A Class Apart (56 page)

“Something the matter?”

Ashley looked at her partner.

“Relax,” he said. “You’re too stiff.”

“Sorry.” She moved her arms further round his neck.

“That’s more like it,” he said.

She laughed, and despite the way she was feeling, she started to flirt with him. She was determined, as long as Candida sat in her chair, that she would not return to the table. If need be, she would remain dancing for the rest of the evening. And her partner wasn’t so bad. Actually, he was rather good-looking. If Conrad wanted to take Candida home, Ashley was sure she wouldn’t have to take a taxi.

The music became even slower, and the man pulled her very close. Ashley didn’t object, and rested her head on his shoulder.

“No, no,” he said, lifting her head. “Not like that. Let me look at your eyes.”

Ashley looked into his face, and she could feel his hands sliding down her back. She did nothing to stop him. Catching sight of Conrad, who was now on the dance floor with Candida, she pushed herself even closer to her partner and pulled his head down to hers. His response was everything she could have wanted.

Then suddenly she felt her shoulder being grabbed from behind, and before she knew what was happening, Conrad was holding her in his arms.

The other man began to protest.

“Sorry, chum,” said Conrad. “My wife has reserved this one for me.”

Ashley gasped, and then giggled as the man turned away, clearly embarrassed, and not a little angry.

She turned back to Conrad. “Don’t you ever ask for a dance?”

“Sometimes,” he said.

“As I remember, you interrupted me once before at a party, when I was quite happy elsewhere.”

“And as I remember, you slapped my face.”

She giggled. “So I did.”

He was smiling as he said, “I trust you’re not thinking of doing it again,” and she felt his hand move across her back, and pull her closer.

“Can I butt in?” said Cole, coming up behind them.

Ashley looked at him in dismay.

“No,” said Conrad.

She laughed. “You seem to be rather adept at making my decisions for me.”

He lifted an eyebrow, and gave a lazy smile. “You’re a better dancer now than when I last had the pleasure.”

There were fewer dancers on the floor than before, and they were able to dance unmolested, and uninterrupted. He watched her as her eyes began to scan the room.

“Are you looking for someone in particular?”

Her eyes darted back to his. “No,” she said. “No, at least, well, uh, I was just thinking . . . where’s Candida? Won’t she mind? You dancing with me for so long.”

Conrad looked at her, surprised that she knew about Candida. “Should she?”

Ashley shrugged, and wished she could stop the blood that was rushing to her cheeks. “Well, isn’t she . . .”

“Isn’t she what?”

“Well, aren’t you, well, seeing her?”

“I was.”

She felt unaccountably pleased at the past tense.

“Would it matter if I was?” he asked.

“Matter? In heaven’s name, no.”

“I believe your husband’s in town,” he said, after a minute or two.

Ashley nodded. “My ex-husband,” she corrected him.

“Why? Does it matter?”

He grinned. “Yes.”

She looked away, flustered.

“I said yes.”

“I know,” she said. “I heard.”

“So aren’t you going to ask why it matters?”

“I don’t know if I should.”

“Why? Are you afraid of the answer?”

She felt her heart beginning to pound, and she wondered if he could feel it too. But he only chuckled when she didn’t say anything.

After several dances he took her back to the table. The others were still on the floor, so they sat down and Conrad poured the remainder of the champagne into their glasses.

“To a successful presentation,” he said, and touched her glass with his own. “I’d like you to meet David Burgess.”

“Of Mercer Burgess?”

“The same. I’ve organised a meeting for Tuesday morning. I think you should look on it as a final, and perhaps the most important stage of the review. It will be the meeting that will decide what is to happen, in perhaps more ways than one.”

She looked at him, and despite the impassive look on his face, she knew what he meant. She wanted to ask him why it was so important that she won this particular account. Why, when she was doing so well anyway, was he holding this one over her? She was beginning to feel that somewhere there was a grand scheme going on way above her head, and that she was a mere pawn in a much bigger game than anyone was letting on. Bill knew about it, of that she was sure, and obviously so did Conrad. But it was pointless her asking; neither of them would admit to anything.

She looked at Conrad again. His light-hearted mood of only moments ago had vanished, and again he was the cold and unapproachable Conrad she had always known. She tried desperately to think of a way to get them back on an easy footing, but it was no good, her own spirits were sinking fast. She felt miserable, sitting here with him, no one to interrupt them, unable to think of anything to say, or do.

She watched the deliberate movements of his hands as he picked up his glass, and then as he lit a cigar. From the corner of her eye she watched his face as, seemingly deep in thought, he looked out across the dance floor. Was he looking for Candida? Was he jealous because perhaps she was dancing with someone else?

Ashley turned away from him. She wanted the ball to end now, she wanted to go home, and think. She had had far too much champagne.

At last, Conrad’s car was brought round to the front of the hotel and René, the doorman, opened the door for Ashley to get in. She wanted to say that she would get a taxi, but she was afraid it would sound rude. At least, that’s what she told herself.

To her relief, Conrad drove in silence, and she made no attempt at conversation either. Five minutes later he was pulling the car to a stop outside her apartment block. He switched off the engine, and turned to look at her.

She smiled at him, a little uneasily. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

He inclined his head, and slipped his arm along the back of the seat.

“I suppose I should be going in now,” she said, making no attempt to do so.

“Yes, I suppose you should.”

“Well, good night then.”

“Good night.”

She looked at him, and saw him smile in the darkness. She felt her heart begin to race again, like it had earlier, when he held her so close on the dance floor.

