Unguarded Moment

Hot with embarrassment, Alix said, ‘Perhaps you ought to know that Miss Layton is my aunt.’

‘She is?’ The other girl sounded astonished, rather than abashed. ‘Well, that’s probably the last time you’ll ever be allowed to tell anyone that. And it won’t save you from the limitations Bianca likes to put on her staff. Niece or not, you’ll submit to the image she wants, or you’ll be out. Now, I suppose I’d better show you how the filing system works.’

Alix had been too dazed by the harshness of the words to pay much attention to the demonstration that followed. She was torn with doubts anyway, knowing how her mother would react to the news that she had accepted a post as Bianca’s secretary, however high-powered and well paid, and beyond the wildest dreams of anyone as relatively young and inexperienced as she was. Whatever the trouble was between Bianca and her mother, she had an uneasy feeling that her decision to work for Bianca, to live in her house, to devote her waking hours to her interests, would improve nothing between the sisters.

Now, it seemed, she would have problems at work as well as at home. She had known a momentary impulse to cut and run, but now an older, wiser Alix knew that she would have regretted it bitterly if she had done so.

Even a few weeks afterwards when Bianca, her smiling lips belying her narrowed eyes, had suggested charmingly that perhaps some of her new clothes were more suitable to her leisure hours rather than an office environment, she had learned to swallow her humiliation. Because by that time she knew that nothing—not Bianca’s moods, or Monty’s hostility, or the silences at home which disturbed her most of all—could persuade her to abandon the sheer stimulation of her new job. And if Bianca wanted her hair tied demurely back instead of flowing freely over her shoulders, and preferred her to dress in quiet drab styles, which were both businesslike and unobtrusive, then she would not argue. It might be weak-willed, but Bianca was paying the piper, and handsomely too, and Alix had no real objection to her calling the tune.

So she dressed and behaved with the utmost discretion, and she made no men friends where she might conceivably be accused of poaching on Bianca’s preserves.

She told herself that she didn’t really mind either that Bianca had fulfilled her predecessor’s prophecy by describing Alix airily as a young cousin, explaining later, ‘A niece sounds incredibly ageing, darling. Don’t you agree?’

Alix was realistic enough to know that even if she had objected violently, it would really have made no difference. Bianca spent a lot of her time pampering her face and body, keeping the march of time at bay. It would have been hard at any time to guess her age, and Bianca clearly intended to keep people guessing for many years yet.

She tried Liam Brant’s number once more for luck, and grimaced as the engaged signal came steadily to her ears.

‘Talkative devil, aren’t you?’ she addressed him as she put the phone down.

As she crossed the hall, the doorbell rang, and she hesitated, wondering if she should answer it, but she could already hear Harris’s footsteps as he came up the basement stairs, and besides, Bianca wouldn’t thank her for receiving guests in her holiday gear. So she went on towards the stairs, returning a smiling greeting to Harris’ hearty, ‘Good morning, miss. A pleasure to see you, if I may say so.’

Of course he could say so, she thought, as she put her hand on the curve of the banister rail. He was the only one who had said anything of the sort, and it was nice to be welcomed.

She was still smiling when she turned slightly to see who was at the door. He was tall, and his shadow fell across the watery sunlight which was making a brave attempt to straggle across the hall floor.

His voice was low-pitched, resonant and cool. ‘My name’s Brant. Miss Layton is expecting me.’

As he spoke, he glanced across the hall and his eyes fell on Alix, standing transfixed on the stairs.

She looked back at him blankly, registering his lean height, the darkness of his hair, the arrogant strength of nose, mouth and chin, and the cynically amused appreciation in his eyes as he surveyed her.

Her first thought was, ‘My God, it can’t be him! He’s on the phone. He can’t be here.’ Her second was, ‘Bianca will kill me!’

And she went on up the stairs, not looking back, but aware just the same that he was still watching her, and having hell’s own job not to break into a run and take Bianca’s elegant stairs two at a time.

She flew into her bedroom, nearly falling over her holiday cases which Harris had put there. Holiday gear was the last thing she wanted now, she thought, kicking off her sandals and shrugging the too-revealing black top over her head. She grabbed the nearest dress, a neat shirtwaister in beige cotton, and pulled it on, forcing the buttons through the holes, and knotting the tie belt hastily, before sliding her feet into matching low-heeled pumps. There was not time to fix her hair properly, she decided, gathering it firmly into a swirl at the back of her head, and anchoring it with a few well-placed hairpins.

