Escape Me Never

Obeying an impulse she barely understood, she opened her bag and unzipped a small inside pocket, and took out Brett’s ring, biting at the inside of her lip, as she forced it over her knuckle. Her hands had grown a little. The ring felt tight, alien on her finger.

She had never thought to wear it again, had kept it solely as a private reminder of her marriage, but now, suddenly, it seemed like the safeguard she needed and had abandoned with her shapeless khaki trousers and jacket.

But why should she suddenly be so sure she needed a safeguard? That was the question that followed her, tormenting her, all down the long corridor to the board room where they all waited.

CHAPTER TWO

‘THE problem we’ve had to face,’ Cass said, her voice clear and even, ‘has been the old one of familiarity breeding contempt. Everyone knows Eve cosmetics. The range is as established and respected as Arden or Rubenstein. Yet in spite of everything that’s been done to make sure the products moved with the times, this frankly hasn’t been reflected in your advertising campaigns over the past ten years, nor by the sales. Your non-allergic brands—the fact that you’ve produced a whole range without using animal products—all these things should have been exploited—but haven’t been.’

She paused. ‘The ideas we’ve put to you seek to put this right, and also to hammer home the message of the brand name. Eve is all woman, and Eve cosmetics are designed for all women.’

She smiled briefly and sat down, amid appreciative murmurs. But were they really enthusiastic, or merely polite. Cass couldn’t gauge any more. She felt as if she’d put through a wringer, mentally as well as physically.

And Roger enjoyed this, she thought limply. How could he, but she knew what the answer to that was. If Roger had been here, the line of questioning would have been very different. It would have been taken for granted that Roger knew his job, because he was a man. As a woman, Cass had had to prove she knew what she was talking about over and over again. And the man heading the Inquisition had been Rohan Grant.

At first his questions had bewildered her a little, and she’d begun to flounder. Then she caught Barney’s warning glance, and realised that she was being tested. She resented this, and it put her on her mettle. She believed in the product—if women had to wear make-up, then Eve cosmetics were as good as any and better than most and she believed in the campaign which she’d been instrumental in designing. And if Rohan Grant was used to high-powered performances from bigger agencies, then that was just too bad.

Now, he said, ‘Very interesting, Ms Linton, but isn’t the image you’re trying to create a little—low-key?’

Cass shook her head, ‘I don’t think so. Whatever the situation may be on the other side of the Atlantic, I don’t think women in this country go for the hard sell over anything as personal as make-up and scent. The appeal has to be to the individual, and we have to intrigue her sufficiently to get her into the store, and up to the counter.’ She ventured another smile, this time at Mr McDowell. ‘The sad fact is that a lot of women feel intimidated by beauty counters. The choice is too vast, and the whole concept of being beautiful rather overwhelming. I want this campaign to interest them so much that they won’t just grab the first jar or bottle they see, but ask for Eve by name.’

‘And are you—overwhelmed by the concept of beauty, Ms Linton?’ Rohan Grant asked smoothly. ‘I notice you wear the barest minimum of make-up yourself.’

‘How very observant of you, Mr Grant,’ Cass said calmly. ‘And does your eagle eye also tell you what that minimum consists of?’

‘Why, yes,’ he drawled. ‘You’re wearing Silver Jade shadow, and Rose Blush on your lips. But no scent,’ he added reflectively. ‘I understood sample bottles of both our new fragrances, Sundance and Moonglow had been sent here.’

‘They have.’ Cass shrugged slightly. ‘They—don’t happen to be to my particular taste, I’m afraid.’

He smiled, leaning back in his chair, the hazel eyes surveying her from head to foot with smiling insolence. ‘Eve cosmetics,’ he murmured. ‘Designed to appeal to all women—except Ms Linton, it seems.’

‘Perhaps,’ Cass said coolly. ‘But that does not mean I don’t know how to persuade other women to like them—Mr Grant. I never allow my personal judgments to get in the way of work,’ she added sweetly.

‘Don’t you, Ms Linton?’ It was his turn to shrug. ‘Well, you’ll have a chance to prove that to the hilt in the weeks ahead. We’ll give your campaign a trial, and see how it works out.’

