Tall Poppies (17 page)

‘ was going to get fired, it would help her out to look good. She’d be stronger about it.

Nina walked into her tiny office. Her desk was almost totally clear; she’d done that Friday night. There couldn’t be anything worse than standing there, maybe crying, ladling your personal effects into a black plastic bag ˘hile the secretaries watched. This way, if Jax handed her her pink slip, she could just ride the elevator down to the lobby and walk smartly out the door.

Simon and Tom were laughing together in Tom’s office. She could hear the thuds as the boys lobbed paper at Tom’s basketball hoop; obviously they had a bit more confidence than she did.

It’s not the project, Nina reminded herself. ‘Customised Response’ was good, computerisation was her bag, she knew it would be effective. It was the fact that she’d exceeded her authority. Fired Tracy Jones last Friday, in public, forcing Gary Bellman to back her up. Gary Bellman, a division chief! Gary had been ftirious and she knew Jax would have seen what she’d done. Women in Dragon were expected to keep their heads down. Already, they’d see her as a troublemaker.

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Eventually, there came the rattle of the mailcart from the corridor. Stopping at Tom’s office. She heard muffled speech, then whoops of glee. New contracts for those two, then.

There was the knock on her own door. Heart hammering, Nina pulled it open to be faced with Abdul. He was handing her a small, thin envelope; didn’t look like a contract.

‘Is this all? You’re sure?’ Maybe she’d been expecting it but her heart plunged.

‘Yes, ma’am. Sorry.’

Great, now the mailboy’s feeling sorry for me, Nina thought dully. It was a memo envelope and she ripped it open. From Jax himself. ‘Nina, please come to this office at ten a.m. sharp.’

Would Dolan take her back? God, why couldn’t she have just put up with it? Now she was not only getting the can, she was going to get carpeted first. Wonderful. Simon and Tom must have realised by her silence what the score was, but they weren’t exactly hurrying in to comfort her. That was business here: failure was regarded as an infectious disease.

Sighing, she looked at her watch. Best get it over with. Nina picked up her bag and closed the office door behind her, heading for the elevator bank.

Jax’s secretary looked at Nina gleefully. She must have heard about the Tracy thing too.

She recognised Jack Fletcher,-new at Accounts, as he stormed out of the office, his face white. Clearly, another candidate for the black plastic binliner and the cab home.

The secretary buzzed her boss. ‘I have Nina Roth for you.’ She listened a second, then, ‘You can go in, Ms Roth,’ like butter wouldn’t melt.

Actually Nina was grateful for the hostility. No danger of dissolving into tears when that was their attitude; pity

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would have been a lot worse. She squared her shoulders under the cream cotton and marched into Jax’s office.

The boss was sitting behind a heavy oak desk, his room decorated in clubby burgundy leather and dark woods. It was so traditional and masculine Nina almost expected to smell cigars.

Jax waved her. to a seat. He had a file open in front of

him; her project.

‘This is good work,’ he said.

Nina was so shocked she didn’t say a word.

‘Precise and focused,’ Jax went on, and she carefully wiped the astonishment off her face. ‘You didn’t try anything too flashy, but this could save us a good lot of overhead. It’s similar to what you did at Dolan, but that’s

‘

OK. This isn’t the movies, you don’t get Oscars for creativity. We can use it.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Nina said.

Jax looked the girl over appreciatively. A cool customer, this kid. She must have figured she was getting fired, but look at her. All poise and calm. A real beauty, t6o, in that understated way, dark hair, sharp cheekbones, huge black eyes. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking, with that alabaster mask up all the time. And no matter how she dressed, she couldn’t hide those curves. He felt desire ripple through him, mixed with annoyance. It would have been great to have her stay here. Under his authority.

‘You fired your secretary Friday.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Nina’s hopes sank again.

‘You had no authority to dismiss another member of

staff. Tracy Jones reported to Mrs Harris in Support Staff, even if she was assigned to you. Discipline is undertaken by the relevant department head and Personnel. Mr Bellman’s office was furious.’

‘But she defied me openly.’

‘So you fired her, just like that?’

I4o

Nina squirmed. ‘No, of course not. It was the end of a long line of incidents.’

‘I see.’ Jax’s voice was mercilessly cold. ‘So you had previously discussed this problem with - which one of Ms Jones’s supervisors?’

