Sweet Sinner

And Luke was doing all the talking, outlining the comprehensive, confidential and detailed services offered by Halraike Hopkins and she, unprecedentedly, was saying nothing, because if she kept a low enough profile he might forget she was there, and that would be nice, even though she was positively sure he wouldn’t recognise her in a month of Sundays.

But he turned his attention from Luke and as she came into the firing line of those chilling grey eyes she wasn’t so sure. The look was cold, calculating and very, very comprehensive. He would be difficult, if not impossible, to fool, she thought, gulping, wondering if she should try to display a small, polite smile as his eyes left the soft pink of her mouth and locked on to her apprehensive green eyes.

Luke was still talking and James Cade was still impaling her with those impressively clever eyes and Zoe went hot all over, pushed at her glasses with a nervous finger and tried to convince herself that he couldn’t possibly recognise her, trying to see her nondescript appearance through his eyes—the neatly structured, almost mannish grey suit, the tightly confined hair, dark-rimmed spectacles…

As if picking up on her thought processes, his gaze travelled quickly over her body, down to her toes, then swept back up again to dwell on her slender, primly disposed legs.

Could he see those angry-looking grazes and scrapes through the sheer stockings she was wearing? Could he? Her one personal extravagance was pure silk stockings, as light and airy as thistledown. Too late now to wish she’d invested in a few pairs of thick lisle numbers.

Zoe wanted to scream and couldn’t remember ever having felt quite so relieved as she did when James Cade eventually rose from his chair with a fluid economy of movement, ending the meeting, his hand outstretched to Luke who had scrambled to his feet.

‘Thank you for your time,’ Cade said smoothly. ‘Get one of your people to set up a meeting with our MD and company accountant at head office and we’ll get the ball rolling.’

Thank God it was over, Zoe thought on a wave of weak relief as she pushed herself up out of the low leather chair, unable to hide a wince of pain, and he noted it, of course he did, and his mouth was grim as he held out his hand.

There was no option but to take it and the touch of firm flesh and hard bone as long fingers clasped hers was like nothing that had ever happened to her before. At any moment she could dissolve into the carpet because the simple touch of his hand as it swallowed hers made everything she was made of fall to pieces.

Nerves, she told herself as her boss escorted James Cade out to the lift. She had behaved like a halfwit throughout the short meeting but she refused to blame herself. Who wouldn’t have been crippled by nervousness in such circumstances?

But Luke, of course, had no idea of the shock she’d sustained and his, ‘Well you were a lot of help!’ as he walked back in carried enough censure for the two of them. ‘You might have been a pile of bricks for all the input you made. You’ll be handling everything from now on. I hope to God you took notes.’ Then, with tardy concern, ‘You’re not feeling ill or anything, are you?’

Stacking the coffee-cups back on the tray, Zoe thought of the indecipherable squiggles on her notepad and shuddered. But she was back in control again, thinking on her feet. She’d get Simon Elliot, her PA, to set the meeting up as quickly as possible, no problem there, and she said sweetly, ‘No, I’m fine. You put our case beauti fully and I might be wrong but Cade struck me as the type who would prefer any direct dealings to be with another man. I would imagine he has little time for women in the workplace—up there in his rarefied atmosphere, in any case. I imagine he expects women to be seen and not heard, to sit quietly like good little secretaries, take notes and leave the thinking to the big boys.’

He hadn’t struck her as any such thing, she simply hadn’t thought beyond the dreadful embarrassment of seeing him again. But it was as good an excuse as any to explain the way she’d acted and Luke obviously thought it made sense because he followed as she carried the tray out, ruminating,

‘You could be so right. Nice thinking!’ He smiled at her suddenly, the worry lines rolling off his forehead. ‘He’s a cold devil and reputedly doesn’t suffer fools at all—let alone gladly. And his reputation with women stinks. Use them and drop them!’

Zoe, rinsing out the cups at the sink in the cubbyhole adjoining the secretaries’ office, thought she detected a note of admiration in his voice and fell to wondering if she’d been right to be irritated by his wife’s regular phone calls demanding to know where he was, why he was late when he’d said he’d be early, complaining that he’d forgotten he’d promised to attend the children’s sports day, end of term play—whatever.

