Fran took a deep breath, struggling for words while various images flitted through her mind: kicking his shins was the best, but boiling him in oil wasn’t far behind.
He hadn’t come back at all.
All this time she’d been picturing his face when he found her gone, and he didn’t even know. He’d just forgotten about her.
His secretary had probably been too afraid of his wrath to admit that she wasn’t there, and had invented some story about having seen her home. The doorman, too, had probably kept very quiet.
Then she saw Ali’s eyes, glinting behind his smile, and a doubt crept into her mind. Did he really not know that she’d left? Or did he know, and had invented this story to turn the tables on her?
With this unpredictable man, anything was possible.
‘I hope that some day soon we’ll be able to enjoy the evening that was interrupted,’ Ali continued, ‘but just for the moment I’m afraid I’m very busy. In fact, you must leave at once, as I have an appointment with a journalist.’
‘I thought you never saw journalists,’ Fran said, getting ready to enjoy the next few minutes.
‘Normally I don’t, but Mr Callam is from a serious newspaper.’
‘Did—did you say Mr Callam?’
‘Mr Francis Callam. I’ve agreed to the interview because there are things it would suit me to make clear in his pages.’
Fran’s thoughts were in a whirl. When they settled she gazed with delight on the resulting pattern. He was about to get the shock of his life.
‘What kind of things?’ she asked innocently.
Ali’s smile was like a locked door. ‘I wouldn’t dream of boring you with such details.’
‘Well, I know I’m just a stupid woman,’ she said humbly, ‘but I know how to spell financial. F-E—no, it’s I, isn’t it?’
He laughed. ‘Your wit enchants me. Now, I’ve no more time for games. Mr Callam will be here at any moment.’
‘Don’t you want to know my name first?’
‘I’ve already taken my own steps to discover it. I’ll be in touch with you when I have time.’
‘I wouldn’t put you to so much trouble,’ Fran said, breathing hard. ‘My name is Frances Callam. Ms Frances Callam.’
She was fully revenged in the look that crossed his face. It was compounded of alarm, horror and anger.
‘Are you telling me…?’ he asked slowly.
‘That I am the journalist you’re waiting for. And I can not only spell financial, but I can add up. You know, one and one are two, two and two are four. I have a first-class economics degree, you see, and they insisted on it.’
His voice was very hard. ‘You deceived me.’
‘No, I didn’t. I spoke to your secretary, and said Frances Callam wanted to talk to you for an article in The Financial Review. You both took it for granted it was a man because it never occurred to you that a financial journalist could be a woman. You fell into the trap of your own prejudice.’
‘And the other night? Was it mere coincidence that you turned up at The Golden Chance?’
‘No, I was observing you.’
‘And afterwards? Do you dare say that wasn’t deception?’
‘We-ell, I may have left a few things out. But you made it easy.’
‘And all the time you were laughing at me.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know what would happen, in my country, to a woman who dared to do that?’
‘Tell me. No, wait!’ She rummaged in her bag and produced a notebook. ‘Now tell me. Hey!’ Ali had firmly removed the notebook from her hand and tossed it aside.
‘You will not make notes about me,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘You will not write about anything that happened the other night—’
‘Oh, I wasn’t going to. I write for a serious paper. It wouldn’t be interested in that corny line you handed me.’
‘I—’
‘Well, you have to admit—burning sunsets and tents flapping in the breeze? But I don’t blame you.’
‘You don’t?’ He sounded dazed.
‘I’m sure most girls would fall for it. Well, you wouldn’t keep using it if they didn’t, would you?’
‘That’s right,’ he said, his eyes kindling. ‘You see, one thing I’ve learned about women is this—the sillier the better.’
‘You don’t say!’
‘The more foolish the line, the more unconvincing the stage props, the more chance that some fluffy-headed little girl is going to believe it. Experience has taught me all I need to know about your sex.’
‘Are you daring to call me a fluffy-headed little girl?’
‘I don’t know why that should bother you, since you went out of your way to make me think just that. You should stick to the role, Miss Callam. It suits you better than pretending to be a man.’
‘I’m doing no such thing,’ she said furiously. ‘I earn my living as a journalist. You promised me an interview, and I’m here. Why don’t we get started?’
‘If,’ Ali said, regarding her coldly, ‘you imagine for one moment that I intend to discuss my private affairs with you—’
‘Not your private affairs, your business affairs,’ Fran said. She couldn’t resist adding provocatively, ‘I think we’ve already covered the private ones.’
‘Let it be clearly understood that I do not discuss business with women. That is not a woman’s role.’
‘Woman’s role?’ she echoed, scandalised. ‘Why, you prehistoric—’
‘Think what you like of me. Do you imagine I care? I haven’t been used to considering the opinions of women and I see no reason to start now. In my country women know their place and keep to it. It’s an arrangement that works very well.’
‘I wonder what your mother thinks of that?’ Fran said, with spirit. ‘She’s English, isn’t she? Brought up to be equal with men—’
‘No woman is equal with men. And don’t speak about my mother. You’re not going to interview me by the back door. I will not talk to you and that’s final.’
‘You talked all right when you thought I was just a plaything,’ Frances snapped.
‘But of course. That is what women are for.’
‘It’s not what I’m for.’
‘You think so, but in my arms you came alive like a true woman. Don’t say you’ve forgotten.’
She faced him defiantly. ‘I was acting a part.’
He smiled, and something about it disturbed her obscurely. ‘I don’t think so. I can tell when a woman is pretending. I can also tell when she’s yielding to her own deepest desires, in the arms of the man who can inflame those desires. Something happened between us the other night, something that was true and real.’
‘As though anything true and real could happen between me and a man from the Stone Age.’
‘Why must you deny it? What are you afraid of? That your theories might be swept away by a passion that will show you your real self? Is that why you try to reduce me to words on your page, because you think like that you will bring the truth under your control?’
He was standing dangerously close.