‘I didn’t.’ Now, it sounded impulsive and childish. Nina couldn’t help herself, she blushed a rich red. ‘I guess I thought I could handle it myself. I thought I had to, as

a—’

‘As a what?’ Jax demanded.

Nina couldn’t bring herself to come right out and say, ‘as a woman’. She knew Jax knew exactly what she meant.

‘Well. Your action was certainly decisive, Nina, but it was way out of line. Next time, contact somebody appropriate.’

Next time? It sank in: she wasn’t getting fired. She felt almost light-headed with relief.

‘Oh, yes, sir. I’ll contact Mr Bellman’s office right away—’

‘It won’t be Mr Bellman,’ Jax said.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

‘It’ll be Mr Keith Sweeney. In London.’

‘London?’ Nina gasped, startled out of her composure. ‘I’m being posted to London?’

‘That’s right. The earl saw your report and requested you personally.’ Jax leaned forward. ‘That’s not a problem, Nina, is it? You don’t have any family here, or property? Nothing you can’t leave behind?’

‘No.’ Nina bit her lips to stop i stupid grin from spreading right across her face. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Good. The firm will pay rent on your apartment while you’re away. You’d better take the rest of the day off to pack.’

‘When am I leaving?’

‘Tomorrow morning. Nine thirty out of JFK.’ Jax’

4x

allowed himself a small smile at the girl’s shocked face. ‘This is Dragon Chemical, Nina, we move fast here.’

Elizabeth smiled and bowed for the millionth time that evening. If her calves and quads were supple and limber, the muscles in her cheeks were definitely starting to ache. At least they’d cleared out the photographers, finally, and now the athletes present were helping themselves to champagne, starting to loosen up to celebrate.

It was the US team’s victory ball. Schloss Lebenberg, the modernised castle that was their team’s hotel, had been taken over. Everywhere from the casino to the pool was draped with vast Stars and Stripes and blowup photos of the team. Jack Taylor had insisted on it; the most he would do solo was pose with the medal for the networks. The States were trumpeting their triumph from the rooftops, as usual, Elizabeth thought, amused. One individual gold, and already the TV stations, sports people, even food chains were begging to throw sponsorship at them. The British camp had its feet on the ground. “After all, the Alpine nations were still skiing them off the snow in the team events.

Still, it was fun, to come out and party. She’d almost forgotten how to do it. Elizabeth’s dark blonde hair hung loosely down her back; her dress was a gorgeous, slim column of white silk and gold thread, spiralling into a loose fishtail. She danced the first stately waltz with Hans Wolf, to huge cheers, then whirled gracefully round with Ronnie Davis, Brad Hinds, Pete, Sam and Rick. Everywhere she went people murmured appreciatively, pumped her hand, asked for her autograph. Elizabeth told herself she was having a good time. She wasn’t going to be put out just because a certain person hadn’t come to find her. After the joint photocall, Jack Taylor had disappeared. Probably with some groupie.

I’m not disappointed, I’m the World Ch.ampion,

Elizabeth thought fiercely. Who does he think he is, anyway? Arrogant bastard!

She reached for another flute of champagne and then stiffened. Someone was resting their hand on the tight curve of her back. Angrily Elizabeth whipped around to be confronted by Jack, his tall frame bang up against her. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, displaying a tanned chest and just a smattering of hair. He looked relaxed.

‘Congratulations,’ Jack said softly.

‘And to you.’ She was stiff with him.

‘You been looking for me?’ Jack asked. He reached down and made to brush some hair away from her cheek but Elizabeth pulled back sharply. God! He thinks he’s God’s gift, the infuriating jerk! But Jack did look wonderful, the formal dark cloth picking out his eyes, the confidence the aggression. Stuff had already passed between them that couldn’t be taken back. Even if she had skied away down that mountain, Elizabeth knew, she’d lain under him, responded to him. Her nipples had stiffened under his hands, her body had flooded with heat for him. He knew it. She knew it.

‘And why would I be doing that?’ Elizabeth snapped. Jack laughed. ‘Thought you might like to dance.’ ‘I’ve done nothing but dance.’ ‘With me,’ Taylor insisted.

‘Well, I’ve had to make do with the lesser gentlemen that were on offer,’ Elizabeth answered icily.

They were standing close to-the dance floor. Skiers, their coaches and families were whirling around merrily and clumsily to ‘She Wore a Yellow Ribbon’.

