A Bad Enemy (8 page)

She felt Oliver stiffen, and looked at him with incredulity in her eyes, wondering if her words had touched some nerve—if he knew something that she didn't—and saw that he was looking over her shoulder towards the door.

She turned to see what had attracted his attention and felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of her body in one choking gasp.

Jake had just walked into the bar and was standing, looking casually around,, and beside him, her arm twined with evident possession through his, was one of the most beautiful girls Lisle had ever seen.

'Talk of the devil,' Oliver muttered. 'We shouldn't have come to such a popular place.'

Lisle moved her lips, and a sound that might have been 'No' emerged.

She had turned away immediately, praying that he wouldn't see her, although it didn't seem likely. She was wearing the same clothes as she had been when they had gone to the hospital—although she had noticed that he had found time to change into yet another dark, expensive suit—and she hadn't even a scarf to cover her hair, let alone a bag to put over her head, she thought, grinding her teeth.

'It's all right,' said Oliver. 'They've gone straight through to the restaurant. I don't think he saw us. Who was that amazing creature he was with? Her face seemed familiar.'

'A model—I think.' Lisle had recognised her too, although she knew they had never met.

'Well, at least it proves he's human.' Oliver was smiling, but she thought she could detect a trace of envy in his words. He lowered his voice. 'Look, they know me here, and if you'd rather cancel our table—try somewhere else, I'm sure I can square it.'

'Certainly not.' Lisle gave him a level look. 'Unless you'd rather he didn't see us together.'

'The thought never crossed my mind,' he said helplessly after a pause. 'Lisle, you surely don't think…'

'No, of course not.' She relented, squeezing his hand. 'You see the effect he has on me, Oliver? One glimpse, and I start griping! And I think our table's ready.'

A deferential waiter led them into the restaurant. It was a large room, irregularly shaped, and most of the smaller tables were sited round the walls, and shielded from their neighbours by an elaborate framework of trellises and flowering plants. As they were conducted towards one of these alcoves, Lisle did her best not to look and see where Jake was sitting, but she knew all the same, just as if she had some private radar system.

The mushrooms which comprised their first course were delicious, but, although she responded to Oliver's enthusiasm for them with little appreciative noises, she barely tasted them. Her stomach was churning in an agony of nervousness, and she ate whatever was put on her plate and swallowed the wine poured into her glass without any real consciousness of what she was doing. And at the same time, she carried on a conversation with Oliver, casting caution to the winds as she looked at him, smiling, using her lashes, even the curve of her body as she leaned towards him to provoke him. She'd done it all before, to a lesser extent, at Gerard's instigation, and she recognised the frankly dazed expression in Oliver's eyes as he began to read her signals. There was a point, she knew, at which harmless flirtation could become sexual teasing, and this was something she tried to avoid. But not today. Today she felt reckless, lit from within by a force she did not recognise, and dared not examine too closely.

At last Oliver said rather hoarsely, 'Shall we have coffee here, or perhaps go back to my place?'

Well, she'd asked for it, and now the decision was hers, and for the life of her, she didn't know what to say to him. A flat refusal, and he would feel cheated, but if she agreed…A wave of self-disgust swept over her as her imagination swept her forward an hour—two hours in time. She swallowed, said, 'Oliver—I…' and then stopped short, realising they were not alone.

Jake looked down at her, her dark face cynical as he appraised her.

'Life in the country soon palled,' he remarked softly, then turned to her companion. 'Grayson, I need a word with you fairly urgently. I presume you'll be going straight back to the office from here?'

Oliver recovered well. 'Of course—once I've seen Lisle safely on her way.'

'It's all right,' she intervened, hastily. 'I can get a taxi to the station.' She pulled back her cuff to look at her watch, in fact I didn't realise how late it was getting—I should really be going now.'

'I'll tell the doorman to get you a cab,' said Jake, and turned away.

Oliver looked frankly crestfallen, as he signed the bill, and Lisle felt wretchedly guilty. She said, trying to smile, 'It was a wonderful lunch, Oliver. I'm—sorry it had to end so soon.'

'So am I.' He squeezed her hand conspiratorially as they walked to the door. 'I'll ring you.'

'I'll look forward to it,' she lied. When she came out of the cloakroom, she found Oliver standing talking to Jake and his companion, and she made herself walk towards them very slowly and carefully in case the wine she had drunk, added to her inner tensions, betrayed her, and she fell over her own feet.

Jake's brief smile barely touched his lips, and went nowhere near the cold grey eyes as he looked at her. 'May I introduce Cindy Leighton?'

'How do you do?' Lisle shook hands as he swiftly completed the introduction.

