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Looking up to meet those brilliant eyes, she said blankly, ‘Lunch?’
‘Yes. I want you with me.’ She was about to refuse curtly, when he added, ‘I have a luncheon appointment with Cyrus Oates, the American tycoon. As it’s at his hotel, his wife will be with him.’
‘I’m not dressed for lunching out,’ she objected.
‘You’re dressed like the perfect secretary,’ he assured her mockingly. ‘Which is just as well, because after lunch I’ve a meeting at the bank, and I’d like you to take notes.’
She emerged from the cloakroom some five minutes later, hair and make-up checked, and they took the lift down to the underground car park where his silver BMW was waiting for him.
‘What do you usually do for lunch?’ he queried, when they were settled in the car.
‘Buy a sandwich,’ she told him, omitting to add that with high rents to pay both for her furnished flat and the Regent Street office it was all her tight budget would stand.
As they climbed the ramp to street level and joined the flow of traffic, he ordered, ‘Tell me about your business.’
‘I thought Stephen had given you all the information you wanted.’
Ignoring her prickly response, he asked, ‘Do you usually work alongside your staff as well as coping with the administration?’
‘Yes,’ she answered shortly.
‘But, being the boss, you can take your pick of the assignments?’
Oh, well, if he was determined to talk… And perhaps it was better than sitting beside him in strained silence.
‘It doesn’t usually work like that,’ she answered a shade ruefully. ‘I often get landed with the jobs no one else wants to do.’
Zan gave her a swift sideways glance and raised a black brow. ‘Such as?’
‘Well, there was taking care of George while the family went on holiday…’
‘George?’
‘A twelve-foot python. He turned out to be quite docile, not to say friendly. But feeding him proved a bit of a problem. The worst thing about pet snakes is they prefer their food on the hoof, so to speak. Have you ever tried making a very dead rat look alive?’
He was still laughing when they drew up outside the Farndale Hotel.
They were crossing the foyer when a large, balding man with rimless glasses and a paunch advanced on them. He held out a ham-like fist. ‘Hello, Power. Glad you could make it. This is my wife, Dorothy.’
An equally large lady with eyes as pale as ripe goose-berries in a fleshy face, came forward with an outstretched hand. Having greeted the pair courteously, Zan said, ‘May I introduce Miss Warrener, my secretary.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Warrener,’ Cyrus Oates boomed, while his shrewd grey eyes assessed her slim figure, her cool, patrician beauty.
During lunch, while the men discussed business, Annis asked, ‘Is this your first visit to England, Mrs Oates?’
The polite query was all that was needed to induce a flood of talk with the battering force of Niagara. A look of interest and an occasional word kept it flowing.
They were at the coffee stage, when with a suddenness that took Annis by surprise Mrs Oates finished an account of her visit to Harrods and said in strident tones, ‘Gee, but your boss sure is good-looking. Don’t you think he’s handsome, honey?’
‘I wouldn’t describe him as handsome myself,’ Annis said. Adding with a tight smile, ‘Any more than I’d describe the north face of the Eiger as pretty.’
Her comparison went over the American’s head.
‘But don’t you just love working for him?’
Annis caught a gleam of amusement in Zan’s heavy-lidded eyes which made her aware he was following both conversations.
Evading the issue, she answered, ‘I don’t actually work for Mr Power. I’m only a temp.’
Overhearing the last few words, Cyrus Oates exclaimed, ‘A temp?’ Then to Zan, ‘You don’t get many secretaries look that good. Guess you won’t want to part with her, huh?’
Catching Annis’s eye, Zan said with smooth meaning, ‘I shall certainly be taking steps to keep her with me on a more permanent basis.’
The subtle threat made a shiver crawl over her skin and her palms grow clammy with cold perspiration.
Lunch over, business matters apparently settled to everyone’s satisfaction, they made their farewells and set off for the bank. It was nearly half-past four by the time the meeting was finished, and Annis, who had attracted quite a few curious and interested glances, was feeling stiff and tired. Though she was not normally prone to headaches, her head throbbed dully and the back of her throat was rough and dry.
Outside it was a bleak, prematurely dark afternoon, with more than a hint of snow in the air.
