Deception and Desire (48 page)

‘I don't think you need have any worries on that score, Don,' he said evenly. ‘If I am right, Dinah's plans are quite safe.'

‘How can you know that?'

‘Let's just say I know, and leave it at that for now.'

He left the room, heading for the front door to greet Jayne and Drew.

Dinah turned to Don. She was trembling.

‘What does he mean, Don? Who does he think … ?'

‘I don't know. We'll have to wait until he chooses to tell us.'

‘You don't think …
Ros
… ?' Her voice was shocked and low. ‘I know it was suggested before but I simply couldn't believe it of her. But how can he be certain the new designs won't fall into the hands of our competitors if the spy is still working for us? Ros is the only one not around any more.'

‘It's no use speculating.' Don touched her arm. ‘ We'll just have to trust Steve, I'm afraid.'

But even as he said it, it galled him.

‘You're right, I suppose.' Already Dinah was reverting to character, trying to push to the back of her mind the things she did not want to think about. Outside the window Steve was greeting Jayne and Drew, kissing Jayne and taking her arm, bending to say something to her. ‘ You don't think, do you … ?' she said suddenly.

‘What?'

‘That Steve and Jayne are …' She hesitated, a small frown puckering her brow. ‘Sometimes they seem very … intimate.'

Don shrugged, his mind still on the spy business.

‘Of course not. She's a married woman.'

‘Being married doesn't stop people …'

‘I know that, Dinah,' Don said with just a hint of impatience. ‘But I feel sure a young man as eligible as Steve has no need whatever to dally with someone who already has a husband. Besides, he wouldn't want to …' He broke off, catching himself just in time.

‘Wouldn't want to what?'

Don went to pick up his coffee to cover his sudden embarrassment. Steve wouldn't want to queer his pitch at Vandina, he had been going to say. He wouldn't want to do anything to mar his golden image in case Dinah disapproved and his chances were spoiled.

Thank goodness he had stopped himself from making such a tactless remark, however true he suspected it might be.

‘If anything I thought he was interested in Ros,' he said.

Dinah brightened momentarily. ‘Do you know I thought the same thing! But now
Ros
… Oh Don, I don't know, sometimes I feel so helpless – as if I'm in a hall of mirrors where nothing is quite what it seems! Is that very stupid of me?'

‘No, Dinah, it's called life.'

‘Why does it all have to be so upsetting? Honestly, I just don't know who I can trust any more.'

He looked at her standing there, so apparently sophisticated and yet so vulnerable, and felt his heart contract.

‘You can trust me, Dinah, I promise you.'

A sudden smile lit her face and she laid her hand on his arm.

‘Oh yes, Don,' she said. ‘ I know I can trust you.'

When she had finally got up and eaten a leisurely breakfast Maggie decided she could no longer put off trying to ring Ari. The international lines were busy but eventually she managed to get through – only to have the telephone answered by her mother-in-law.

‘Ari? No, he's not here. He's gone out in the boat. Later, perhaps …'

‘You will tell him I rang?'

‘I will tell him.' But her mother-in-law sounded less than welcoming and Maggie found herself wondering. Who had Ari taken out in the boat? Might it be Melina? In spite of her own wandering emotions the suspicion still had the power to hurt.

After another coffee Maggie decided to spend what was left of the morning cleaning the cottage. In Ros's absence a fine layer of dust had settled over everything and so far Maggie had not had time to do more than keep the bed made and wipe crumbs and coffee stains from the working surfaces in the kitchen. Now, with the hours stretching ahead, frustratingly empty, Maggie thought the best possible therapy for her confused mood might be to set to and return the place to its usual gleaming perfection.

She dressed in jeans and a casual shirt, assembled the vacuum cleaner, duster and a can of spray polish and began to work. An hour later the ground floor of the cottage was clean and sparkling and Maggie carried her tools upstairs to begin on the bedrooms.

