One Reckless Night (15 page)

 
'I'm not sure that's so wide of the mark.' His mouth twisted wryly as he uncorked the wine. 'Glasses?'

 
'No wine for me, thanks.' She spoke without thinking as she reached into the cupboard for just one glass.

 
His brows lifted. 'Have you signed the pledge?'

 
She flushed defensively. 'Of course not. I just feel it might be-wiser to keep my wits about me, that's all.'

 
'And I give you my word that's not a problem.' His glance flicked derisively sideways to the narrow single bed with its candlewick spread. 'I want us to be friends. Nothing more.' He held up the bottle. 'Now get yourself a glass and we'll drink a toast to being good companions.'

 
Reluctantly, she complied. To tell him she'd given up alcohol on health grounds might be a damaging admission under the circumstances, she realized. Jake wasn't stupid. He'd be as capable of putting two and two together as the next man.

 
She forced a smile. 'Not crystal, I'm afraid.' And she would allow herself just a few sips, she thought.

 
'Nor a particularly good year, I suspect,' he returned dryly. 'The off-license round the corner seems to specialize in lager.' He lifted his glass. 'To friendship, Suzannah.'

 
'To friendship,' she echoed obediently, adding silently, however short-lived.

 
She wished she could trust him-but it was impossible. He'd already proved that he could be just as manipulative and determined as her father, and she was never going to allow anyone into a position of such control again.

 
The food tasted as good as it had smelt. Strange how ravenous you were when offered exactly what you wanted, Zanna thought dreamily as she finished off the crispy duck.

 
'That's better.' Jake said approvingly. 'A couple of weeks' cosseting and you should be back to your normal weight.'

 
And surpassing it, Zanna thought ruefully. Her obstetrician had told her that a slight weight loss was quite common in the early part of pregnancy, but that she'd soon make up for it.

 
Her brows lifted questioningly. 'Cosseting?'

 
'That's clearly what you need. Unless I miss my guess, there hasn't been too much of it in your life.'

 
'Please don't feel sorry for me,' Zanna said curtly, putting down her chopsticks. 'By most people's standards I've had a charmed existence.'

 
He sighed. 'Suzannah, I'm trying to get to know you. But you don't make it particularly easy.'

 
She shrugged. 'Perhaps I value my privacy.' She gave him a level look. 'I seem to have very little of it.'

 
'You're angry because I tracked you down?'

 
'More baffled by your persistence.'

 
'I do have my reasons.'

 
She was sure he did. She looked at him across the table, at the watchful eyes, the faint smile playing about his mouth. She remembered the taste of his mouth, the stroke of his hands on her naked flesh, and felt her body clench in sudden, shocking need. As she sought to control the flurry in her breathing she wondered what he remembered.

 
'And one day you'll tell me what they are?' She kept her voice calm.

 
He nodded. 'One day.'

 
This year, she thought, next year, some time, never.

 
She rose, collected the plates together and carried them to the sink. 'Would you like coffee?' She made the offer polite but cool.

 
'I'd prefer some real conversation.' There was a certain grimness in his tone as he filled the kettle and set it to boil.

 
'Who gets to choose the subject?'

 
'Talk about whatever you want.'

 
'Very well.' She spooned coffee into the cafetiere. 'Tell me about Lantrell's. I believe you have galleries all over the world?'

 
'That's the ultimate aim. The first one was opened by my great-grandfather in New York. He'd made a lot of money from oil, but art was his passion. Discovering new talent and providing it with a showcase was the joy of his life. It all grew from there.'

 
'He was American, then?'

 
'Very much so. You sound surprised.'

 
'A little.' She paused. 'You don't have an accent.'

 
'We're quite a cosmopolitan family. My grandmother was French and my mother English. I went to school here, and to university.'

 
'Oh,' she said. 'I suppose that's why your father bought the house in Emplesham-for vacations and so on?'

 
'That was one of the reasons, certainly.'

 
'But you've only just opened in London? Isn't that rather strange?'

 
He shrugged. 'My predecessors had other priorities. But it was always going to happen eventually.' He paused. 'It was a pity you missed the opening.'

 
'I'm sure it was a very glamorous occasion. I like the lay-out. There's a great sense of space and peace.'

 
'That's down to my stepmother,' he said. 'She insists that the eye has to be given time to see and appreciate properly.'

 
'I'm sure she's right.' She hesitated. 'You said your stepmother...?'

 
He nodded. 'My own mother died when I was small.'

 
'I'm sorry,' she said stiltedly. 'I-I know what that's like. Do you remember her?'

 
'Yes, very well.'

 
'You're-fortunate in that respect. I was only a baby.' She swallowed. 'Do you get on with your stepmother?'

 
'Yes. She's a terrific woman and a great lady. She's made my father very happy.'

 
She said slowly, 'Perhaps my father should have married again. It can't have been easy for him-being alone.'

 
'Loneliness can be damaging,' he agreed quietly.

 
Zanna, adding boiling water to the cafetiere, looked at him sharply. 'My father,' she said with emphasis, 'is one of the most successful businessmen in the country. Hardly damaged goods.'

 
He said unsmilingly, 'I stand corrected. I also wonder if he'd be so ready to leap to your defence.'

 
'That,' she said, 'is none of your business.'

 
'What was the quarrel about, Susie?'

