She paused. ‘You’re sure you never mentioned me? Told him my name?’
‘No, never.’ Evie shook her head slowly. ‘Why would I?’ She gave a quick shiver. ‘All the same, keep away from him, Tarn. It—it’s not safe. He has powerful friends.’
‘I won’t take any unnecessary risks. The fact that he has no idea who I am gives me a head start.’ Tarn tried to sound reassuring, even if she was bewildered by Evie’s warning. Surely Caz Brandon was powerful enough on his own. ‘But if I’m to cause him the kind of pain he’s inflicted on you, I have to get close to him in some way. Find where the wound will be deepest.’
‘You imagine you can do that?’ Evie whispered. ‘Then perhaps you’re the crazy one. Not me.’
‘I can at least try,’ Tarn returned. She hesitated. ‘I’m not going to mention any of this to your mother. And you shouldn’t talk about it either, to anyone. It has to be our secret.
‘Also, I shall move out of Wilmont Road,’ she added. ‘Go to stay with a friend.’
‘You mean it, don’t you? You’re really going to do this.’ Evie shifted restively in her chair, her face taut, almost frightened. ‘Oh, I wish I’d never mentioned him.’ She added pettishly, ‘Now, I’m starting to get a headache. Perhaps it would be better if you left.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Tarn got to her feet, eying her with concern. She said gently, ‘Evie—this man has to be taught he can’t go through life trampling on people. What he did to you had almost fatal results, and I cannot forget that. You’re in no position to fight back, but I am.’
She tried a coaxing smile. ‘And you really don’t have to worry.’
‘You don’t think so?’ Evie hunched a shoulder and turned to stare blankly at the window. ‘That’s because you don’t know him.’ And she shivered again.
It was her hair that Caz recognised. Even though it was no longer cascading to her shoulders, but decorously confined in a neat braid, and tied with a navy bow which matched her neat pantsuit, there was no mistaking that glorious rich auburn.
He had never really expected to see her again, yet here she was just the same, entering the lift at the fifth floor, glancing at her Blackberry with a preoccupied frown, and apparently quite oblivious to everything else.
He said, ‘It’s Miss Desmond, isn’t it?’
She looked up with a start. ‘Oh,’ she said, and bit her lip. ‘It’s you.’ She paused. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t realise who you were the other evening, Mr Brandon. I feel seriously embarrassed.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Caz paused, his mouth relaxing into amusement. ‘But while I have no wish to add to your discomfort, I should perhaps point out this is the directors’ private lift, and, if spotted, you could get told off for using it.’
‘Oh, Lord.’ She pulled a face. ‘I think that was mentioned, but I forgot and just took the first one to arrive. I apologise again.’
‘Do I take it you’re working here now?’
She nodded. ‘Since Monday.’ Her sidelong glance was part shy, part mischievous. ‘I actually took your advice and applied through the proper channels. Mr Wellington was good enough to hire me—temporarily anyway.’
She paused. ‘Should I get out at the first floor, or travel to ground level and risk a reprimand?’
‘Stay on board,’ he said. ‘If anyone notices, refer them to me, and I’ll tell them we were renewing an old acquaintance.’
‘Ah,’ she said and pressed a button on the display. ‘I think the stairs might be more discreet.’ She added, ‘Sir.’
As the doors opened, she gave him a last brief smile and vanished.
There should be a law, Caz mused, banning girls with legs as good as hers from wearing trousers in the office. Just as there was almost certainly a law condemning his thoughts as a kind of passive sexual harassment, he thought, his mouth curling in self-derision.
Easy, boy, he told himself. Or you’ll break your own golden rule about non-fraternisation. And we can’t have that.
If you need female distraction, ring Ginny Fraser, and see if she’s free for dinner.
He did, and she was, and that should have been the end of it.
Yet, later over lunch in the executive dining room, he heard himself saying, his tone deliberately casual, ‘I bumped into your newest recruit today, Rob.’
‘I hardly deserve the credit for that,’ his Personnel Chief said drily. ‘You did tell me we might receive an application from her. I simply—took the hint.’
Caz stared at him, appalled. ‘Oh, God, surely not.’
Rob Wellington grinned. ‘No, don’t worry. Absolutely not. Laurie interviewed her first, then sent me a note saying she was frantically over-qualified for any of our vacancies, but we’d be mad to pass her up on that account. I had a chat with the lady and agreed. So at the moment, she’s working as editorial assistant in features and fiction on All Your Own covering Susan Ellis’s maternity leave.’
He poured himself some more coffee. ‘Anyway, judging by the reference we got from Hannah Strauss at Uptown Today in New York, Ms Desmond could easily be running the entire magazine single-handed.’
Caz’s brows lifted. ‘If she was such a success in Manhattan, how come she’s back in London, at the bottom of the ladder again and working for comparative peanuts?’ he asked sceptically. ‘It makes no sense.’
‘I asked her about that,’ said Rob. ‘She said she’d come home because of illness in the family, and decided to stay for a while.’ He paused. ‘I have to say she seemed extremely eager to work for us. Should we suspect her motives for any reason?’
‘Maybe we should simply be flattered.’ Caz thought for a moment. ‘Do you know anything about a Philip Hanson? Have we ever employed anyone of that name in any capacity, however briefly?’
Rob frowned. ‘Off-hand, I’d say no. But I can check our records.’
Caz pushed back his chair and rose. ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘It’s not that important, and you have enough to do.’
And I, he told himself, will also dismiss the whole business from my mind.
And as a positive move in this direction, when he got back to his office, he asked Robyn, his PA, to send Ginny Fraser some flowers.
Tarn switched off her computer and leaned back in her chair, flexing her shoulders wearily. It had been a fraught few hours, but she knew the task she’d been set was a job well done, and would be recognised as such.
How odd, she thought, that I should care.
Yet, in other circumstances, she knew she might have enjoyed her time on All Your Own. Working on her own as she did now, she’d almost forgotten the buzz of office life. Her colleagues were friendly and professional, and she liked the editor, Lisa Hastings, another recent appointment.
In fact she’d been the first to hear Lisa’s cry of anguish as she scanned the pages of script that had just been handed to her.
‘Oh, God—someone please tell me this is a joke.’
‘What’s happened?’ Tarn had asked Kate who was in charge of the magazine’s layout.
Kate cast her eyes to heaven. ‘You’ve heard of Annetta Carmichael, the soap star? Apparently, when they killed her off as the Christmas Day ratings booster, she decided to