by Penny Jordan
With unerring and very unnerving accuracy, he seemed to read her thoughts, because he didn’t move but instead said derisively, ‘Like getting in touch with Cameron to apologise for running out on him last night?’
Kate couldn’t help it, her skin burned dark red. How had he known that had been in her mind?
The look of contempt in his eyes quite clearly betrayed what he thought of her. She wanted to cry out to him that he didn’t understand, that he had no idea of the financial pressure she was under…that he didn’t realise how important this contract was to her, and to Michael.
‘Is that what you’re going to do?’ he demanded softly.
She was too taken aback to chastise him for the question. The very intensity of the biting sneer in his voice made her face him, her own head lifting, her eyes bright with challenge.
‘I don’t think that’s any concern of yours, do you?’
‘Having second thoughts about those ethics of yours, Kate?’
She flinched beneath the quiet words, hardly noticing the familiar way in which he used her Christian name. Suddenly it had become very important to make him see the justification for what she must do.
‘Last night I panicked,’ she told him huskily. ‘I behaved foolishly, unprofessionally.’
‘I see. So this time you’re going to handle it differently, is that it? This time you’re going to let him blackmail you into going to bed with him, is that it?’
‘No!’
His grim mouth relaxed a little as she made the instinctive denial.
‘You’re deluding yourself if you think he’s going to accept anything else,’ he told her, and in an illuminating moment of self-awareness Kate realised that he was right. Last night she had dealt a blow to James’s pride that only her complete capitulation and humiliation would salve.
Wearily her shoulders sagged, her despair shadowing her eyes as she stared out of the window. Last night she had lost her golden chance. She had panicked and thrown it away as carelessly as an unknowing child, and all because she couldn’t bear the thought of James touching her.
‘I could have handled it differently.’
She said the words more to herself than to Rick Evans, but he caught them and scoffed. ‘How? By letting him think you were going to bed with him and then pulling out at the last minute? Is that how you want to do business, Kate?’
It wasn’t and she shivered, not liking the image he was drawing for her.
‘I’ve got to get into the office,’ she told him tonelessly, and she knew from the flatness of her voice that he had guessed that what he had said had forced her to abandon her plans for making contact with James. He had made her see all too clearly that there was no way back. She had had her chance and she had blown it. Fate might not be inclined to favour her again. And if it wasn’t… If it wasn’t, she could lose everything she had worked for, she acknowledged painfully.
She moved abruptly, wincing as her ankle twinged. Now that she was up and dressed she felt oddly weak, and not just because of her ankle, either. There was an ominous tickly sensation at the back of her throat, and she kept on having to suppress the urge to shiver.
‘I must go,’ she announced, and was appalled to discover how hoarse her voice sounded.
A cold was the last thing she needed right now. She saw Rick frown, and for one vulnerable moment she almost wished that he would announce that he wasn’t going to let her. She must be hallucinating if she was having thoughts like that, she told herself furiously.
‘Has Michael got something that can go in the car?’
The abrupt question startled her, and for a moment she wasn’t quite sure what Rick meant.
‘A carry cot or something, that will keep him safe while I run you to the office. I’d let you take the Ferrari, but with that foot, I’m damn sure you’d never get it out of first gear.’
Take the Ferrari? Her eyes widened slightly, and then hard on the heels of the realisation of how blissful it would be to simply sit back and let Rick take charge, came the panicky knowledge of how dangerous such a weakness would be. She had not fought for all her adult years to preserve her independence and invulnerability simply to throw it all away now just because her head ached and her ankle throbbed.
‘I can get a cab.’
‘There’s no need. Can you make it downstairs, by the way, or…’
‘Of course I can.’
But she wasn’t as confident as she sounded, and so to distract him she told him where he could find the carry cot that fastened into the back seat of a car.
A merely adequate driver herself, she was impressed by the sure way Rick handled the powerful Ferrari. He had just that powerful blending of control and flair that could perhaps be described as macho, although Kate hesitated to choose such an over-used description.
She was surprised that Rick seemed to know exactly how to find her office without her having to give him any directions. He stopped the car and then courteously helped her out, and she needed the firm support of his hand beneath her arm, she recognised, as she tried not to shiver when the cold morning air touched her heated skin.
It occurred to her that she might possibly have the beginnings of a slight fever, but she pushed the thought away, not wanting to have to handle yet another burden. She had enough problems as it was, and as though he knew what was in her mind, Rick said firmly, ‘When you came home last night, I admired you for the stand you had taken, Kate. Not many people nowadays have such a strong set of values. Don’t be deceived into thinking that they don’t matter, because they do. You’ll be the person who’ll suffer the most if you abandon them, because you’re one of those rare people whose own good opinion of themselves matters more than any fawning flattery from others.’
What he was saying was quite true, but she was amazed that he had recognised that stubborn pride within her, which she privately resented, and which had kept her aloof and immovable from the code of ethics she had chosen for herself. Ethics which she was slowly beginning to realise it was going to be costly to hold on to.
