Rules Of The Game

She was still seething ten minutes later when she heard Gavin’s footsteps on the stairs, but the angry words tumbling on her lips were forgotten as he rushed in and she saw his harassed expression. ‘I’ve missed him then?’ he groaned, running irate fingers through his hair. ‘Dear God that’s all I need. How on earth am I going to persuade him to use us as the team’s official photographers after this débâcle? What did he say, Van? Was he very angry? It’s all the fault of that stupid girl at the town hall. She told me I had to be at the party, but according to his aide, he was coming here to meet me. He wanted me to do a shot of him for the local paper—you know they’re doing an article on him. I suppose he was furious when he got here. They say he doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and of course you wouldn’t know why he was here.’

A cold, horrible feeling of disquietude was beginning to seep through her. At least it had started as a seep, now it was a fully fledged mill race. ‘Gavin … who exactly are you talking about?’ she asked her brother.

He gave her a brief impatient frown. ‘Jay Courtland of course. I told you I was supposed to be meeting him today at the Welcome Party, but apparently the arrangements had been changed and they hadn’t let me know. He was to come here for me to do a formal picture of him for the paper.’

‘What’s he like, Jay Courtland?’ Vanessa asked him hollowly, Please God don’t let it be true, she was praying inwardly, but she knew her prayers weren’t going to be answered when Gavin said impatiently, ‘What do you mean what is he like? You must have seen photographs.’ When she shook her head, he went into his office and she heard him rifling through some papers. Within seconds he re-appeared proferring a magazine to her. It was one of the Sunday Supplements and Jay Courtland’s photograph occupied an entire page of glorious technicolor, right down to the amused amber eyes.

‘That’s Jay Courtland?’ She whispered it through stiff lips, still hardly able to comprehend.

‘That’s him, all right. Vanessa what’s the matter? Did he come here?’

‘He came, all right.’ Vanessa told him, trying to hold back the hysterical bubble of laughter fighting for release. Jay Courtland; the local hero made good. The man who could be so important to Gavin’s future, because Gavin hoped to impress him enough for Jay Courtland to use him on the national advertising campaign for his new sportswear acquisition. If Gavin got that contract he would be made, and it was well known that Jay Courtland intended to favour local industry, local firms. Only because it was good publicity Vanessa had said scornfully when Gavin had talked about it, and now …

‘Van, what the devil is going on? What did you say to him?’

‘Oh nothing much,’ Vanessa assured her brother with false blitheness, ‘I only asked him to strip off. So that I could take his photograph you know …’

For a moment Gavin simply stared at her, and then pulling himself together with a visible effort, he shook his head and muttered, ‘I don’t think I’m hearing this …’

‘I thought he was the model,’ Vanessa told him. ‘I …’

‘What happened? Why did he leave?’

‘He went while I was on the phone,’ Vanessa told him.

‘I hope to God he sees the funny side of this Van.’ Gavin looked very disturbed. ‘He can make or break us, you know that …’

‘I don’t suppose I’m the first woman to have asked him to take his clothes off,’ Vanessa interrupted sardonically, but in truth she was feeling far from as assured as she was trying to appear.

‘So that she could photograph him for a suncream ad?’ Gavin asked grimly. ‘I’d better phone his office—if they’re still speaking to me. What on earth made you think he was a model?’

She had been so tense, so nervous, so anxious to get the whole thing over that she hadn’t thought too deeply about it at all.

‘God, a fine impression of our professionalism and skill you must have given him,’ Gavin added, making her feel more guilty than ever. It had been bad enough when she had thought him a model, but now … her face burned when she remembered his outrageous comments; the warm, hard pressure of his mouth against her skin.

‘He thought I was Nadia,’ she told Gavin stupidly, shivering a little with reaction and shock. ‘So I wasn’t the only one to make a mistake.’

‘Did you tell him you weren’t?’ Gavin was moving towards the office.

‘No, there didn’t seem much point.’ If he had known that she wasn’t Nadia, Nadia who the whole world knew loved a lover, would he have been as familiar with her?

