One Reckless Night (16 page)

 
Nevertheless, it was a relief to find herself, unaccosted, in Diana Malan's office, drinking coffee.

 
'On the form you completed for us, you stated that you spoke French.' Mrs Malan, small and chic in a black and white print dress and enormous pearl earrings, pressed one of the keys on her computer to call up the relevant information.

 
Zanna nodded. 'It was one of my ' 'A'' level subjects. I found it useful in my previous work, as we had a number of contacts in Europe.'

 
'You also say you have no commitments, so you could start at once?'

 
'Yes. I didn't expect you to offer me anything so soon.'

 
'Well, this is a new client, a recommendation from one of our regulars. She's an Englishwoman, living in the South of France, who requires a French-speaking secretary to replace her permanent girl.' Mrs Malan frowned at the screen. 'Apparently she's taking leave of absence to nurse her mother after a major operation.'

 
'So I'd be needed for-how long?' Zanna suppressed her growing excitement.

 
The other woman pursed her lips. 'At least six weeks-possibly two months.' She smiled at Zanna. 'I can't say your duties sound particularly onerous. Madame Cordet entertains for her husband, who's a businessman of some kind, so you'll be involved in a fair bit of social correspondence. And she's writing a book-some kind of history about the region.' She winked at Zanna. 'Heaven knows if it will ever be published, but that's not our problem.'

 
She turned back to the screen. 'Their house is in the hills behind Cannes, and there's a tennis court and a swimming pool-so go equipped. Your return air fare will be paid, and you'll be met at the airport by the chauffeur.'

 
'It sounds too good to be true.' Zanna shook her head in bewilderment.

 
'Maybe, but in my experience most Edens come complete with serpent.' Mrs Malan sounded philosophical. 'Maybe she's got a temper? Perhaps he's a groper? Whatever, it's temporary, and she's offering top rates. Can I notify her to expect you in three days' time?'

 
Zanna thought quickly. She could afford to store the personal items she wouldn't want to take with her. Then, when she came back, she could revert to Plan A and move north. In two months' time, of course, her pregnancy would be beginning to show. And it would be hot in France. Maybe she should dip into her depleted savings for some loose cool tops.

 
She smiled at Mrs Malan. 'I'll be ready,' she said. 'In fact, I can't wait.'

 
It was a scramble, but exactly three days later she was sitting in the plane, catching her first excited glimpse of the Mediterranean as they descended into Nice airport.

 
Don't be an idiot, she reproved herself, this is work not a holiday-although there'd been few enough of those since she'd started work. As a senior at school she'd been to France and Germany on visits to carefully selected families, usually business contacts of her father with daughters of a suitable age, but Sir Gerald had always regarded holidays as a disruption to the making of money. He personally wasn't interested in foreign travel, unless there was some deal involved, and he'd expected Zanna to take the same attitude.

 
Now she felt, absurdly, as if she'd been let out of jail.

 
She'd packed carefully, choosing simple skirts, trousers and a variety of tops, as well as several of her prettier formal dresses and some sportswear. It wasn't a huge selection, but she was there as a secretary, not a clothes-horse, she told herself with an inward shrug. And, if necessity arose, she could always make some judicious additions to her wardrobe from her salary, although she wanted to save as much of it as possible.

 
Meanwhile she prayed that Madame Cordet would be as charming as Mrs Malan said she sounded, and that her husband would keep his hands to himself. If so, it should all be plain sailing.

 
The written instructions from Mrs Malan told her to report at once to the airport enquiry desk after the immigration and customs formalities were complete.

 
Which couldn't happen too soon, she thought, fanning herself with her broad-brimmed straw hat.

 
'Mademoiselle?' The girl at the enquiry desk gave her a swift professional smile.

 
'I am to be met.' Zanna tried out her French. 'By the chauffeur of a Madame Cordet. Do you know if he has arrived?'

 
'Bien stir, mademoiselle.' The girl looked past her, her smile widening. 'Monsieur has been waiting for you,' she added almost reverently.

 
Which was an odd way to refer to a chauffeur, Zanna had time to think, before her case was taken from her hand.

 
She turned swiftly, the breath catching in her throat as she looked up at the new arrival.

 
'Hello, Zanna.' Jake's smile was cool and impersonal. 'Welcome to France.' And he bent to kiss her, lightly and formally, on each cheek.

 
CHAPTER NINE

 
'You.' Zanna could feel the color draining out of her face as she looked up at him. She took an instinctive step backwards. 'What are you doing here?'

 
He looked faintly amused. 'Isn't it obvious? I'm meeting the plane.'

 
'But you were in London.' She was almost wringing her hands.

 
'I flew down yesterday. Our gallery in Nice had a slight problem that needed my attention.' He turned and started for the exit, carrying her case. She flew after him.

 
'Hold it right there,' she commanded raggedly. 'How did you know I'd be here? Did Madame Cordet tell you?'

 
He said slowly, 'Not exactly.'

 
Zanna threw back her head. 'Oh,' she said. 'I get it. This is a set-up!' Her breasts rose and fell under the force of her angry breathing. 'There is no job. There probably isn't a Madame Cordet either.'

 
Her voice had risen and people were turning their heads to stare curiously. The glances of the women were frankly appraising. In elegant cream trousers and a dark blue silk shirt, Jake looked toe-curlingly attractive, and this fuelled her resentment.

 
He said quietly, 'There certainly is. I've known her for fifteen years. And it might be better if we continued this discussion in the car.'

