Whirlwind (9 page)

'What are you doing here?' she muttered, turning to face him reluctantly. 'I thought I told you . . . '

'My family are expecting you for lunch,' he interrupted smoothly, and Anna's lips parted in bewilderment.

'But . . . no, we didn't make any arrangement. They invited me casually for some day. but no date was fixed.'

'Are you doing anything else today?' Those fine black brows winged upwards and his eyes read her expression. 'No? Then if you'll get dressed we'll be on our way.'

'1 can't,' Anna stammered, totally thrown. 'I haven't got anything to wear.'

He didn't laugh or tell her that that was a female cliche; he gave her a wry look, then walked over to the battered old wardrobe in one corner of the room, opened it and ran his eyes over the sparse contents. Anna ground her teeth. What was he thinking as he inspected her pathetic pretence of a wardrobe? The hair on her nape bristled; what business of his was it anyway? She was poor now, but one day she would be able to buy what she liked, go where she liked, and meanwhile she wasn't taking pity or contempt from anyone, least of all Laird Montgomery.

'Stop that! Go away!' she snapped, shaking with rage.

Taking no notice, he pulled down a simple black dress which she had had since her first year at drama school. Tossing it on her bed, he ordered curtly, 'Wear this!'

Anna's mouth was rigid with obstinacy. 'Please apologise to your parents for me, but 1 can't come.'

'Give me one good reason!'

She lost her temper. 'You know very well why! I'd
^v
be totally out of place, I don't belong among your sort of people . . . '

He regarded her with open derision. 'You little snob!'

Anna couldn't believe her ears. Incredulously, she stammered, 'Me, a snob? Oh, that's funny. Don't be ridiculous!'

'Inverted snobbery is just as damn stupid as the usual variety,' Laird drawled, then his hand shot out and she felt him untie the belt of her dressing-gown, which fell open before she could stop it. 'Do I have to dress you myself?' Laird's voice was husky; he was staring at the sensuous shimmer of her naked body under a fragile, clinging drift of white fabric.

Anna shakily dragged the dressing-gown together again, her skin heated, her pulses hammering with a peculiar mixture of shock, anger and worrying excitement.

'Didn't I make myself clear last time?' she demanded furiously. 'I thought I'd spelt it out in letters ten feet high! I don't want to see you, Mr Montgomery. I'm not for sale, I don't want your red roses, and there won't be any more candlelight dinners for two, in your penthouse or anywhere else! You'll never get me into bed again, so stop trying! You wouldn't have got me there the first time if you hadn't poured all that champagne into me and got me too drunk to know what I was doing!'

He listened without moving, his eyes narrowed, gleaming like deep cold water. 'Oh, you were very drunk,' he agreed softly, and Anna's teeth met.

'How can you be so cool about it?' she hissed through those clenched teeth. He had no conscience and no scruples, but what angered her most of all was her own unwilling awareness of a permanent, pulsing attraction towards him. That night in the penthouse she had met a man she increasingly liked; she remembered laughter and talk between them, moments when she felt totally at home with him, trusted him. How could she have been so fooled?

He considered her drily, his head to one side. 'Tell me, how much do you actually remember?' he enquired, and Anna looked at him in utter disbelief.

'My God, you really are a bastard, aren't you? What do you want—a cosy chat about old memories? All I want to do is forget it ever happened, I ever met you; I'm not standing around here reminiscing with you!'

He lifted a lazy hand to her face, his fingertips caressing, and she jumped as if she had touched a live wire.

'Get dressed, I'll wait downstairs,' he ordered, and when she opened her mouth to protest he laid his palm across it. 'No, not another word! My parents are expecting you, they liked you very much, and you'll be quite safe in their house, I promise you.'

'Your promises are worthless,' she muttered, frowning. She didn't know what to do; she was tempted to go because she had liked his parents and she was curious about them, about everything to do with Laird's background. Curiosity killed the cat, she reminded herself, watching him walk to the door. If she had any sense she would refuse to leave this room, but she knew with an angry, helpless frustration that she was going to obey him, get dressed and let him drive her off in his Rolls. Her curiosity was too strong to resist.