And it was no use bothering Bianca at this stage. She would go downstairs and face the wretched man and see if she could persuade him to go away until she and Seb and Leon, Bianca’s agent, had had a chance to talk to her, to reason with her.

Harris was waiting at the foot of the stairs. ‘I’ve shown the gentleman into the drawing room, Miss Alix. Shall I bring coffee? And shall I tell Miss Layton he’s here.’

‘Not for the time being.’ Alix’s heart was thumping in a most uncharacteristic way, and the headlong rush to change into an approximation of what Bianca expected of her had made her breathless. ‘I—I’ll ring if I want anything.’

She paused at the drawing room door, took a deep steadying breath, then turned the handle and went in, pinning a small cool smile to her lips.

He was standing by the fireplace, glancing through one of the magazines, usually arranged neatly on the sofa table.

He looked at Alix, and his dark brows lifted. ‘So,’ he said. ‘The little niece.’

It was desperately important not to appear thrown, but she was. There had never been the slightest hint of her real relationship to Bianca in any of the hundreds of thousands of words which had been written about her aunt, so how in the world did he know?

‘Don’t bother to deny it,’ he added, his voice drawling as it invaded her appalled silence. ‘You’re rather like her—as she was when she was younger, anyway.’

Oh no, Alix thought. He mustn’t. He really must not meet Bianca ever, if this is a fair sample of the kind of thing he says.

She lifted her chin and gave him back stare for stare. ‘How kind of you to say so, Mr Brant.’ She allowed her own voice to drawl slightly. ‘And you’ve done your homework well.’

‘I’m paid to do so, Miss Coulter—or may I call you Alix, as we seem destined to spend a considerable amount of time in each other’s company over the next few months.’

‘Over my dead body,’ Alix said silently. She said coolly, ‘Miss Layton prefers a certain measure of formality in her business dealings, Mr Brant. As a matter of fact, I’ve been trying to telephone you for the past hour.’

‘My phone’s out of order.’ He gave her a level look. ‘I hope you weren’t trying to tell me that Miss Layton would be unable to keep our appointment because she’s been laid low by some virus.’

As this was exactly the excuse Alix had been desperately formulating, she had to grind her teeth.

‘Miss Layton is perfectly well,’ she said stiffly. ‘Nevertheless, it won’t be convenient for her to see you today. That was what I was trying to tell you. I’m very sorry.’

‘Now that I doubt.’ He tossed the magazine impatiently down on to the table again, and gave her a frowning look. ‘I never saw less evidence of regret in anybody. Let’s have the truth, Miss Coulter. Your aunt has developed cold feet over the whole project, hasn’t she, and she’s delegated you to break the bad news to me.’

Anger sparked in Alix. ‘You’re very astute, Mr Brant. Under the circumstances I don’t think there’s any need to extend this interview further.’ She turned away, but incredibly he was beside her, his hand on her arm, detaining her.

‘Then think again, secretary bird. I am a professional man, and I don’t like having my time deliberately wasted.’

‘Then you’d better send us a bill,’ Alix flared. ‘Is your profession paid by the hour, or the minute?’ She gave her watch a studied look. ‘Of which I calculate you’ve wasted approximately fifteen. Unless you walked here, of course.’

His smile held no amusement whatever. ‘Your sharp tongue doesn’t match your demure exterior, secretary bird. I’ve been commissioned to write this book about Bianca Layton, and I intend to do so, with her co-operation, or without it if I have to.’

‘Did Kristen Wallace co-operate?’ Alix asked. ‘It didn’t make a great deal of difference in the end. You still did a hatchet job on her.’

‘I didn’t have to, Miss Coulter. The lady was only too ready to rush headlong on her doom. All I had to do was make a truthful record of her idiocies.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you have a great concern with the truth,’ she said scornfully.

He lifted a shoulder almost wearily. ‘I’ve never found lying to be of any great benefit. Your aunt’s attitude puzzles me, I confess. Less than a week ago she was apparently full of enthusiasm about the book. Now she’s changed her mind, and it makes me wonder why.’