‘Come on.’ Taylor held out one large hand for Elizabeth’s tiny one. He was looking her right in the face with insistent, come-to-bed eyes. She felt a new flood of lust, no doubt about it. Strong arms, he had. Elizabeth badly wanted to be held by them. Pinned down again,

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made love to. The certainty that Jack would be great in bed mingled with the certainty that he’d done this to loads of women before, and that they’d all been eager to comply.

Her bodice was reinforced satin. Her hardening nipples would not betray her this time. He owed her an apology. Right now he’s acting like he’s got some right to me, Elizabeth thought crossly.

‘I’m sorry. I’m feeling a little tired.’

Jack let his hand drop, annoyed. ‘Please, girl. Stop playing games.’

‘Excuse me?’ Elizabeth said, coldly.

Jack bristled. This wasn’t going the way he’d planned

it at all. So he’d had a few drinks before coming to find ‘her, so what? He’d noticed her casing the crowd.

Certainly she was looking for him. They could dance, sip a little champagne together, go upstairs. Women, he hated it when they got coy.

‘I booked a private suite here especially,’ he said. ‘There’s no point, Elizabeth, I know how you feel.’

“A private suite. He was planning on hauling me into bed? Elizabeth’s brows knitted together.

‘Clearly you’ve got no idea how I feel, Mr Taylor.’ She drew herself up, took a step back from him. ‘I wouldn’t place too much emphasis on what happened earlier. It

was a near-death experience, I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Yeah. I liked that,’ Jack said.

They were interrupted by a .waiter heading towards them with a salver. On it was a thin yellow envelope: a telegram.

‘Excuse me, my lady, but it’s a message from your father.’

‘Thank you.’

Jack stood back, seething with irritation, as Elizabeth ripped it open. She read the message quickly, then looked up at him.

x44

‘I’m afraid I have to say goodbye. I’ve got to get back to the hotel. Dad wants me to come home tomorrow morning: he’s going to give me a job at Dragon,’ Elizabeth said triumphantly.

Jack read the exhilaration in her tone. Was there something else there? Regret? Hey, clutching at straws now, champ, he chided himself. He wanted to kick something. He was angry. Frustrated.

With an effort he made her a little bow. ‘Then allow me to escort you home.’

‘Thank you, I can manage.’

‘I insist.’ Jack took Elizabeth’s elbow and steered her towards the cloakroom. Normally, when a girl got an attitude he lost interest, but right now he was dreaming up excuses to be in London.

Jack Taylor looked down at Lady Elizabeth Savage, walking-stiffly at his side, refusing to look at him. Maybe she’d blown him off tonight, but only tonight. He had her down as unfinished business. He’d never lost a battle of wills with a woman, and he wasn’t gonna start now.

x45

Nina looked round her new apartment and smiled. Two bedrooms, a tiled bathroom and neat, fitted kitchen, in a treelined Camden street. She had selected it from a list of company-approved flats, as the English called them, and eighty per cent of the rent would be coming out of her overseas living allowance. Then there was the displace° ‘ment bonus, the relocation expenses scheme and her rise for signing the new contract. Dragon had locked her up for five years, but they were paying handsomely for the privilege. She’d never seen anything like this in her life. Tom and Simon and her old colleagues back in New York were probably used to it, but after years of walkupS, living over stores and in rank motels, Delancey Street was a palace.

On the plane she had done the sums in her head. She was going to be very comfortable; the allowances, the rise, and the strength of the dollar would see to that. Britain had just emerged from years of socialist government, the country was in a mess, and the austerity measures employed by the new Prime Minister had plunged it into deep recession. Inflation was still high, but she was being paid abroad. Her dollars would go even further. She’d winced when she paid the bill on her new wardrobe - dark blue suits, smart heels, severe dresses and jackets in pinstripes, burgundy, black and chocolate brown - but then realised that it would barely dent her new monthly cheque.

The weather outside was gloomy - grey skies and

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threatening rain. Nina could not have cared less. Camden was funky, full of musicians, long-haired students, stylish rood artists blasting the Jam. And Britain was full of opportunity. Nothing like the Queen-and-cucumber-sandwiches image back home - a woman could even be Prime Minister here. A woman President seemed about as likely as a man giving birth. Clive Sinclair had launched the ZX-81, a tiny home computer that played games and ran programmes off tape recorders. It was a big craze. They were wired here, they were going places. London was the city both of punk and princesses - Lady Di souvenirs from the summer’s big royal wedding adorned every market stall - and the City was the financial centre of Europe.