She’d been irritated by Julie Taylor’s whining, anxious tone so many times in the past but now she was beginning to feel sorry for her. It just went to reinforce her opinion that it must be awful to become so dependent on a partner. It turned a person into a bag of neuroses, stripped them of their self-respect.

‘But he’s a clever bastard!’ He sounded as if he were verbally rubbing his hands. ‘Rumour has it he’s about to become engaged to his chairman’s daughter. An astute career move, that! He’s at the top of his particular tree at the moment; marriage to Stephanie Wright will cement him there permanently.’

‘Perhaps they’re madly in love with each other,’ Zoe said, remembering his awesome good looks, and with a slightly repressive note in her voice because, although all the staff at Halraike Hopkins were properly discreet when with outsiders, gossip tended to get a bit rife internally and she couldn’t approve of that.

And Luke drawled back, letting her know just how dull he thought she was, ‘Wise up, Zoe. Steph Wright’s a first-class bitch. A man would have to be a fool to fall for her. And Cade’s far from that.’

Drying her hands, Zoe wondered why she felt so disappointed. A man as charismatic, as obviously intelligent and authoritative as James Cade didn’t need to marry for such sordid reasons. He could get wherever he wanted to get under his own steam. But it was none of her business and she didn’t care how he conducted his life, of course she didn’t. The only thing that could possibly concern her was his lack of recognition of her.

Luke followed her out, locking the communicating door behind him, and as she gathered her bag he suggested, a little too studiously offhand, ‘How about a spot of lunch to celebrate? Cade wouldn’t have asked for this meeting if he hadn’t already gone through our records with a fine-tooth comb and a magnifying glass and decided to use us, we knew that. But it’s nice to have everything tied up. It won’t hurt for once if you’re late getting out to the cottage.’

No wonder his wife never quite knew when to expect him, Zoe decided as she declined his offer coolly.

‘I’ll have to pass on that. I’m not visiting this weekend. Dad’s got a reunion on and Petra’s away so he’s bringing the twins to me.’ She glanced at her plain, serviceable wristwatch. Because of this morning’s meeting she wouldn’t have been able to get out to the Kent borders in time for her father to set out for Birmingham for the Korean Veterans reunion he looked forward to attending each year. So she would have to cope with the boys here in London. And move her gear into the basement. It was going to be a trying weekend.

She was already later than she’d expected to be and she walked quickly to the door, shaking her head as Luke offered, ‘I’ll give you a lift, shall I?’

The offer was tempting. It would save time. But if she went to the Elephant and Castle by Underground and then on by bus, she shouldn’t keep Dad hanging around for too long. And her new sympathy for Luke’s wife wouldn’t let her be so selfish so she urged, ‘There’s really no need, thanks. Get back to Julie and the kids; there’s still plenty of weekend left if you don’t waste it.’

But the look on his face told her that a celebratory lunch with a colleague would have been more to his liking than mowing the lawn or taking his family shopping. And it reinforced her long-held opinion that going solo was much safer than pairing up. You could always rely on yourself but rarely on anyone else. Anyone else could lose interest, grow away. Or just plain die. Or let you believe things that simply weren’t true.

In the event she wasn’t late at all and was hurrying as best she could down the street when she saw her father’s ancient Ford estate pull up in front of the house she shared.

Suddenly overwhelmed by fondness for him, she swallowed the lump in her throat and put her feeling of vulnerability down to the traumas and mortifications of last night and this morning. It wasn’t like her to get needlessly tearful, or sentimental, but she couldn’t help thinking that he deserved better from life than what he had.

They had been such a close and happy family, her father, mother, Petra and herself. And Rufus, the dog. All squashed together in the two-bedroomed cottage just inside Kent and loving it, not yearning for anything bigger and better because they all had each other and nothing else really counted.

Until fourteen years ago when her mother had died and the light had gone out of everything. Zoe had felt betrayed. It had seemed, for a time, as if her whole world was falling apart, but her father had made sure it hadn’t.

He had said goodbye to his hopes of a headship and had taught part-time so he could be with his daughters, until his voluntary retirement two years ago. Which had meant, of course, that money had been in short supply and he’d had to make sacrifices most other men would have refused to do.