Turning the BMW into the traffic stream, Zan remarked, ‘It’s too late to go back to the office. I’ll take you straight home.’
‘Really, there’s no need to go to all that trouble,’ she said stiltedly. ‘If you drop me at the next corner I can easily get the Tube.’
‘It’s no trouble.’ His tone was quietly adamant.
After a pause, when the expected opposition failed to materialise, he asked, ‘Have you lived at Fairfield Court long?’
‘About three years.’ She tried to hold at bay the hurt, the bitter memories crowding in on her.
‘Do you like being there?’
‘Not particularly.’ The modern, characterless flat, with its small, square rooms, was functional rather than pleasing.
‘Where does your brother live?’
Annis stiffened at the mention of Richard. Then, her voice as casual as she could make it, said, ‘He and Linda have a house in Notting Hill.’
‘Have you any more family?’
Like flicking a lighted match into a keg of gunpowder, that innocent question seemed to explode inside her head. She wanted to strike at him, to claw her nails down his handsome face, to watch him bleed.
Badly shaken by that flare of raw, primitive passion, the violence of her feelings, hands clenched into fists, she shook her head mutely.
Glancing at the frozen blankness of her face, Zan knew he’d hit a nerve. Though he didn’t know how or why. There was so much about this woman that he didn’t know. But he intended to.
When they reached Fairfield Court, Zan accompanied her to the door and waited while she unlocked it, but to her very great relief he made no move to follow her inside.
As she said a coldly formal, ‘Thank you,’ he stooped and touched his lips to hers in another of those light but proprietorial kisses that left her feeling as if she’d been caught in some terrifying whirlpool.
‘Au revoir, Annis.’
A hand to her mouth, she watched him slide behind the wheel and drive away. She was still standing like a statue in the doorway when his car disappeared from sight.
Once inside she made herself a strong cup of tea, took a couple of aspirins and reviewed the catastrophic events of the day.
He’d managed so easily, so effortlessly to trick her into accepting the assignment at Blair’s. But, hating him as she did, and frightened by the way each meeting added more fuel to her desire for revenge, she knew she couldn’t go on working for him.
Anne and Sheila were both first-class secretaries, and on Monday, no matter what kind of upheaval it involved, she would send one of them in her place, and let him do his worst!
If he tried to ring her she would put the phone down, and if he came to her door she would refuse to open it. So long as she was careful, she would never have to see him again.
A hot bath alleviated some of her aches and pains and made her feel a great deal better. But, showing she was still very much on edge, she jumped when the phone shrilled.
‘Annis?’ Stephen’s voice held a mixture of triumph and excitement. ‘I’ve got tickets for Malibu, for this evening. I know it’s short notice but you will come, won’t you?’
‘Well, I don’t really…’
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ He was instantly deflated.
‘Any other time I would have been, only I don’t feel much like going out tonight. In any case, I promised to be on hand this weekend to take care of the twins if Linda has to go into hospital, and I—’
‘Before we left work I had a word with Richard,’ Stephen broke in with plaintive eagerness, ‘and he told me it might be several days yet before anything happens. Please change your mind…I’m sure it’ll buck you up no end.’
Reminding herself yet again of just how much she owed Stephen, Annis forced herself to say brightly, ‘You’re probably right. Very well, I’ll come.’
‘Wonderful!’ Once again he was bubbling over. ‘I’ll pick you up in about an hour.’
When Stephen knocked she was ready, resolved for his sake to at least appear to be enjoying herself.
‘You look marvellous,’ he told her, eyeing the simple, but elegant dress whose colour perfectly matched her eyes.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him, then asked, ‘How on earth did you manage to get tickets for Malibu? I thought they’d been sold out for months.’
‘You’ll see,’ he said mysteriously. Adding, ‘I’ve a taxi outside, so we’d better get off. We haven’t a lot of time.’
Why a taxi? she wondered. But perhaps he was intending to have a drink? Make the evening a festive one? Full of childlike pleasure and importance, he was clearly labouring under great excitement.
Only when they reached the theatre, and it was too late, did she realise why.
