The Seduction Business

Matt Hearne gave her an amused look, asking softly, ‘An admirer?’

‘A nuisance,’ was all she said, going out of the building.

A sleek white sports car was parked outside the gate, under the street lamp. Bianca eyed it appreciatively, slowing to stop beside it. ‘Is that yours?’

He shot her a sideways glance. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Love it,’ she said, wishing she owned it. It must cost a fortune, which would be right out of her reach. ‘It looks very fast. What can it do?’

‘A hundred and fifty, if I put my foot down.’

‘Please don’t, tonight,’ she said.

He walked round to open the passenger door and held it open while she got into the car, eyeing her long legs with sensual appraisal. Bianca wished she had not worn such a short dress. Sitting down in the low-slung vehicle instantly made her skirt rise. Hurriedly, she smoothed her skirt down to her knees again while Matt Hearne watched, his mouth twitching with mocking enjoyment.

He shut the door at last and came round to get behind the wheel, his lean body gracefully adjusting to the driver’s seat. His long legs almost touched hers, his left arm brushed her elbow, and she hurriedly jerked away. She was intensely conscious of being close to him in a very small space, of the light fragrance of whatever aftershave he was wearing, of his slow, calm breathing, his hands lightly resting on the wheel, the possibility of contact, of touching him.

Her mouth was suddenly dry. She stared at his hands—powerful, elegant, a sprinkle of dark hair on the backs of them, his long fingers shifting to start the car with a roar like a lion.

The silence was making her ears beat with hot blood. As he drove off, fast, she swallowed and asked, ‘Where are we going?’

‘My favourite restaurant, Les Sylphides…it only opened this year but the cooking is marvellous. French provincial, with new twists. I hope you like French food?’

‘I do,’ she said. ‘We often eat it. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of this place. I thought I knew every good restaurant in town.’

‘This isn’t really in town. It’s on the edge of Epping Forest, at Loughton—do you know Essex?’

‘Vaguely. Well, I know where it is, east of the city, but I’ve never actually been over there.’

‘It’s a very special place. Loughton was a village; now it’s a growing suburb but still has a village atmosphere.’

‘Will it take long to get there?’ She had no real idea of the outskirts of London; she rarely left the centre of the city.

‘Not at this time of night. Half an hour or so. And the great point is, we aren’t likely to see anyone who knows either of us so we’ll be able to talk without alerting anybody to what’s going on.’ He laughed curtly. ‘Although, of course, there are whispers already. If you start buying up shares, forcing the price up, the market soon knows what’s afoot. But as neither of our companies have given a statement to the press, so far the rumours are only that—rumours. The longer we can put off an announcement the better. It will only cloud the issue if we have the press on our backs.’

‘I agree. We don’t want press intervention, either.’ Bianca stared out of the car at the faintly dirty, shabby streets through which they were driving. This was a part of London she had never seen before. ‘Where are we now?’ Scraps of torn paper, crumpled drink cans, fastfood boxes blew along the gutters, and there was an air of decay and indifference on all sides.

He gave her an odd look. ‘Haven’t you ever been here before? This is the East End.’

She should have guessed. ‘Not very attractive, is it?’

‘You may not think so. Over the last hundred years it has looked like heaven to the immigrants from Europe, the Jews who fled from Eastern Europe, during the twenties and thirties, and now the place is home to Pakistanis and West Indians, not to mention some streets where you find nothing but Cypriots, both Greek and Turkish, and Africans whose countries are caught up in civil war. There are so many ethnic shops and restaurants here, it is like the world in miniature.’

‘Is Loughton like this?’

‘No, Loughton is way out of town, and much of it has been built since the war.’ He gave her one of his slow, amused smiles, and she couldn’t help noticing his charm, a quality Don really did not share. ‘You obviously aren’t a Londoner.’

‘No, I’m from the West Country…’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Dorset, actually—Lyme Regis.’

‘Ah, French Lieutenant’s Woman territory.’

‘That’s the place. It’s lovely.’

‘Did you grow up looking for dinosaurs? Aren’t there lots of them in the cliffs at Lyme Bay?’