She heard Gavin asking to speak to him, and not wanting to listen to his conversation, closed the office door and went downstairs intending to slip out and do some shopping, praying as she did so, that Jay Courtland would not punish her brother for her mistake.

Her mistake. For a second rebellion flared to life inside her, he had hardly done anything to correct it, but then perhaps he was so used to people recognising him that he had expected her to do so as well. Arrogant, lordly creature, if it was not for the fact that he held Gavin’s future in the palm of his hand she would be tempted to wish that he would take offence. But Gavin could not afford to have such a powerful enemy. She remembered the way he had laughed at her when she tried to get him to pose, gritting her teeth as she re-lived the amusement glinting in his eyes. He had enjoyed being deliberately obtuse, she realised that now. If anyone should feel resentment it ought to be her, not him!

CHAPTER TWO

‘I CAN’T get anything out of Russell Jackson, Jay’s aide,’ Gavin said fretfully when he rejoined her. ‘He seems to be under the impression that the photo session has been delayed. Perhaps Jay hasn’t told him what happened. I sincerely hope not, I dread to think what it will do for our reputation if it gets out that you confused Jay Courtland with a male model.’

‘Is there such a vast difference?’ She sounded more cynical than she intended and Gavin gave her an exasperated glare. ‘Look Van, for some reason you seem to have a down on the poor guy and have done ever since we heard he was coming back, but even you have to admit he’s done pretty well for himself. From living in an orphanage to becoming close to a multi-millionaire in thirty-four years is pretty good going.’

‘That depends on how you assess progress,’ Vanessa told him waspishly, ‘there are more things to life than playing football and making money.’

‘Come on Van, you’re being unreasonably prejudiced. Look at his business record; the money he’s given to charity.’

‘And the publicity he’s got for it,’ Vanessa reminded her brother refusing to be swayed. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion Gavin and I’m entitled to mine.’

‘I wish to God I knew how he is reacting to this morning.’ He glanced at his sister.

‘Well unless he gets in touch with us we’re not likely to find out are we?’

‘We could.’ His glance held hers. ‘If you went to see him and …’

She had known her brother too long not to guess what he was going to say. Her stomach seemed to drop away leaving shock mingling with her anger. ‘And what? Apologise?’

‘Explain,’ Gavin palliated. ‘We owe him that at least … Come on Van,’ he protested when he saw her truculent expression. ‘You must admit that.’

‘Gavin I …’

‘Look it’s our whole future I’m talking about here Van. You know how much it costs to run the house; the rates alone … If I can’t make a go of the studio …’

He frowned and for a moment looked so tired and drawn that her conscience smote her. By his lights Gavin undoubtedly had a case. After all he hadn’t met Jay Courtland and been subject to his virile mockery; his subtly sexual onslaught against her senses. No doubt Gavin was looking at the whole matter in the light of the damage it could do them professionally whilst she … She bit her lip frowning. She didn’t want to submit to the humiliation of apologising to a man who she knew would enjoy receiving her apology, who she suspected had believed she had deliberately … A fresh thought struck her. Could Jay Courtland have thought that she knew his real identity all the time? Dark colour burned her pale skin. If that was the case she had to admit her mistake if only to convince him that it had been genuine.

Almost as though he had picked up on her train of thought Gavin said perplexedly, ‘What I can’t understand is how you could have mistaken Jay for the model in the first place … Surely you’ve seen his photograph often enough recently to recognise him? It’s been plastered all over the local rag and then there’s all the advertising the football team have been doing. It isn’t every day that a World Cup player returns to the fourth division club he first started off with with the express intention of giving them financial aid. In fact there’s many a first division club that would like to be in Clarewell’s position now. Bill Stoakes, the manager, is over the moon.’

‘Is he?’ Vanessa asked acidly. ‘Personally I’m more concerned about all the local lads who are going to find themselves dropped from the team once Jay Courtland starts waving his cheque book around.’

‘What on earth gave you that idea?’ Gavin shot his sister an exasperated look. ‘Why do I get the impression that you’ve got a blind spot where Jay Courtland’s concerned? It can’t be because you harboured a youthful adoration for him—you were never a football fan, so what is it?’

