'He must have had his reasons,' Mike said absently. She had already discussed this topic at length with Christina and had no wish to do so with Luke Duncan. 'More tea?' she enquired in an attempt to change the subject.
'Thanks.' He pushed his empty cup towards her. 'Presumably he was hoping to ensure that you took marriage a little more seriously than your father.'
Mike slammed down the teapot. She had already reached that conclusion herself, but, although she might have deep reservations about her father's casual attitude to matrimony, she wouldn't tolerate any criticism of him from an outsider. 'You know exactly nothing about --'
'Don't get on your high horse,' Luke cut in before she was fully launched on her defensive tirade. 'How your father conducts his life is of no concern to me. I was merely suggesting that Matthew might have preferred that you didn't emulate him.'
His remark did nothing to appease her. 'At least my father only breaks up his own marriages and not other people's,' she muttered.
'And what is that supposed to mean?'
'Come on, now,' she said witheringly, 'your relationship with Lisa Sinclair—Mrs Lisa Sinclair hasn't exactly been discreet.'
She wanted to make him angry, put him on the defensive, and felt deflated when he simply took a sip of tea and then studied her with an expression of complete unconcern.
'Are you an avid reader of the gutter Press?' he asked conversationally.
Mike flushed. It was only recently that she'd started to flick through the more sensational of the tabloids strewn about at work, fired with curiosity to read anything she could about her new partner. The photograph of Luke and the beautiful English star of a popular, successful American soap opera, together with a suitably ambiguous caption, had appeared last week.
'Disappointed that I'm not going to deny the charges—or would you prefer that I confessed all so that you could have your own personal exclusive?'
'I'm not interested in the details of your sordid private life,' she bit back and leapt to her feet. It was impossible to have even the rudiments of a rational, normal conversation with this man. 'I'm going to work,' she informed him shortly and headed for the door.
'Incidentally, did you speak to Andrew Simpson yesterday?'
She paused. 'Yes, I did,' she murmured vaguely without turning round.
'And?'
Sighing, she looked at him over her shoulder. 'He told me that one of the local travel agents had turned up unexpectedly at the airport and he'd taken him over to the club for an early lunch.'
'Really?' He raised a cynical eyebrow. 'And you believed him?'
Of course she hadn't believed him! But she'd been weak enough to pretend to, she reminded herself unhappily. 'What did you expect me to do?' she flared. 'Call him a liar to his face?' Why couldn't Luke appreciate just how difficult she found it to deal objectively with Andrew Simpson?
He shook his head slowly, regarding her as if she were a wayward child. 'You may know one end of an aircraft from another but you have a great deal to learn about staff management.'
Mike slammed the door shut behind her. She couldn't have stayed and listened to that smug, patronising chauvinist one moment longer.
Why couldn't Luke Duncan have been a different sort of man? she wondered dejectedly a few moments later as she drove the Porsche out of the front gates. Someone patient and understanding, who didn't regard her inexperience simply as a subject for his scorn and derision?
The traffic was light at this hour of the day and she headed along the near empty road towards Heathrow. Her last day at work. Perhaps the last time she'd ever be a practising engineer. A wave of deep sadness engulfed her.
'I'm going to miss you all so much.' Mike dashed away the tears from her eyes. Oh, heavens, she was becoming sentimental and maudlin. Slowly her eyes moved around the small, packed office, absorbing each familiar face with affection. These men had formed an integral part of her life for the past six years and it was going to be an even greater wrench to leave them than she'd imagined.
'Just when we've finally taught you to make a decent brew-up, you're going,' someone quipped.
Mike grinned. No one had ever allowed her to forget her first day here. Accustomed to being waited on hand and foot all her young life, she'd been indignant to discover that her new duties included fetching and carrying, and making seemingly endless mugs of tea.
'I've come here to train as an engineer,' she'd informed the chief engineer haughtily, 'not to be a skivvy and general dogsbody.'
'You've come here to do as you're damn well told. Like it or get out,' had been the brusque, unsympathetic reply.
