Fire With Fire

‘There are complications.’ Emma knew she sounded brusque. ‘They need not concern you. Camilla wanted me to ask you if you would be prepared to take instalment payments to cover the repairs to your car. She can’t afford to repay you in a lump sum. She simply doesn’t have that sort of money.’

‘But her fiancé does, presumably, otherwise she wouldn’t be marrying him.’

The cynicism in his voice prompted Emma to snap, ‘Yes he does, but naturally she wouldn’t want to ask him to lend her such a sum before they are married, if that’s what you were going to suggest. The repayments will include an interest element, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

‘No, it does not worry me Miss Court, since I’m not prepared to accept them.’ He got up and came towards her, surprisingly deft in his movements for such a tall man. ‘However, if your sister genuinely can’t repay me in cash, I am prepared to take another form of payment …’

He was watching her closely, and Emma burst out rashly, ‘If you think Camilla will agree to have sex with you in return for you dropping the charges, you’re way, way off course …’

‘And so are you,’ he told her smoothly, ‘the payment I was thinking of wasn’t so much your sister’s body in my bed, as yours… in my magazine.’

For a moment Emma genuinely thought she might faint. She looked at him, grey eyes dazed and disbelieving, hot colour running up under her skin as she realised he was perfectly serious.

‘Me? But … but I’m not a model, I don’t …’ She shook her head trying to sort out her muddled thoughts.

‘Don’t what,’ he mocked her, ‘take your clothes off for financial gain? But of course you don’t Miss Court, that’s what will make the fact that you’re featuring in the magazine such a sales booster. I’ve been looking for something to up our ratings, and you could be just the thing.’

He was prowling round her now, studying her, stripping the clothes from her body with a careless masculine arrogance that made her long to smack him.

‘Yes, I can see the captions now. Cool newsreader Emma Court, as you’ve never seen her before … except perhaps in dreams. It should make an extremely good feature.’

‘You must be mad!’

He laughed mirthlessly, ‘How predictable of you, somehow I had expected better. No, I’m far from mad Emma Court.’

‘You knew who I was this morning, didn’t you?’ she demanded furiously, remembering the way he had looked at her then, probably already anticipating this very moment.

He was coolly amused. ‘My dear girl, I knew everything there was to know about you ten minutes after I’d read your letter.’

Emma thought furiously. ‘Did you arrange for me to get that job …? Did you?’

He smiled infuriatingly, ‘How quick you are Emma, I like that in a woman, it saves so much tedious time wasting. What does it matter? You’ve got it haven’t you?’

‘And now you plan to use me to …’

‘I’m offering you what you came here for,’ he told her curtly, ‘if the terms of payment are unacceptable to you, you can always refuse …’

‘And if I do, you’ll sue Camilla?’

He shrugged. ‘Do I look like a man who’d let someone rob me of several thousand pounds and do nothing about it? Half the secret of being successful Emma Court is comprised of luck—pure and simple. I consider myself to be more lucky than most. The very day your letter arrived, I was trying to think of ways to boost the magazine’s circulation, bringing it a little more upmarket. I don’t know if you are aware of it, but a rival of mine has challenged me to beat his circulation figures.’

‘Yes, I am aware of it.’ Her response was terse. ‘But I can’t see how nude photographs of me …’

‘Of you, Emma Court, no,’ he agreed, interrupting swiftly, ‘but of you Emma Court, the new anchorwoman of “Newsview“, yes. On screen you project a very cool, remote image, Emma. I know, I’ve made it my business to watch you. A lot of men find that very … challenging. The fact that we are able to show them a different Emma …’

‘No!’ The denial burst past her lips before she could stop it, her eyes wide and haunted as she faced him. ‘I’d never agree to anything like that,’ she told him fiercely.

