'I telephoned her from Lisa's and explained that I was unavoidably detained,' Luke murmured drily.
'I suppose it's too late for you to go now.' How disappointed Christina was going to be, Mike thought guiltily. And angry, she added with a sinking heart. 'I'm sorry for ruining your evening,' she muttered as Luke held the car door open for her. 'And thank you for... rescuing me this afternoon,' she added reluctantly.
'I guess the scores are about even now.' He quirked an eyebrow at her but she couldn't bring herself to grin back.
The hall was deserted as they entered the house.
'Everyone must be getting dressed for dinner.' The thought of food made Mike feel queasy again. 'I think I'll go straight on up to bed,' she murmured. 'Goodnight.'
He didn't reply, but stood looking down at her in silence. Mike, poised with one foot on the bottom of the stairs, found that she couldn't move any further, her eyes drawn to his face.
Holding her gaze, he bent his head towards her and brushed her lips with his mouth. It was the lightest of kisses and yet it teased every nerve-ending in her body, and sent an uncontrollable sweep of pleasure surging through her.
'Goodnight, Michaelia.
He took a step away from her, his expression unreadable, and then walked purposefully down the hall towards the drawing-room.
With a confused feeling of dissatisfaction, Mike slowly mounted the stairs, totally unaware of the pulse beating erratically at the base of her neck.
'So you're back!' Christina came walking along the landing towards her, her pretty face masked with petulance. 'I suppose Luke is with you?' There was no mistaking the jealousy or the implication in her voice.
'Yes,' Mike said quietly, overwhelmingly glad that her half-sister hadn't witnessed Luke's unexpected— and unwanted, she reminded herself forcefully—kiss a few seconds earlier.
'You really are a hypocrite, Mike. You pretend you don't like Luke and then you --'
'Chrissy, before you start, let's get one thing clear,' Mike cut in wearily. 'I'm not in the least bit interested in Luke. He's not my type. We're business partners, that's all.'
'And that's what you've been doing all afternoon? Discussing business?' Christina's dark eyes flashed angrily. 'I wish I'd come to pick you up myself and skipped my hairdressing appointment. It was all for nothing anyway. Luke's not taking me out now and it's all your fault.'
'I'm sorry, Chrissy.' Mike sighed. What was the use of trying to explain anything to Christina in her present mood? 'I'm going to bed,' she said abruptly and, with horror, felt the bitter rise of nausea in her throat.
* * *
The grey-haired doctor murmured something incomprehensible and then relented as he saw his patient's look of bewilderment. 'Gastric flu to the layman,' he translated cheerfully. 'And a particularly nasty bout. Still, you're young and fit. A couple of weeks' rest and you'll be up on your feet again.'
'But I can't lie in bed for two weeks!' Mike gazed at the family practitioner with dismay. 'I'm far too busy.'
'You'll do as you're told for once, my dear. You're a very sick young woman.' He snapped his bag shut. 'Once your temperature's down, I'll allow you up for a couple of hours each day as long as you promise to take things easy. Keep warm, drink plenty of liquids. I'll be back tomorrow to see how you are.'
The moment the doctor departed, Christina burst into the bedroom, her face flushed, clutching a basket of exquisite blooms. 'Aren't these heavenly?' She brandished them in front of Mike. 'They're from Luke.'
'From Luke?' Mike tried to sound casual but her heart missed a quick beat. How had he discovered that she was ill so quickly when the doctor had only just made his diagnosis? A diagnosis that had at least vindicated her assertion yesterday that she hadn't had too much to drink.
'Mmm.' Christina sat on the edge of the bed. 'It's to apologise for standing me up last night. Isn't that sweet of him?' Her eyes glowed.
'Very,' Mike muttered, irritated to realise how deflated she felt.
'Oh, Mike, I'm so sorry about the way I acted last night. Luke explained everything to me. I can see now that he didn't have any choice other than to look after you.' She giggled. 'He thought you were tipsy.'
'Yes, I know,' Mike said tightly.
'If only I'd known how ill you were, I wouldn't have been so horrible. Come to think of it, you did look dreadful.'
