Tristan Ross came into the room. At some point on his journey home he had loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt, but he still managed to look calm and unruffled. Caryn noticed that contrary to tradition, the bottom button of his waistcoat was fastened, but his jacket was unfastened. Raking back the thick straight hair that was inclined to fall across his forehead, he regarded the two antagonists wryly, waiting for an explanation, and Caryn waited for ‘Angel’ to act entirely out of character.

‘I didn’t go to the agency, Tris!’ she declared. ‘I don’t know what this woman’s doing here, but she’s not from Llandath.’

Caryn silently acknowledged the girl’s attempt to classify her. Angel, if that really was her name, was younger than she was, but twenty-four didn’t exactly put one in the middle-aged bracket.

Tristan Ross had listened expressionlessly to what Angel said, and now he turned to Caryn. ‘Is that right? Are you not from the Llandath Agency?’

‘I never said I was,’ Caryn ventured slowly, and then when Angel began to protest, added: ‘Not to you anyway. You—just—assumed that.’

His mouth turned down only slightly at the comers. ‘All right, I’ll assume some more. You chose not to enlighten me because you wanted to get in here, is that right?’

‘Oh, I’d have got in here, Mr Ross,’ declared Caryn levelly, ‘whether you assumed I was from the agency or not.’

‘Is that so?’

She barely acknowledged the edge of steel that deepened his voice now. ‘Yes, that is so.’

‘I see.’ He glanced frowningly at the two other women. Then: ‘You sound very sure of yourself, Miss—Mellor, is it? Or is that assumed, too?’

To her annoyance, Caryn coloured again. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact it is. My name is Stevens, Caryn Stevens. Loren Stevens’ sister.’

She watched him carefully as she said her sister’s name, but it aroused no great reaction. A flicker of his eyes was all the notice he gave it, and then he shrugged and said:

‘Forgive me, but I’m afraid I don’t see the connection. Why should the sister of a girl who left my employ more than six months ago want to see me? Or are you looking to take over your sister’s position?’

Caryn gasped. ‘How dare you!’

At last she aroused some reaction, and the thin lips tightened ominously. ‘How dare I?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Come, Miss Stevens. I think this has gone far enough. Either tell me what in damnation you want or get out of here!’

Caryn gazed at the two women watching them so intently. ‘I would rather say what I have to say in private,’ she declared unevenly.

‘Would you?’ He made no attempt to dismiss their audience. ‘Well, I wouldn’t. Whatever it is, spit it out. Here! Where I have some witnesses.’

Caryn licked her lips. This was not what she had intended. She shrank from exposing her sister before two strangers. It was bad enough having to tell him. She could not bring herself to speak the words in front of anyone else.

‘I—I can’t,’ she said at last. ‘I—I won’t.’

Tristan Ross’s teeth ground together. ‘Miss—Miss Stevens: I don’t know why you’ve come here, but I should tell you that I have no secrets from either my daughter or my housekeeper.’

‘Your—your daughter!’ Caryn swallowed convulsively.

‘Angel—Angela. Angela Ross. Didn’t your sister tell you about her?’

‘No.’

‘Or about Marcia?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t have to worry about her carrying tales, or isn’t that what’s troubling you?’

So the woman couldn’t speak! Caryn felt a rush of sympathy, but then she gathered her small store of confidence about her. She straightened her spine, but even in her wedged heels he topped her by several inches, which was a disadvantage, she found. However, she had to go on:

‘Mr Ross,’ she said slowly, ‘what I have to say concerns my sister, not me. Please—’ She hated having to beg. ‘Give me a few minutes of your time.’

Impatience hardened his lean features. ‘Miss Stevens, I’ve just spent an uncomfortable half hour interviewing a man who refuses to admit that he’s a bloody Communist, and I’m tired! I’m not in the mood for play-acting or over-dramatisation, and if this has something to do with Loren then I guess it’s both—’

Caryn’s hand jerked automatically towards his cheek, and he made no attempt to stop her. The sound of her palm rang in the still room, and only his daughter’s protest was audible.

Tristan Ross just hooked his thumbs into the back waist-band of his trousers under his jacket and heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Is that all?’ he enquired flatly, but Angela burst out:

‘Are you going to let her get away with that?’ in shocked tones.