'I was a real spoilt brat in those days, wasn't I?' Mike observed to no one in particular. It had taken her a long time to adjust to these outspoken, down-to-earth men and even longer to earn their respect and liking. They, in turn, had found it difficult to accept a girl into their all-male preserve.
'Here, Mike, have a top-up.'
She tried to refuse, but her protests were ignored and her glass replenished.
She had been deeply touched that every single one of her colleagues had turned up for the informal farewell party that had started after her early shift had ended. Even those now on duty had made brief appearances to wish her well, toasting her rather reluctantly with soft drinks.
Mike rubbed a hand over her eyes. She was beginning to wish that she'd stuck to orange juice herself. She rarely drank alcohol, not much liking the taste, but it would have been churlish to refuse the champagne that had been produced in her honour. She took a sip from her glass. The bubbles seemed to be going straight to her head. She was beginning to feel distinctly dizzy and hot. One thing was certain, she was in no fit state to drive home and her original plan to go down to Rakers' this evening would have to be postponed until tomorrow. All she really felt like doing was falling asleep. She'd have to arrange for a taxi to collect her soon, or, better still, ask Christina if she would come over to the airport in one and drive them both home in the Porsche. That way she'd have her car ready for the morning.
'Bye, Mike. Got to go, I'm afraid. Duty calls.' A huge man dressed in overalls picked her up in a bear-hug. 'Take care, kiddo,' he murmured as he set her back on her feet, and rumpled her red curls. 'And good luck.'
She kissed him on the cheek amid approving cheers and then inched her way across the congested room to the telephone. It was difficult to hear properly because of all the noise in the background, but Oliver's nanny, who answered the call, assured Mike that she'd pass on the message to Christina.
'Mike, heard this one?'
Grinning, she perched herself on the ledge of the office table, swinging her jeans-clad legs, and listened to the joke of which she inevitably was the good-natured butt. It was once everyone had started teasing her unmercifully that Mike had realised that she'd finally been accepted into their masculine midst.
The party began to break up slowly and she flicked a glance at her wrist watch. Christina should be here by now. She frowned. Surely her half-sister wasn't still in a huff about last night...?
'Someone here for you, Mike.' A security officer beckoned to her from the open office door.
Her eyebrows knitted together as she focused her eyes on the familiar figure looming by the side of the uniformed man. Slowly, she scrambled down from the table, astounded to discover how wobbly were her legs. With great deliberation, she walked carefully across the room.
'What are you doing here?' She looked up at Luke Duncan unenthusiastically.
'Christina wasn't able to come,' he informed her.
'So you came to fetch me instead? How kind of you to go to so much trouble.' She winced inwardly as she saw his mouth tighten. She hadn't meant to sound so sarcastic and ungracious. This man just seemed to bring out the worst in her. It had been kind of him, if surprising, to stand in for Christina. Why couldn't she have simply thanked him naturally as she would anyone else? Unconsciously she pressed a hand to her temples. Her head was beginning to ache dreadfully.
'Have one for the road?' A young engineer proffered a glass.
'I think she's had quite sufficient,' Mike heard a cool voice answer for her. How cold and grim Luke looked, she mused. Hardly the life and soul of the party. She felt his hand on her arm.
'Time we were going.'
'But I haven't said goodbye to everyone yet,' Mike wailed.
'I'll give you a lift over to the car park in my van,' the security officer offered.
'No, thanks all the same. The fresh air will do her good.'
Mike scowled. Her? Did Luke have to keep talking about her as if she weren't present? Couldn't he remember her name?
'You're hurting me,' she complained bitterly as she was frog-marched along the corridor. She winced as they emerged into the afternoon sunshine and would have stumbled if the hand around her arm hadn't tightened. Her legs felt as if they were about to give way beneath her and it seemed to take every ounce of concentration to keep placing one foot in front of another.
'Keys?' Luke demanded as they finally reached the car park, and Mike fumbled in her pocket to retrieve them. He unlocked the passenger door of the Porsche and unceremoniously bundled her in.