In the foyer, two people were waiting for them. A well-dressed woman with black curly hair and a superb figure, and the man Annis had promised herself she would never need to see again.
Coming face to face with him so unexpectedly gave her the same sensation as dropping in a high-speed lift, making her stomach clench and her heart begin to race with anger and alarm.
‘Good evening, Miss Warrener… Leighton,’ Zan said pleasantly.
‘Sorry we’re a bit late…’ Stephen began.
Zan waved away his apology. ‘I’d like to introduce Mrs Gilvary, my—’
‘Don’t be so formal, Zan,’ the woman cut in with a teasing glance. Her smile friendly, she held out her hand first to Annis then to Stephen. ‘I’m Helen, Zan’s sister… How nice to meet you.’
As they were shaking hands the call bell went. Unable to think of any way out of the situation without hurting Stephen, Annis allowed herself to be ushered into the auditorium.
With smooth panache Zan placed her between the younger man and himself, remarking as he did so, ‘I’m glad you were able to join us, especially as it’s such short notice.’ Sotto voce, he added sardonically, ‘But then you told me you always try to please Leighton.’
Annis gave him an inimical glance. ‘In this instance it was Stephen trying to please me.’
Catching the last few words, Stephen said eagerly, ‘I knew you wanted to see Malibu, and when Mr Power said he had two spare tickets and suggested we join him…’
‘You just knew I’d be delighted,’ Annis murmured, the words holding an irony she was well aware the man on her far side had picked up.
Turning her head, she met those thickly lashed, heavy-lidded eyes with a cool challenge which almost faltered at the answering gleam which leapt into their green-gold depths.
In what she could now see was going to be a war of attrition, she would need every ounce of her fighting spirit, she thought, shakily. And was more than thankful when any further exchange was precluded by the lights going down and the orchestra breaking into a lively overture.
Living up to its notices, the musical proved to be bright and fast-moving. But though her eyes were fixed on the stage Annis took scarcely any of it in, all her attention, her awareness focused on the dark, powerful man beside her.
During the interval they had a drink in the bar and discussed the show. If Annis found little to say, no one appeared to notice.
Alternately hot and shivering, her limbs aching, her throat sore, she couldn’t wait for the evening to end.
As soon as the final curtain went down to enthusiastic applause, with unobtrusive efficiency Zan shepherded them out ahead of the crush.
Demonstrating the effect of power and money, his car had been brought round and was standing by the kerb, a light drifting of snow beginning to settle on its shining bonnet.
When Stephen mumbled something about getting a taxi, Zan shook his head. ‘You might have problems on a night like this. I’ll drop you both.’
His tone brooked no argument, and Annis felt sure that had been his intention all along.
Only when she’d been handed into the front passenger seat did she fully appreciate the smoothness of the operation.
‘Zan’s marvellous when it comes to organising things,’ Helen remarked, echoing her thoughts.
‘That’s how you get to the top.’ Stephen’s approving comment precluded the tart rejoinder Annis had been about to make.
‘And stay at the top,’ Helen added for good measure, making them sound as if they were forming the Zan Power Admiration Society.
As the two at the rear struck up a conversation, Annis, sitting silent and aloof beside the man who had always been her bête noire, puzzled over the situation. Dazzled by Zan and all he stood for, Stephen seemed to find nothing amiss in the way they’d been paired off, but it struck her as strange that Helen Gilvary, who was laughing now, showed no resentment at being relegated to the back seat.
Expertly threading his way through the late-night traffic, Zan addressed the younger man. ‘I’ll take Helen home first. You live at Knightsbridge, don’t you?’
‘That’s right…’ By the time Stephen had given him the exact location they were turning into Elwood Place, a quiet street in Mayfair lined with elegant houses.
When they drew up outside the porticoed entrance of number fifteen, Helen smiled and said a pleasant goodnight to them both before getting out.
Displaying his usual courtesy, Zan accompanied her to the door. When he bent his dark head to kiss her cheek, she put her arms around him and kissed him back with obvious affection.
It was a comparatively short drive to where Stephen lived. When he got out, with a reckless determination to rile Zan Annis followed him on to the snowy pavement.
