An Elusive Desire

by Anne Mather

  It was late when she got home that evening, later than she had expected, due to Diane’s early departure, and Mrs Purdom met her at the door with the news that ‘that woman’ had called again.

  Jaime sighed, glancing at her watch to discover it was almost a quarter to seven, and nodded. ‘I know, Mrs Purdom,’ she said, surprising the elderly housekeeper with this knowledge. ‘She called me at work today. It’s someone I used to—go to school with.’

  ‘Well, really!’ Mrs Purdom was not appeased, and as she helped Jaime off with her jacket she showed her disapproval. ‘Why couldn’t she tell me who she was, instead of refusing to give her name? If you’re old friends …’

  ‘She doesn’t want her husband to know she’s been calling me,’ replied Jaime drily, smiling at Mrs Purdom’s disbelieving expression. ‘It’s true. Wasn’t there ever a time when you kept something from your husband, Mrs Purdom? Didn’t you have any secrets you wanted to hide?’

  ‘Not that I can think of,’ retorted Mrs Purdom with indignation, and Jaime kicked off her shoes as she walked into her living room.

  ‘Well, lucky you,’ she remarked, dropping her briefcase on to the couch and approaching the drinks tray Mrs Purdom had left ready for her. ‘However, it does go to prove how confining that kind of a relationship can be.’

  ‘If you want to make it so,’ replied Mrs Purdom, watching with some misgivings as Jaime helped herself to a gin and tonic. ‘Well, and what time will you be wanting dinner? It’s a cold meal, so you can please yourself.’

  Jaime lounged gracefully on to the couch, curling one of her long legs beneath her. ‘Oh, in about an hour, thank you, Mrs Purdom,’ she answered, putting up a lazy hand to loosen the coil of hair secured at her nape. ‘I think I’ll take a bath before I eat. I’m tired, I may have an early night.’

  Mrs Purdom’s somewhat severe features softened. With her hair loose and falling in straight lines about her face, Jaime looked years younger than the elegant business executive who had walked into the apartment, and the housekeeper regarded her anxiously. With her guard down, and the strain of the afternoon’s business meeting showing in her face, Mrs Purdom thought she seemed more weary than usual, and the affection she felt for her employer kindled as she bent to gather up Jaime’s shoes.

  ‘You look tired,’ she declared, holding the shoes against her, and Jaime sighed.

  ‘Thanks!’

  ‘No, you know what I mean,’ exclaimed the housekeeper warmly. ‘You need a holiday, Miss Forster. You didn’t have one last year, and it’s already the end of May and you’ve made no plans for taking one this year either. What you need is a couple of weeks in the sun, away from dusty offices and boardrooms. Mr Longman would let you go, whenever you liked—you know he would. Doesn’t sunbathing on some hot sunny beach appeal to you?’

  ‘Not particularly.’ Jaime gave the housekeeper a rueful smile. ‘I’m not the lotus-eating kind, Mrs Purdom. Besides, we’re launching the new range in three weeks, and I can’t be away for that. It’s my baby.’

  ‘If you ask me, you’d be better employed having a real baby, instead of a cosmetic one!’ retorted Mrs Purdom shortly, and Jaime gurgled with laughter.

  ‘A cosmetic one! That’s good, Mrs Purdom. I must remember that. I may be able to use it in our next promotion.’

  The elderly housekeeper sighed. ‘You won’t be serious, will you?’

  ‘About having a baby? No.’ Jaime gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘I’m not married, Mrs Purdom.’

  ‘Nor likely to be, judging by the way you behave,’ exclaimed the housekeeper dourly. ‘What happened to that nice Mr Penfold? You had him here to dinner a couple of times, and I thought—–’

  ‘Robert Penfold is just a good friend, Mrs Purdom,’ replied Jaime firmly, finishing her drink and placing the glass on the low table beside the couch. She rose lithely to her feet. ‘I think I’ll have my bath now. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to eat.’

