The Ninety Days of Genevieve (6 page)

'He didn't say so,' said Genevieve blankly.

Fullerton stared down at her. 'What about your feminine intuition? Did that give you any hints about his motives?'

'Really, George, what a sexist remark. I'm a businesswoman. I deal in facts.'

'You've just told me you found Sinclair attractive. And you've just admitted you traded a few compliments, so you're obviously not totally immune to his masculine charms. Give me an honest opinion.'

'The honest opinion of a poor, weak, starry-eyed woman?' Genevieve smiled. 'Well, if you must know, George, I thought Mr Sinclair was genuine.'

'Let's hope you're right,' George Fullerton said, but he did not sound convinced. 'You've done good work for us. If you get Sinclair's account we'll be grateful. Very grateful. But first I'd make sure the account really is up for offer. I'd like to be sure Sinclair isn't just using us -and you. All I'm saying is, watch your back.' He paused, next to the door. 'And ours.'

The door closed. That was really it, Genevieve thought. To be picked up and then dropped by a client like Sinclair would not be good for Barringtons' image. And George Fullerton had money invested in the agency. He was protecting his own interests. But what have I got to worry about? she thought. If I play along with Sinclair's games he's promised me his signature.

The trouble was she was now beginning to doubt if she could really trust that promise.

'Maybe men find her big, floppy bottom attractive, but I think it looks positively grotesque. And those tights! If I had a figure like that I'd wear a tent.'

Genevieve could hear Clare's harsh voice through the wooden walls of the sauna. She knew who Clare was talking about, and was comforted to know that at least it wasn't her.

'She's always got some man in tow,' another voice commented. 'Obviously some of them like acres of flesh.'

'You might as well go to bed with a whale,' Clare brayed. 'It would probably have more imagination too.'

Genevieve bundled her things together and left the spacious changing-room. Why did women have to be so bitchy? The woman Clare was discussing had often smiled and spoken to her, although Genevieve had no idea of her name. She had always seemed pleasant and friendly. She was certainly large, but not unattractive, and Genevieve knew that many men certainly did like a partner with more than ample curves.

She suddenly remembered one of Sinclair's comments. What was it he had said? 'I imagined how your bottom would look if I stripped you?' She felt her face growing warm at the thought. It should have annoyed her. What a cheek, treating her as if she was a piece of meat in the market, assuming that she would be available to him when he snapped his fingers.

Somehow the idea of his self-confidence excited her. Very politically incorrect, she thought, but then we're thinking fantasy here. In real life, I'm still in control. I've got my flat, my career, my choices. I can even terminate this ninety-day agreement if I want to.

And if I did, she wondered, would Sinclair really take his account elsewhere? Was he really going to base his decision entirely on her compliance? It had seemed believable when he suggested it, but, she remembered, she had been in a rather compromising position and her mind had not been wholly on business matters.

Maybe she should not have believed him so easily.

She expected to hear from Sinclair quite quickly, but the days passed and he did not contact her either at her office or at home. She began to get irritable, and then angry. Had George been right? Was he simply using her? Had it amused him to trick her into humiliating herself? Was that all he wanted? A private little victory? The pleasure of knowing that he could tie a woman to a door and make love to her? Get her to dress up in leather bondage gear to please him?

So she had enjoyed it, she remembered crossly, but he didn't know that, and she certainly wasn't going to tell him. As far as he was concerned she had simply been fulfilling her part of their agreement. Did that agreement still stand? She was no longer sure, and her pride would not let her contact him in order to find out.

She tried not to think about him. During her solitary lunch breaks at the pub she read a magazine or a book, and deliberately avoided socialising. When she saw Ricky Croft heading towards her with a large smile on his face she felt her heart sink. He was obviously very pleased with himself.

She suddenly had a horrible feeling that he had contacted Sinclair with his drawings and pretended that she had sent him. Ricky would lie and name drop if it suited him, she knew that from the past. Maybe that was why Sinclair had not contacted her again. He had promised to keep their agreement confidential and obviously expected her to do the same.