He had adored his wife and he’d never got over her early death and, although he’d always done his best to disguise his pain, to make their home life as happy and normal as possible, he hadn’t been able to hide the hurt in his eyes, at least not from Zoe.

And because Petra had only just turned eight when their mother had died Zoe had gallantly tried to take her place, becoming responsible and preternaturally sensible in her efforts to help her father carry on as if everything was all right.

Forcing the bleak and thankfully rare mood of introspection away, she pinned on a smile and went to give her father a hug as he tugged the bags of baby impedimenta out of the boot. A big-boned man, he was beginning to stoop, and the hair which had turned grey in the months following the death of his devotedly loved wife was going thin on top. Swallowing an inner pang, she made her smile wider.

‘You look very smart, Dad.’ And he did. The grey flannels he wore were immaculately pressed and his old regimental badge looked impressive on his dark blazer. ‘I’m sorry you had to go to the trouble of bringing the babies out here.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ His kind eyes smiled down into hers as he turned from stacking the last bag neatly on the pavement. ‘You had a meeting and your career’s more important than my trip to Birmingham.’

She wanted to tell him it wasn’t, not really, that he had more than earned just one weekend for himself out of fifty-two. But she didn’t because he simply wouldn’t see it that way. Ever since the death of his wife his daughters had come first, their happiness and emotional security his prime concern.

Which was why, two years ago when the twins had been a few months old, he had taken early retirement in order to help look after them because Petra had been busy pushing herself through her Open University course. And, if he hadn’t been unable to stop loving his wife, grieving for her, then he would have remarried at some stage, concentrating on his career and handing over the responsibility of caring for his two daughters and, later, his small grandsons.

But now wasn’t the time to stand around as if she were in a dream, allowing her mind to backtrack through the years. Dad had a long drive ahead of him.

Gathering herself, she opened the rear car door and Bill Kilgerran said, ‘Gently. They’re both asleep.’

But just beginning to wake, she noted, going gooey as always when they were like this: two identical boneless blond puddings, long lashes fluttering over flushed cheeks. Blessedly quiet, just for the moment!

They each unstrapped a twin from an identical car seat and just before small chubby arms put a stranglehold on her neck Zoe saw hers was Robin. He had a brown fleck in the iris of one of his big blue eyes. Rickie didn’t, which was kind of Mother Nature as it stopped them getting muddled up completely.

The little boy nuzzled his cheek against hers and she gave herself a moment of auntly joy as she cuddled him back and then got into brisk and sensible mode, reached for one of the lined-up bags with her free hand and went carefully up the steps and into the house.

The long narrow hall already seemed to be full of luggage—suitcases, things in boxes, a portable TV. Hannah. Of course! Her slight frown was in danger of becoming a full-blown scowl so she straightened her brow, put Robin on his feet, took Rickie from her father, gave him a quick cuddle and set him down beside his twin.

Following her father back down the steps, she gathered the remainder of the twins’ bits and pieces and told him, ‘Don’t bang around. If you try to make up lost time on the motorway that old rattletrap will fall to pieces.’

She was doing it again! she thought, mentally shaking her head at herself. For the past fourteen years, one way or another, she’d been trying to be the little mother, fussing and worrying, taking her self-inflicted responsibilities far too much to heart—not that it had prevented what had happened to Petra…

‘Don’t cast aspersions—she might hear, go into one of her sulks and refuse to start at all!’ Bill Kilgerran brushed a knuckled fist lightly over his daughter’s pointed chin and added with a smile that hid the wryness, ‘When you learn to stop fretting I’ll throw a party. Now, if the boys get too rumbustious, take them for a long walk. It works like a dream. And I’ll be back here tomorrow afternoon to pick them up.’

Which gave her something else to fret about, because every year he stayed for the reunion weekend with his old friend from National Service days. Jack Foster and his wife Elaine lived in the Birmingham suburb of Solihull and after the reunion dinner and dance they had Sunday to get over it, plenty of things to reminisce about, to catch up on over a pint at the local, followed by one of Elaine’s apparently memorable Sunday roasts.