 
'You mean your tracker dog doesn't go in for industrial espionage too?' She could have bitten her tongue out. The last thing she wanted was for Jake or anyone to start probing around Westcott Holdings. All it would take would be an indiscreet comment from Megan, say, about her mystery illness, and her secret would be out. And she wasn't prepared to risk that.

 
'Almost certainly,' Jake returned equably. 'But I'd rather hear it from you.'

 
'And I'd rather not discuss it,' she said crisply. 'Stalemate.'

 
'It's not just idle curiosity. I'd like to help, Susie. That's what friends are for, in case you didn't know.'

 
'And what is that supposed to mean?'

 
He shrugged. 'Merely that you must be feeling fairly isolated at the moment.'

 
'And along you come like Sir Lancelot to rescue me, I suppose?' She poured the coffee clumsily, hands shaking, spilling some into the saucers. 'Oh, damnation.'

 
'Let me do it.'

 
'I think you've done enough already.' She took a deep, steadying breath. 'I'd like you to drink your coffee and leave, please. You have a white horse to return to its stable.'

 
There was a silence. Jake said quietly, 'I really seem to have screwed up.'

 
'You said it.' She drank some coffee. It was scalding and oddly bitter, and she put the cup down again. 'I'm grateful for the meal. It was-wonderful. But that's as far as it goes. Save your compassion for a worthier cause.'

 
 
'I'm not being compassionate, Goddamn it.' There was a note of steel under the even voice. 'I want to be your friend, Suzannah.'

 
'We had sex once.' She put a hand on the back of the chair, gripped it till her knuckles turned white. 'That does not put me on your charity list. If I need a bloody Samaritan, the number's in the book.'

 
Jake threw back his head. The dark eyes were as cold as obsidian. He said, 'You win, Zanna.' There was an edge of contempt in his use of her name. 'I shan't try again.'

 
'That,' she said, 'is all I wanted to hear.'

 
They stood facing each other across the table. It was a cheap, narrow thing. All she had to do was reach out a hand and she could touch him. And, oh, dear God, how badly she wanted to touch him.

 
Ever since he'd entered the room she'd wanted him to come to her, to take her in his arms and assuage the shock, and fear and loneliness of the past weeks with his body. She'd needed to eclipse the confines of this room, the cramped, uncomfortable bed, with the generosity of her own giving. She longed to take him into her and hold him there through an eternity of pleasure.

 
I don't want you just as a friend, she screamed silently at him. I want you as my lover too. I want your passion as well as your kindness, and if I can't have that I'd rather have nothing. Nothing at all. How can you not see that? How can you not know?

 
And how strange, how awful, and how ironic that she should only be fully aware of this now-at this moment when she was sending him away for ever.

 
She watched him turn away, almost wearily. The door closed behind him and she could hear the sound of his footsteps receding down the uncarpeted stairway. She listened for the sound of the outer door but there was silence, enveloping the room like some cold, stifling miasma.

 
She released the back of the chair and started gently to rub her aching hand. The coil of rope was lying forgotten at her feet and she bent to retrieve it.

 
You win, Zanna. The words seemed to ring in her head, to claw at her brain.

 
She said shakily, 'Some victory,' and felt the first, helpless scald of tears rise in her throat and spill from her burning eyes.

 
'Miss Westcott.' The thump on the door came from one of her neighbors. 'Telephone for you.'

 
Zanna sat up groggily. After Jake's departure she had simply collapsed onto the bed and wept herself to sleep, waking in the small hours, cramped and cold. She'd undressed and crept under the blankets, lying still, staring blankly into the unmoving darkness. When sleep had finally returned, it had been frugal and restless, invaded by vague, disturbing dreams. Now, she realized with shock, it was almost midday, yet she still felt as if she hadn't closed her eyes all night. She stumbled out of bed, reaching for a robe, wondering who could be calling her.

 
She picked up the receiver, half in hope, half in dread. 'Zanna Westcott speaking.'

 
'Good morning.' A woman's voice. 'This is Diana Malan of First Appointment. You came to see us yesterday about temporary work.'

 
'Yes, I did.' Zanna shook the cobwebs from her brain and gathered her resources. 'The problem is, I've decided I'd rather work outside London.'

 
'Well, there's no real difficulty there.' Diana Malan sounded amused. 'On the contrary. Do you have a current passport?'

 
'Why, yes.' Zanna frowned. 'Are you offering me a job abroad somewhere?'

 
'That's the plan,' the other woman said cheerfully. 'Could you call at the office this afternoon to discuss it, please? Shall we say three o'clock?'

 
Zanna assured her that would be ideal and put down the phone, her heart thudding.

 
Leaving the country, she thought, could be the answer to all her problems. The greater distance she could put between Jake and herself the better. Out of sight, out of mind. And, with luck, it would work both ways. He would write her off as the one that got away and she'd be able to erase him completely from her heart and brain.

 
At this time of day there was less pressure for occupation of the bathroom on her floor, so Zanna was able to enjoy a leisurely bath and wash her hair. She ironed a navy silk blouse to match her slim-fitting skirt, topping it with a neat scarlet blazer and completing her outfit with navy stockings and pumps. She looked reasonably smart, and businesslike at the same time, she thought, reviewing herself as best she could in the inadequate mirror.

 
She was marginally daunted when she realized that First Appointment had been her last port of call the previous morning, and was situated altogether too near the Lantrell Gallery for comfort. But Jake's office was at the rear of the building, she reminded herself. And, anyway, he'd be unlikely to be looking out for her.