‘The world isn’t made up of men like Cameron,’ Rick added quietly, almost reassuringly, she recognised, as he continued to hold her arm, firmly supporting her.
‘It isn’t full of good contracts, either,’ she told him crisply, not wanting to give in to the pleasure of letting his concern for her wrap round her like a warm comforter. It was weak to want to cling to his reassurance, to want to cling to him. It was because she wasn’t feeling well, because last night had re-opened some of the wounds of the past, because James’s touch had made her remember the horror and disgust she had felt as a teenager when one of the boys at the home had tried to molest her. Rick’s touch, on the other hand, aroused none of those feelings of disgust and dislike. When Rick touched her…
‘There’ll be other contracts,’ he assured her, holding her gaze with his, as though he was willing her to take courage and believe what he was telling her. ‘And they’ll be all the better for coming after what you experienced last night, because they’ll be contracts from people who respect you for the kind of woman you are.’
‘For the kind of person I am, don’t you mean?’ Kate corrected bitterly, not wanting him to know how affected she was by his quiet assurances. ‘I don’t want any of my business contacts to see me as a woman. I want to be judged on equal terms with them. And as for the other contracts—well, I hope you’re right, Rick, otherwise you could well find yourself without a job in a very short space of time indeed.”
It was the first time she had ever allowed anyone bar Camilla to see how much her financial insecurity worried her. She had often heard successful people claiming that the days when they had struggled for success had been among the most pleasurable and challenging of their lives, but that was in retrospect, and often said when they had had a partner, a lover, someone to share the hard times with.
She had no one, and she also had the responsibility of Michael. She had initially enjoyed the challenge of setting up
on her own, but now, with the knowledge that she had lost James’s contract, she felt sick at heart, chilled to the bones and infinitely weary. So weary that she would have given anything to simply lie down, close her eyes and go to sleep…to forget her cares, and escape from them.
But she couldn’t do that, and so, giving Rick a tight little smile, she stepped away from him and toward the building that housed her office.
As he got back in the Ferrari, Garrick checked on Michael, who was staring interestedly around him.
‘Well, now,’ he told the serious-eyed little boy. ‘You and I have work to do.’ And, instead of turning the car in the direction of Kate’s home, he drove to the prestigious block that housed the headquarters of the Evans Gould Corporation.
John Gould, who had been his partner when he originally bought his first company, had now retired, having sold out his share of the business to Garrick, but Garrick had retained the original title, thinking it less confusing than making a change.
He drove the Ferrari into his personal car parking space, and then lifted Michael out of the back. If the staff thought it odd to see their chairman striding through the building dressed in worn jeans and a shirt instead of his normal Savile Row suits, carrying instead of his briefcase a small brown-haired child, they were far too well trained to betray it.
Only the receptionist on the floor that contained the directors’ boardroom and Garrick’s personal office widened her eyes in amazement and stared at her august boss in obvious confusion.
‘Mr Evans,’ she stammered hesitantly, ‘Mr Oswald told us that you wouldn’t be coming in. Er…shall I get you some coffee?’
‘Yes, please, Amanda, and—er…some milk, please, as well. But first I want you to ring through to Gerald and tell him to come up and see me.’
His assistant arrived within five minutes, plainly as surprised as the receptionist to see Garrick, but rather better at concealing it.
Garrick had put Michael down on the floor, and he was enjoying himself crawling about and trying to eat the legs of the very expensive rosewood desk.
‘I know we’ve got a lot on, Gerald,’ Garrick told him. ‘But I’ve got an urgent job for you. Something that must be kept completely confidential. I don’t want anyone here at Evans Gould to know anything about this. Is that clear?’
When Gerald had nodded in affirmation, he said crisply, ‘I want a comprehensive list of all the companies in the group who use or need to use a PR agency. I want details of the agencies used, the performance results and how long the contracts already in existence are due to run.’
He saw that Gerald was looking at him rather curiously. ‘I’m thinking of trying a new agency.’
He saw the brief flash of comprehension darken his assistant’s eyes, and wondered rather drily if Gerald had the slightest idea what was really in his mind. Probably not…which was just as well.
Michael, bored with the lack of interesting things to play with, turned to look at the two men and started to cry, holding out his arms to Garrick once he had caught his attention.
‘Had enough, have you? All right.’ And picking up the little boy with easy confidence he apologised to the receptionist as she walked in with a tray of coffee and milk.
‘Sorry, Amanda, I haven’t time to drink it, after all. Oh, and I want that information just as soon as you can organise it, Gerald. OK?’
It said a great deal for the respect with which his staff viewed their chairman that, after he had gone, not one of them who had seen him saw any necessity to speculate openly on exactly what was going on.
By lunch time, Kate’s head was aching so much she could barely see, never mind think. She was suffering from alternate bouts of shivering fits and hot sweats.
A messenger had arrived half-way through the morning from James, returning her coat and evening bag, and, seeing the speculation in Sara’s eyes as she brought the things in to her office, she had felt obliged to let the other girl know that they would not be getting the contract.