‘The waning of her enthusiasm dates from her discovery that you were involved.’ Alix was suddenly aware he was still holding her arm, and angrily shook herself free. ‘She’s entitled to deny you the right to invade her privacy.’

‘Privacy?’ He looked faintly amused. ‘Since when has Bianca Layton valued that commodity? She’s lived her life well and truly in the public eye. She knows what her public expects, and she doesn’t short-change them. I’d have said her life was—an open book already, wouldn’t you. And yet suddenly she’s wary. It makes me wonder. It really makes me wonder.’

‘Makes you wonder about what?’ Alix demanded sharply.

He smiled down into her flushed indignant face. ‘Just what she has to hide? What else? Now, as it’s clear you have no intention of letting me see her today, I’ll go, but I shall be back, and it would be better if next time she was prepared to see me.’

‘Threats, Mr Brant?’ Alix felt her voice quiver slightly.

‘Call it a friendly warning,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Au revoir, Miss Coulter. Oh, by the way—–’ his hand reached out, incredibly, and unfastened the top button on her dress, then moved down to the next, ‘in the interests of keeping our business relationship formal, perhaps you ought to take a little more care in the way you dress.’

‘How dare you!’ Her face burning, Alix stepped back. ‘There’s nothing the matter with my clothes.’

‘That’s open to debate. What I was actually trying to indicate was that somewhere along the way you’ve put a button through the wrong hole.’

Glancing down at the front of her dress, she was chagrined to see that he was correct.

‘Thank you,’ she said icily. ‘I can put it right for myself.’

‘As you please,’ he shrugged. ‘Don’t overreact, Miss Coulter. There’s no need to make like a frightened virgin. Buttoned or unbuttoned, you’re simply not my type, so you’re in no danger of imminent rape. I hope that reassures you.’

Reassures me? Alix wanted to scream. Nothing about you reassures me. I want you out of this house, and out of our lives.

Aloud, she said with emphasis, ‘Goodbye, Mr Brant.’

He shook his head. ‘No, Miss Coulter. Didn’t you hear me say I’d be back?’

He inclined his head to her with mocking courtesy, then reached past her to open the drawing-room door.

Alix watched him cross the hall to the front door. It wasn’t until it closed behind him that she realised she had been holding her breath.

Whatever happened, she told herself fiercely, no matter what Seb or anyone else said, she was going to keep that—character assassin with his insinuations and innuendoes away from Bianca. Whatever her faults, she didn’t deserve anyone like Liam Brant casting a spotlight on them. Bianca needed to be protected from him, and she, Alix, would see that it was done.

She swallowed, and her hand moved slowly and reluctantly to adjust the buttons on her dress. ‘You’re not my type,’ he’d told her cynically, and he certainly wasn’t hers, so why could she not dismiss the memory of that brief brush of his fingers against her breasts?

Alix bit her lip. She was going to protect Bianca—but the unanswerable question was—who was going to protect her?

CHAPTER TWO

BIANCA was dressing to go out to lunch, and she was less than pleased to hear what Alix had to tell her.

‘You seem to have handled it very badly,’ she remarked tartly. ‘I told you to get rid of him, not antagonise him.’

Alix groaned inwardly. ‘I’ve been trying to explain,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it’s possible to do one without the other. He’s absolutely determined to do the book, whether you agree or not.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Bianca’s lips were tightly compressed.

Alix sighed. ‘Is it really so impossible? After all, forewarned is forearmed, and according to Seb it’s better to have him on your side.’

‘Oh, Seb,’ Bianca said with scorn. ‘A lot of good he’s been in all this. Why should I agree to this book? God knows I don’t need the publicity. I already have more scripts lined up than I’ll ever have time to do.’

She added some gloss to her lips.

‘There is nothing to stop anyone, any time, writing a book about you,’ Alix pointed out patiently. ‘It’s surprising really that no one’s thought of doing it before. As I see it, if you refuse to have anything to do with it, you’re deliberately forfeiting any control you might have over the content.’

Bianca swivelled round on her dressing stool. ‘You sound as if you’re on this man’s side!’

‘That’s the last thing I am,’ Alix muttered vehemently. ‘But he worries me.’

