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‘Of course,’ Poppy responded, grittily withholding the angry comment she wanted to make. This was a business trip to Italy, she reminded herself grimly, and she intended to preserve a businesslike distance between them, if only to prove to James that she was not the adolescent child he constantly taunted her as being.
Outside, his Jaguar gleamed richly in the early morning sunshine. As he opened the passenger door for her, Poppy could smell the rich, expensive scent of the car’s leather seats. Chris and her mother, who, like James, were directors and shareholders in the company, drove cars with far less status and the urge to remind James of this fact was irresistible as he slid into the driver’s seat next to her and started the car.
‘Very nice,’ she commented, smoothing the cream leather with her fingertips. ‘A perk of the job, I presume...?’
‘No, as a matter of fact, it isn’t,’ James shocked her by denying as he swung the car into the traffic. ‘It’s time you brought yourself up to date with current tax laws, Poppy,’ he told her acidly. ‘Even if I wanted to make use of my...connection with the company to my own financial advantage, the current tax penalties involved in owning an expensive company car would prohibit me from doing so.’
Poppy could feel her face start to burn as she interpreted the message in the first part of his statement. Unlike her, he did not have to benefit from his connection with the company, he was implying.
Resentment burned angrily in Poppy’s chest. Was she never going to be judged on her own merits, instead of being condemned because of her mother’s position as a shareholder? How would James like it if she pointed out to him that the only reason he was the company’s chairman was because of his father?
Poppy moved irritably against the restriction of her seat belt, all too aware of how easily James could refute such an accusation. Although he had the reputation within the company of being a demanding employer, noone disputed the fact that the company’s present success was due to his hard work. And no matter how much he might demand of those who worked for him it was never any more than he demanded of himself.
The traffic was starting to build up as they got closer to the airport and already Poppy’s stomach was beginning to clench nervously as she anticipated what lay ahead. It was the moment of take-off she dreaded most; once that was over it was easier for her to relax.
The spot in Italy where the conference was being held was three hours’ drive from the airport, which meant, Poppy suspected, that they would be spending the better part of the day travelling. She had brought some work with her to keep her occupied during the Sight—and to ensure that she didn’t have to talk to James—but she couldn’t help wistfully reflecting how different things would have been if her travelling companion had been Chris... a Chris who was not married to Sally or anyone else, a Chris who—
Stop it, she warned herself sternly. He is married to Sally and you’ve got to stop thinking about him... stop loving him...
As she quickly blinked away the weak tears she could feel threatening her, she heard James say sardonically, ‘Poor Poppy, still hopelessly--in love with a man who doesn’t want her. Why do I get the impression it’s a role you actively enjoy playing?’ he asked her savagely, the harshness in his voice shocking her almost as much as the cruelty of his accusation.
‘That’s not true,’ she denied chokily.
‘That’s not the impression I get;’ James said to her as he negotiated the maze of slip-roads that led to the car park. ‘In fact I’d say the role of self-pitying lover is one you’ve embraced with far more enthusiasm than you appear to have had for embracing real love.’
Poppy’s face burned hotly as he parked the car and opened his door. She wasn’t going to dignify his comments by responding to them... or defending herself, she told herself fiercely. Nor was she going to let James see how much they had hurt her.
‘It’s no wonder that Chris prefers to take a real woman to bed,’ James told her cruelly as he opened her door for her and waited like a gaoler for her to get out.
I am a real woman, Poppy wanted to protest. Just as real as Sally, just as capable of giving love, of inciting passion and desire. But was she? Was there something inherently feminine and desirable in Sally that was missing from her? Was she somehow lacking in that vital ingredient that made a woman lovable and desirable?
All the doubts about herself and her sexuality which had sprung into life with the news of Chris’s engagement to Sally and which she had rigorously and fiercely ignored and denied suddenly rose up inside her, a fully armed enemy force which James’s words had carelessly set free from the prison in which she had concealed them.
Did he know about the fears, the insecurities about her sexuality that these last months had brought? Poppy wondered numbly as she waited for him to remove their cases from the boot of his car.
How could he? It was impossible. He was simply trying to goad her, to hurt her, to provoke a reaction from her which would enable him to reinforce his condemnation of her as immature and foolish.
Quite what his purpose was in doing this Poppy didn’t really know, had never really questioned. The enmity which had developed between them had grown alongside her love for Chris until she’d accepted it in the same way that she had accepted that love. But, despite the fact that Chris’s marriage had now forced her to accept that she had to find a way of severing herself from the past and finding another focus for her life, of accepting that Chris could never be a part of that life in the way she had so much hoped, it seemed that since the wedding James’s antagonism to her had simply increased.
Why? Was he perhaps trying to force her into leaving the company? Was his desire to hurt her, to undermine her... to destroy her... to do with the business, or something more personal?
James had locked the car and was waiting impatiently for her to join him.
These next four days were going to be the longest of her life, Poppy reflected.
‘You can relax now; we’re airborne...’
The sound of James’s voice in her ear made Poppy open her tightly closed eyes, her pent-up breath leaking in a relieved sigh from her lungs as she recognised the truth of what he was saying.
Having shudderingly refused the window-seat that James had offered her, she had fastened her seat belt and willed herself not to give in to
her childhood need to have a familiar hand to cling to as the plane had taxied down the runway and started to lift off.
At least she had managed not to do that, although... Surreptitiously she slowly released the tense fingers she had not been able to stop herself from curling into the immaculate smoothness of James’s suit jacket—and not just James’s suit jacket, she acknowledged uncomfortably, but James’s very solidly muscled arm as well.
His dry ‘Thank you, Poppy’ as she tried to remove her hand from his arm without him noticing what she had done made her flush guiltily and avoid looking at him.
Did he never feel afraid? she wondered bitterly. Did nothing ever dent that iron self-control of his? Had no one ever made him ache... hurt ...yearn for her so much that nothing else ... noone else mattered?
If anyone had, she had certainly never been aware of it, Poppy thought, but then she had been too involved in her own feelings to pay much attention to anyone else.
As always, now that they were actually airborne, her fear left her, her body starting to relax...
She refused the drink that the stewardess offered her and reached for her case and the work she had brought with her. James, she noticed, was already engrossed in some papers which he had removed from his briefcase. Well, at least whilst his attention was on them he wouldn’t be able to pick on her, she decided with relief.
‘Oh, James, just look at that view,’ Poppy breathed, unable to keep the awed delight from her voice as she stared through their hire-car window at the panorama spread before them.
Transport had been arranged from the airport to the conference centre, but James had opted to make his own arrangements and independently hire a car, and Poppy had felt no trepidation at the thought of travelling with him, since she knew that not only was he a very safe driver but that he was also familiar with Italian roads.
The thought of spending three hours shut up in a car with only him for company had been a different matter and until they had started to climb into the mountains she had resolutely occupied herself with her own thoughts rather than try to engage him in any conversation. Conversations with James, she had decided bitterly, always seemed to lead to the same place-to them arguing.