In truth, Caryn was as confused as the other girl. The blow administered, she was disarmed, and they all knew it.

With a sense of futility, she would have brushed past him and made for the door, but his hand closed round her arm, preventing her from leaving.

‘Not so fast,’ he said, and she noticed inconsequently how the red weals her fingers had left in no way detracted from the disturbing attraction of his dark features. Such unusually dark features with that light hair. The hair he had obviously bestowed on his daughter. His daughter! For heaven’s sake, why hadn’t Loren mentioned that he had a grown-up daughter? Did he have a wife, too? Was that why …

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded, and she held up her head.

‘I—I’ll write to you,’ she said, saying the first thing that came into her head, and he stared at her frustratedly.

‘Why? What have we to say to one another? If Loren has something to say why the hell didn’t she come and say it herself?’

Caryn’s jaw quivered. ‘Loren is dead, Mr Ross. Didn’t you know?’

At last she had succeeded in pricking his self-confidence. His hand fell from her arm as if it burned him, and feeling the blood beginning to circulate through that numbed muscle once more, Caryn felt a trembling sense of awareness. She was too close to him, she thought faintly. She could almost share his shock of cold disbelief, feel the wave of revulsion that swept over him.

‘Dead!’ he said incredulously. ‘Loren—dead? My God, I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

‘Why be sorry?’ Angela spoke again. ‘She was nothing but a nuisance all the time she was here—’

‘Angel!’

His harsh interjection was ignored as Caryn added bitterly: ‘Why pretend to be sorry, Mr Ross? You never answered any of her letters.’

‘Her letters?’ He shook his head. ‘All right, Miss Stevens, you’ve won. We’ll go into my study. We can talk privately there—’

‘You’re not going to talk to her, are you?’ Angela’s dismayed protest rang in their ears, but Tristan Ross just looked at his daughter before walking past her out of the room.

Caryn hesitated only a moment before following him. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Why then did she feel so little enthusiasm for the task?

They went across the hall and down a passage that descended by means of single steps at intervals to an even lower level, and he thrust open a leather-studded door and stood back to allow her to precede him inside.

The room was only slightly smaller than the living room, with all the books Caryn could have wished for lining the walls. Paperbacks there were in plenty, as well as every issue of the Geographical Magazine for years past. A honey-brown carpet supported a leather-topped desk, a pair of revolving leather chairs, and several armchairs. A smaller desk in one corner held a typewriter and a pair of wire trays, with metal filing cabinets completing the furnishings. Here again, the windows overlooked the estuary, but it was dark and Ross drew the venetian blinds.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ he suggested, indicating one of the armchairs, but Caryn preferred to stand. ‘As you wish.’ He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of one of the leather chairs. ‘But if you’ll excuse me …’

‘Of course.’

He lounged into one of the revolving chairs, behind the desk, and in spite of his informal attire he was still the Tristan Ross she knew from so many current affairs programmes. Calm, polite, faintly sardonic; using his grammar school education to its fullest potential while still maintaining the common touch that encouraged the most unlikely people to confide in him.

‘Right,’ he said, and she thought rather hysterically that all that was missing were the television cameras. ‘Suppose you tell me why you wanted to see me.’

Taking a deep breath, she decided to come straight to the point. ‘You—knew about Loren, didn’t you?’

‘What did I know?’

He was annoyingly oblique, and she clenched her fists. ‘She wrote and told you about—about the baby—’

‘The baby!’ His indolence disappeared. ‘What baby?’

Caryn suddenly found she had to sit down after all, and backed until her knees came up against the soft velvety cushioning of an armchair. She sat down rather weakly on the edge of the seat.

‘I said—what baby?’ he repeated, getting to his feet to rest the palms of his hands on the desk in front of him, leaning slightly towards her. ‘I warn you—if this is another of Loren’s tricks—’

‘I told you. Loren’s dead!’ she reminded him tersely, and his jaw clenched.

‘So you did.’

‘Why didn’t you answer any of her letters?’

‘For God’s sake! I don’t remember seeing any letters from her. And even if I had—’

He broke off abruptly and Caryn guessed what he had been going to say. ‘You wouldn’t have answered them?’