She slumped back in the seat as he turned on the ignition. Her throbbing head felt as if it were on fire and yet she couldn't seem to stop shivering. She wanted to sit up straight but it seemed to require too much effort to do so. The movement of the car was beginning to make her feel nauseous.
'I don't feel too good,' she muttered through dry lips. 'P-please stop the car,' she begged desperately. Her head was spinning round and round in circles. Perhaps if she just closed her eyes for a second...
The car had stopped. They must have arrived home, Mike thought vaguely. Slowly she opened her heavy eyelids and frowned, totally disorientated as she stared up at the white ceiling. She was lying in a huge double bed and it was almost dark, the last rays of sun filtering into the room. A room that most definitely was not her own, and one in which she'd never in her life been before.
Weakly, Mike manoeuvred herself into a sitting position and surveyed her surroundings. The only familiar objects were the blue sweatshirt and denims folded neatly over a wicker chair beside a dressing-table, the top of which was covered with ah array of expensive cosmetics. Briefly her eyes rested on the silk neglige hung up on the door. Where was she? she wondered with growing agitation. And where was Luke? If only her head didn't feel so muzzy and she could think clearly.
She flung back the duvet and padded across the thick white carpet to retrieve her clothes. Even the simple task of pulling on her jeans and sweatshirt seemed to take all her energy.
She glimpsed her reflection in the dressing-table mirror and grimaced. The freckles stood out violently against her pallid skin and her eyes were dull and listless. She raked a hand through her dishevelled hair but the curls just bounced back in an unruly mop over her head.
Slipping on her shoes, she opened the bedroom door and discovered a small, square carpeted hall. Selecting a door at random, she pushed it open.
Luke was sprawled in a chintz-covered armchair, long legs stretched out in front of him, reading a book. He had removed his jacket, loosened his tie and looked completely at home.
'You look terrible,' he greeted Mike casually, lifting his head to study her slight figure.
'I've always found it difficult to deal with extravagant compliments,' she muttered sourly. She felt even worse than she looked, if that were possible. 'Where am I?' It was odd how reassuring was the sight of Luke, the momentary alarm she'd experienced earlier instantly dismissed.
'About ten miles from Heathrow.'
That wasn't what she meant and he knew it. He was deliberately being aggravating, she thought tetchily. 'Who does this flat belong to?' she snapped back.
'Friend of mine,' he returned laconically.
'I see.' Her lips compressed together, recalling the feminine contents of the bedroom. 'And what exactly am I doing in your friend's flat?' she enquired coolly.
'You were sick,' he said bluntly.
'Oh, no.' Mike slumped down into an armchair. She'd never felt so humiliated in all her life. 'In the car?' she asked in a small voice.
'I managed to stop in time and throw you into a convenient ditch.'
'Thanks a lot,' she muttered.
'But not particularly craving a repeat performance,' he continued calmly, 'I decided it might be advisable to stop as soon as possible and let you sober up. This happened to be the nearest, most obvious place.' He surveyed her ashen face thoughtfully. 'Don't you remember anything?'
'I'm beginning to,' she mumbled, as vague, fragmented memories floated into her head, confirming the veracity of his words. 'I wasn't drunk, though,' she denied.
'You gave a pretty good imitation of it,' he commented drily.
'But I only had two glasses of champagne,' she protested vehemently. Surely not enough to warrant this splitting headache? And she still felt so weak and queasy.
He shrugged. 'Did you have any lunch?'
'Not much,' she admitted. She chewed her lip, studying Luke with puzzled eyes. She would have expected him to relish this situation, to be making cheap, caustic jibes at her expense, and yet he was treating it all so matter-of-factly.
A sudden, uncomfortable thought struck her. 'I— er—suppose I put myself to bed,' she murmured with studied casualness, remembering that she'd only been clad in her bra and pants on waking.
'You were non compos mentis, sweetheart, out for the count, in no fit condition to do anything.'
'So who --?' Heated colour suffused her pale cheeks at the thought of Luke performing the intimate task.
'I put you to bed,' a firm female voice intervened. 'Don't let him tease you.'