‘Nothing,’ Vanessa lied shortly. How could she explain to her down to earth brother that everything she had read in the national press about Jay Courtland before he announced his return to Clarewell irritated her? He was a rich tycoon, a man who lived and played hard; who made no secret of his orphanage upbringing; or the fact that he had had to fight hard for all that he now owned. She had visualised him as something of a rough diamond; a man who carried his game-playing from the football field to the boardroom and who was worlds removed from the sort of man who would appeal to her. Her tastes ran to men who shared her love of music; the theatre and the other arts; men whose idea of enjoyment was a day spent at the National Gallery as opposed to Wembley Football Stadium; a man who did not make sport and being ‘one of the boys’ his Gods. In short, a man as far removed from Jay Courtland as it was possible to get. If she had to visualise a career for this mythical man it would be as a doctor, or a solicitor, something that demanded exercise of the intellect rather than the body. If she explained any of this to Gavin he would doubtless accuse her of being silly, even perhaps of being faintly snobbish, but there was nothing of this in her feelings, it was simply that men like Jay Courtland were not her type. She did not believe for one moment that his generosity to his home town was purely philanthropic. How could it be when one took into account his reputation?

‘Look Van,’ Gavin began with brotherly impatience. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. Jay intends to keep the team a local one; in fact he’s determined on that; he wants others to have the chance he had; the chance to use their skill on the football field to escape the near poverty he had to endure as a child. That’s why he’s financing the new sports and leisure complex; that’s why he’s re-equipping the local team to such a high standard.’

‘And of course his generosity has nothing to do with Supersport, I suppose?’ Vanessa asked sardonically. ‘Honestly Gavin you must think I’m a real dunce.’

‘I’m not denying that he will want to make Supersport as successful as all his other companies, but you can’t use that to detract from what he is doing for the town. If you discount everything else there are still the jobs that Supersport will bring to the town when he expands it as he intends to do.’

‘By fermenting a good deal of national public interest in his ex-local football team? By kitting out them and all other local would-be athletes for free?’

‘Okay, so there is something in it for him, and he can be a hard man, but he’s got reason to be Van. Abandoned by his mother when he was five years old; never knowing his real father, because his mother never married him and she died before he was old enough to talk to him about him; living in an institution … He got a place at university, he could have gone to Oxford you know, but he couldn’t afford to support himself while he was there, even with his scholarship so—–’

‘He became a footballer instead, swopping graceful spires for the adulation of his fans? You’re breaking my heart …’

‘As you’ll break mine, if I lose the promise of this contract. You will go and see him won’t you Van?’

‘Do I have much option?’ she asked her brother dryly, adding, ‘Yes I’ll go, and if I were you I’d check up on the whereabouts of our real model.’

There was no point in putting off the evil hour unnecessarily. Gavin told her that Jay’s aide had said he could be found at Supersport, but just as she opened the studio door Gavin yelled after her, ‘Van, go home and get changed first. If you go dressed like that they’ll never let you in the place …’

Suppressing an angry grimace Vanessa stepped out into the sunlit street, heading for the battered Volvo estate both she and Gavin shared.

It didn’t take her long to drive to Clare Lodge, the home her parents had bought shortly after their marriage. Set in the rolling countryside of the Cheviots the lodge commanded almost idyllic views of the hills. The approach road was unmade up and pot holed, but the Volvo was too used to it to do more than protest mildly, unlike the expensive foreign make sportscar which she only narrowly managed to avoid as it came racing down the lane towards her. Only by swerving almost into the ditch was there room for its driver to get past, and Vanessa had a blurred impression of dark hair before her attention was concentrated on maintaining control of her own vehicle.

The lane led only to Clare Lodge and the Manor House beyond, and she frowned wondering if the driver of the other car had merely lost his way or had had a definite mission down the muddy narrow track. The Manor House had been up for sale for over twelve months and before that had fallen into decay, occupied only by General Adaire, an eccentric, ex-army man who lived there alone after the death of his wife.