Mike's mouth curved wryly, and she decided that she was a little tired of hearing just how dreadful she looked. She was probably going to end up with a gigantic inferiority complex.
'Is there anything you want?' Christina asked earnestly, evidently anxious to make amends in a practical way.
'A glass of orange juice would be nice.' All she really wanted was to be left alone to be miserable in peace, but she didn't have the heart to disappoint Christina.
'I'll fetch it straight away.' The younger girl sprang to her feet. 'It's lucky I'm here to take care of you, isn't it?'
'It certainly is,' Mike agreed, hiding her sudden grin of amusement. The role of devoted nurse was one of which Christina would soon tire, of that she had no doubt.
But Mike was proved wrong. To her intense surprise, Christina seemed to be in her element over the following days, rushing around with endless trays sent up by Cook who appeared to have a curiously limited repertoire of invalid dishes. If she had boiled, baked or steamed fish followed by milk pudding for lunch one more time, she'd scream, Mike decided towards the end of the second week.
She wasn't the easiest of patients, she admitted. She disliked being fussed, being so dependent on other people, and, as she began to recover her strength, chafed rebelliously against the enforced inertia. She grew increasingly bored, unable to concentrate on the library books that Christina faithfully changed every few days, or the assortment of puzzles and jigsaws presented to her by other members of the household.
Instead she spent most of her time fretting about Kingston Air, thinking about Matthew... and about Luke. The frequency with which the image of a pair of grey, mocking eyes floated into her mind was disturbing.
He'd departed for Dorset two days after she'd been confined to bed, his business in London evidently successfully completed. He hadn't even bothered to put his head around the bedroom door to say goodbye before leaving, Mike remembered, merely relayed the usual platitudes for her recovery via Christina. Other than that she hadn't heard from him at all.
Until today. Mike stood by her bedroom window, fully dressed in a tailored cream suit, scowling at the letter in her hand. No, it wasn't even a letter, she amended ferociously. It was little more than a memo! She screwed up the piece of paper and threw it across the room.
'What are you doing? You're still supposed to be convalescing.' Christina entered the room carrying a breakfast tray. 'Mike?' she demanded, watching her elder sister stalk across the room and retrieve a canvas holdall from the wardrobe.
'I've spent most of the last fortnight in bed and I've had enough. I now pronounce myself fully recovered.' Mike began to throw an assortment of clothes into the bag. 'I'm going down to Rakers' and the airport today.' She'd already transported most of her possessions down to the house.
'But Mike --' Christina protested.
'Do you know what that man has done?' She zipped up the canvas bag savagely. 'Started to negotiate with the airport management committee for the handling contract! Without even consulting me first!'
'Calm down,' Christina ordered firmly and the sheer irony of the role reversals struck Mike so forcefully that she burst into laughter. Usually it was she who pacified Christina in a temper tantrum.
'What's the handling contract anyway? And you might just as well eat your breakfast now it's here.'
Her sense of humour restored, Mike sat down on her bedside chair. 'Not all the airlines that operate in and out of the airport have ground staff based there,' she started to explain. 'So their passengers are looked after by a handling agent.' She took a bite of toast, careful to avoid dropping crumbs on her suit. 'The airport
authority renew the handling contract every five years.'
'And Luke's put in an application for Kingston Air to take over as handling agent?' Christina frowned with concentration and, seeing Mike's nod of affirmation, continued slowly, 'Well, I can't see what you're so steamed up about. It sounds a pretty sensible thing to do if it means more business for Kingston Air.'
Mike leapt to her feet. 'That's not the point! I'm supposed to be Luke's partner. He has no right to make such a major decision about the future of KA without me.' She picked up the holdall and slung it over her shoulder. 'You've been absolutely terrific this last fortnight, Chrissy.'
To Mike's surprise, her half-sister, never usually demonstrative, walked across the room and hugged her. 'Do you have to go this morning?' she asked wistfully. 'You could always see Luke tomorrow anyway. He's coming down to London for the day.'
'is he?' Mike stiffened.