Mike turned her head, her eyes widening at the sight of the beautiful, fair-haired woman standing in the doorway, holding a tray of coffee.
'I was just about to bring this to you.' Smiling, she handed Mike a mug.
'Thank you.' There was something so familiar about the blonde woman with the startling, vivid blue eyes and yet she was certain she'd never met her before.
'Michaelia Harrington—Lisa Sinclair.' Luke drawled the introductions from his chair.
Mike stiffened immediately. She didn't believe it. How could Luke have had the audacity to bring her to his mistress's flat? Her eyes darkened with revulsion. She'd actually been asleep in their bed!
'Michaelia thinks that you and I are in the throes of a torrid, passionate affair, Lissy. In fact,' Luke continued thoughtfully, 'she probably thinks that this is our cosy little love-nest.'
Mike almost dropped her mug of coffee. Furiously, she glared at her tormentor. How could he be so crass and insensitive, deliberately set out to embarrass her like this?
'Do you really think that?' Lisa Sinclair's mouth curved with amusement. 'You've not been reading all that trash in the papers, have you?'
'No, of course not.' Mike tried desperately to sound nonchalant, conscious of a pair of dark grey, taunting eyes resting on her crimson face. She rarely blushed and now she'd done so twice in as many minutes.
'Luke and I are cousins, actually,' the fair woman murmured, sinking elegantly on to the sofa. 'And I'm married to his best friend.' She pulled a wry face. 'Two basic facts that the Press tend to conveniently forget.'
Mike gave a sickly smile.
'I had to go over to New York to do some promotion work last week and, as I absolutely loathe staying in hotels, Luke put me up in his apartment.' She grinned. 'The gossip-mongers had a field day with that.'
'Don't you mind?' Mike asked, bewildered by the other woman's apparent unconcern. 'Couldn't you sue or something?'
'If I started a lawsuit every time a newspaper printed an inaccuracy about me, I'd spend my entire life in the court-house.' She shrugged. 'Besides, it's all free publicity. And no one with any sense genuinely believes all the rubbish they read, do they?'
'No,' Mike mumbled, not daring to look at Luke. Feeling thoroughly squash
ed and chastened, she finished off her coffee in silence.
'Hope to see you again.' Lisa smiled as Mike thanked her awkwardly for her hospitality. 'Luke, now you're going to be in England for a while, you must come down to the Cotswolds and see us. Tom and I have just bought this gorgeous old cottage down there,' she explained to Mike. 'Make sure Luke brings you with him when he comes.'
Mike smiled vaguely, wondering exactly what Lisa thought was her relationship with Luke and then decided that the other girl had merely extended the invitation to her through courtesy on the spur of the moment, and it wasn't to be taken seriously.
'Why didn't you tell me Lisa Sinclair was your cousin?' she turned on Luke the moment they were sitting in the Porsche. 'You deliberately set out to make a fool of me!' Her voice seethed with resentment.
'I didn't make a fool of you,' he contradicted her with infuriating calmness. 'You managed to do that quite successfully all by yourself.' It was difficult to gauge the expression on his face as he turned to look at her. 'You shouldn't jump to conclusions about people,' he said quietly, clicking on his seatbelt.
Mike didn't answer, but digested his words in silence, staring out into the darkness. She wanted to defend herself but had the uncomfortable feeling that he might be justified in his criticism. She frowned uneasily. Did she really leap to conclusions about people without knowing anything about them, judging them simply from first impressions? She stole a glance at the man by her side, the light from a street lamp illuminating the strong, hard profile. She had been determined to dislike Luke from the beginning, determined to think the worst of him. To discover, as she had this afternoon, that he was capable of tolerance, even of kindness, disturbed her for some inexplicable reason. She didn't want to admit that he might have any redeeming qualities, didn't want to find her attitude towards him changing.
Lost in thought as she was, it wasn't until they drew up outside her father's house that Mike's memory was jolted. 'You were supposed to go to a concert with Christina tonight!'
An Unequal Partnership Page 5