More out of curiosity than anything else, Vanessa drove past the gates of the lodge and headed towards the Manor House proper coming to an abrupt stop as she saw the padlocked gate and the ‘No trespassers’ signs. Where the old, faded ‘for sale’ notice had hung a new notice now stood, a bold ‘sold’ sticker plastered across it. Someone had bought the Manor.

Musing on who it could be and hoping it would not, as had been rumoured at one time, be a property developer intent on turning what had once been a gracious country house into a multitude of small flatlets, Vanessa reversed down the lane to the lodge. As its name implied it had once been the lodge to the Manor House, but had been modernised and extended from its original Tudor framework during the Edwardian era, when it had been occupied by the mother of the then incumbent of the Manor. Having known no other home Vanessa was fiercely devoted to the lodge. How much longer would they be able to keep it though if Gavin did not get the contract he was hoping for from Supersport? Yet another reason for her to tender her apologies to Jay Courtland. Surely her love for her home outweighed her discomfort at the thought of facing the man who had mocked her so sardonically in her brother’s studio?

Less than an hour later, showered and wearing a simple pale yellow linen suit she had bought on impulse in a boutique several weeks ago, she was driving the Volvo in through the gates of Supersport. She had visited the factory once before and as then she was struck by its general air of neglect and decay, hardly the image of a go-ahead competitive firm, she thought as she eyed the untidy loading bay and the rather decrepit vans waiting there.

The only space to park the Volvo was right next to … Her heart missed a beat as she studied the unmistakable lines of the exotic sportscar she had last seen coming down the road from the Manor. A brief glance at the personalised numberplate told its own story and her face flamed as she remembered their brief contretemps in the lane; JAC 1, the numberplate read and she wondered idly what the ‘A’ stood for as she forced herself to breathe evenly and deeply, summoning all her courage and composure for the interview ahead.

As she locked the car and walked towards the reception area she heard voices gradually coming nearer, and recognised Jay Courtland’s, much sharper and more authoritative than she remembered it. ‘All deliveries will be tendered out—at least until we get the factory working reasonably efficiently.’ Vanessa heard someone else objecting, but Jay Courtland cut ruthlessly through the objections announcing crisply that he had made up his mind and that he was not prepared to waste valuable time on discussing the matter further.

She had just reached the main door when the small party of men rounded the corner. There were five men altogether, Jay Courtland easily discernible; easily the most arresting, his lean, tall frame standing out from those of his fellows; tired-looking, business-suited individuals whom she recognised as the directors of the once family-run firm. Jay Courtland saw her first, and saying something to his companions left them to walk towards her.

‘Ah ha, it’s the lady who wants to photograph me in the nude,’ he mocked her with a taunting smile. ‘You’re nothing if not persistent, but you can hardly expect me to strip to the buff here, or was it bribery you had in mind this time?’ His glance rested provocatively on her breasts as he spoke, and the suit which had seemed eminently respectable and suitable when she put it on suddenly seemed to cling far too seductively to the curves of her body, the silk shirt she was wearing beneath it, far too revealing. Only pride and a certain grim determination not to let him rattle her prevented her from hugging the edges of her jacket protectively around her body, but as though he knew what was running through her mind Jay lifted his glance from her body to her flushed indignant face, laughter gleaming gold in his tawny eyes. ‘You know I can’t imagine you as a model somehow,’ he said softly, ‘You don’t strike me as a young woman who would docilely allow herself to be ordered what to do. Something tells me you prefer being the one who does the ordering. Is that why you prefer being behind the camera to being in front of it?’

This was the moment to tell him that she wasn’t Nadia, but just as she opened her mouth, the main doors opened and a slim, harassed looking man in his mid-forties hurried out, relief clearly evident in his expression as he saw Jay Courtland.

‘Jay, there you are. There’s a call for you about the new contracts we’re hoping to set up for Supersport. Will you …’

‘Tell them I’ll ring back in fifteen minutes will you Russell. I think this young lady has something to say to me that just won’t wait.’

Vanessa went scarlet as she felt the other man’s interested gaze skim over her, and then Jay was taking her arm and guiding her in through the open doors, down a carpeted corridor coming to an abrupt halt outside the farthest door. Thrusting it open he stood back so that Vanessa could precede him inside. The room still smelled of fresh paint and had obviously been re-decorated and refurnished. Her mouth twisted in a slightly bitter smile. Of course everything would have to be bright shiny new for the new owner.