‘Look,’ he sighed, ‘Mrs Forrest—that’s the name of the woman I employed on a temporary basis to take over after—after Loren left—she had orders to deal with—well, that sort of thing.’

‘Fan mail?’ demanded Caryn bitterly, and his eyes held hers coldly.

‘Why not?’ he challenged, and she wondered how she could have thought his eyes were dark. They were light, amber-coloured, the alert eyes of a prey-hunting animal at bay.

‘She told you she was expecting your child and you ignor—’

‘She did what?’ He came round the desk towards her, the muscles of his face working tensely. ‘Say that again!’

Caryn licked her dry lips. ‘She—she was expecting your—’

‘The bitch!’

Caryn came abruptly to her feet. ‘Don’t you dare to speak of my sister like that!’

‘I’ll speak of her how the hell I like!’ he retorted savagely. ‘God Almighty, what a bloody cock-and-bull story that is! And you came here to tell me that—’

‘Not just for that,’ she got out jerkily. ‘Not just for that.’

He made an effort to calm himself, but he began to pace about the room and she was reminded of a predator once more. He moved so lithely, so naturally; with all the grace and none of the nobility of the beast, she thought fiercely.

‘Of course,’ he said coldly. ‘You came to tell me she was dead. Well, perhaps it’s just as well.’ He stopped to stare into her working features. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well. I think if she’d still been alive, I’d have killed her!’

Caryn backed off again. ‘And—and what about your son?’ she got out chokingly. ‘What about him? Do you want to kill him, too?’

CHAPTER TWO

SHE saw the colour leave his face as he looked at her. Even his tan took on a jaundiced appearance, and she realised what a tremendous shock this must have been for him.

‘My—son?’ he echoed faintly. ‘You mean—there’s a child?’

‘Y—yes. A boy. He’s—three months old.’

‘Three months!’

Close to her like this, his eyes had a curious magnetic quality, the pupils dilated so that the tawny irises were almost extinguished. His lashes were thick and straight, gold-tipped she saw, like the sun-bleached texture of his hair. Impatience and confusion twisted the firm contours of his mouth, depriving it of its normally sensual curve. She wondered fleetingly if the child would be like him, and then squashed the thought as being unworthy of speculation.

The silence between them was beginning to get to her, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, suddenly aware of the pulse jerking at his jawline, the strong column of his throat rising above the opened neck of his shirt. In the warm room, redolent with the salty tang of the estuary, a hangover from opened windows on the sun-filled afternoon, she could still smell the faint heat of his body mingling with less personal scents of soap and after-shave. It made her aware of her own vulnerability, and she realised what a temptation he must have been to an impressionable girl like Loren.

‘Three months,’ he said again at last. Sarcasm curled his lips. ‘Why wait so long?’

‘Before coming here, you mean?’ she asked jerkily.

‘That’s exactly what I do mean.’ His fingers inserted themselves into the minute pockets of his waistcoat. ‘Or was I last on the list?’

‘You—’

Her instinctive response was to hit him once more, but he backed off mockingly, raising one hand to defend himself. ‘Oh, no,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Not again. We played that little scene ten minutes ago. Melodrama was never my strong point.’

‘What is your strong point, Mr Ross?’ she demanded hotly. ‘Seducing teenagers?’

The bones of his cheeks were clearly visible as his breath was sucked in. Then, in cold denigrating tones, he said: ‘Are you aware of the laws governing slander? If you would care to repeat those words in the presence of the other members of this household, I think I can promise you you’ll find out.’

Caryn’s lips trembled, but she had to go on. ‘Do you deny seducing my sister, Mr Ross?’

He heaved a sigh. ‘Would you believe me if I did?’

‘No.’

‘Then that’s rather a pointless question, don’t you think?’

Caryn sniffed. ‘I might have known what kind of man you’d turn out to be.’

‘So why did you come here?’

‘Because that child is yours, and he’s your responsibility!’

‘Ah, I see.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘It’s money you want.’

‘No!’ Caryn was horrified. ‘You—you don’t think I’ve come here to—to blackmail you, do you?’

‘You used that word, not me.’

‘But you—implied it.’ She made a grimace of distaste. ‘Oh, you’re twisting all my words. You’re making it so—so sordid!’

‘And isn’t it?’ he snapped. ‘Coming here, telling me some crazy story about your sister dying and insinuating that it was my fault—’

‘It was!’

‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head. ‘If your sister’s dead, it has nothing to do with me.’

Caryn forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘How can you say that? You must have known there was a risk—’

‘What risk?’ he grated. ‘For God’s sake, I didn’t know she was pregnant!’

Caryn tried to be calm. ‘You must have known she might be,’ she insisted. ‘You left her to tell her family—’

‘Her family!’ He raised his eyes heavenward for a moment as if seeking patience. ‘I didn’t even know she had a family, until you came here purporting to be her sister.’

‘I am her sister.’

‘Very well. And I was her employer. Her employer! Do you understand? I seldom discuss personal matters with employees unless they impinge in some way upon the working capacity of the employee concerned. Is that clear enough for you?’

Caryn tried again: ‘But your relationship with Loren was more than that of employer-employee.’

‘Was it?’

‘Well, wasn’t it?’

‘Did she tell you that it was?’

‘I didn’t need to be told,’ Caryn declared tremulously. ‘She was made about you.’

‘Really?’ He was unmoved. ‘And I was mad about her, too I suppose.’

‘For a while …’

‘For a while!’ He brought his balled fist hard into the palm of his hand. ‘My God, I can’t believe anyone could be that—that—’

‘Gullible?’ she supplied coldly, but he snapped: ‘No! Stupid!’

‘Loren was not stupid,’ she protested, and his lips sneered:

‘Did I say Loren?’ he taunted, and her fists clenched.

‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Mr Ross?’

‘No.’ He shook his head irritably. ‘Not clever at all. I was stupid. I knew what she was the minute I saw her. I should never have taken her on.’

Caryn couldn’t permit this. ‘Loren was a good secretary—’

‘There are thousands of good secretaries.’

‘She was loyal. She worked hard.’

‘She made life impossible!’ he muttered.

‘You admit then that your relationship with her wasn’t as platonic as you would have me think—’

‘I admit nothing,’ he declared, turning his back on her and walking back to his desk. ‘Nothing!’

Caryn drew in a long breath and expelled it unsteadily. ‘So you deny that the child is yours?’

There was silence for a moment and then he turned and rested back against the side of his desk, one hand on either side of him supporting his body. ‘Tell me about the child,’ he said. ‘Tell me how she died.’

Caryn sought for words. ‘I—she—when you fired her—’ She waited for him to deny this, but when he didn’t, she went on: ‘When you fired her, she came back to London. To—to the flat.’

‘Your parents’ flat?’ he inquired.

‘No. Mine.’ Caryn hesitated, then she went on: ‘Our parents are dead. We were brought up in Maidstone by an elderly aunt, but when I was old enough, I left there to take a commercial course in London. Then when Loren was older, she did the same.’

‘And you shared the flat?’

‘Well, it was my flat really. Loren wasn’t there all the time. She had … friends …’

‘Friends?’

‘Yes, friends.’ Caryn saw no point in revealing that Loren had always preferred the company of men to women. ‘Anyway, later on she got this job, down here—living in. I—I advised her not to take it.’

‘Why not?’ He was curious.

‘Because of you. Because of your reputation,’ declared Caryn firmly.

‘What reputation?’ he pursued tautly.

Caryn was discomfited. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes, I think it does.’

She sighed. ‘You know what I mean as well as I do.’

‘You shouldn’t believe all you read in the papers, Miss Stevens,’ he retorted.

‘Obviously not,’ she flared. ‘They omitted to mention that you were married.’

‘My wife died when Angela was three. Does that absolve me from that particular crime?’

Caryn flushed. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘Is any of this?’

‘Yes. I—I was with Loren when she died.’

He hunched his shoulders. ‘Go on. When did she tell you she was pregnant?’

Caryn hesitated. ‘Not for some time. She—she was so thin, you see. It—hardly showed.’

He frowned. ‘Did she get another job?’

‘No.’ Caryn was reluctant to tell everything that happened those last few months, but perhaps she owed him that, at least. ‘She—as you know, there are not that many jobs around. And—and she was—listless, without enthusiasm. She said she had written to you and asked you to take her back again.’

‘She knew I was going to East Africa.’

‘Yes. She collected all the cuttings.’

‘My God!’ He sounded disgusted.