‘I can’t imagine why he should.’ Bianca was still watching her, her brows raised curiously. ‘I should be worried, if anyone is. Why should you be so concerned?’

Alix met her gaze steadily. ‘I hardly know. Perhaps it could have something to do with the fact that you’re a blood relation as well as my employer.’

‘How very touching!’ Bianca’s lip curled. ‘Well, don’t fret on my behalf, darling child. I can take care of myself.’

Alix felt a full flush creep into her face. There was a bite in Bianca’s tone which was bound to hurt. It was one of the things she had never been able to understand. She supposed Bianca had offered the job in the first place because she was her niece, and therefore she could expect more than usual loyalty from her, and yet her aunt had never treated her as if she was a relation. Alix could never say that she had received any kind of indulgence from Bianca, and not much affection either. Any tentative attempts by Alix to infuse some warmth into their relationship had always been resisted.

Alix had learned to come to terms with it, of course, mainly by telling herself that this should be regarded as just another job, and that Bianca should be regarded as just another employer. In other circumstances she would expect only to do what she was paid for and accept her salary. Yet at the same time she was realistic enough to know that Bianca made demands on her which no stranger would ever accede to.

She had tried once to explain this to her mother, but Margaret Coulter’s face had hardened.

‘Did you really expect anything different?’ she asked roughly. ‘Bianca always did want to eat her cake and have it at the same time. She was selfish and unfeeling from the day she was born. She expected everything and everyone to revolve round her like—like satellites around a moon. And now you’re caught too.’

Alix had been too shaken by the depth of feeling in her mother’s voice to do more than offer a token protest, but afterwards she had wondered whether what Margaret had said was true. Was she beguiled into acquiescence by the undoubted glamour of Bianca’s personality? She was guiltily aware that she had been tactless in the way she had talked about her job at home. She tried unobtrusively from then on to demonstrate to Margaret that she still came first in her affections, but she wasn’t altogether sure that she succeeded. In fact, the more she became absorbed in her job and its hectic demands, the farther she seemed to grow away from her family as a whole. Presumably they felt that someone who travelled the world in Bianca’s wake might find the ups and downs of their everyday life less than fascinating, she thought wryly.

The most hurtful thing of all had been a few months ago when she had returned from California to find that nineteen-year-old Debbie was engaged, and that the party to celebrate it had been held in her absence.

She’d tried to pretend it didn’t matter, to argue with herself that they couldn’t have waited for her erratic timetable to bring her back to London again, but the pain lingered.

She often felt as if she occupied a kind of limbo. Her family had learned to live without her, had apparently closed the circle against her, and her only value to Bianca lay in her general efficiency and usefulness.

‘I’ll talk to Leon over lunch,’ Bianca announced, scrutinising her flawless complexion through narrowed eyes. ‘He should be able to think of something to get me off the hook.’

‘I hope so,’ Alix said with a sigh. ‘Perhaps he’ll be able to convince Mr Brant that you haven’t anything to hide.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’ Bianca demanded sharply.

Alix met her eyes in the mirror. ‘Oh, it was just something that he implied—that you didn’t want him to write the book because there could be something you didn’t want him to find out about.’ She tried to smile rather uncertainly. ‘I tried to tell him he was wrong, but I’m not sure I was successful.’ She broke off, uneasily, staring at Bianca’s reflection, aware of a certain rigidity in her expression, and that the colour had faded in her face, emphasising the carefully applied blusher on her cheekbones.

Alix said sharply, ‘Is something wrong? Surely there’s nothing that he could find out …’

‘Of course there’s nothing,’ Bianca snapped. ‘I can’t understand what’s got into you, Alix. You’re usually so level-headed and sensible, but this man seems to have sent your wits begging. Either that or going on holiday makes you lose all sense of proportion. You’d better take the rest of the day off and get a grip on yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Thanks,’ Alix returned with a touch of irony. A small voice inside her head was saying that if Bianca retained her own sense of proportion about Liam Brant and the biography project, this whole situation would never have arisen, but of course she would never say so. ‘I think I’ll go home.’

‘That will be nice.’ Bianca turned away from the mirror, with a final look at her appearance. ‘Give them all my best, won’t you,’ she added indifferently.

