Face burning, eyes flickering nervously, she said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do I have to remind you that I’m getting married in a week’s time?’
The lift stopped and the doors opened. Nobody was waiting on that floor; there was no one in view at all. He stepped out, grabbed her hand and jerked her out after him.
‘I am not going with you! Let go of me!’ She struggled to get away, flailing at him with one hand, managed to land a blow on his cheek, and gave a little cry of pain as she hurt herself on the hard edge of his bone structure.
‘Serves you right! You shouldn’t be so violent!’ He ran an exploring hand over his cheek where a red mark burnt. ‘That hurt me almost as much as it probably hurt you.’
‘Good!’
A room door nearby opened and an old lady in a pink linen suit, wearing a small black hat with a black lace veil which fell over her eyes, came out, gave them a startled, uneasy look.
‘Is anything wrong?’ she quavered.
Pippa hesitated fatally; he answered before she could. ‘She’s shy, that’s all. Honeymoon nerves! You know how women get on these occasions.’
The old lady blushed and then smiled; Pippa glared at him. He was maddening; he always had been.
‘I should carry you over the threshold, darling,’ he said, and suddenly grabbed Pippa off her feet before she could stop him, lifted her up into his arms and strode off with her while the old lady gazed after them with a romantic smile.
Pippa knew she should call his bluff, struggle, hit him again, but with that happy, wide-eyed audience she simply couldn’t. In any case a moment later he paused in front of double doors, produced a key and unlocked the suite, carried Pippa inside, into a small hallway, and closed the door behind them with his elbow.
‘Put me down!’ she hoarsely demanded. ‘Put me down at once!’
He carried her into a bedroom and dropped her on the large, white-and silver-draped bed.
Her heart beat wildly in her throat. Surely he didn’t intend… She rolled over to the far edge of the bed and shakily stood up, looking around for a weapon to use if he tried to come anywhere near her. The table lamp looked heavy; it had a bronze cast base and could probably kill someone.
But he was turning back towards the door. Over his shoulder he casually said, ‘Use the bathroom, if you wish. Your hair could certainly do with some attention.’
The door closed behind him. She was alone and safe, for the moment. Her gaze wandered round the room, absorbing the luxury of the furnishings: high French windows covered with lace and floor-length curtains that matched the white and silver satin bed-cover, the bronze-based lamps with their wide silver satin shades, walnut-veneered furniture that was probably reproduction, not genuinely antique, a chest, a wardrobe whose doors were set with mirrors, a dressing table on which stood a vase of white carnations and roses.
She began to walk towards the door of the en-suite bathroom, paused to bend over the flowers, inhaling their faint scent then hurried on, in case he came back.
The bathroom was entirely white, with nineteen-twenties-style fittings, elegant fluted chrome taps. In a cupboard above the vanity unit she found his toiletries: aftershave, an electric razor, shower gel, shampoo. Somehow it was too intimate to stare at them. She quickly shut the door on them and opened her bag.
She found a comb and ran it through her hair, renewed her make-up, considered her reflection, disturbed by the feverish brightness of her eyes, the faint tremble of her mouth, the fast beating of that pulse in her neck.
It was crazy to let him do this to her. She had to pull herself together and somehow talk her way out of this suite. She had given him time to calm down, to think—maybe now he would realise he had to let her leave?
Turning away, she picked up her bag and left the bathroom, quietly opened the door of the bedroom. If he wasn’t in earshot she might be able to get away now.
She couldn’t hear a sound so she began tiptoeing back along the little hall towards the outer door. Before she reached it, however, a voice spoke softly behind her.
‘Don’t even think about it.’
She froze, looking round.
He was leaning on the open doorway into what she glimpsed to be a sitting room, his arms crossed, his body lounging with casual grace, those long legs relaxed, making her forcibly aware of his intense sexual allure, the gleaming display of the peacock. And he knew it, too; he was watching her with that infuriating mockery, knowing what she was feeling, amused and sure of himself.
She probably still had time to make a run for it, but he would only take a few seconds to catch up with her and her self-respect wouldn’t allow her to make a fight of this. In any case, she knew she would only lose. She had to use other weapons against him.
‘I have to get back to work.’
‘I’ve already rung your office and told them you fainted and would be going home to rest instead of going to work.’
She furiously broke out, ‘You had no business to do that!’
He ignored her angry splutter. ‘I’ve ordered lunch, too—something simple. I thought you wouldn’t want anything elaborate. Salad, some cheese, cold beef and chicken, some wholemeal bread, pickles, some fruit, yogurt, and a pot of coffee.’
‘I’m not hungry. You eat lunch; I’ll get back to my office.’ She turned towards the door of the suite.
‘Do I have to carry you in here?’ his voice silkily enquired, and she froze.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she burst out. ‘What’s the point? You’re married; I’m getting married—we have nothing to say to each other.’
Four years ago she had joined his firm after the company she had been working for had gone into liquidation. Pippa had been shocked by the news that everyone was being made redundant, but by sheer good luck she had got a new job the same day. During her lunch hour she had gone into an employment agency to register and had been given an immediate interview with a nearby office.
She had walked down the road, very nervous, a little shaky, and been shown up to the personnel officer, who had tested her various secretarial skills and spent half an hour questioning her.
Pippa hadn’t expected to be given a job there and then, but the personnel officer had leaned back at last and said, ‘When can you start?’
Heart lifting, Pippa whispered, ‘Do you mean I’ve got a job here? You’re taking me on?’
The woman smiled, eyes amused. ‘That’s what I mean. So when can you start?’
She didn’t need to think about it; she knew she would be out of a job by the end of that week and would need to be earning again as soon as possible. She had no one to help her with her rent and the cost of living. She only had herself to rely on.
‘On Monday?’ Relief and delight were filling her.
‘Wonderful. Report to me at nine o’clock and I’ll have someone show you to your desk. You’ll be working in the managing director’s office. His private assistant will be in charge; she’ll tell you what she wants you to do. It isn’t a difficult job, but it’s vital that everything runs smoothly in that office and Miss Dalton is a tough organiser. Be careful not to annoy her. The MD insists on a smooth-running office.’
It sounded rather nerve-racking to Pippa, but the salary was good and the work not too onerous. She left there walking on air, and got back to find everyone else in her office gloomily contemplating living on social security until they found work elsewhere.
‘What about you, Pippa?’ asked the girl whose desk was opposite hers. ‘What will you do?’
‘Oh,