'Mind if I join you?' Ricky sat down opposite her.

'Do I have a choice?' she asked. At least he did not have his portfolio with him this time, she noticed. She carried on eating her roll.

He grinned at her. 'Guess what?'

'You've sold some of your drawings?' she said.

'All of them. Guess who to?'

To James Sinclair, of course, she thought. But if you've told him I recommended you, I'll strangle you. Right here and now.

'To Jade Chalfont,' Ricky said.

'Who?' Genevieve stared at Ricky blankly.

Ricky's infuriating grin did not waver. 'Not up on the latest hot gossip, are you?'

'I don't have time to gossip,' Genevieve said, rather untruthfully. 'Who's this Jade Chalfont, then? A collector?'

'No, no,' Ricky shook his head. 'A businesswoman, like you. Very tough, very glamorous.' He paused. 'Lucci's latest recruit.'

That
did
interest Genevieve. She sat up straight and stared at Ricky, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Lucd's were a new agency. Equal in size to Barringtons, they were also equally ambitious. Genevieve knew very well that Lucci's had been trying to tempt a couple of designers from the art department. So far Barringtons staff had remained loyal, but Lucci's poaching tactics had not exactly endeared them to Genevieve's colleagues.

'She bought your pictures professionally?' she asked. 'What
⁷
s Lucci's latest project? Condoms?'

'She bought them privately,' Ricky said. 'For a friend. A male friend.'

'I hope you got a good price for them.'

'Oh, I did.' Ricky Croft stood up. Genevieve knew instinctively that he had something else to tell her. The real reason why he had started the conversation with her in the first place. 'She told me she wanted them as a gift. For James Sinclair.'

So he knows a woman who works in advertising, Genevieve thought as she toyed with her coffee and tried to watch the morning news. And it just happens to be someone who works for Lucci. Ifs coincidence. If James Sinclair wanted Lucci to handle his account he wouldn't have come to us, would he?

Would he? Irritably she jabbed the remote at the screen and cancelled the picture. Jade Chalfont? What kind of a woman was she? What kind of a woman bought erotic pictures for a friend? Genevieve knew the answer to that. An ambitious woman. A woman who knew Sinclair's tastes. A woman who was willing to fulfil them.

An ex-girlfriend? A current girlfriend? For some reason the idea made her angry. She knew she was being unreasonable. There was no reason why Sinclair should not see other women. Perhaps he had ninety-day agreements with several of them? Perhaps that was why he had not contacted her? He was too busy satisfying his harem of women with fancy names who bought him unusual gifts.

How did he treat them, these shiny career women named after jewels? Did he wine and dine them, build up the sexual tension until they were panting for his touch? Did he take them home and lash their wrists together with silk scarves, or leather straps, or maybe silver chains? And move his hands over their bodies, and then his mouth? Suddenly she felt jealous. Absurdly jealous of these make-believe women she imagined him servicing. Get a hold of yourself, you stupid woman, she thought. He's a business client. Start getting serious and you'll get hurt.

But the daydreams would not go away. She remembered exactly how he had touched her and excited her, the way his fingers had teased her into a climax. The way his mouth had felt on her skin. She remembered it, and yet the pictures in her mind were of Sinclair and another woman, a woman with large breasts and flowing hair, and long, slim model's legs. The kind of woman, she realised, that David Carshaw had implied Sinclair would like.

She had never imagined a man she found attractive with another woman before, and the fantasy, though making her jealous, she had to admit also excited her. It was as if she was experiencing his love-making and watching it at the same time. Very stimulating. But she knew that if this mental picture show became a fact, she would not like it at all.

The buzz of the telephone startled her. She reached out for it, hoping it was Sinclair. The sound of his voice was just what she needed at that moment. It would disperse the fantasies and bring her back to reality.

'Hallo, big sister.'

Genevieve had been so sure it would be Sinclair on the phone that for a moment she had to reorganise her thoughts.

'Sis?' Her brother Philip sounded anxious. 'Are you there?'

'Of course I am,' she said.