“Well,” she said, “thank you again. I really had a wonderful time.”

He was still watching her. She leaned forward to take her bag from the dash, and as she sat back again he caught her hand in his, and pulled her round to face him. Slowly, so slowly, he bent his head to hers, and kissed her on the mouth. Unable, not wanting, to stop herself, she wrapped her arms about his neck, and kissed him back.

Finally he let her go, and reached up and touched her face. She felt embarrassed, and didn’t know what to say. And he smiled at her confusion.

“I think you’d better go in,” he said, handing her her bag, “before we both do something we might regret.”

She took it from him, and without speaking got out of the car. When she turned back he was no longer looking at her, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to turn and walk away.

THIRTY-TWO

Catching a brief glimpse of Kate as she rushed through the outer office, Margaret Stanley, Features Editor of
Gracious Living
magazine, leapt to her feet and ran to the door.

“Kate! Kate!”

Kate was already at the door and she groaned as she heard Margaret’s voice. She had hoped to escape without actually seeing the editor. She looked quickly at her watch and tried not to groan again. Nick would probably already be outside waiting for her by now. Still, she had no choice so she forced up the corners of her mouth and turned back again.

“Margaret,” she beamed. “I thought you weren’t in today.”

“Really?” said Margaret. “Who on earth told you that?” She looked a little perplexed. Then her face brightened again. “Still, anyway, it doesn’t matter. Helen tells me you’re off to Cliveden again today.”

Kate threw a look at Margaret’s secretary who was sitting at her desk by the window, making herself suddenly very busy with the telephone and a notepad.

“I just wanted to let you know that I was quite impressed with your article so I am sending a photographer down.”

“But I gave you all their bumph,” said Kate.

“Yes, but I want some shots of the staff. And perhaps you having tea, or walking beside the swimming pool or around the grounds.”

“Me!” said Kate. “Since when have I started to feature in my own articles?”

“Since now,” said Margaret, a little loftily. “I particularly liked your bit about feeling the presence of the past. You know, surrounded by people, even in an empty room, and their escorting you through time. So, as I said, I’ve sent a photographer to meet you there.”

“But I’m not working for the magazine today.”

“You are now,” Margaret grinned, but as usual the smile didn’t get quite as far as her eyes.

“But I’m taking someone with me.”

“That won’t matter, surely?”

“Actually, it will.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. It won’t take long, you’ll be finished by lunchtime and then you can have the rest of the day to yourself.”

“We won’t get there until lunchtime,” Kate pointed out, not bothering to disguise her annoyance.

“You won’t if you continue to hang around here.”

Kate glared at Margaret for a moment, but knew there was no point in arguing. “Who’s the photographer?”

“Jillian. Jillian Jones.”

“Oh no!” Kate groaned.

Margaret’s eyebrows lifted so high, they succeeded in pulling her head backwards and adding another chin to the two she already had. “She’s the best, Katherine, I thought you would have been pleased. Besides, I thought you two got along well together.”

“We do, normally. But did you really have to send her today?”

“Fraid so,” said Margaret. “She’s already on her way, so off you go, dear. Have a good time,” and before Kate could protest further Margaret disappeared back into her office.

“Off you go, dear. Have a good time,” Kate mimicked. “Why doesn’t someone write her another script?”

Helen giggled. “Sorry,” she said. “But when she asked me where you were today I thought that if I said you were spending the day at Cliveden
with a friend
, I’d be getting you off the hook. I had no idea. Sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“If you don’t mind,” said Helen, tearing a piece of paper from the pad in front of her, “would you give this message to Jillian. Someone called just after she’d left.”

Kate took the scrap of paper and shoved it into her pocket. “Jillian. Bloody Jillian. Of all people, it had to be her.”

“But I thought you liked her. You two are always talking about the good times you have when you’re out together.”

“When it’s just the two of us, yes, but not today.”

Helen rested her chin on her hands and looked interested. “Not today? And can one ask, why in particular not today? Not hiding something from us, are you, Kate? Or should I say someone?”

Kate grinned and walked over to Helen’s desk. She leaned forward and tapped her finger on Helen’s nose as she spoke. “As a matter of fact, I am. I had high hopes for today, until now.”

“Going to tell me who he is?”

“Nope!”

“Go on. Jillian will tell us anyway.”

“I know,” said Kate. “That’s partly why I’m so bloody annoyed about it. But only partly.”

“And the other part?”

“Is the biggest part. Jillian herself!”

“But what’s the matter with Jullian?”

“Nothing – that’s the matter with Jullian. She’s beautiful. And tall and blonde, and slim and kind and sexy and irresistible and . . . Shall I go on?”

“I think you’ve made your point,” Helen laughed. “Someone special then, this, uh, friend?”

Kate looked at her watch again. “Talk to you later, and tell Margaret I’m claiming expenses for the day. The whole day!” and she ran out of the office.

Helen shook her head, and went back to what she was doing. Libel, journalists, expenses and Margaret Stanley, they were the bane of her life.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have company,” Kate said, looking straight ahead. “At least for part of the day anyway.” They were speeding along the motorway, towards Taplow.

Nick looked over at her, his eyes wary. “Don’t tell me you’ve invited your father.”

Kate turned to face him. “No,” she said, surprised at his tone of voice. “No, I haven’t as a matter of fact. Why? Would it matter if I had?”

“No,” he said. And then: “Yes, actually. Yes, it would.”