  Mrs Purdom shrugged expressively, but she said no more, and Jaime was grateful. Right now, she was in no mood to argue her reasons for not seeing Robert Penfold any more, and the prospect of a long soak in a hot bath was much more to her liking. There was still the problem of what she was going to do about Nicola’s call, and she hoped that a period of relaxation might provide her with sudden illumination.

  Leaving the living room, Jaime crossed the narrow hall that separated it from her bedroom. In the beige and gold apartment she had decorated herself, she shed the rest of her clothes with some relief, and walked with feline grace into the adjoining bathroom.

  As the water hissed and spurted into the sunken tub, she reflected, as she had done many times since she acquired this apartment two years ago, how lucky she was to have such pleasant surroundings to come home to. The last flat she had had, which had certainly been an improvement on the bedsitters she had previously occupied, had not been much bigger than her living room here, with a tiny bedroom and kitchen, and a bathroom that did not contain a bath, only a shower. One of the first things she had done when she leased this apartment was to spend part of every evening in the tub, luxuriating in its depth and size, and the sybaritic sensuality of the water.

  As well as her bedroom and bathroom, there was a second bedroom and bathroom which Mrs Purdom used, the living room, of course, and a dining room and kitchen, fitted with every modern gadget available. There was even a small study, where Jaime could work in private, and situated as the apartment was on the tenth floor of the building, it was not troubled by the traffic sounds from Elgin Square.

  She was just lifting her foot to step into the steaming water when the telephone started to ring. Frustrated at the realisation that she had not yet had time to think about what she was going to do, Jaime was tempted not to answer it, but something, some inner sense of loyalty perhaps to the girl Nicola had been, made her reach for a fluffy lemon bathrobe.

  She reached the bedroom phone just as her housekeeper lifted the kitchen extension, and picking up the receiver, she said: ‘I’m here, Mrs Purdom.’

  ‘It’s me, Jaime, not Mrs Purdom,’ exclaimed Nicola’s voice huskily, and Jaime heard the housekeeper ring off as she explained the situation.

  ‘I’m sorry I missed your call earlier,’ she added, perching on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m afraid I was late getting home from the office. My secretary had to leave early, and there were one or two things I wanted typed up, so I did them myself.’

  ‘My, how efficient you sound,’ remarked Nicola, rather caustically. ‘The perfect lady executive! What’s it like to be able to boss people around, Jaime? Your secretary told me you’re Martin Longman’s assistant now. You certainly have made a success of your career.’

  Jaime breathed deeply. ‘Is that why you rang, Nicola? To talk about my job? Because I should tell you, I have a hot bath waiting, and a pile of contracts to go over after dinner.’

  ‘Damn it, Jaime, don’t be so bloody supercilious!’ Nicola’s voice broke on a sob. ‘You know why I’m ringing, why I’ve been ringing for the past week or more!’ She paused. ‘Have you thought over what I asked you? Or—or is all this talk about how busy you are intended to warn me you haven’t the time to consider my invitation?’

  Jaime sighed. ‘Nicola, whatever you want to talk to me about, couldn’t you tell me now? Or write me a letter? I promise I’ll reply as—–’

  ‘No! No, I couldn’t.’ Nicola’s voice rose perceptibly. ‘I need to see you, Jaime. I need to talk to you face to face. As—as for telling you over the phone—–’ She broke off and then continued in a lower key: ‘Anyone could be listening, anyone. Raf has spies everywhere, I know he has. He doesn’t trust me, you see. He never has. Oh, Jaime, please say you’ll come out here. If—if you don’t, I may just—just kill myself!’

  CHAPTER TWO

  OF course she wouldn’t! Jaime knew that. Or at least, that was what she told herself as the British Airways Boeing flew smoothly south over the snow-capped peaks of the Swiss Alps thousands o
f feet below her. People who threatened suicide seldom actually went through with it. It was a cry for help, that was all; the only means Nicola could think of to get her to do what she wanted. All the same, it was a request Jaime had found herself unable to refuse.

