Tiger Man. PENNY JORDAN

at nine,’ she mouthed to Pete, who nodded and gave her a mock salute as he left.

      Later in the afternoon she felt so tired that she half regretted her decision to go out, but it was too late to change her mind. Her father had offered to collect her from work, and he was waiting in the car-park when Storm got outside.

      The fields were a patchwork of varying greens and golds, broken by the odd spot of dark brown where the earth had been turned for a winter crop, cobbled together with the neat grey lines of the dry-stone walls. Storm lay back in her seat and closed her eyes.

      ‘You’re quiet.’ Mr Templeton shot her an amused look. ‘Finding this new boss harder to handle than old David?’

      ‘David isn’t old!’ Storm expostulated, but Mr Templeton just grinned.

      ‘Some people are born old, my girl, and some are always young. Your David is one of the former, and you, my love, are most definitely one of the latter.’

      Irreverently Storm wondered into which category Jago Marsh fell, squashing the admission that he was a man it would be virtually impossible to define or put into a precast mould, and then dismissed him firmly from her mind and gave her attention exclusively to her father.

      ‘Going out with David tonight?’ he asked quizzically.

      Storm shook her head. ‘He’s in Oxford.’ No need to tell her father that David had neglected to inform her of his intentions. ‘I’m going out with Pete and the usual crowd, just for a drink.’

      ‘Do you good,’ Mr Templeton approved. ‘You’ve been rather preoccupied lately. Care to talk about it?’

      ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ Storm replied rather huskily. That was the beauty of her parents, although they never interfered they were always ready and willing to listen to her problems and suggest a solution.

      She smiled a little wryly at her father’s reaction to the information that Jago Marsh wanted to make her his mistress. If one could apply such an outdated word to the undoubtedly ephemeral relationship he had in mind. Knowing her father’s love of logic he would probably have some perfectly rational explanation for the other man’s behaviour, Storm reflected with a sigh. This was one problem she could not share with her parents, although she admitted that perhaps some self-analysis was called for.

      Her mind shied away from the admission. Just because Jago Marsh made her feel nervous… threatened. It was a perfectly natural reaction and one that any girl would have felt faced with his coolly stated intentions. She had no desire to become involved in any purely sexual relationship. Mutual respect; shared interests—these were the things on which durable relationships were formed.

      She heard the familiar toot of Pete’s car horn while she was putting on her make-up. The crowd Pete mixed with were essentially a casual lot, so Storm had donned tight-fitting black cord jeans, topped with a silky white blouse with a yoke that emphasised the fullness of her breasts and full sleeves gathered into a tight cuff. A brief matching cord waistcoat drew attention to her slim waist, giving her an almost mediaeval air, and as she applied her eyeshadow with a practised hand she heard Pete cheerfully returning her mother’s greeting.

      Peach blusher highlighted her cheekbones, and a shiny lip gloss emphasised the sensuous curve of her mouth. She brushed her hair quickly, then slipped on her knee-length suede boots, zipping them closed.