Seen close to, Cindy Leighton was almost incredibly good-looking, but there was a faintly predatory light in the huge blue eyes as she looked at Lisle. She had no compunction either about touching Jake, stroking his sleeve, twining her fingers round his, even while they were standing in so public a place as a restaurant foyer. Establishing ownership, Lisle thought wryly. In spite of her anger, and other confused emotions, she was irresistibly reminded of a scene from a John Wayne movie where a minor character had been moved to make the immortal protest, 'I'll thank you to unhand my fee-anc-ay.' She imagined saying it, and seeing those blue eyes, glazing over in disbelief, and the perfectly moulded lips gaping unprettily.

'I'm not nice,' she decided with a certain satisfaction.

Oliver was saying, '
Now
I know where I've seen you before. You've been in all the papers. You're going to play the lead in a big film in the States.'

Cindy Leighton smiled, displaying perfect teeth, and Lisle wondered, purely academically, how much time and money it would take to restore that perfection, should some accident befall.

'I've been incredibly lucky,' she murmured modestly. 'There was really fierce competition for the part. I can't imagine why they chose me.'

'Novelty value,' Lisle heard herself suggest.

'Of course British actresses have always been very big in the States,' Cindy went on, treating the last remark as unsaid. 'I just hope I live up to everyone's expectations of me.' She made a little rueful face which she probably practised in front of her mirror every morning. 'It's the most wonderful chance, but—' she sent a laughing look at Jake in which she also managed to combine wry regret, and unequivocal sexual desire. One of her audition pieces? Lisle wondered. 'It would have to happen just now. Frankly, I feel torn in half.'

Well, guess who won't want the half that talks, the malicious stranger currently inhabiting Lisle's brain muttered, and she could only be thankful that it wasn't aloud. She was shocked at herself. Generally, she liked her own sex. She'd never regarded other women as rivals or potential enemies, even though she didn't go along with total sisterhood either. She thought, 'I must be drunk', and giggled.

Jake said icily, 'I think your taxi's arrived.'

Oliver's arm was round her, protective but oddly alien. The air in the street felt very cold after the centrally heated atmosphere of the restaurant, shocking her into sudden sobriety. Tentatively, she offered Oliver her cheek, but his eyes were fixed greedily on her mouth, and she knew she wasn't going to get away with it this time. As she endured the eager cling of his lips, she wondered if Jake was watching. She kept her mouth clamped shut and after what seemed an age he let her go, evidently disappointed by her lack of response. As he had every right to be, she thought wearily as she let him put her in the taxi, and close the door. After all, she'd been promising him heaven and earth all through that abominable meal.

She had a splitting headache by the time she reached the station, and she had half an hour to wait for her train, which didn't help. She drank a cup of coffee she didn't particularly want in the buffet, and told herself she should be glad she wasn't at Oliver's flat discovering how his technique differed from Jake's.

She could hardly believe that it was herself, Lisle Bannerman, who was thinking these things, even admitting them as possibilities. It was totally out of character. But then perhaps everyone reacted like that when their world was pushed sideways suddenly. Ever since Jake Allard had walked into her life the previous evening, she had lost touch with herself in some strange way. The real Lisle would never have behaved as she had done, she thought restlessly.

She dozed a little on the train, aware of swift and disturbing dreams which she was glad she could not remember too clearly.

There was no dread message from the hospital waiting when she got back to the Priory, and she whispered a silent prayer of thankfulness as she went up to her room. She changed into a pair of elderly denims, topping them with a navy Guernsey sweater, and scooped her hair back, confining it with an elastic band at the nape of her neck.

The secondhand Mini she used as a runabout when she was in the country was kept in one of the outhouses off the old stableyard, and she backed it out with care across the yard to the tap in the corner. It had started at first try, which was a good sign, and Peterson had assured her that he had had it serviced only recently. But it could do with some cosmetic treatment, she thought, coupling up the hose to the tap.

Washing cars was by no means her favourite chore, but gradually, in the crisp autumnal air, the hard exercise of hosing down, drying and polishing began to restore her equilibrium. She even began to hum a tune as she worked.

She would drive herself to the hospital tonight, she thought. Establish her independence. She grimaced as she realised that Murray would be expecting her to arrive with Jake, but she would think of some excuse why they were not together, then, gradually, as his health improved she would get him to accept the fact that the marriage plan he cherished was unworkable.

'We don't even like each other,' she would have to tell him eventually. 'And he has a glamorous blonde lady hanging on his every word, and any other part of him she can reach, while I—I'm going to marry Oliver Grayson.'

She pronounced the last few words with less conviction, even in her head, although she had little doubt she could make it happen if she really wanted to. But did she want to? She'd known Oliver for a long time—nearly all her life, in fact. She remembered Hilary, his ex-wife too. They had met and married at university, from what she could recall, and Hilary had been some kind of flower child. She had found adapting to the role of executive wife rather hard to take from all accounts, and eventually she had just stopped trying and gone off with the tutor of her pottery class to try self-sufficiency in Wales.