She swallowed, managed a feeble, ’Thank you,’ and began to gather her papers together. She could sense the jubilation in the air around her, but seemed to have no part in it. She’d been walking the high wire for too long. Rohan Grant’s almost laconic bestowal of the account, whether it was on trial or not, could only be an anti-climax. And a glance at her watch revealed that even if she could slip away now, she would be too late for Jodie’s open day. She felt weary to death suddenly.

And, of course, there was going to be no chance to slip away. An elaborate cold buffet had been laid out in the next room, and champagne was being poured.

‘Honey babe, you were sensational,’ Barney whispered, as he pushed a glass into her nerveless hand. He gave her a wicked leer. ‘I don’t know whether it was your arguments which turned the balance, or those fabulous legs of yours.’

‘Thanks,’ Cass said drily, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

‘But you had me worried a couple of times,’ he went on. ‘I had no idea you liked living dangerously. However—it paid off in the end. Expect a big bonus from grateful Uncle Barney.’

‘Thanks,’ she said again, this time with real gratitude. Barney might make her grind her teeth a lot of the time, but he was unfailingly generous when rewards were called for. She might be able to afford to have some redecoration done—or to take Jodie abroad for a couple of weeks later in the year. It had been a tough winter, with Jodie succumbing, it seemed, to one virus after another, although Cass herself had escaped unscathed. Some Mediterranean sun might be what they both needed.

She put down her untouched glass, and looked for an unobtrusive exit, but her way was blocked.

‘Not leaving already, Ms Linton,’ Rohan Grant said pleasantly. ‘Or may I copy Barney Finiston and call you Cassie? After all, we shall be seeing quite a lot of each other in the coming months.’

Cass looked past him. ‘I doubt that, Mr Grant. I’m sure you have far more pressing concerns in your empire than Eve cosmetics.’

‘Most of my empire, as you call it, seems to be flourishing,’ he said drily. ‘Which gives me more time to spend on the ailing sections of it, like Eve.’ He paused. ‘It happens to be rather close to my heart. Would you like to know why?’

‘Not unless I can use it in one of my campaigns, Mr Grant.’ She met his gaze fully for the first time. ‘Otherwise it’s not really any of my business. Now, perhaps you’ll excuse me. I think Barney—Mr Finiston—wants to speak to you.’

His mouth twisted slightly. ‘He probably does at that. However there are still several points from today’s presentation I would like to go over with you—perhaps over dinner tonight?’

Cass’s jaw dropped. She said stupidly, ‘I don’t understand.’

He looked faintly amused. ‘What’s so baffling? You eat, I presume, and you’ve heard of dinner—a meal, consisting of several courses, taken in the evening.’

His tone flicked her on the raw. ‘I do seem to recognise it,’ she said coolly. ‘But I’m afraid I have other plans.’

‘Change them,’ he suggested. His voice was pleasant, but the note of command was implicit, and unmistakable.

‘I’ll do nothing of the sort,’ Cass said, her voice shaking a little. ‘Incredible as it may seem, Mr Grant, I have no wish to have dinner with you tonight, or any other evening. And if the Eve account is conditional on my agreement, you’d better say so now. I think Barney might have something to say about a member of his staff being—sexually harrassed even by an important client like you.’

She paused. ‘And in case you hadn’t noticed, I happen to be married.’

He gave her a long, hard look. She’d made him, she thought detachedly, very angry.

‘I’d like to meet your husband,’ he said silkily at last. ‘He must have the guts of Genghis Khan to get to first base with you, you little fire eater. The invitation, as it happens, was to dinner, not to bed. Christ, woman, I thought the next round of discussions could take place in slightly more congenial surroundings, that’s all. A table is often more conducive to agreement being reached than a desk, or haven’t you noticed?’

She said, ‘I find our present surroundings quite congenial enough, Mr Grant, and I work office hours.’

‘I see,’ he said. ‘You disappoint me, Ms Linton. I’d begun to think you were the real thing, for a change, but you’re just another married lady playing at career woman. Pity,’ he added with a shrug, and walked away.

She watched him go with sudden apprehension. She might be the blue-eyed girl where Barney was concerned, but if Rohan Grant relayed the gist of their conversation to him, then she would be in deep trouble.

Perhaps she even deserved to be. She seemed to have misconstrued his motives pretty thoroughly. But it was far better for him to write off her conduct as boorish, than to know the truth—that even the prospect of sharing a conventional tête à tête dinner with him frightened her half to death. She did not want to be alone with him, ever, or on any terms of intimacy. She wanted all future dealings with Eve to be with Mr McDowell and Mr Handson. She wished Rohan Grant had stayed in Paris and rubber-stamped his approval of that campaign from a distance.

