Edge of Paradise (5 page)

‘I see.' A pause. ‘If I take you on, you understand that I won't share you with anyone. That will be a condition. Naturally, the price will match it.'

‘That will be all right. Ally can deal with the other business.'

His face was oddly without expression. ‘I'm flying out to the sun tomorrow. To the Bahamas. How does that sound to you?'

‘You mean you want me to come with you?'

Ally had said he might want to take her with him to work on his next book, but although the possibility had registered in her mind she hadn't really believed that it would materialize.

A girl she'd been at school with had trained as a nanny and she had got herself a job looking after the children of a Greek shipping magnate who was a millionaire many times over. Life was now one permanent holiday for her. Apart from being fabulously well paid—she earned as much in a month as Catherine had earned in a year while working for Charles—the family spent their vacations in the world's most publicized play spots, and naturally she went with them.

It had always been Catherine's dream to travel, and her savings, which she had used
without
a qualm to set up Allycats, had been earmarked for that purpose. She couldn't believe that her objective was going to be realized. This sort of thing happened to other people, never to her.

In view of all the joy singing in her head, how very banal she sounded as she solemnly nodded and said quietly, ‘The Bahamas sound good to me.'

CHAPTER THREE

‘But . . . tomorrow? You did say we'd be going tomorrow? That doesn't give me much time. How long will I be away for?'

‘Depends. For the moment I would prefer to keep that part open.'

‘I understand. If I'm not up to scratch, I may find myself packed back home in under a week. Well, that's fair enough.'

‘It could work the other way. I might just decide to keep you on a permanent basis.'

‘Yes, I suppose there's always that possibility,' she said, sounding brighter. ‘Would you like to try me out now?'

She'd had the foresight to tuck her shorthand pad into her handbag in case he wanted to test her speed and she assumed that a portable typewriter would be a vital part of his luggage and easily accessible if he wanted
to
see her typing skills. Anticipating his affirmative reply, she began to unbutton her jacket, feeling that she would be more comfortable, and therefore more efficient, without its hampering presence.

A funny, strangled sound emerged from his throat as he stretched out his hands and firmly buttoned her jacket back up. ‘That won't be necessary.'

She didn't know what brought the blush to her cheeks, his peremptory tone or his fingers performing the intimate task in the proximity of her breast.

‘I was looking at it from your point of view,' she said in an unnaturally sharp voice, which etched his frown into deeper lines of disapproval. If he wanted a puppet assistant who never answered back he ought to steer clear of the personal touch, dictate straight into a machine and send his material through the post to be typed.

‘And here I was thinking I'd thwarted your desire to display your talents to me,' he drawled.

She couldn't understand the scoffing inflection in his voice, but it was instinctive to retaliate. ‘I thought that ten minutes now would save you the cost of my fare if I didn't match up to your expectations.'

He was a long time in replying. When he did his tone was overlaid with sarcasm. ‘Have you any reason to suppose that you won't match up
to
my. . . expectations?'

‘No,' she said, puzzled and disturbed by the studied pause and his manner in general.

‘And do you really think you can do full justice to your talents in ten minutes?'

For some totally unknown reason she found herself twisting her fingers into her hair, as if there were something improper about the question.

Nor could she know—because it wasn't apparent in his manner—how unnerving he found those candid eyes viewing him in judgment. He met her gaze steadily, but there was no flinching away, no flicker of anything in those clear sapphire depths, and still no reply on that uncompromisingly straight mouth.

‘Well, blast it, can you?' he demanded.

Her eyelids fluttered, her glance dropped, but she quickly looked up again to say, ‘No, I don't imagine so.'

‘There's your answer then,' he said savagely. ‘I'll just have to take you on a “goods on approval” basis.'

The rush of words, an instantaneous reaction, came crisply to her lips. ‘Are you trying to insult me?'

‘I doubt if that would be possible.'

He was back in fighting form again, his equilibrium restored by the loss of hers. Before her mind could grind into action again he strode away from her, searching for pen and check book and a flat surface on which to
write.

Provoked beyond endurance, seething passionately, she thought, I'm a fool to wait. If I'd any sense I'd get up and walk out that door. The man's unbalanced. He must be. And I must be, too. Because she seemed incapable of following her own wise counsel. If she got up now, if she walked out that door, there would be no turning back and she would be walking out of his life for good. She couldn't do it.

She hung her head in shame and humiliation at this admission of cowardice. She was curious to know him better, and cowardly because she suspected that if she attempted to escape, he would drag her back.

She sensed that he had adopted a certain proprietorial attitude toward her. She didn't know why this should be; it made no more sense than anything else in this decidedly bizarre set-up did. For some incomprehensible reason he had taken it upon himself to be responsible for her. In place of her errant father? No! Most definitely not! He wasn't old enough to be her father.

She wasn't sure of his age. He could slot in anywhere between the thirty and thirty-five marks. And he certainly didn't look at her in the way a father would.

How
did
he look at her? The complexity of the man made that question difficult to answer. When she had first arrived his look had been one of intense desire. He had been
all
charm, chasing her like mad so that she had wondered, in a panic of reciprocal desire and doubt, how she could work for him and not be hounded straight into his bed. Then, abruptly, all that had changed and it seemed as though he wanted no physical contact with her. It was very odd. He had viewed her with distaste, but not with actual dislike, if that were possible. There might be something about her that didn't appeal to him, but there was more about her that did. He was fighting himself, attracted to her in spite of himself. It was either that, or it was all a big bluff. Could that be it? Was he pretending uninterest, aversion even, because he thought it would make her feel safe, and then when he'd lured her away, beyond the protection of home surroundings and familiar things, would he drop the pretense and start chasing her again?