‘No?’ He picked up his telephone receiver. ‘Very well then, I’ll instruct my solicitors to continue with the charges against your sister and to ensure that they get as much media coverage as possible …’

She knew he wasn’t bluffing. He had the power to do exactly what he was threatening. She could just imagine Mrs T’s face when she read what Camilla had done, and no doubt the press would have a field day making it sound even worse than it was. She was sorely tempted to go home and tell Camilla that she had been unsuccessful, but the thought of her sister’s hysterics; the knowledge that it could well mean the end of her engagement—because Mrs T. would put unholy pressure on David to break the engagement, she knew—overwhelmed her.

Forcing herself to think calmly and quickly, and to detach herself from what was happening she viewed her options, and could only come up with one solution. Damn Drake Harwood and damn Camilla. She would have to agree, she decided bitterly. She had no real choice. Let him take his photographs, but he’d never be able to use them in the way he’d planned.

Bitter anger tensed her muscles as she envisaged having to explain to Robert why she could not take the job … but he would understand. They wouldn’t want her on local television either … not once Drake Harwood had splashed her photograph all over his magazine. So what, she told herself hardily, she would be able to find another job in some other field where her public image wasn’t so important and at least she would have the satisfaction of defeating Drake Harwood. As he had said himself, photographs of her, as herself would have little appeal. As Emma Court she was no one and even though her mind and body screamed objections to what she would have to do she must ignore them.

‘Well?’

She faced him coolly, ‘I agree. but first I must have a document signed by you, clearing Camilla from any charges you might make against her.’

‘You shall have it. I do admire a woman of keen perception Emma Court. Somehow I thought you and I would be able to reach a mutually acceptable agreement.’

He was taunting her, Emma was sure of it, but she wasn’t going to respond.

‘How long will it take to get the document prepared and signed,’ she asked him coolly. She must know how much time she had. She daredn’t say that she wasn’t taking the job until she had that paper in her hand.

He was watching her face. ‘It will be given to you immediately after the photographic session.’

‘Do I have your word on that?’ Her eyes were hard, and she noted the dull flush colouring his cheek bones.

‘You have it,’ he told her crisply. ‘Now let’s get down to the arrangements shall we?’

He obviously didn’t believe in wasting any time Emma thought hollowly half an hour later as she left his office. Tomorrow she had to present herself at a studio whose address he had given her, and he had promised that she would also receive the documents releasing Camilla while she was there.

She went back to her hotel and booked in for another night. Then she telephoned home and told her father she had been delayed. ‘Camilla wants to speak to you,’ he told her.

Camilla sounded tense. ‘Did you see him?’ she demanded.

‘Yes, and he’s agreed to drop all the charges.’ There wasn’t much point in telling her sister the price she was having to pay for her freedom. There was nothing martyred or self-sacrificing in her decision; it was simply the only one she could make. She had grown so used to protecting Camilla that it was almost second nature.

She put off telephoning Robert, her interview with him was best left until she got home. Thank goodness she hadn’t actually signed a new contract. The television company would be more than pleased to let her go when they knew why she was leaving. Once her photograph had appeared in Drake Harwood’s obnoxious publication no serious television station would want to touch her with a bargepole. Bitterness welled up inside her, but she fought it down; at least she would have the satisfaction of defeating his main purpose and that, she sensed, was something very few people ever did. He had been quite cold and callous about his reasons for what he was doing; her thoughts and feelings meant nothing to him and neither did the fact that he was destroying her career. She had sensed beneath the mockery a fine contempt of the female sex, and she shuddered inwardly, trying not to think about the ordeal to come.

That evening after she had had her bath she forced herself to study her nude reflection in the bedroom mirror. Her body was slender and well formed, unmistakably feminine; the thought of exposing it to the eyes of some jaded photographer made her shudder with distaste. If only she could blot the whole thing out of her mind somehow … but that wasn’t possible.

Neither was sleep; she lay awake for what felt like hours, prey to her thoughts and too-active imagination. It was difficult to visualise anything more degrading than what she was going to have to do, and her pride rebelled fiercely against it, but there was no escape.