Once he was out of the room, she hurried over to bolt the door, and heard him pause on the top stair and laugh softly.

'Five minutes, then I'm coming back to get you,' he threatened, and Anna made a face at the door as she heard him run downstairs.

She picked up the black dress and held it against herself, staring at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror.

Hardly Dior, was it? But perhaps that was just as well! She wasn't trying to attract anybody, was she?

'Au
contraire, cherie,'
she told her reflection angrily, pretending not to notice the glitter in her eyes and her feverish colouring. 'You're crazy, you know,' she warned that unfamiliar, unrecognisable face. 'Playing with dynamite isn't a good idea!'

But what possible harm could there be in getting to know his parents a little better? Or in seeing their home, finding out more about Patti, even more importantly getting a free lunch, and, no doubt, an absolutely terrific one!

What would she do if she didn't accept? She had some cheese and eggs—a cheese omelette? And after lunch a bus ride to the Embankment and yet another wander around the Tate, admiring modern art and trying not to look too hard at the still life paintings because the grapes and apples made her feel so hungry!

She smoothed the little black dress down over he hips, frowning at the way it clung; the deep plunge of the neckline made her uneasy and she had forgotten how insistently it outlined every curve of her body. She brushed her hair until it glittered fiercely and did her make-up with great care, wishing she had something else to wear. Jeans were out of the question and her only decent skirt was at the cleaners; this would have to do, but it certainly didn't help her to merge into-the background.

Looking out of the window, she saw it was a cool but bright spring morning—should she risk going out without a coat? She had a rather pretty jade and black striped velvet bolero left over from her days in rep. She rarely wore it, but it wouldn't look out of place with the black dress and at least it wasn't as shabby as her jacket.

If their play went into the West End she could buy herself some new clothes, she dreamed, leaving the room to join Laird in the Rolls. If, if, if . . .

Mrs Gawton was hovering in the hall. 'Going out, Miss Rendle? That's a beautiful car, I always say you can't beat a Rolls Royce. Going somewhere special, are you?' Her avid gaze flitted over Anna, who flinched in the face of that shameless curiosity.

'Out to lunch,' Anna said shortly.

'Oh, nice! And all these lovely write-ups you've been getting for your play, really coming up in the world these days, aren't you?'

Anna's smile hurt. She managed to get past Mrs Gawton and escape into the nice, clean air, taking a deep breath—the woman made no secret of what she was thinking, and Anna hated the sly speculation in her eyes.

Laird was just coming up the path: he halted as she came out. 'There you are! I said five minutes, not fifteen!' He slid an assessing glance over her from head to toe. 'Charming. I like the bolero; a stylish touch.'

Anna only wanted to get away from the house and the eyes she felt from behind the grimy lace curtains. She let Laird slide her into the front seat of the Rolls, staring straight ahead while he got behind the wheel and started the ignition. A moment later they were moving smoothly down the street.

'Will you be warm enough, though?' he asked with a sideways flick of the eyes.

'Yes, thanks,' she said shortly.

'What's the matter now?' he asked impatiently, putting his foot down so that the limousine shot forward with a stately roar.

'My landlady annoyed me,' she admitted with a rueful little grimace, because, after all, it wasn't his fault that Mrs Gawton had a disgusting mind. She had a suspicion that she was beginning to blame Laird Montgomery for everything that happened to her that she didn't like. Lowering her lashes, she watched him through them obliquely—he didn't look much like a scapegoat, but she was using him as one.

He had a striking profile, she observed a little dreamily; that strong bone structure, of course. The way the spring sunshine hit his cheek showed her how recently he had shaved; his skin was baby-smooth along his jaw.

'How long have you been living in that dump?' he asked, his heavy-lidded eyes hiding what he was thinking.

'Longer that I care to remember,' she sighed.

'I know a spacious, beautifully furnished apartment overlooking Green Park,' he murmured. 'A luxury block with maid service and a lift, full central heating, of course, an indoor swimming pool and jacuzzis . . . '

Her breath caught-—she had never in her life felt such overpowering rage. It grew inside her like an erupting volcano, shooting flames and red-hot lava through her. She couldn't make a sound, staring at him, her hands screwed up into fists, and Laird watched her sideways as he drew up at traffic lights.