From the window, Alix watched Bianca climb into the waiting taxi and speed off to her lunch engagement with her agent. She could imagine the scene as Bianca entered the restaurant, see the admiring glances, hear the murmurs of recognition as she made her way to her table. Even a simple action like that became a performance, executed with the utmost confidence and panache.

And yet, a few minutes earlier, she had seen the mask slip. For a moment Bianca had been caught off balance, and Alix found herself wondering why, that indefinable sense of unease deepening. It was impossible, of course, that anyone who had lived her life as fully, and often as scandalously, revelling in the publicity, as Bianca could really have any kind of secret to conceal. She could have sworn that all Bianca’s cupboards were open for inspection and lacking in skeletons of any kind.

At least I hope so, she thought as she turned away from the window.

Her first thought when she pushed open the back door and entered the kitchen was that her mother looked tired. But that could just be because she had been baking all morning for the local church’s charity cake stall, she told herself.

‘You’ve lost weight,’ she teased as she hugged her mother.

‘And not before time either,’ Margaret said with a grimace. ‘Just let me get this last batch out of the oven and I’ll make us some tea.’

‘That will be lovely.’ Alix settled herself beside the kitchen table and stole a jam tart from the baking tray. ‘No need to hurry. I have all day.’

‘Oh dear!’ Margaret looked at her quickly. ‘I wish you’d telephoned, dear. You see, we’re going out this evening to have a meal with Paul’s parents—to talk over wedding details. Mrs Frensham’s only expecting the three of us. I don’t really see …’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Alix said quickly. ‘I wouldn’t dream of pushing in. I have loads of things to do, as it is—unpacking properly, for starters. And I wouldn’t mind an early night. When is the wedding, or haven’t they decided yet?’

‘I think that’s one of the things we’re going to thrash out tonight. Both sides feel that they’re rather young, but,’ Margaret smiled fondly, ‘I don’t suppose they’ll allow our opinions to carry too much weight. They’re very much in love.’

‘I’m glad for Debbie.’ Alix meant it. Debbie had always been her cherished younger sister. ‘I remember when we were children, she was always playing house. I was the one who was falling out of trees.’

‘No, she never had your love of adventure. I suppose I always hoped that she would find a nice boy and settle down, so I can’t really complain that she has done, even if it’s rather sooner than I expected.’

‘And what about me?’ Alix suddenly wanted to cry. ‘What did you hope for me? Have I fulfilled your expectations, or am I a disappointment?’

She should have been able to ask, but somehow it was impossible, so she helped herself to another jam tart, and began to talk about Rhodes, producing the presents she had brought back for them all, laughing and chattering as if there was no subdued ache in her heart at all. As if everything was fine, and she was the beloved elder daughter who had never been away.

Except of course it wasn’t like that, and never would be again. Alix supposed the invisible barrier which had grown up was of her own making. She had underestimated the depth of her mother’s hurt when she decided to go and work for Bianca. Underestimated it, because she didn’t understand it.

Things might have been better when Debbie came home at teatime, but oddly they weren’t. Debbie’s greeting was perfunctory, and although she thanked Alix for her gift, her heart wasn’t in it.

‘Three weeks on Rhodes.’ Her tone was frankly envious. ‘The most Paul and I can hope for is a few days in Bournemouth, or somewhere.’

Alix glanced at the pretty, discontented face and made up her mind.

‘Would you like a glamorous honeymoon as a wedding present?’ she asked.

‘No, thanks.’ The swiftness of Debbie’s response was almost insulting.

‘Why not?’ Alix enquired.

Debbie shrugged. ‘We’ll manage,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to start my married life on your charity.’

Alix felt as if she had been pierced to the heart, but she managed to say equably, ‘I’m sorry that you see it like that. I really didn’t intend …’

‘It doesn’t matter what you intended,’ Debbie cut across her rudely. ‘We’re quite all right as we are. We don’t need you playing Lady Bountiful.’

‘That’s quite enough, Debbie.’ Margaret, who had been out of the room, had returned in time to hear the last part of the exchange. She went on, ‘You’ll have to excuse her, Alix. She’s rather on edge these days.’

‘Perhaps I’d better go.’ Alix stood up, reaching for her bag. She was desperately afraid that she might burst into tears. Until she had left home, she and Debbie had shared a room, had confided in each other, giggled and occasionally quarrelled. Now they could be strangers.