy.’
‘Then we come to the question of salary, and holidays. The commencing salary would be…’
He named a sum so in excess of what she might have hoped for that she blinked.
‘But I expect holidays to be fitted in during the slack periods. Any taken during the busy spells would need to be agreed on well in advance. Does that seem reasonable to you?’
‘Perfectly reasonable,’ she answered steadily.
Running lean fingers over his smooth jaw, he regarded her in a contemplative silence for a moment or two.
She was a very beautiful woman, and, even taking into account a broken engagement, it was hard to believe that there was no current man in her life.
Deciding that that was one thing he ought to establish, he began carefully, ‘Do you live alone?’
‘I have a flatmate.’
‘As distinct from a live-in lover?’
A little stiffly, she objected, ‘I’m afraid I don’t see why my private life is relevant.’
His face cold, he said, ‘It’s relevant on more than one count. Apart from the long hours which this kind of work sometimes involves, when I begin a new book I prefer to leave London and work in comparative isolation, where I can be quite free from any unwanted social distractions.’
‘Oh…’
Deciding to spell it out, he added, ‘Which means I need a PA who is free from any personal commitments or obligations.’
‘I see,’ she said slowly.
‘Is that a problem for you?’
She shook her head. �
�No, not really.’
No nearer to finding out what he wanted to know, he applied a little more pressure.
‘Then you have no ties? For example, no fiancé, who would almost certainly object?’
‘No.’
Well, that seemed decided enough. Though he knew to his cost that, if it suited them, some women could lie with composure.
‘And you don’t dislike the thought of having to leave London?’
‘No, not at all.’
She sounded as if she meant it.
He was oddly pleased.
Claire had hated the thought of leaving the bright lights of London and burying herself in what she referred to as ‘the back of beyond’, and after the first time she had refused point blank to go to Slinterwood again.
To please her, he had tried staying in town to finish writing Mandrake, but after several unproductive weeks he had given it up as hopeless.
With that important deadline fast approaching, she had suggested that he should go to Slinterwood while she remained in London.
Now, in retrospect, he could see that that had been the beginning of the end as far as their marriage was concerned…
Jenny was sitting quite still, but, sensing that she was once again growing uncomfortable with the lengthening silence, he went on, ‘In that case I’m prepared to offer you a month’s trial period.’
He hadn’t consciously made up his mind, and his abrupt offer of a job had surprised even himself.
Jenny, also taken aback by the suddenness of the offer, hesitated, wishing she had more time to think.
Picking up the vibes, and sensing his earlier indecision, not to mention a certain amount of antagonism, she had expected further searching questions, and then a cool promise to ‘let her know’.
She wanted the job, so she really ought to be over the moon, but she had found his attitude, and the intentness of his gaze, more than a little daunting.
But that wasn’t insurmountable, she told herself stoutly. The important thing was that she had been offered the chance to work for a writer she admired enormously, and even if her job was only to transcribe his words she wanted to be part of the creative process…
Now, watching her hesitate, and suddenly concerned that she was about to refuse after all, he asked brusquely, ‘So what do you say?’
Captive in the Millionaire’s Castle Page 2