Anna couldn't believe it when she heard him laughing softly, his brows flickering upwards.

'You should see your face,' he drawled. 'Wasn't that the offer you were expecting? After what you said about not being for sale I got the impression you'd been waiting for a proposition, and I wouldn't want to disappoint you.'

'Get lost!' Anna snarled.

'Or you could move into the penthouse,' he continued as though she hadn't said a word.

If she hadn't been so angry she might have been curious to see how high he would bid for her. What was she worth? she wondered grimly. What was the going rate for a mistress these days? How many had Laird had?

That was when an odd thing happened. Her whole body seemed to switch off. It was a really weird sensation, and Anna did not enjoy it at all. Her heart had stopped, she wasn't breathing; she couldn't hear, her eyes were blind.

My God! I'm falling in love with him, she thought. Why else am I so jealous at the thought of other women in his arms?

Then her heart went on beating, she breathed raggedly, and heard Laird talking next to her in that amused voice.

'Your trouble is, you've got no sense of humour, or maybe you did too many Victorian melodramas when you were with that repertory company?'

He was only joking, Anna thought with sick relief, but she was in no state to find him very funny. Her mind was too busy processing her discovery- —dealing with it like someone handling radioactive material—wearing protective clothing, at a great distance and very, very reluctantly.

She hated the thought of the other women he had had; her imagination worked overtime, flashing her pictures she didn't want to see, feeding her jealousy until it burned darkly inside her.

'Y
OU'RE
not even listening, are you?' Laird asked, impinging on her thoughts and making her jump.

She looked round at him, her lashes fluttering down against her flushed cheek. 'Sorry, I was miles away—what were you saying?' She was proud of her level tone; it sounded very convincing and couldn't possibly give him a clue to what had been obsessing her for the last few minutes. She had worked her way doggedly to deciding that she was suffering from an old-fashioned case of chemical reaction; her stupid genes were playing up, that was all. Laird was physically attractive, why deny that? He'd made love to her and given her a craving for what she had had once and couldn't help wanting again. It was very simple, wasn't it? Laird was addictive. She would just have to fight it; cure herself.

'Never mind,' he said drily. 'We're almost there now.'

The Rolls had purred round a corner into one of London's large squares, and Anna looked casually out of the window, doing a double-take as she recognised the place.

'Wolfstone Square?' Her head swinging towards Laird, she stared accusingly. 'This is where you dropped Patti the other night!'

He slowed and parked outside the same large white facade, his mouth ironic. 'Sorry about the little deception . . . '

'Lie,' she corrected tartly. 'You and Patti lied to me—this isn't a hotel! I thought it was odd then; it didn't look like a hotel.'

Her eyes rose to skim over the building, mentally pricing it and grimacing. It had a solidly elegant authority; smooth portico, gleaming black and gold front door with a Georgian polished knocker, rows of nicely proportioned windows. It was big enough to make a hotel, anyway; at least a dozen bedrooms, surely?

'Now that you know why Patti couldn't tell you the truth, you must understand,' Laird said with an optimism she found annoying. He was so casual about it all!

'I still don't like being told lies,' she informed him coldly, reluctant to get out of the limousine and walk up those steps, then she saw the front door swing open and several figures framed in the doorway. One of them was a small, thin man in a dark suit—the other was Patti, and she came running down towards the parked Rolls.

Laird got out and came round to open the door for Anna, and Patti gave her a hug.

'Oh, I'm so glad you came, I was afraid you wouldn't.' She was wearing a blue and white striped sailor suit with a broad white collar, matelot bodice and a pleated blue skirt. 'Come and talk to Mummy, she's in the conservatory talking to the plants—she has this theory that they need to know you like them.'

Anna smiled. 'I've heard lots of people say that'.' She let Patti pull her up the steps, past the man in the dark suit who was holding the door open.

'This is Jimmy, he and his wife run the house for us,' Patti told her as Anna looked uncertainly at him.

Jimmy gave Anna a polite inclination of the head, but said nothing in reply to her 'Hello.'