Dispirited and exhausted, she was in no condition to fight off what threatened to be an ill-timed bout of ‘flu, she recognised as the faint discomfort at the back of her throat gave way to a full-blown jagged mountain past which it felt impossible to swallow.
Almost light-headed with fever, she struggled over the columns of figures she was desperately trying to add up. Her emergency reserves were so pitifully small, scarcely more than a month, two months’ outgoings at the most. If she didn’t get some new clients very quickly…
She closed her eyes, not wanting to even think the words.
At half-past one her telephone rang. She picked up the receiver shakily and croaked her name into it. There was a brief silence, and then Rick’s voice saying drily, ‘Obviously I don’t need to ask how you’re feeling. Why don’t you call it a day and come home?’
Beyond her shock that as her employee he should speak to her so arrogantly was a weak longing to either burst into tears or beg him to come and fetch her.
Her eyes felt scratchy and dry; her throat was a fiery torment; her body was weak from the spasmodic bursts of shivers that racked it. She ached from her head to her foot, and her ankle was barely carrying her weight. Add to that the pounding headache that was not just a result of her tussle with her accounts, and she had every reason to feel weak and tearful, logic told her, but she couldn’t accept that logic. That need she had just experienced to rely on someone else was like a terrifying pit opening up at her feet, a much feared nightmare suddenly come to life. She must not allow herself to be weak, to be anything other than self-sufficient. She dared not. She had suffered once in her life through losing those she had loved; she couldn’t endure that kind of pain again. Some children in the same situation became desperately anxious to replace their lost parents and clung fearfully to any adult they could; she had been the opposite, standing proud and alone, and that was how she intended to live her whole life.
‘Kate,’ Rick urged her, and she gripped the receiver hard, refusing to give in to what she knew to be the most sensible course of action.
‘What was it you wanted?’ she asked him hoarsely. ‘Is there something wrong with Michael?’
She heard his brief indrawn breath of irritation. ‘No,’ he told her drily. ‘Unlike you, Michael is in perfect health.’
‘Then I’m afraid I must go. I’m rather busy.’
She replaced the receiver, dismayed to discover how much she was shaking. So much so, in fact, that she hardly dared let go of the instrument.
She got up and walked blindly toward her office door. A cup of coffee, or better still some hot soup, would revive her. She hadn’t had any breakfast, and no dinner last night; it was no wonder she felt so weak.
She opened the office door, intending to ask Sara if she could bring her back a carton of soup from the nearest sandwich bar, only to discover the outer office was empty. Of course, both girls would be having their lunch. She would have to go herself.
Her office was on the fifth floor, and by the time she reached the ground floor via the lift she was beginning to wish she had never left it. Gritting her teeth, she walked uncertainly across the foyer and out into the penetrating cold dampness of the lunch-time streets.
Surely they were not normally as noisy as this? The heightened sound battered against her aching eardrums. She had to blink several times to bring things properly into focus. The sandwich shop seemed unpleasantly hot after the coldness of the street, her head pounded and the rich scent of hot food made her stomach churn sickly.
The queue moved slowly, but at last it was her turn to be served. At first she couldn’t remember what she wanted. Those behind her in the queue shuffled impatiently, and miraculously her mind cleared. Soup.
She ordered it, and found she had to hold the carton carefully because she was trembling so much.
Outside again in the street she shivered violently. Was it her imagination or had the temperature dropped several degrees while she had been inside the sandwich b
ar?
It seemed to take her for ever to hobble back to her office building. Her ankle felt as though it was on fire as it swelled protestingly against the confinement of her leather boot. How on earth she was going to get the thing off she had no idea. The thought of not being able to do so and having to wear it for ever struck her as very funny, and she started to laugh, but her chest went tight and she couldn’t breathe. She stopped abruptly and someone cannoned into her, knocking the soup carton out of her hand.
A long, expensive scarlet car drew up at the kerb. Kate didn’t notice it. She was too busy mourning the loss of her soup.
A hand gripped her arm, a familiar voice said her name peremptorily, and then fell silent, causing her to lift her head in mute query.
For some reason it didn’t strike her as particularly odd that Rick should be there, just when she had been thinking so despairingly of him, and wishing she had not been so stubborn when he had urged her to go home. Had she done so, she could by now have been tucked up in bed, fed and warm.
Half out of her mind with fever, she looked at him without surprise and said piteously, ‘I dropped my soup.’
And fresh tears welled.
She heard Rick curse and then, so abruptly that she grabbed hold of him in shock, he picked her up, and carried her over to the car, easing her gently into the passenger seat.
‘Don’t you dare move,’ he warned her. ‘Which floor’s your office on, Kate?’
‘The fifth, but there’s no one there.’
He wasn’t listening, though. He was already half-way across the pavement. It was sheer bliss to simply lie back in her seat and let someone else take charge; she was even beyond being appalled that she should feel like this. She was beyond everything but giving in to the fever consuming her.
When Garrick returned she was lying with her eyes closed, her pale face stained along the high cheekbones with a brilliant scarlet flush. As he got into the car he checked her pulse and found that it was racing erratically.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, her clear gaze for once glazed and unfocused.