  Even so, as she made arrangements to take two weeks’ leave of absence from her job, Jaime had known herself for a fool. It was the wrong time to be vacating her desk; it was the wrong place for her to be going; and it was certainly for the wrong reasons that she was setting out on such a mission. On top of everything else was the certain knowledge that Rafaello would not welcome her to the Castello di Vaggio, and she doubted very much whether Nicola had even told him that she was coming.

  Her boss, Martin Longman, had been disappointed but understanding. ‘If you really think this friend of yours is in danger of losing her mind, then of course you must go,’ he said, when she first broached the subject with him. ‘But remember, the launch of Lady-Free takes place three weeks from Friday. I expect you to be back before then.’

  ‘Oh, I shall be.’ Jaime was determined, gripping the arms of her chair tightly as she sat across the desk from the man who was responsible for giving her this wonderful opportunity. ‘I’ve checked with Clifford Jacobs, and with the manufacturers, and everything’s going according to schedule. Unless there are any unforeseen problems, we should make it as arranged.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ Martin Longman lay back in his chair, regarding his personal assistant with faintly troubled eyes. It had been his decision to promote a woman to the position previously always occupied by a man, and so far he had had no cause for complaint. Jaime had accomplished her duties with efficiency and precision, bringing to the job a flair that her predecessors had lacked. Perhaps a woman was the logical choice, after all, Martin reflected, reaching for the box of cigars that was never far from his elbow. To listen to his board one would never have thought so, but even the most prejudiced among them had been forced to acknowledge that Jaime Forster had acquitted herself with skill and enthusiasm.

  Jaime, watching the fleeting expressions crossing her boss’s face, knew a momentary anxiety. What did Martin really think of her asking for time off now with this important launch in the offing? Was he asking himself whether a male executive would have committed so unprofessional an offence? Or was he prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt? In the past, she had never let him down. Did he think she was letting him down now?

  ‘If you feel I shouldn’t be away at this time—–’ she began, but she didn’t get to finish her statement.

  ‘I know you wouldn’t have asked, if it hadn’t been a matter of life and death,’ remarked Martin wryly. ‘Come along, I’ll buy you lunch. That will give the hawks in the boardroom something else to worry about!’

  Jaime’s smile was grateful as they went down in the lift. It wasn’t the first time Martin had bought her lunch, and she knew that fact was frequently seized upon by her opponents in their efforts to get her abilities disparaged. But her friendship with the managing director remained on a purely business footing, even though she knew he had marital problems of his own.

  They went to the Highwayman, a hotel within walking distance of the offices in Holland Park. They went straight into the restaurant, and after the meal was ordered and pre-lunch drinks had been brought, Martin regarded her thoughtfully over the rim of his glass.

  ‘Who is this friend of yours?’ he enquired, his bushy brows drawing together interrogatively. ‘You’ve spoken of your friends before, but I don’t remember a Nicola being mentioned. How long have you known her?’

  ‘Since schooldays.’ Jaime sipped her Martini appreciatively. ‘Nicola was in my year at Abbotsford. We were quite—close friends.’

  ‘Are,’ corrected Martin drily, putting his glass aside. ‘Or was that a Freudian slip?’

  Jaime gave a short laugh. ‘Perhaps. I haven’t seen Nicola for more than five years. Not since—not since she got married, in fact.’

  ‘Ah.’ Martin was looking intrigued. ‘Do I detect a thwarted romance?’

  ‘No.’ Jaime was delighted to discover she could speak quite calmly. ‘But—well, she married an Italian. A count, actually. The Conte di Vaggio. He took her back to Tuscany, and we just lost touch with one another.’

  ‘Yet she knew where to find you,’ Martin pointed out, and Jaime nodded.

  ‘I was already working for Holts when she left England. Just because I’m no longer in the typing pool it doesn’t mean the receptionist wouldn’t know where to find me.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Martin looked at her humorously. ‘I wonder how you are regarded in the typing pool now. To travel so far in such a short time!’

  ‘Do you regret it?’