‘But she wrote to you after you got back. As I said before, you never replied.’

‘I told Mrs Forrest to ignore those letters. I knew what Loren was like. I knew she wouldn’t give up that easily.’

‘She depended on you …’

‘She was a leech!’

‘She was so happy here to begin with. She used to write such excited letters, telling me how you used to take her with you on certain assignments—’

‘I took her once,’ he declared heavily.

‘Nevertheless, you took advantage of her.’

‘I did what?’

‘She told me how—how you used to—to pester her—’

‘What?’ He stared at her incredulously.

‘—coming home drunk after parties. Forcing your attentions upon her—’

‘Is that what she told you?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you believed it?’

‘Why not? Loren didn’t lie about things like that.’

‘Didn’t she?’

‘I suppose you used to get her drunk, too,’ Caryn accused him. ‘Was that how you got into her bed?’

‘Oh, my God!’ His face twisted. ‘Do you think I’d have to do that to sleep with her?’ He shook his head.

‘I don’t believe you.’

He shrugged. ‘Unlike your sister, I cannot arouse your sympathy or your trust.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘But we’re straying from the point, aren’t we? You still haven’t told me why you’re here.’

‘I should have thought that was obvious.’

‘Well, I’m sorry. It’s not.’

‘I’ve told you. The child is your responsibility now.’

In what way?’

‘You’re his father. You should support his upbringing.’

‘Financially? Or physically?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you asking for money or aren’t you, Miss Stevens?’

Caryn paused. ‘Loren—Loren told me to come to you. To bring the child to you. She said—she said you would know what to do.’

He stared at her disbelievingly. ‘And you accepted that?’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘After what she had told you about me?’

Caryn shook her head. ‘That has nothing to do with it.’

‘I disagree. It has everything to do with it. What does a man like me want with an innocent child? A man who goes around seducing teenagers? A man, moreover, who you have just accused of introducing your sister to drink!’

He’s your son,’ insisted Caryn doggedly, refusing to be alarmed.

‘And your nephew. Or had you overlooked that?’

It’s nothing to do with me,’ Caryn exclaimed restlessly. ‘It’s not my child.’

His amber eyes narrowed. ‘You sound very vehement about it. Don’t you like children?’

‘It killed my sister, Mr Ross. Do you think I can forget that?’

‘Ah, I see.’ He sounded sardonic. ‘How convenient! Shift the blame—and the responsibility.’

‘I have to work for my living, Mr Ross. I don’t have time to take care of a baby.’

‘It may have slipped your notice, Miss Stevens, but I work for my living, too.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How different?’

‘You—you have money …’

‘I see. So it is money you want,’ he mocked coldly.

‘No!’

‘Why should I believe you? How do I know you’re not making the whole thing up? You’re Loren’s sister! Maybe you’re in this together!’

Her white face seemed to sober him, and he muttered a rough apology: ‘Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re nothing like her, thank God!’

Caryn’s throat felt tight. ‘Loren is dead.’

‘Yes, yes, so you keep telling me.’

‘It’s true!’

‘I believe it.’ He expelled his breath on a long sigh. ‘So: where is the kid?’

‘In London. Spending the day with some friends who live in the adjoining flat to mine. Laura—that’s the girl’s name—she’s expecting a baby herself in three months.’

‘Really.’ He sounded uninterested, and she wished she hadn’t volunteered the information. She had only wanted to assure him that the child was in good hands. ‘How soon can I see him?’

‘You mean—you mean you’ll have him?’ Suddenly it all seemed totally unreal.

‘You’re prepared to give him away, aren’t you? To a complete stranger?’

‘You’re his father,’ she protested, but he shook his head.

‘You can’t prove that.’

‘You can’t prove you’re not.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that, if I were you.’

‘Oh, please!’ Caryn’s cry was ragged. ‘Will you or won’t you take him?’

‘Let’s say I want to examine the goods first, hmm?’ He paused. ‘Does he have a name?’

‘Yes.’ Caryn was reluctant to admit it. ‘Loren called him Tristan, but I—I—’

‘You couldn’t bring yourself to use it, is that it?’ he questioned dryly.

‘Maybe.’

He began to pace again, measuring the room with his lean, pantherlike strides. ‘So—where do you live?’