The task was not, however, as therapeutic as she had hoped it would be. It was disturbing to be tidying up the things that Ros had left lying around, reminding Maggie all too sharply that her sister was missing and making her feel uncomfortable, as if she was committing some act of sacrilege. Would Ros ever again arrange things the way she wanted them? Maggie was sickeningly afraid she would not and she redoubled her efforts as if by getting rid of every speck of dust, every cluster of fluff, she could tip the odds in Ros's favour.

The cleaning done, Maggie decided to cut some flowers to fill the empty vases. She took the kitchen scissors into the garden where Ros's roses were in full wonderful bloom, but though at a distance the bushes were laden, close to Maggie found it difficult to decide which to cut. To take the scissors to any of them seemed a crime almost akin to murder. As she was hesitating over the decision the telephone began to ring and she abandoned the idea of cutting any at all and hurried back into the house.

Perhaps it was Ari, she thought hopefully, back from his sea trip and returning her call. But there were no telltale crackles on the line and the voice at the other end, though masculine, was most definitely not Ari's.

‘Ros Newman?'

‘No, this is her sister, Maggie Veritos.'

‘Would I be able to speak to Ros Newman?' The voice sounded as if it belonged to a Londoner, Maggie thought.

‘I'm sorry. She's away. Can I help at all?'

‘I shouldn't think so. I really wanted to speak to Ros – or rather, she wanted to speak to me. My name is Des Taylor. Would you tell her I called? And that I shall be here for another week?'

Maggie hesitated, wondering if she should tell Des Taylor that Ros was not merely out but missing, and decided against it. She couldn't go into all that now.

‘Does she know where to contact you?' she asked.

‘Yes, but she may not have a phone number. Would you like to take it down?' Maggie reached for a pencil and copied it down – as she had thought, a Greater London code.

‘What did she want to speak to you about?' Maggie asked, unwilling to let this new contact go, however unpromising the conversation so far. But Des Taylor was not inclined to be forthcoming.

‘I think that's between me and Ros,' he said.

Maggie felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to prickle.

‘Please …' she began urgently. But Des Taylor had gone.

Maggie stood for a moment, deep in thought. Of course it was possible that this telephone call had nothing whatever to do with Ros's disappearance. But then again, perhaps it did …

Well, at least she had a telephone number. When she had talked to Mike they could decide whether to contact Mr Taylor, whoever he was.

At Luscombe Manor the alfresco lunch was over but the party had remained outside, taking advantage of the pleasant weather. Dinah and Don were sharing the swing seat, chatting over glasses of iced coffee, while Steve, Jayne and Drew reclined on sunbeds, lazily turning the pages of the Sunday supplements before abandoning them altogether to lie with the sun warm and bright on their upturned faces. After a while Steve, who soon tired of inactivity, got up.

‘I'm going for a swim.'

Instantly Jayne, too, sat up. ‘I think I'll come with you.' She glanced at her husband. ‘Drew?'

Drew shifted position languidly, rolling on to his stomach.

‘You go ahead. Water doesn't agree with me.'

Jayne smiled. It was exactly the response she had expected.

‘No one could accuse you of being overenergetic, could they?' she said lightly.

‘Or of cramping your style,' he replied without even opening his eyes.

Jayne smiled again. Their relationship really was rather satisfactory. In fact most of her life had turned out rather satisfactorily.

‘Have a nice rest.'

Steve was standing on the path waiting for her. She caught up with him, lazily linking her arm through his the moment they were screened from Dinah's view by the riot of shrubs and bushes.

He glanced at her, a look midway between amusement and irritation, and casually but deliberately disengaged his arm. Jayne flushed but said nothing. She was beginning to realise that however passionate the intimate moments they shared, she could not take anything for granted where Steve was concerned. Well, so be it. She didn't like the fact that she could control neither him nor their relationship but it was part of the attraction he had for her all the same. If it had been easy there would be no challenge – and Jayne liked a challenge. Besides which …

I don't believe I have ever wanted anyone as much as I want him, she thought, feeling the easy powerful grace of him next to her although they were now a foot apart. And in the end I'll get him, oh yes I will!

‘I want to talk to you, Jayne,' Steve said.

‘Oh? What about?'