‘Well, lots of fossils, yes. And we did do expeditions to hunt for fossils, from school.’

‘That would have prepared you for working for Don Heston. He’s a bit of a fossil himself—into moneymaking for shareholders rather than creating jobs for people. The red-in-tooth-and-claw capitalist only cares about making money. A modern boss looks to making his company work for the people he employs, which means both making money and giving staff a good working environment.’

‘Don is a very good boss, Mr Hearne.’

‘Matt.’

She gave him a cool stare. ‘Matt. Don is very go-ahead and modern. I couldn’t ask to work for a better boss. He has encouraged me from the day I joined the firm.’

His long mouth curled mockingly. ‘Yes, I noticed the interest he took in you.’

Coins of red appeared in her cheeks. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Don’t try to tell me his interest is purely philanthropic because I wouldn’t believe you. You’re lovely, and Don Heston wants you.’

‘That’s insulting! But then men like you think women are only good for one thing, don’t you?’

‘Oh, I think women are good for many things,’ he drawled. ‘We can talk about that later. For now, tell me how you got the job with Heston? Did he pick you out of the typing pool? I know I would have done.’

Frozen-faced, she bit out, ‘No, I joined TTO straight from college.’

‘Which one?’

‘I went to the London School of Economics.’

‘Oh, yes, I remember reading that you were at the LSE.’

‘Don recruited me because my tutor was a friend of his and recommended me.’

They were driving through a suburb now, but as she stared out Matt Hearne slowed and queued up at what was clearly a motorway junction.

‘The M11—this is a fast route to Loughton,’ he told her as she looked around in some doubt. Where on earth was he taking her? How much further were they going? Before she could ask he said, ‘Do you know Heston’s wife?’

She gave him a wary look. Was he going to give her a third degree on the subject of Mrs Heston?

‘Not really. I’ve met her once or twice, but she prefers to live in the country, with their children, whereas Don spends the week in town, in his flat, and only goes home at weekends.’

‘From what Sara told me, he goes home very rarely.’

She turned to look at his profile and found it unusually sombre in the bright lightning flashes of the motorway light as they drove very fast along the outside lane. A lock of his light brown hair flopped over his temples; his mouth was straight, his jaw taut, his blue eyes hidden by drooping lids as he stared straight ahead.

‘You know her well?’ She had picked up something yesterday, at lunch. Don had been odd when Matt Hearne mentioned his wife and Bianca’s instincts had prickled with a sense of something not being said.

‘No, I only met her recently, but by a strange coincidence I found out she was at school with my wife.’

So that was it! thought Bianca. If Matt Hearne had loved his wife and still missed her it would have meant something important for him to meet an old school-friend of hers. What irony for Don to target Matt’s firm soon afterwards!

‘Sara Heston’s a very special person.’

Had he seen her again, since that first meeting, or had there only been that one occasion?

‘She deserves better than being married to Heston,’ Matt Hearne murmured, half to himself. ‘But maybe you don’t agree?’

Coldly, Bianca said, ‘I don’t know her, I have no opinion.’ Except that no woman deserved to be married to a selfish bastard like Don, but she would not say that to him.

Don was her boss, nothing more. She preferred to stay out of his private life.

He made no comment on that, slowing down and moving over to leave the motorway. ‘We’re turning off here. It isn’t far now.’

‘I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever get there!’

They were out in the country a moment later, driving between hedges of hawthorn in white flower, a beaten crescent moon rising in the cloudless sky, touching the edge of a forest, giving the dark interior a mysterious gleam, silvering church spires, windows and the roofs of cottages.

‘Magical,’ murmured Bianca, and he gave her one of his slow, charming smiles. Her heart appeared to have developed a disturbing flutter. Or had she swallowed one of the moths that were flying around them as Matt slowed to take another corner?

Before he had completed the turn another car flashed past along the lane they were entering. The driver was going far too fast. Matt had to brake violently to avoid a collision. Bianca was flung forward and almost hit the dashboard; was held only by her seat belt.