'Mmm. He telephoned last night when you were asleep and invited me out to lunch.'
Mike registered the information in silence, wondering why Christina hadn't blurted out the news earlier as would have been more characteristic. Neither did she appear unduly excited at the prospect of lunching with Luke. Perhaps she was disappointed that it wasn't a more romantic dinner engagement. A wave of anger and indignation tore through her. Luke hadn't found it necessary to telephone his business partner over the last two weeks, and yet he'd evidently found sufficient time to arrange his social life.
'I'd better go,' she muttered, moving towards the door, and then paused. 'Is something the matter?' Christina suddenly looked utterly forlorn and dejected.
'It's just that... I've been thinking...' Christina's voice trailed off into silence.
'Thinking what?' Mike prompted gently, hazel eyes clouding with puzzlement at the younger girl's unnatural reticence.
Christina shrugged. 'It doesn't matter. Not now anyway. You're in a rush.' She opened the bedroom door and walked out.
She should have waited and discovered what was troubling Christina, Mike thought guiltily as she sped down the motorway, the wind through the open window of the Porsche ruffling her auburn curls. It probably wasn't anything important, she consoled herself, and then frowned. That was hardly the point, was it? Vividly she recalled the number of occasions as a child when she'd desperately wanted to talk to her father about a problem which with the wisdom of hindsight had been trivial, but at the time had seemed insurmountable. But her father had always been too busy to listen, too involved with his business commitments. And wasn't she now beginning to fall into the same trap with Kingston Air? She would invite Christina down to Rakers' as soon as she was organised, she eased her conscience. But Christina had evidently needed someone today in whom to confide, a small voice reproached her. It was all Luke's fault, she thought savagely. If it weren't for him, there wouldn't be this urgency to tear down to the airport this morning.
The passenger terminal was crowded as Mike walked in, reminding her that Easter was fast approaching and with it the advent of the full, hectic summer programme. The two girls behind the Kingston Air check-in desk, looking immaculate in their uniform, were dealing courteously and efficiently with a long queue of passengers. A brief glance at the electronic information board confirmed that all the flights were running to schedule. Everything appeared to be operating smoothly and Mike was ashamed to discover that the knowledge irked her. She would have liked Luke to be encountering at least a few problems.
High heels clicking on the tiled floor, Mike walked briskly towards the Kingston Air offices. She pushed open the outer door and stopped, gazing incredulously around her. The walls of the corridor had been freshly emulsioned in brilliant white and a new grey carpet ran the length of the floor. The two walk-in cupboards that should have been on her immediate right had mysteriously vanished and in the space created by their removal was a small reception area.
A dark-haired girl sat behind a desk typing; aligned opposite her were two more girls and a young man, all three wearing distinctly apprehensive expressions.
'May I help you?' the brunette enquired with a courteous smile, looking up from her typing. Her smile vanished as Mike continued on down the corridor and flung open a door to the left. 'You can't go in there,' she protested, leaping to her feet. 'That's Mr Duncan's office.'
If Mike had hoped to disconcert Luke completely by her abrupt, unexpected entry, she was disappointed. Dark grey eyes revealed little more than minor surprise as he glanced up from the polished table and surveyed the slim, upright figure with the set face.
'Good morning, Michaelia,' he murmured with cool civility, rising to his feet. 'It's all right, Tina,' he added pleasantly to the dark-haired girl who had come dashing through the door after Mike and now stood looking bewildered. 'This is Miss Harrington.'
The girl flushed slightly. 'Oh, I didn't realise. I'm sorry.' She threw Mike a curious, slightly speculative glance.
'I'll let you know when I'm ready to see Miss Johnson,' Luke continued, consulting the list of names in front of him.
'Yes, Mr Duncan.' Flashing a brilliant smile, the girl retreated from the room.
'You should have let me know you were coming down to the airport today, Michaelia,' Luke said quietly as the door closed.