 
'Like hell it would,' Zanna flung at him. 'I'm going nowhere with you.'

 
'Well, you can't stay here. You're causing an obstruction.'

 
'You actually think this is funny, don't you?' she said unevenly. She held out an imperative hand. 'Well, laugh at this, Mr Brown-or Mr Lantrell-or whatever identity you're assuming today. I'm taking my case and flying straight back to England.'

 
'I'm afraid you'll find the return flight is fully booked.'

 
'Then I'll wait until there's a seat available.' 'And where do you plan to stay in the meantime?' He sounded politely interested.

 
She hesitated. 'There'll be hotels-pensions.' 'It's the height of the season and Nice is bursting at the seams.' He hadn't relinquished his hold on her case, she realised, seething. 'And can you really afford Cote d'Azur prices?'

 
'That,' she said curtly, 'is my problem.' 'No.' He wasn't smiling now. 'It's mine. Because you're quite correct. I did set this up.'

 
She said huskily, 'You had no right-no right at all.' 'I also had no choice.' His mouth twisted. 'I didn't think you'd accept a simple invitation to accompany me to the South of France.'

 
'Damned right I wouldn't.' Her mouth was dry and her heart was thudding against her ribs. 'I thought I'd made it clear that it was all over between us-over and done with.'

 
'You did, and I accept that.' His dark eyes gravely studied her flushed face. 'This isn't the time or the place to talk about this, but I want you to know that I deeply regret that night in Emplesham. It should never have happened. And I haven't got you here for a rerun, whatever you may be thinking.'

 
'You wouldn't like to know what I'm thinking.' Zanna lifted her chin. 'So why am I here? For my health?'

 
'Something like that,' he said calmly. 'I mentioned that you needed cossetting. I also know you need work. I thought bringing you down here would kill two birds with one stone.'

 
'You mean there really is a job with Madame Cordet?' Her mind was reeling. She could think of nothing but the words of regret he'd spoken a moment ago. Words she should have wanted to hear, because they set her free. Words that had hurt so much she could have cried aloud from the pain.

 
'Not with Sylvie, I'm afraid. She's your employer's housekeeper, and married to the chauffeur who's waiting for us outside.' His smile was tight. 'You see how pure my motives are? I've even brought along a chaperon.'

 
'Please don't expect me to be grateful. Or to take up your kind offer of employment. I don't want or need your cKarity.' Again she held out her hand. 'Now will you give me my case?'

 
He shook his head. 'I don't think I can do that. The earliest flight you can hope for is tomorrow, and I'm not leaving you stranded in Nice for twenty-four hours or more. Don't burden me with that on my conscience, along with all the rest.'

 
She said stonily, 'Then you shouldn't have-lured me down here under false pretences.'

 
"That's not strictly true. The job exists, so why not give it a chance? Let me take you up to Les Etoiles to meet your new boss. At least it'll mean you have a roof over your head tonight. If you still want to leave after that, I'll make sure you're on the first available plane back to the UK. Is it a deal?'

 
'I suppose so,' Zanna conceded reluctantly. If she was honest, the thought of tramping the streets of Nice with a heavy case, looking for cheap accommodation, appalled her.

 
'But there's one thing.' She halted him again. 'If I'm not working for Madame Cordet, then who's actually employing me?'

 
He said curtly, 'My stepmother,' and walked ahead of her out into the sunshine.

 
The car had air-conditioning, but Zanna was fully aware of the intensity of the heat baking against its panels just the same. Or was it simply the effect of her own anger and misery, fermenting in a confined space?

 
She sat rigidly beside Jake, staring unseeingly at the landscape outside the tinted windows. She knew that Maurice, the driver, had deliberately taken a route that would show her all the beauties of the coastline between Nice and Cannes, and Jake, too, had been quick to point out sights of interest when they reached the famous resort, but she felt totally remote. Like a fly, she thought, trapped in amber.

 
She still couldn't believe how gullible she'd been, believing that a job like this could simply fall into her lap. But then she'd wanted to believe that her luck had changed, that things were going her way, she thought unhappily.

 
She should have known that she wouldn't escape from him that easily.

 
Now, for reasons she still couldn't understand, she was traveling beside him to heaven knew where. The beautiful sea-front of Cannes, with its clustering yachts and chic restaurants, was far behind them now. They'd been climbing steadily into the hills for what seemed like hours.

 
But perhaps that was her imagination, heightened by the tension of Jake's proximity. His thigh was only inches away from her own on the luxurious leather seat. The sleeves of his shirt were casually rolled back and she could see the faint dusting of dark hair on his tanned skin. She was piercingly, hungrily aware of the clean, male scent of him.

 
There wasn't, she thought, an inch of him that she hadn't explored with her hands and mouth. Yet here they sat like strangers.

 
The silence was not one of intimacy, but she needed to break it anyway.

 
'How did you know I could be contacted through First Appointment?' she asked.

 
'I didn't, but it seemed logical,' he returned. 'You had to have some reason for being in that particular street.'

 
She said bitterly, 'I shall have a few things to say to Diana Malan when I get back.'

 
'You mustn't blame her. She was just doing her job.'

 
'And if I hadn't been able to speak French, or if my passport had been out of date-what then?' she challenged.

 
He shrugged. 'I'd have thought of something else.' 'I just bet you would,' Zanna muttered. She studied a non-existent fleck on her smooth fingernail. 'What I don't understand is-why.'

 
He was silent for a moment. Then, 'Perhaps I feel a certain-responsibility.'