These thoughts were better left alone. If she admitted to the possibility that he had designs on anything other than her shorthand and typing skills, then she would have to say she'd changed her mind and ask him to tear up the check. She didn't want to do that. Not solely for altruistic reasons, because if Allycats was to survive it needed a quick injection of cash, but also because the tearing up of the check would end the matter and there would be no reason for further contact between them.

Paul returned to tower above her, his aggressive stance matching the set of his chin.
She
still had no idea what she had done to earn his mockery and contempt. She did know that her thoughts on his not-so-innocent designs on her body were too recent not to tinge her cheeks a bright guilt-pink, and wondered what he was making of that. It probably added strength to whatever malformed notion he'd got into his head about her.

As he looked down at her his mouth moved into a deeper smile of bitter contempt, increasing her uneasiness and, to her further consternation, causing her blush to intensify. Charming! She was behaving as though she had something to be ashamed of.

‘Here,' he said, thrusting the check at her. ‘That should do for a start. There'll be more later if you're still with me.'

Puzzling inwardly about the tension that had grown between them, and half afraid that she would blow her chances by losing control and telling him exactly what she thought about his behavior, she stood for some moments before her eyes focused on the amount it was for. She almost dropped the check in surprise.

‘I can't accept this,' she gasped.

‘Why not?' he jeered. ‘Isn't it enough?'

‘You must know it's not that,' she flung at him, her composure slipping again. ‘It's too much. I expected you to pay well, but you've gone overboard.'

If she presented a check of this amount to
Ally,
she dared not conjecture what her friend would think she'd had to do to earn it.

For the first time that evening she had said something that neither lowered his brow in displeasure nor lifted his mouth in sarcasm; instead an odd, thoughtful expression stayed for a moment or two on his face.

‘Perhaps you're not past redemption, after all,' he said. Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he went on to say, ‘It's not as lavish as it looks at face value. I shall expect you to deduct a portion of that to buy new clothes. Unless your wardrobe is fitted out in readiness for trips of this nature?'

‘Of course it isn't. It's hardly an everyday occurrence. Obviously I shall need new clothes.' She hadn't thought of that necessity before he drew her attention to it. ‘But even so, it's still too generous.'

‘I'm going to be even more generous—' he began.

‘Oh, no, you're not,' she broke in urgently. ‘I haven't yet decided if my conscience will allow me to accept this much.'

‘Hm. You really are the most extraordinary girl. If you'd let me finish you'd know that I wasn't intending to up the price. My generosity in this instance is not of the monetary sort. I'm going to give you something that money can't buy—time. Time to have second thoughts. I have to leave tomorrow—there's no way I can put off the date of my departure—but I'm
going
to give you a few days' grace. I'll book you on a flight for, say, early next week. Utilize the time as you think best, winding up your affairs here, shopping for new clothes, or changing your mind. I'll see that your ticket is sent to you by post. Remember, you don't have to use it.'

Her throat felt abnormally dry as it occurred to her that he didn't want her to use it. He'd had the second thoughts he said he was hoping she'd have and was looking for a way out. It was all of a piece with what usually happened to her when something wonderful was within her grasp. Something unprecedented always happened to snatch it away.

The prospect of going to the Bahamas and working for this difficult-to-understand man who aroused equal quantities of like and dislike in her, who angered her as much as he appealed to her, was suddenly the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her in her life.

‘And if I don't change my mind?' she queried rebelliously.

‘You'll be met at Nassau airport,' he said with an unwelcome return of that arrogant, mocking drawl.

* * *

Sleep was again a stranger to her that night. Next morning, feeling decidedly under par,
looking
as she always did when she was tired, heavy-eyed like a drooping child, she could have done without the explicit meaning of Ally's raised left eyebrow, on the heels of which came the verbal comment, ‘It's not worth it.'

‘What isn't?'

‘Whatever's making you look this jaded.'

‘I . . . think I'm coming down with a cold,' she lied on inspiration. If Ally thought she had any doubts, the check was as good as torn up.

‘Oh, poor you. Taken anything for it?'

‘No, not yet. Aren't you going to ask me how it went last night?'

‘How did it go last night?' Ally asked dutifully, her sober tone showing that she wasn't fooled.

‘I got the job,' Catherine said. Roused by Ally's suspicion to do better, she matched her brightest tone to her biggest smile. ‘Didn't I do well? You must have second sight, or something, because you were absolutely right in thinking he'd want me to go with him. Thank goodness it's not a whaler in the Antarctic, but . . .' Pause for dramatic effect before announcing importantly, ‘The Bahamas, would you believe?'

Ally's mouth fell open in surprise. ‘Lucky you!'

‘Payment in advance.'

‘No quibble about rates? Some people keep rich by being mean.'

‘The
only quibble was on my side. I said it was too much, but as he so rightly pointed out I shall need to fit myself with a new wardrobe.'

She placed the check squarely on the desk in front of Ally. Ally's eyebrows took off into her hair. She didn't offer to touch the check, just stared at it as though it was too hot to handle. ‘Oh, my! And which fashion house will madam be patronizing?' she said, adopting a high, false accent.

Just in case she wasn't joking and thought the amount on the check might have gone to her head, Catherine said firmly, ‘The usual places will do fine for most of the things, with perhaps a couple of special outfits from some not too pricey boutique.'

‘Can I give you some advice, Cat?'

‘Please do. I've always admired your dress sense.'

‘I don't mean about clothes.'

‘That sounds as though you're going to tell me something I won't want to know, “for my own good.”' She pulled at a strand of hair, a subconscious habit in moments of doubt or stress, and released it when she realized what she was doing, but not before Ally's quick eye had spotted the telltale sign.