She put a hand up nervously to the swathe of heavy black hair, which curved confidently in towards her neck at shoulder length, and then withdrawing her hand, she looked unseeingly at one of the cream-coloured telephones. Her long lashes veiled her eyes, as she pondered his acute perspicacity, or previous knowledge.
She was aware of him rising from his seat, and crossing to a side table where a percolator of coffee bubbled invitingly. He poured her a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar, and then brought it across to her, setting it down on the desk in front of her.
‘Here,’ he said unceremoniously. ‘You'd better have that, after all. You look as though you could use some.'
‘Thank you.’ Emma's voice was stiltedly polite. She lifted the coffee cup almost automatically, and sipped some of the delicious liquid.
Damon Thorne seated himself on the edge of his desk quite near her, looking down at her thoughtfully. Then he shrugged, and said:
‘All right, Emma. I'll make it easy for you. I know all about brother John's discrepancies in the books.'
Emma's cup clattered into its saucer, ‘You do!' she gasped. ‘And you've let me sit here in agony, wondering how on earth I was going to tell you!’ Her earlier nervousness was temporarily banished by the wave of pure anger which swept over her.
He smiled derisively. ‘Come, come, Emma,’ he said smoothly. ‘You couldn't blame me for that. After all, whether I know or not is immaterial. The situation remains unchanged.'
He was right, of course, Emma thought wearily. She ought to have guessed that Damon Thorne's senior accountants were hardly likely to have been duped by a very junior member of the staff like Johnny. And rather than tell Johnny, to his face, the discrepancy would be reported higher and higher until Damon Thorne himself heard of it. It must have amused him enormously to have her come here begging for leniency on Johnny's behalf, although as yet she had not mentioned what might happen to her brother.
‘So what now?’ she asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. His nearness disconcerted her; when he had been around the other side of the wide desk she had managed to fool herself into believing he was merely Johnny's employer, to whom she had come to ask for help. But now that he was here, only inches away from her, all the unforgotten memories of their association came flooding back to her. Had she really once been able to control this strong, powerful man? Had he once held her in his arms and pressed that now-contemptuous mouth to her willing lips? And had she really spent hours alone with him, wrapped in his arms, loving him?
A wave of hot colour swept up her cheeks, and she bent her head hoping he would not notice. Whether he did or otherwise, he refrained from commenting, but said:
‘I imagine your presence here denotes your desire to save your brother from a public exposal.’ He pressed out the remains of his cigar in the ashtray. ‘Why should you suppose I might help you?'
‘I didn't suppose any such thing,’ said Emma tremulously. ‘Johnny asked me to see you. I … I couldn't refuse. Not when I knew what was at stake.'
‘Of course not.’ He rose to his feet, and paced round his desk. Dressed in a dark business suit, and a white shirt visible above his waistcoat, he looked like a stranger again. Which was just as well, she thought, breathlessly.
‘I should tell you that when I was informed of your brother's embezzlement', Emma winced at the word, ‘I knew at once it would only be a matter of time before you asked to see me. Knowing you as I do, or rather perhaps knowing your character as I do, I guessed you would be coerced into something like this. I also know your brother rather well, and his weakness for gambling has not gone unnoticed. It was on the cards that you would be involved, and as you see, I was right.'
Emma shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I should have known better than to appeal to you,’ she said quietly. ‘After all, you have nothing to thank me for, and I rather think you might enjoy the unpleasantness Johnny is going to have to stand.'
Damon Thorne's fist slammed angrily on the desk. ‘Damn you,’ he swore furiously, aroused by her quiet dismissal of him. ‘You have no cause as yet to make any judgments on me!'
Emma rose to her feet. ‘Why? Are you going to help us, after all?’ She was sure he was going to say no, and now she didn't care what he said to her. She just wanted to get out of the office as quickly as she could, before her minute store of composure deserted her and she burst into tears. She had tried. Johnny couldn't deny that. And she had failed abysmally.
Damon Thorne came back round the desk, and looked down at her piercingly. ‘Yes,’ he said forcefully. ‘I am going to help you, but at a price.'
Emma's legs gave way, and she sank back down into her chair. Her relief was so great, she did not at first take any notice of his qualification. She sought the clasp of her handbag, and opening it she looked inside for her cigarettes. She felt she needed one.
But before she could take out the packet, he lifted an onyx cigarette box off his desk and offered it to her. She took a cigarette gratefully, and allowed him to light it with his gold lighter. When she had inhaled deeply, and allowed her nerves to relax a little, the full implication of his words came flooding back to her. She looked up at him, puzzled, and shook her head.
‘I … I don't understand. Naturally, Johnny will repay every penny of the money he took.'
‘The monetary angle of all this is of concern to the accountants, not to me.’ His voice was curt.
‘But what other price could we pay?’ She was baffled.
‘Not “we”,’ he replied softly. ‘You.'
Emma stared at him. Then she got to her feet shakily, and moved away from him involuntarily. For what possible purpose did Damon Thorne want her? Surely, after all this time, he could not still …
‘No,’ he said harshly, as though reading her thoughts. Don't imagine for one moment that I'm even remotely interested in you sexually!'
He said it contemptuously, his mouth twisted, and Emma felt something inside her curl up and die. His eyes flickered appraisingly over her, insolent in their intensity, as though discounting the unknowingly appealing picture she made in her slim-fitting dark green suit, and white blouse. Although she was not a beautiful girl in the strictest sense of the word, her eyes were huge in her small, piquant face, and her mouth was full and generous. It certainly could be said she was more than pretty, she was attractive.
‘Then what do you want?’ she asked, twisting her gloves. ‘I'm a nurse, not a secretary.'
Just at that moment, a telephone pealed on his desk. Reaching forward, he lifted the receiver and said: ‘Thorne. What is it?'
He spoke for a moment, it was a technical matter, and Emma took little notice, but then as that call ended, the inter-communication system to one side of his desk buzzed. Swearing softly to himself, he pressed down a button. ‘Yes?'
Jennifer Weldon's voice was cool and modulated. ‘The secretary is here from the Ministry, sir,’ she said. ‘His appointment is for eleven-fifteen and it is already eleven-twenty.'
Damon Thorne glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. ‘Tell him I'll be another fifteen minutes yet,’ he said uncompromisingly.
‘But, Mr. Thorne …'
‘Tell him, Miss Weldon.'
‘Yes, sir.'
He flicked up the button again. Emma had composed herself. The initial shock of his decision was wearing off but he still had not told her why he needed her.
He looked across at her. ‘As you were saying,’ he said, smoothly, as though uncaring of the fact that he had just made the minister's secretary wait for personal reasons. ‘You're a nurse, and it's in that capacity that I require your services.'
Emma swallowed hard. ‘I see.’