CHAPTER THREE

MORNING came; she was heavy eyed and lethargic. The thought of breakfast held no appeal and having showered she dressed quickly in plain cream underwear. The moment her fingers touched the pale, silky fabric she started to shiver. Dear God, she could not go through with this; she could not subject herself to such sexual debasement. She ran to the bathroom and retched painfully, shuddering convulsively afterwards. If only she could simply walk out of this hotel and away from … from everything, she thought tiredly, but she couldn’t. She had spent too many years as Camilla’s older sister to do that. She could not desert the younger girl now.

A blessed numb calm seemed to engulf her the moment she walked outside; it was like being encased in a soft plastic bubble; safe from all harm; from all contact with her own feelings.

The taxi drive to the address Drake Harwood had given her was over all too soon. The studio was housed in an elegant Regency terrace; testament to how much money could be made from their business, Emma reflected bitterly as she paid off the taxi driver and rang the bell.

It took several minutes for the door to open. A girl of about her own age stood there, dressed in tatty jeans and a bulky sweater. ‘Hi, come on in,’ she directed. ‘Drake warned me to expect you.’ She gave Emma a wide grin. ‘Feeling nervous? Drake said you might be. This way.’

Following her down a narrow corridor, Emma gritted her teeth against the biting retort she was longing to make. Her relief at discovering that the photographer was another woman had quickly been displaced by fury that Drake Harwood should discuss her with her.

‘In here …’

‘Here …’ was an expensively equipped studio, dominated by the large bed on which several spotlights were focused. The bed itself was covered in a satin spread, the colour of rich cream.

‘Drake’s idea. I’m Pat Devlin,’ the other girl introduced herself. ‘I don’t normally accept commissions of this type, but Drake made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, as the saying goes. That was his idea,’ she added gesturing towards the bed and grimacing faintly. ‘He said the spread would be a perfect foil for your hair. Fancy a cup of coffee?’

Nodding numbly, Emma tried to come to grips with reality. It seemed impossible to believe this was actually happening but it was … and there was no escape.

‘Oh and Drake left something for you, said I was to give it to you after we’d finished. It’s over there.’

Emma looked at the thick envelope. So he had kept his promise to her. Somehow she had never doubted that he would. ‘Hey are you feeling okay?’ There was genuine anxiety in the question.

Emma nodded her head. ‘First time nerves,’ she grimaced.

‘And second thoughts. Why not have third ones and forget the whole thing. It’s none of my business of course, but if you’re really hating the thought of it as much as you look as though you are, it will show in the photographs, and no matter how much Drake is paying you, it can’t possibly compensate for what it’s costing you …’

‘I have to do it.’

Emma knew her voice was shaking. She couldn’t look at Pat, just in case she broke down and gave in to her suggestion not to go through with it. The papers were there and she could take them, but pride would not let her. She had to go through with it … but if Drake Harwood chose to print the finished product it would not be of Emma Court, TV newsreader, but simply Emma Court, out of work. He had demanded a price and she was prepared to pay it, but she wasn’t prepared to involve anyone else in that payment.

‘Okay, then let’s get it over with shall we?’

Pat Devlin might not be used to doing the sort of work Drake had engaged her for, but she was a professional to her finger-tips Emma realised in the two hours that followed. Small, and wiry with a shock of thick black hair, she possessed an energy that left Emma limp.

‘Take your hair down,’ she had instructed, helping Emma to uncoil her chignon, after she had taken some initial shots of Emma as she had arrived at the studio.

‘Look,’ she asked in a kind voice when she had asked her to undress, ‘are you sure …’

‘Sure.’

‘Okay then.’

If it wasn’t as bad as she had dreaded it was bad enough. Drake’s magazine was apparently more up-market than many of its competitors and for that reason she had been instructed to make sure all the shots were in good taste, Pat told Emma with a grimace. ‘Personally if I had my way the things would be banned, but a girl has to make a living. He was right about your hair,’ she added when she had positioned Emma on the satin spread. ‘I think you’d better close your eyes,’ she added, ‘they give away too much. You’re supposed to look as though you’re enjoying this, not on the rack. Try to think of something pleasant…’

All she could think of was that at some future date, Drake Harwood would be looking at her like this. The thought made her so tense that Pat had to stop work. What was one man among thousands, Emma jeered at herself, glad of the mug of coffee Pat brought her.