‘Later,' he said. ‘I'm going to have my swim first.'

Dinah's large open-air swimming pool was flanked by a pool house, an octagonal stone-faced building that not only accommodated the plant but also changing rooms, showers and a solarium. Jayne kept a costume there – since coming to work for Vandina she was a frequent enough visitor to make it worthwhile. Now, in the pink-tiled ladies' room, she slipped out of the strapless white dress she had worn for lunch and reached for her costume, which had been left on a peg to dry the last time she had used it. As she did so her reflection leaped at her from one of the full-length mirrors – her body pale but voluptuous, breasts full but firm, hips curving invitingly from hourglass waist, to slightly heavy thighs. Jayne turned slightly to produce a sideways view of her figure, eyes narrowing critically as she assessed the rounded stomach and fleshy droop of her buttocks. Was she putting on weight? She fancied she might be. Time to watch her diet and perhaps do some firming exercises. The last thing she wanted was for the plumpness that had marred her teen years to take over again. Men liked a little flesh, no matter what the beauty pundits said, but it was possible to have too much of a good thing.

She wriggled into her costume, bright red with a design of yellow flowers and emerald leaves, and surveyed herself again. Better, much better. The swimsuit was built with all the figure-controlling wizardry of a corset but it was done so cleverly that no one would ever guess. The invisibly structured bra lifted and divided her breasts, the elastic fabric smoothed away any hint of an unwelcome bulge and held those offending buttocks firmly in place. Jayne twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head with a matching scrunchy and reached for a yellow towelling wrap. Then, pushing her feet into wedge-heeled gold mules, she went out to the pool.

Steve was already swimming, cutting a perfect crawl through the turquoise water. She stood watching him for a moment, admiring the athletic grace of the stroke and the way the muscles and sinews in his back and shoulders rippled with understated power. Was there any activity that could match really stylish swimming for sheer sexiness? she wondered, and felt the familiar weakness deep inside that always accompanied the anticipation of pleasure to come.

She dropped the towelling robe on to the huge grey slabs which edged the pool and stood for a moment, hand on hip, fingers lightly touching the outward spot beneath which the yearning had stirred, but Steve ignored her, executing a perfect tumble-turn and swimming another length of the pool, and she lowered herself into a sitting position, legs trailing in the water which, though heated to a comfortable eighty degrees, felt cold to her sun-warmed skin. Still he ignored her and she slipped down into the water, gasping as it engulfed her and swimming in a large circle with a wide, gentle breaststroke. There was no way she could match him for swimming prowess, she knew, and she would not even try, and she knew better than to interrupt his serious exercise with any attempt to initiate a water game.

Eventually, when he had completed the number of lengths he had set himself, he swam towards her, head up now rather than flat between his rhythmically curving arms.

‘All right,' he said. His breathing was just slightly fast, the breathing of a man who has stretched, but not overstretched himself. ‘We'll talk now.'

A tiny pulse had begun to beat in Jayne's throat.

‘You are making this sound very mysterious,' she said.

‘Am I?' He hauled himself out of the water so that the muscles in his upper arms bunched and the sinews – and the droplets of water – glistened on his broad back.

‘I'm not ready to get out yet,' she said, attempting to retain some control over the situation but managing only to sound petulant.

‘Suit yourself. I can wait.'

She swam another circle, aware that her breaststroke was less than championship standard; but he was not watching her anyway. He had flung himself down on one of the plastic pool beds, spreadeagled for the sun to dry him. Jayne swam slowly to the small ladder at the side of the pool, climbed out and went towards him.

‘I'm here now.'

‘Sit down.' He reached out lazily and positioned another pool bed alongside his own. She reached for the robe, drying her face with it before shrugging it on and sitting down. She was shivering a little, though whether from being wet or some other reason she could not be sure.

He was still lying prone, eyes closed, face turned slightly away from her. But when he spoke the deceptively relaxed pose did nothing to lessen the impact of his words.

‘I
know
, Jayne.'

She felt the shock like a line of fine wire drawn tight between each and every one of her nerve endings.