What’s happening to me, she asked herself desperately, with a little shiver. She was beginning to feel positively light-headed. Perhaps in reality the radio alarm had never gone off that morning, and she was still in bed, having some nightmare.

Somebody from the accounts department came over to her. ‘Barney says don’t forget to let us have the bill for that dress,’ he said in an undertone.

She said, ‘I’d prefer to pay for it myself. That way, I can give it to a jumble sale with a clear conscience.’

He gasped at her. ‘Cassie, are you mad? It looks terrific on you. I’d hardly have known you.’

‘I hardly know myself,’ Cass said hardily, ‘And I don’t like it. Back to reality tomorrow.’ She made her way towards Barney. He was not, she noted with relief, talking to Rohan Grant, or anywhere near him. She touched his arm. ‘Would it be all right if I went home now. I have a slight headache.’

He was all concern. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with the same damned thing as Roger.’ He peered at her frowning. ‘You’re very pale,’ he added accusingly. ‘You’d better take a taxi. Charge it to expenses.’

Cass nodded wanly, and made her way to the cloakroom. Her clothes were there, in the boutique carrier, but she felt disinclined to change. It could wait till she got home, she decided.

And the headache hadn’t been just an excuse. It turned into a real one on the journey, most of which Cass spent with her eyes closed.

‘Good party?’ the driver asked cheerfully as she paid him.

‘The best,’ she said.

Mrs Barrett’s brows climbed almost into her hair when she answered her bell. ‘My goodness,’ she exclaimed. ‘What a transformation.’ Then she caught herself guiltily. ‘Not that you don’t always look nice, Mrs Linton.’

Cass smiled at her wearily. ‘Is Jodie all right?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make the open day, but …’ she spread her hands helplessly.

‘Well, she was naturally disappointed,’ Mrs Barrett admitted. ‘But I think she’s over it now. I made some of that flapjack she likes for tea, and she’s watching television. She’ll be thrilled you’re home early.’

‘You look different,’ was Jodie’s instant greeting.

Cass kissed her. ‘Different better, or different worse,’ she asked teasingly.

‘I don’t know.’ Jodie wriggled free. ‘You didn’t come,’ she accused.

‘Sweetheart, I couldn’t.’ Cass stroked her hair, grieving inwardly. She should have been with her daughter that afternoon, not dressed up like a Christmas tree, trying to make an impression on a man who combined too much money, and too much power, with infinitely too much sex appeal.

She shivered again. Well, at least now she’d admitted why he frightened her so. It was easy to armour oneself, when there was no temptation to break out of its protection, she thought sombrely.

After Brett, it had been easy to swear her private vow of total celibacy. Easy to keep it too. Now, in the course of one afternoon, everything had changed. Nothing was simple any more, and might never be so again, and if she didn’t take some aspirin soon and lie down, her head would probably burst.

She listened to Jodie’s excited account of the open day activities, sampled the flapjack, and accepted gratefully Mrs Barrett’s carefully written account of everything Jodie’s teacher had said about her brightness and promise. After the dark beginning to her child’s life, it was the kind of thing she needed to hear.

She made herself a drink with fresh lemons, when she was in her own flat, and took the promised aspirin, but when she opened her eyes the next morning, everything was infinitely worse, and she closed them again groaning.

She ached everywhere fiercely, and would have burned up, if she hadn’t felt so cold all the time. But she dragged herself out of bed, and made Jodie’s breakfast.

When Mrs Barrett arrived to collect Jodie, she took one horrified look at Cass’s grey face and shivering body, and ordered her back to bed.

‘It’s this forty-eight hour thing that’s going round,’ she said portentously. ‘They say the doctors won’t even come out for it—just tell you to keep warm, and drink plenty. I’ll keep Jodie with me for a couple of days, while you sleep it off.’

Cass thanked her hoarsely, and tottered back to bed. After which life became a blur for several hours. She was vaguely conscious of Mrs Barrett bringing jugs of squash, and telling her she had ’phoned the agency to warn them she wouldn’t be in. She tried to say something grateful in return, but it came out as a croak.

‘Poor little soul,’ Mrs Barrett said, perhaps then, or maybe much later. ‘Not much more than a kid herself.’