'So you could line up the new staff to greet me?' Mike enquired sweetly, the golden sparks in her eyes totally belying her sugary tone. There was a tightly coiled spring in the pit of her stomach threatening to snap at any moment. She paced over to the window and stared out. Losing her temper might release some of that anger curdling inside of her, might prove satisfying in the short term, but ultimately it would achieve very little. Thrusting her shaking hands deep into the pockets of her jacket, she turned round, her features schooled into an impassive mask.
'You have been busy,' she murmured coolly. 'I hardly recognised the place. Not even my own office.' Briefly her eyes wandered around the room; the faded yellow paint had been replaced by innocuous cream. She would have at least liked to have chosen her own decor, she seethed inwardly. 'I assume that this is still my office?' she added caustically.
'I'm only using it temporarily while mine's being decorated,' he returned easily.
Mike's whole attention had been concentrated on the powerful figure dominating the small room and it was only now that she became aware of the sounds of activity issuing from beyond the connecting door. It wasn't that she minded Luke using her office, she reasoned, trying to analyse that twisted feeling inside her. It was just that she would have preferred it if he'd had the courtesy to inform her of his intention to do so. She'd had sufficient shocks already this morning. To find Luke comfortably installed in her office, sitting behind her desk, seemed to be the final affront.
'What is Tina's function exactly?' she demanded. Other than to smile adoringly at her employer, she remembered witheringly. She was aware that she was quite deliberately avoiding the topic uppermost in her mind, the issue that had compelled her to come tearing down to the airport this morning. But right now she doubted her ability to discuss it rationally or objectively.
'I should have thought that was self-evident,' he answered drily. 'Receptionist and secretary. All the external telephone lines go through to Tina's switchboard now, and she redirects the calls as necessary. The operations staff have quite enough to do without answering fatuous questions from the general public.' He leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head, the jacket of the dark grey suit tautening along the hard line of the muscular shoulders. 'She also monitors everyone who comes into the office, which seems to have successfully put a stop to half the airport wandering in and out whenever they felt like a coffee.'
'We're not running a prison camp,' Mike snapped.
'Neither are we operating a twenty-four-hour cafeteria service,' he retorted curtly. 'KA staff aren't employed to sit around drinking coffee with all and sundry, discussing the latest airport rumour.'
Mike fixed her eyes at a point above the dark head. His comment was perfect
ly justified, she admitted grudgingly. She herself had been aware of the growing tendency over the past weeks for airport personnel to congregate in the Kingston Air offices during their breaks and it was a problem she'd been planning to deal with. To discover that Luke had already solved it was infuriating. She lowered her gaze and saw him flick a quick, impatient glance at his wristwatch.
'I take it you're not in the process of holding auditions for the local amateur dramatics society?' she muttered, recalling the row of nervous faces in reception.
'One of the temps walked out the day before I arrived,' he informed her tersely. 'Hardly surprising considering no one seemed to have thought it necessary to train the girl. We're also going to need additional staff when we take over as handling agent.'
'When? Don't you mean if?' she demanded, her nails digging into the palm of her hand.
'The airport director contacted me earlier this morning. We've been offered the contract.' His mouth twisted. 'For heaven's sake sit down, Michaelia, or you'll wear a hole in the carpet!'
'Don't you dare tell me to sit down in my own damn office!' Mike flung back. 'You had no right to redecorate the offices without my consent let alone start negotiating for the --'
'I had every right,' he cut in grimly. 'I suggest that you read your partnership agreement again. In the advent of either partner being temporarily incapacitated, the other partner has full authority to make any decision he deems necessary.'
'I had flu, for Pete's sake,' Mike exploded. 'I wasn't lying in a coma in the middle of the Sahara.' There was absolutely no justification for not contacting her before today. 'Lines of communication do exist between here and London,' she said tartly. 'Ever heard of Alexander Graham Bell?'
'I telephoned you twice last week,' he said curtly, the line of his jaw hardening. 'And on each occasion I was informed that you still had a very high temperature and were in no condition to discuss anything.'
Weakly, Mike sank down into a chair. 'By my father?' she guessed, and sighed as she saw his nod of confirmation. How typical of her father to conveniently forget to tell her that Luke had called.
An Unequal Partnership Page 6