  Jaime’s thickly-lashed grey eyes invited his opinion, and Martin shook his head. A handsome man, still only in his middle fifties, he attracted a lot of female attention, and they both knew that their relationship was the source of constant speculation throughout the company. But now he simply reached out and covered one of her hands with his, and said quietly:

  ‘You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had, and you know it. Just don’t get to thinking you might like to try the matrimonial state yourself while you’re out there. Italians are very keen on the family, I know, and if your friend’s husband has any eligible brothers or cousins or uncles desirous of a wife, remember you’ve got a professional family here, depending on you.’

  Jaime smiled. ‘I’ll remember.’

  ‘Good.’ Martin nodded approvingly. ‘Ah, here comes our smoked salmon. Let’s enjoy the food and talk about this new idea I have for promoting our products alongside a matching range of garments. I mean, if we could create a certain image, a Helena Holt look …’

  Jaime looked down at the screen of cloud cover which had emerged to hide the blue waters of the Mediterranean far below them. That lunch with Martin had taken place two days ago, two days in which she had been rushed off her feet, clearing up all outstanding matters at the office and finding time in her lunch hour to shop for one or two shirts and sweaters, suitable for early June in that north-western part of Italy known as Tuscany.

  Mrs Purdom had been a boon, laundering and pressing and packing her suitcase with all the items necessary for a week-long stay at the Castello di Vaggio. Jaime had limited her agreement to accept Nicola’s invitation to one week only, allowing herself the other week in case anything should go wrong. She didn’t know what could go wrong, but Nicola had never been a particularly stable character, and although Jaime suspected she had exaggerated the situation, her hysteria on the phone last evening had not been pretence.

  Mrs Purdom, on the other hand, persisted in regarding the trip as a holiday. She was the only one, apart from Nicola, of course, who welcomed Jaime’s enforced holiday.

  ‘I said you needed a break,’ she had declared smugly, as she prepared Jaime’s breakfast that morning. ‘A week or two in Italy will make all the difference to you—get you out of that office, and put some colour in your cheeks.’

  ‘It’s not a pleasure trip, Mrs Purdom.’ Jaime was half impatient. ‘I’m just helping out an old friend, that’s all. I’ll be back, I hope by the middle of next week.’

  ‘Well, don’t you hurry. There’s nothing spoiling here,’ declared Mrs Purdom irrepressibly. ‘Now, are you sure there’s nothing you’ve forgotten before I lock your case?’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the No Smoking sign has now been switched on, and passengers are requested to check that their seat belts are fastened, that chairs are in the upright position, and that all cigarettes are extinguished. No smoking is allowed until passengers are inside the terminal buildings. We shall be landing at Pisa airport in only a few minutes. Thank you.’

  The stewardess smiled at Jaime as she put her microphone away and Jaime felt the familiar sense of tension she always experienced prior to landing. It wasn’t anticipation of the landing itself. She had flown to Paris and Rome several times during her years at Helena Holt, a
nd only two months ago, Martin had taken her with him on a trip to New York. It was the uneasy touch of apprehension she felt upon arriving at an alien destination, and in this instance she felt doubly apprehensive at the knowledge that within a couple of hours she would be meeting Rafaello again.

  The aircraft landed without incident, and as Jaime was sitting at the front of the plane, she was one of the first to disembark. She passed through Passport Control without a hitch, collected her suitcase from the unloading bay, and then walked swiftly through Customs, keeping an alert eye open for Nicola’s diminutive figure.

  The arrivals lounge was full of people waiting for friends and relations to appear from any one of the half dozen aircraft that had landed since Jaime’s flight touched down. Surely Nicola would have the sense to move to the front, thought Jaime tensely. Among so many taller people, she could easily be overlooked.

  ‘Miss Forster!’

  The crisp masculine tones set Jaime’s nerves jumping. In spite of the fact that she had been steeling herself for this moment ever since she had agreed to Nicola’s blackmail, she was alarmed to find that Rafaello’s voice still had the power to turn her bones to jelly. She swung round, the suitcase dropping nervelessly from her hand, and confronted the man she had last seen, standing with his back to her, in the medieval beauty of Westminster Cathedral.