‘Nearly over,’ she encouraged her. ‘God I remember the first nude shots I ever did … I was nearly sick with nerves … but after a while you get used to it …’

Emma shuddered again, thankful when at last her ordeal was over and she could discard the cream satin underwear Pat had asked her to wear. The satin was soft and of excellent quality, the underwear perfectly respectable, sexy, but in an understated way; the sort of thing she herself might even have worn, for a lover perhaps … but now the mere thought of it against her body revolted her. All she wanted to do was to immerse herself in a tub of hot water and scrub her skin until she felt clean again.

Unfortunately, it would not be as easy to erase the morning from her mind.

‘Okay, here’s your envelope, don’t forget it,’ Pat instructed handing it to her when Emma emerged from behind the changing screen.

‘I’ll just pack up my things and then I’ll be on my way too. You know you meet all types in this game, but you … you’re someone I just can’t pigeonhole. You went through agony there, and yet you kept on … why?’

When Emma shook her head, Pat shrugged. ‘Well I guess it’s your own affair. I’d better get back to my flat and get these developed before Drake starts screaming for them. It’s the first time I’ve done this sort of work for him. Industrial stuffs more his line. Still it makes a change from working for Vogue, and photographing building sites.’

‘Well come on, I want to hear ail about it.’

The first thing Emma had done when she got home was to ring Robert. Now they were sitting in the bar of a quiet local pub, nursing their drinks.

‘I can’t take the job.’ She hadn’t meant to say it so baldly, but somehow the words were out and Robert was staring at her as though she had lost her mind.

‘Emma have you gone mad. Of course you can take it… They offered it to you, I know that, and it’s the chance of a life-time, just what you’ve always wanted.’

‘Just what I did always want,’ Emma corrected unsteadily, ‘I’ve … I’ve changed my mind …’

Robert glared at her as though he was seeing her for the first time. ‘I see, and is one allowed to ask why? Don’t tell me,’ he continued furiously, ‘it has to be a man. God Emma, I thought you were different, I thought you had more sense, but it seems I was wrong. I thought you wanted a career, not…’

‘Love?’ she supplemented drily. ‘All women want that, Robert …’

Although Robert had leapt to the wrong conclusion, it was easier to let him go on believing it than to try and find some alternative explanation for her decision. Inside she felt sick and shaky, one part of her longing to pour out to him her pain and misery, and another warning her against doing so; against crossing the careful barrier she had always maintained between them.

Emma wasn’t blind; she was aware that Robert was attracted to her, it would be easy to push that attraction into something more because she needed someone to confide in and comfort her, but if she did they would both end up regretting it. Robert loved his wife, and she wanted no part of a man who was committed to someone else.

‘Well I hope to God he knows what you’re giving up,’ Robert said harshly, draining his glass. ‘What do you intend to do now? Stay on with us?’

Emma shook her head. ‘No that’s not possible I’m afraid …’

‘Lover-boy wants a little stay at home wife, is that it?’ Robert practically snarled the words. ‘Very well Emma, if that’s what you want …’

‘I’ll give you my notice tomorrow.’ She had to bend her head to hide from him the tears starting up in her eyes.

‘If that’s what you want. …’

It isn’t what I want, her heart cried out rebelliously, but it’s what I have to do … I don’t have any alternative. If she kept quiet and signed her new contract, they would have to abide by it; they would not be able to get rid of her, as they would want to do, once the magazine came out, and she had too much pride to subject herself or them to that.

Robert drove her home in a stiff silence. She had holidays owing to her which meant that she need not work her notice period. When she told her father and Camilla, neither seemed overly concerned.

‘Oh good, you’ll be able to help with the wedding arrangements,’ was Camilla’s selfish remark, while her father commented that it would be nice to have her at home.

‘I still can’t believe that tomorrow David and I will be married,’ Camilla said for the umpteenth time. They were in her bedroom, Emma doing her packing for the Caribbean honeymoon David was taking her on. ‘Thank God you were able to persuade that beast Drake Harwood to drop charges.’

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