As though he guessed what she was thinking Jay Courtland watched her mobile face for a few seconds before offering, ‘Packaging my dear Nadia, you of all people should know how important that is. How can we hope to persuade our buyers that Supersport’s products are the best if we try to sell them from grubby, tatty offices?’

‘Spend money to make money?’ Vanessa asked acidly. ‘I should have thought you already had more than enough of that commodity?’

‘A man can never have too much of any commodity he prizes,’ Jay told her sardonically, ‘and I learned young the value of money; the status and power it confers upon its owner.’

‘And that’s what you want? Status, power?’

‘Is that so wrong?’ He walked over to the row of modern cabinets with their smoked glass fronts and extracted a bottle and two crystal glasses. ‘The respect of our peers, isn’t that what all of us want?’

‘Respect can’t be bought,’ Vanessa told him defiantly.

‘You think not?’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘You think the Mayor would still be wanting to dine with me if I was still Jay Courtland, bastard orphan of this parish? Would I be enjoying the company of a beautiful woman like you if I was still the same Jay Courtland I was at fifteen?’ His eyes and mouth told her that he thought he knew the answer, and Vanessa realised for the first time how much bitterness there was concealed behind the mocking mask; the smooth urbanity with which he faced the world. How could she tell him that no matter what he had done in life he would always have been a man who commanded the attention of others, especially her own sex. He opened the bottle he had been holding in his hand, the popping of the cork alerting Vanessa to its contents. ‘Veuve Cliquot,’ he drawled as he poured the foaming clear liquid into the fluted champagne glasses. ‘Your favourite I believe.’

Just about to correct him Vanessa realised that it was Nadia’s favourite drink, at least according to the popular press. She wanted to tell him that he was mistaken and that she wasn’t her glamorous cousin, but something more important took precedence. ‘You bought that for me? But how did you know …’

‘That you would come here?’ He shrugged powerful shoulders and smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, Vanessa realised. Nor a warm smile, in fact it was cold and rather bitter, his eyes flat and empty as they studied her flushed face. ‘Wasn’t it part of the game that you should?’ he asked softly, handing her one of the glasses. ‘I must admit you showed ingenuity and since that is a trait I greatly admire, I felt it should be rewarded.’

Ingenuity? Vanessa stared at him, the truth suddenly so clear that it could have been illuminated in ten foot high letters outside the factory. She put down her glass so quickly that some of the frothy liquid spilled, anger darkening her eyes to deep sapphire as she faced him.

‘I came here to apologise for this morning,’ she said enunciating the words clearly and slowly so that there could be no mistake. ‘I’m very sorry for what happened, but it was a genuine mistake. I had no idea. Everyone makes mistakes,’ she added wildly, when it became plain that she wasn’t getting through to him. ‘Gavin did have a session booked.’

Jay had put down his glass and he came towards her, with a cool economy of movement that reminded her of a huge jungle cat. Even the way he walked possessed an undeniable sensuality she thought, watching him with one half of her brain while the other half struggled with the task of impressing upon him the truth.

When he reached for her hands she was so surprised that she made no move to evade him. ‘I really can’t allow you to call a halt now that the game has begun, it promises to be far too interesting. If it makes you feel any happier we’ll forget about motives for the moment shall we and concentrate on this.’

‘This’ was the warm, firm pressure of his mouth on hers, as he parted her surprised lips with consummate ease, enfolding her in his arms almost before she even realised he had done so, and then once his mouth was in possession of hers, somehow it was impossible to pull away.

She had been kissed before of course. She could hardly have reached twenty-two and not had some experience with the opposite sex, but because of her inferiority complex she had always chosen as her dates boys and then men biased towards the intellectual rather than the physical, and the actual realisation of what a kiss could and should be totally overwhelmed her. Before she knew what she was doing she was holding on to Jay’s hard shoulders, sliding her fingers into the thick silky hair at his nape, allowing him to taste and plunder her mouth as though she were no more than a ragdoll.