Cass wondered why Mrs Barrett should be talking about her to her in that odd way, and fell almost at once into a profound and dreamless sleep.

Or thought she did. But the next time she opened her eyes, it seemed that Rohan Grant was there, sitting in the old armchair by the window, and she turned over, burying her flushed face in the pillow to dispel him, and muttering peevishly to herself.

Wasn’t having ’flu bad enough? Did it have to be accompanied by more nightmares?

The next time she woke, he had gone, and she breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out aching limbs and muscles, and discovering wonderingly that she actually felt a little better, and might be persuaded to live, after all.

And when Mrs Barrett appeared, with a tray holding a cup of home-made vegetable soup, and a few wafer thin slices of brown bread and butter, Cass began to think that living might even be enjoyable again. She drank the soup to the last drop, while Mrs Barrett beamed at her.

‘Slept the clock round, you have, dear,’ she said. She looked slightly roguish. ‘I don’t think you even woke up for your visitor.’

Cass put down the bowl. ‘Visitor?’ she asked, trying to sound casual, but aware that her heart was hammering uncomfortably.

‘From your work.’ Mrs Barrett gave an unmistakable wink. ‘Said they were worried about you, so I let him in for a while, although I kept popping in, just in case,’ she added. ‘I hope I did right, dear?’

Cass tried to assemble coherent thought. ‘What was he like?’ she enquired apprehensively.

Mrs Barrett’s smile widened. ‘Tall,’ she said wistfully. ‘A real dish.’ She lowered her voice confidentially. ‘And sexy with it. Made me wish I was thirty years younger, I can tell you.’

‘How odd,’ Cass said pallidly. ‘He makes me wish I was thirty years older.’

Mrs Barrett didn’t seem to hear her. ‘I thought to myself—well that explains the pretty dress, and the way of doing your hair, and I was so pleased for you. Jodie liked him too,’ she added.

‘She met him?’ Cass’s head felt hollow.

‘When I came up—to make sure everything was all right—she came with me, and they had a nice little chat.’ Mrs Barrett gave her an anxious look. ‘It was all right, wasn’t it, Mrs Linton? When I looked in, he was sitting in that chair over there, and he said you’d been restless so he’d given you a drink, and made your pillows more comfortable. I’m sure no one could have been more concerned, that’s why I thought …’ her voice tailed off lamely.

Cass was burning again, but this time with embarrassment, not delirium. She managed a taut smile. ‘No, he isn’t a boyfriend,’ she said quietly. ‘Just—a colleague of sorts, and I can’t imagine why he should have gone to all this trouble.’

‘Flowers he brought too,’ said Mrs Barrett. ‘I left them in your living room, because my mother used to say flowers in a sick room could be funny. I’ll get them for you, now you’re awake.’ She bustled off to return a moment later with about a ton of freesias arranged in an ornamental basket. ‘Don’t they smell lovely,’ she said ecstatically. ‘I’ll put them on the chest of drawers where you can see them.’

She was right about that, Cass thought wearily later. Wherever she looked in the room, the freesias seemed to be there, in the corner of her eye. When she got up to go to the bathroom, she carried them back into the living room, and put them in the middle of the small dining table. She didn’t want them in her bedroom, reminding her constantly of him—the interloper who’d been there. Not a dream, not delirium, but reality. And how dared he? she thought, trying to work herself up into a rage, but finding she was still too listless to make the effort. All she really wanted to do was cry weakly, but she couldn’t do that. She’d shed her last tear a long time ago.

When evening came, she felt well enough to get up. She ate the supper which Mrs Barrett provided—a fluffy omelette flanked by grilled tomatoes—by the fire, then switched on the television. Some commercials which she and Roger had designed for a client were scheduled for their first showing, and Cass hadn’t been entirely happy about the filming. The client, a fitted kitchen manufacturer, had insisted on having a particular actress feature in the commercials for reasons, Cass gathered, of a sexual rather than an artistic nature. Roger had roared with laughter about it, but Cass hadn’t been so amused, watching take after take being ruined. And the girl was still wooden, she thought, viewing the finished product critically. If the fitted kitchen industry collapsed, she would probably never work again. Or if the client’s wife found out, Cass thought drily.

As she switched off the set, she heard her front door buzzer. Mrs Barrett, she thought, returning for the tray.

‘Come in,’ she called. ‘It isn’t locked.’