'Thought I'd catch you before you went to work,' Philip said.

'I'm not lending you any more money, little brother/ she warned. 'You owe me two hundred and fifty as it is.'

'I don't want money.' He sounded hurt. 'And I'll pay you back. I just want some sisterly advice. I've split with Petra.'

'Well, you've been with her for a month/ Genevieve said unsympathetically. 'That's some kind of record for you, isn't it? Julia only lasted a week. Or was it ten days?'

"That's the point/ Philip said. 'Sis, am I really politically incorrect? Is that why I can't keep a girlfriend for long?'

'Oh, for God's sake/ Genevieve said crossly. 'Whatever gave you that idea?'

'Thaf s what Petra said/ Philip explained. 'I mean, I respect her. She's doing economics. She's clever. I respect that. I don't mind putting up with her friends, although some of them are pretty awful. I didn't even mind her staying over night with her ex when his girlfriend chucked him and he was really depressed. I reckon I'm a pretty open-minded, modern person. And she calls me politically incorrect!'

'Why?' Genevieve asked.

There was a pause. 'I wanted to tie her up.' Another pause. 'In bed. Not with chains or stuff. I mean, I'm not kinky or anything, just with scarves. It would've been lef s pretend, really. All very civilised. And she could've got free easily enough, if she'd wanted to.'

For some reason hearing this from her younger brother startled Genevieve. She remembered Philip as a cheeky schoolboy, who kept stick insects and gerbils in his bedroom, and once gave her a live spider in a box as a present.

'You're not shocked, are you?' Philip asked anxiously. 'I mean, I wasn't going to whip her or spank her or anything. I just thought if d be a turn on to see her lying there sort of helpless, and then make love to her. I thought she might like it too. And if s not as if I tried to force her. I explained what I wanted to do first. I was very clear about my intentions.'

'And she called you politically incorrect?' Genevieve said.

'You bet she did/ Philip agreed. 'And a lot of other things too.'

'Well, I can't tell you how to get her back,' Genevieve said. 'You could try apologising, I suppose.'

'I don't want her back/ Philip said. 'She's with her ex again now, anyway. What I want to know is, am I going to get this reaction from every girl I meet, if I suggest something a little bit - unusual?'

'Of course not/ Genevieve said. 'You just picked the wrong girl, that's all. There's nothing wrong with a bit of play-acting in bed. As long as you both enjoy it.'

'Well, I hope you're right, sis.' Philip did not sound entirely convinced. 'I mean, I know it probably isn't the kind of thing you'd do, but I thought younger women would be a bit more - well - adventurous.'

'Just keep on asking,' Genevieve said. 'I'm sure there are plenty of politically incorrect women out there just longing for a macho man to overpower them.'

'Well, I wish I knew one,' Philip said.

Maybe you do, Genevieve thought wryly, as she put the phone down. She had to admit her apologetic brother was hardly in the same league as the self-assured and elegant James Sinclair, but surely there were plenty of girls who would find Philip attractive. She wondered suddenly what Philip's girlfriend would have done if he had tried a little erotic force instead of civilised reason.

There was certainly something exciting about being given sexy orders by someone you really fancied, she thought. She began to slip into a daydream again, remembering the authoritative tone of Sinclair's voice, re-living the restaurant meal and her later experiences at his house. A bang on her door startled her back to reality.

The postman handed her a large, well-wrapped box and asked her to sign for it. After removing the heavy-duty tape and outer paper, she found an envelope. The message inside was simple and direct: GET USED TO THESE. ESPECIALLY THE SHOES. WEAR THEM ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON. LEAVE YOUR HAIR LOOSE. WAIT FOR ME AT FOUR.

Inside the box she found a zipped purse containing make-up: eye liner, eye shadow, and bright-red lipstick - a colour she would never normally wear. There was also a pair of black shoes with absurdly high heels and thin ankle straps, a very short black skirt with long zips instead of side seams and a white blouse with three buttons and a plunging neckline trimmed with a floun-cey frill. There were similar frills on the elbow-length sleeves.