‘What an idiot!’ Matt angrily said. ‘Are you okay?’ He moved closer, his face concerned, helping her to sit back again. ‘You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ she said huskily, her heart racing with shock. It couldn’t be beating so fast just because this man had touched her?

He looked into her eyes with a slow, sensual gaze that made her pulses flicker and leap.

‘You’re out of breath,’ he murmured, and her mouth went dry.

‘Shock,’ she said hoarsely.

He smiled. ‘I feel the same.’

And neither of them was talking about the near-miss they had just had.

From between their seats a phone began to ring, making her nerves go haywire all over again. After a few seconds Matt slowly leaned down to pick up the receiver.

‘Matt Hearne.’ His voice was curt, breathless.

Bianca couldn’t hear what was being said to him, but she saw his face changing. In the moonlight he suddenly looked pale, or was she imagining that? Was it just moonlight on his skin?

‘How serious is it?’

Another pause while he listened, and he was definitely pale, his features tense.

‘No!’ he abruptly said. ‘Please, don’t do that. I am on my way now; I should be there in about half an hour. Could you stay there until I arrive? Leave her in bed; don’t wake her up.’

He listened again, briefly, then said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Morley. I’ll get there as soon as humanly possible.’

He pushed the phone back down between the seats and started to drive much faster between the high, flowering hedges.

‘Look, I’m sorry, Bianca, I have to cancel dinner. That was a neighbour ringing to tell me my mother has been taken to hospital with appendicitis and will be having an operation at once. But don’t worry; I’ll stop somewhere en route and find you a taxi to take you back to London.’

Quickly she protested, ‘I can get a train. Don’t worry about me. I hope your mother’s operation is successful and she recovers quickly.’

‘So do I,’ he said in heartfelt tones. ‘At the moment, it isn’t just my mother I’m worrying about. My little girl is asleep upstairs in the house. The police wanted to take her off to a foster home for the night. I want to get there fast to stop that happening. She would be petrified. She’s far too young to understand. All she would know was that strangers were taking her away from her home in the middle of the night.’

Bianca could imagine how scared the little girl would be, and why Matt wanted to make sure his child didn’t have such a shock. ‘How old is she?’

‘Three.’ The car roared on along the empty country lanes; he really had his foot down. She watched the needle flickering upwards; he was doing eighty miles an hour.

‘Oh, poor baby!’ Bianca said with sympathy. ‘It would be a nightmare for her, wouldn’t it? Couldn’t your neighbour take care of her?’

He sighed. ‘She’s eighty years old. She couldn’t possibly cope with Lisa. No, I shall have to collect her, take her back to my flat, and in the morning find someone to take care of her for the moment. The problem is, I want to go to the hospital, too, to see my mother, and I can hardly take Lisa with me. And tomorrow’s Saturday; it won’t be easy to find a temporary nanny during the weekend.’

‘What about your sister? You do have a sister, don’t you?’

He gave her a dry look. ‘I imagine you’ve been looking for her in the hope of buying her shares. Yes, I have a sister, but I have no idea where she is at present. She’s probably abroad somewhere.’

‘Haven’t you got a mother-in-law?’

‘I had one, but she died last year. She never recovered from Aileen’s death. She had a heart attack in bed one night and was found dead in the morning. And I have no other relatives to take Lisa, unhappily. Neither my wife nor I came from big families. But I can look after Lisa myself, tonight, although this comes at the worst possible time, with all the workload of the take-over to deal with.’

‘I could look after her tonight,’ offered Bianca before she even knew what she was going to say. Her mouth had opened of its own accord and out the words had popped. Instantly she realised what a stupid offer it had been. What did she know about taking care of small children? She had never had anything to do with children. Hadn’t she got enough to do without taking on such a responsibility?

But it was too late to have second thoughts or doubts. Slowing down, Matt Hearne looked round into her eyes again, smiling.

‘You’re an angel. Thank you. That would be an enormous help.’

What have I done? she thought, staring back at him and smiling stupidly. I must be out of my mind. I’m probably going to regret this.

But ever since she’d heard about Matt Hearne’s wife’s death and the fact that his little girl lived apart from him, with his mother, she had felt a link, a strange sense of kinship, with the child.

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