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She had managed to ignore his question and was about to launch herself through the revolving doors, to freedom, when she felt the warm pressure of his hand on her elbow, and she sprang back, alarmed.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, and he said very softly into her ear,
‘From your reaction, not what you think.’
‘Very funny,’ she muttered between her teeth.
‘I was simply going to ask you whether you had time for a quick drink. To celebrate your engagement.’
‘No.’ She tired to water down the abruptness of her answer with a smile. ‘I really must get home so that I can prepare some food for tonight.’
‘How many people have you invited?’ he asked blandly, his hand still disconcertingly on her elbow.
‘Not many. I would have asked you along,’ she explained, ‘but…’
‘But you’re a firm believer in not mixing business with pleasure. I know. I got the message three days after you joined the company.’
She looked at him, startled.
‘Surprised I remember?’ he asked, and she shrugged.
‘Not when I think about it. You have the memory of an elephant. Sometimes I think you must have the entire collection of the Encyclopedia Britannica up there, roving about in your head.’
‘Shall I take it as a compliment?’
‘If you like.’ Her voice was casual, distracted even though her heart was doing some pretty odd things inside her and she couldn’t for the life of her imagine what had prompted that observation.
‘You know, sometimes I think I almost prefer Mrs Fulbright, your predecessor, whose lifelong ambition was to reveal the maximum about herself in the minimum amount of time.’
That hurt. ‘You could always ask me to resign,’ she said, her grey eyes angry.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ he snapped impatiently, ‘I’m not asking you to do anything of the sort. I’m merely trying to make a point.’
‘I can’t help the way that I am, Mr Anderson,’ Abigail said inaudibly, ‘I…’
‘Yes?’ Their eyes met and the breath caught in her throat.
‘Nothing. Look, I really must be dashing off.’ She took a step backwards, knowing from his grim expression that the subconscious retreat had registered with him. ‘Do have a nice time at the play tonight,’ she said, while he continued to stare at her tersely. ‘I shall be in bright and early in the morning.’ She was running out of friendly parting words and it suddenly occurred to her that she was under no obligation to make excuses for her personality. She was his employee, and one who did a damn good job. She was conscientious, hardworking and trustworthy and that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?
She turned away abruptly and walked through the revolving doors, and the sudden cold winter air outside was like a balm.
As luck would have it, she had missed her bus again, but this time she hardly noticed the press of bodies on the Underground. Her mind was too busy sorting through the extraordinary atmosphere that had sprung up between herself and Ross. She had never felt so uncomfortable with him before. True, from time to time in the past she had caught him looking at her, but this was the first time that she had felt so entirely the target of his overwhelming personality, and it had alarmed her.
It wouldn’t do to forget Ellis and the way he had ignored her the minute his girlfriend had reappeared on the scene. She had so nearly given in to him, slept with him, she had been so caught up in the frenzy of never before experienced desire.
She thought of Ross, and for a moment the image that sprang back at her of his implacable, hard good looks was so sexual that she sucked in her breath with shock. Had she actually wondered what it would be like to have those strong hands on her body? No, she told herself uneasily. He had just managed to creep under her skin a little with his damn inquisition, but that was all.
The train disgorged her at her stop and she walked the remainder of the distance back to her flat, feeling calmer as she began to look at things in perspective. He had unnerved her. She was not accustomed to being unnerved. After eighteen years of living with her mother, she had learnt how to maintain a steady, unshakeable front, and the fact that that front had been rattled, for once, had taken her aback.
It would never have happened, she decided, letting herself into her flat and immediately heading for the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee, if she wasn’t already in a fragile frame of mind. She had spent most of the night awake, thinking about Martin’s proposal, about the engagement party which would formally seal it, wondering whether she had done the right thing. She had convinced herself that her head was right when it said yes, and if her heart was being a bit belligerent, then that would settle in time. It just so happened that Ross had decided to cross-examine her when she was mentally not up to it.
She looked at her watch, gulped down the remainder of the coffee, and then spent that next hour putting the finishing touches to the food which she had prepared over the weekend and stored in the freezer.
She found herself hurriedly taking a shower, then changing into a slim-fitting silk dress in blues and purples, which she had bought months ago but had never got around to wearing because whenever she tried it on all she could see was the revealing depth of the neckline, and that immediately made her wonder what on earth had possessed her to buy it in the first place.
After thirty minutes of rapid dressing, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom and looked at her reflection with a critical eye.
Not bad, she decided. No abundance of voluptuous curves, but a neat figure nevertheless. She had applied some blusher to her cheeks, so her skin did not look as pale as it was wont to do, and her eye-shadow made the most of her eyes, which she personally considered to be her best feature.
When the doorbell rang, she drew in her breath, crossed her fingers that her mother wouldn’t do anything to antagonise Martin’s parents and that the handful of friends they had invited would get along, and went to answer the door.
CHAPTER TWO
‘ALL right. Out with it. What’s eating you?’
‘Nothing’s eating me.’ Abigail stared down at her notepad and thought that something was eating her all right, and whatever it was it was making a great meal of it ever since the evening before when Ross and Fiona, unexpected, uninvited and unwanted, had shown up at what was supposed to be a small, intimate celebration party.
Everything had been going just fine until they turned up. There had been no embarrassing pauses in the conversation, no snide remarks from anyone, lots of congratulations, lots of food, and her mother had been on best behaviour, even if Martin’s parents, a rather timid couple, had seemed occasionally overwhelmed by her presence. That had been expected. Her mother had a tendency to be overwhelming at the best of times.
‘Then why,’ Ross continued with a hint of impatience, ‘have you been sitting there for the past half-hour looking as though the world’s caved in? Have you been listening to a word I’ve been dictating?’
‘Of course I have.’ She held up her notepad which was full of scribbled writing and tried not to fling it at him.
‘It’s because I turned up at that engagement party of yours last night, isn’t it?’
‘Why did you?’ Their eyes met but she didn’t look away. Why bother to pretend that she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about?
He shrugged and looked at her. ‘Curiosity, I guess. If you hadn’t been so secretive about the whole thing, I probably wouldn’t have.’
Curiosity. She digested the word with something approaching dislike.
His sudden appearance in her flat had elicited varying reactions from the assembled guests. Martin’s parents, with a certain amount of obtuse naivete, had assumed that he had been invited, in the capacity of Abigail’s boss. They had even made an effort to involve Fiona in conversation, seemingly not noticing the languid boredom on her face or the way her eyes skimmed derisively over the décor. Her own mother had viewed him with rather more suspicion, and Abigail had seen the twitching antennae with a sinking heart. More lectures to come on good-looking men and how they should be avoided at all costs; remember Ellis Fitzmerton. We don’t want you making a fool of yourself over another boss, do we?
And of course Martin, who had never met Ross before, as if sensing unfair competition, had adopted an air of macho aggressiveness which had not sat well on his shoulders. Poor Martin. That, in some respects, had been the worst thing about Ross’s unexpected arrival. He had stridden into the small sitting-room, with his bottles of expensive champagne, tall, commanding, sexy, and instantly everyone had seemed very dull in comparison. Including Martin.
‘Come on.’ He stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets and Abigail said, bewildered,
‘Come on? Where? What are you doing?’
He had walked over to where she was sitting opposite him and proceeded to frogmarch her to the door, while she made ineffectual protesting noises.
‘I’m taking you to the boardroom,’ he said, pulling open the outer door and unceremoniously escorting her out. ‘Life’s just too damned offputting with you in this kind of mood. Whatever little resentments you’re nursing, you’ll bloody well tell me about them over a cup of coffee.’