But Dad would have to miss out on his relaxing full day with his friend, Zoe thought regretfully, waving until he rounded the corner. But they had both agreed that Petra needed the break…

Suddenly aware that the household behind her was ominously quiet, she made her sore legs carry her up the steps at a run. And she had been right in guessing there was mischief afoot because both the tiny boys were practically upended in one of Hannah’s boxes, unpacking the contents with mountains of glee and little method.

‘No! Naughty!’ she admonished as sternly as she could, hooking an arm round each small body and hauling them out, rescuing a coat hanger from Rickie’s clinging fingers just as Hannah and Gary came slowly down the stairs, breathing hard, carrying the dressing-table from what had been Zoe’s room between them.

Halfway down they stopped for a breather and Hannah poked her rumpled head over the banisters.

‘Gary said you were looking after your sister’s kids this weekend so we thought we’d help move your stuff.’ She smiled shyly. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but…’ Her voice tailed off and Zoe took up,

‘But you want me out of the way, shut away in the basement so you two can play house,’ The smile in her voice robbed her words of any sting and the boys began to race round the hall on sturdy legs, chortling like wild things. The ‘bumping from stair to stair’ downward progress of the dressing-table had kept them quiet and enthralled but the journey had come to a standstill, and that was boring.

But the sudden eruption of Jenna into the hall, clad in what appeared to be a gauzy patterned throwover shirt and nothing else, closely followed by a tall, lanky guy who had to be the actress’s newest date, had them scampering for safety, clinging, shyly burying their flushed faces in Zoe’s skirt.

The sooner she changed into a pair of old jeans, the better, Zoe thought, absently patting two lint-blond heads, though how that would be accomplished when her possessions appeared to be in transit, with a goodly proportion wedged permanently on the stairs, she had no idea. She was beginning to get a headache.

She smiled tentatively at the lanky guy who smiled warily back. And Jenna crooned, ‘Zoe, my pet—meet Henry.’ She stroked the side of his lean face lingeringly. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous? I do believe I might marry him. At least,’ she batted fabulous lashes, ‘I shall move in with him to avoid having to share that meagre basement. No offence, Zoe, my pet—but really! Oi, you two,’ she hollered up the staircase. ‘Come down at once. I want your opinion.’

A distracted grunt was the only reply and Zoe wondered just what was going on behind that dressing-table, and Jenna patted Henry’s backside lovingly, ordering, ‘Do lend a hand, otherwise they’ll be there all day.’

It’s a madhouse, Zoe thought, subsiding on to the hall chair, feeling hot and bothered in her neat office gear as the midsummer sun poured in through the open hall door.

She dragged the twins up on her lap, out of the way, as Henry took one end of the recalcitrant piece of furniture and began to tug and Jenna shouted above the din.

‘My lovely room will look like a used furniture emporium! How much more do you think you’ll try to fit in?’ But the furniture removers ignored her and Zoe wondered whether to tell her not to worry because any time now she would be moving out herself, just as soon as she’d finished saving for a deposit on a place of her own. Now that Petra had a well paid job to go to, she would be able to afford it.

She closed her eyes briefly, picturing it—somewhere fairly central, peaceful, a place for everything and everything in its place, nothing pandemonic about it—and the moment had gone. No chance to tell Jenna anything as the dressing-table came to rest at the foot of the stairs and the actress clapped her hands and commanded, ‘Gather round folks, I want advice.’

Henry dusted off his hands and the upward drift of his wide bony shoulders seemed to say, She’s impossible, but cute. Then Hannah and Gary emerged, their hands twined together, and Hannah, despite the wildness of her curly dark hair, looked cool and lovely in brief lemon-yellow shorts which showed off her endless legs and a skimpy sleeveless top.

‘Right!’ Jenna flashed her wide white smile when she had their undivided attention. ‘You know about my part in this TV drama, and I guess I have to concede it’s only walk on, walk off and half a dozen tiny words. But I aim to make a big impression, folks! So I’ve got to look re-all-y——’ she spun the word out ‘—sexy, with a capital S. I appear at a poolside, right? I think I look sexier with this cover-up——’ she tweaked the edges of the diaphanous shirt ‘—sort of alluring—some mystery, you know.’ Briefly, she paraded up and down the cluttered limits of the hall. ‘But Henry here says it’s better without——’ She stopped, shrugging out of the filmy shirt, holding her arms dramatically wide, revealing ripely voluptuous curves in a bikini so small it was barely there. ‘So——?’ she questioned breathlessly. ‘What do you guys think?’