She sank gratefully back on to the sofa, curling her legs under her.

He said, ‘Don’t you think you should keep it locked. I might have been a burglar.’

Cass jumped, every nerve ending jangling, as she stared at him, leaning against the door jamb.

She said, stammering, ‘What—what are you doing here?’

‘Checking the invalid’s progress,’ he said pleasantly, and strolled forward.

She said hurriedly, ‘I’m fine,’ aware as she spoke, that she was involuntarily tucking the folds of her dressing gown further around her feet and legs, and that the hazel eyes had taken sardonic note of her action.

‘Yes, I’d like to sit down,’ he said mockingly. ‘And, no, I won’t have any coffee, thank you.’

Cass flushed. ‘Well, I’m not offering,’ she said grittily. ‘Perhaps you’d leave.’

‘Not when I’ve only just got here.’ He shrugged off the supple suede car coat he was wearing, and dropped it across the arm of the sofa, then sat down opposite her, stretching out long legs. He was more casually dressed this evening, she couldn’t help noticing, with dark brown pants moulding themselves to his body, and topped by a matching roll neck cashmere sweater. She looked away hurriedly, fiddling with the sash of her robe. ‘Besides, I want to talk to you, and you were in no fit state for conversation when I called yesterday.’

‘Why did you?’ She glared at him.

‘To see if your sudden illness was genuine, or just a convenient excuse for avoiding me.’

‘You flatter yourself, Mr Grant,’ Cass said defiantly. ‘I’m hardly concerned enough about you and your boundless male egotism to go to those lengths.’

He raised eyebrows. ‘You never miss a chance, do you, Cass? I’ll bet you’re the pride of the local sisterhood. Even when you’re struggling back from the ‘flu, you’re punching your weight. Actually, I thought I should reassure you.’

‘About what?’ She gave him a wary look.

‘The Eve cosmetics account.’ He paused. ‘You seemed to think there might be—strings attached. You’re wrong.’ He gave her a long look. ‘And you’re also wrong if you thought I’d tell Finiston about your unique method of turning down dinner invitations.’ His smile was thin. ‘So if you were expecting repercussions, there’s no need.’

Cass bit her lip. She couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t a relief. ‘Thank you,’ she acknowledged stiltedly.

‘Please don’t mention it,’ he said, too courteously. ‘Now the next item on the agenda. Why the hell did you hand me all that “I’m a married woman” garbage, when you’ve been a widow for at least four years?’

Cass lifted her head defiantly. ‘To try and convince you that I wasn’t interested in you or your invitations. You didn’t seem prepared to take no for an answer.’ She paused. ‘How did you find out?’

‘A few casual questions at Finiston Webber. It was amazing the amount of information that was volunteered.’

‘Including my address,’ she said bitterly.

He laughed. ‘No, I got that from the telephone book. So, if you want to keep my visits here as another of your little secrets, then there’s nothing to stop you.’ He linked his hands behind his head, and watched her from beneath lazily drooping lids. ‘Your colleagues regard you as something of an enigma, did you know that?’

‘It’s not something they’re likely to discuss with me,’ she said flatly. ‘Perhaps you’d extend me the same courtesy, and keep out of my personal affairs.’

He gave her a mocking look. ‘But there don’t seem to have been any, Cass. Even the mildest approaches have had the brush-off. Why? And don’t tell me your heart’s in the grave,’ he added cynically. ‘The vibrant creature who sold me an advertising campaign didn’t give that impression at all.’

‘That’s typical masculine arrogance,’ she said stormily, her breasts rising and falling jerkily. ‘None of you can believe that it’s possible for a woman to lead a full, satisfying life without a—a tame stud somewhere in the background.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Well, believe this, Mr Grant. I’ve been married. My husband is dead. I have a child and a career, and I love both of them. There’s no need, no room in my life for another—relationship. Incredible as it must seem, I’m just not interested.’

The long lashes lifted, and the brilliant hazel eyes searched her flushed passionate face remorselessly. ‘Do you prefer women perhaps?’

The breath caught in her throat. ‘Oh.’ She almost threw herself off the sofa. ‘Of course. The obvious explanation. If not one sexual connotation, then another. My God, you make me sick.’ She paused, swallowing thickly. ‘Now—get out. Just because I don’t fancy you, doesn’t give you the right to force yourself into my home and insult me.’