Catcalls and whistles, someone—probably Gary—was stamping his feet, and Zoe closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears, too, to shut out the din, and wished she had never been born when that unmistakable voice said with the cool precision she was beginning to dread, ‘I have no wish to sound offensive, but don’t you think your activities should be conducted more discreetly?’

The sudden strained silence made Zoe’s heart pound. She went hot all over, perspiration soaking the neat white blouse she wore beneath her suit jacket. It took a lot of courage to turn her head. Slowly.

James Cade was standing in the open hall doorway, impeccably suited against the background of the dusty street. Cool, collected and in control. Utterly. Dominating his audience.

The austerely beautiful features betrayed nothing, not a thing, not even disdain, and the cold grey eyes took in every single thing, labelling it, filing it away inside that clever brain. Everything. Jenna, posing, unashamedly near-naked; Gary and Hannah clinging together, one of Gary’s hands, shocked by the disruptive advent of the stranger to complete immobility, curving around Hannah’s pert breast; the clutter, the unbelievable clutter—boxes and bags, the abandoned dressing-table leaning drunkenly against one wall.

‘Want something?’ Gary was the first to recover. His hand slid down to Hannah’s waist and his jaw was belligerent. ‘You’re on private property.’

‘As your antics are clearly visible from the street I imagined privacy was the last thing you bothered about.’ James Cade was visibly unimpressed by Gary’s pugnacious stance. His hands were thrust negligently into the trouser pockets of the superbly tailored lightweight suit he wore and, with the sunlight behind him, his features were more darkly dangerous than even Zoe remembered them.

Her arms tightened around the twins and she shivered. And the shiver turned into a shudder that went souldeep as the voice that was insolent in its coolness imparted, ‘I want a private word with Miss Kilgerran.’

Unaware of the questioning look Gary shot in her direction, Zoe gulped. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She shook her head, hoping he’d disappear. But he didn’t. He had tracked her down and there could be only one reason for that.

He recognised her from the night before. She hadn’t really believed it possible.

One of the twins was pulling the pins out of her hair and it fell down around her face like a shiny blonde cloud and she gasped out the first thing that came into her head.

‘How did you know where I lived?’

A silly thing to say, she realised belatedly. She, who had never said a silly thing in her life, had spoken as if she had something to hide.

‘The usual channels,’ he answered with cool menace, advancing further into the cluttered hall, picking his way round a pile of toys that had spilled from one of the carriers.

Whatever that meant, Zoe thought and closed her eyes in complete despair as Gary, as if satisfied that she and James Cade knew each other, draped an arm round Hannah’s waist and said leeringly, ‘Right, folks—bed now. Everyone upstairs on the double! Let’s get at it!’

I’ll strangle him! I will, I will! Zoe thought, horribly close to a state of hysteria for the first time in her life. She didn’t know about Henry, but the others all took life and sex so lightheartedly, making a joke out of nearly everything, batting sexual innuendoes around like tennis balls in the Wimbledon finals. They were going to shift her bed down to the basement. She knew that. James Cade wouldn’t. He would think the whole household was set for an orgy!

Both the little boys were squirming around on her lap, babbling about biscuits which meant it was way past their lunchtime, and Zoe couldn’t have got to her feet if she’d wanted to because even if her legs hadn’t turned to water the twins were pinning her down. And James Cade clipped derisively, ‘Does Taylor know about the double life you lead? Is he a dupe, or do you give him a few favours on the side to keep him quiet? I hear his marriage is shaky and now I understand why.’

There was no expression on his hard features and that, somehow, was worse than a sneer. How could he imply she and Luke…? How could he believe she was—what he thought she was?

Violent denials exploded in her brain, denials she was unable to put into coherent words. Not that he gave her the opportunity because he just stood there, feet planted apart, telling her exactly what she didn’t want to hear.