His Girl Monday to Friday

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HIS GIRL MONDAY TO FRIDAY Linda Miles

The tycoon... All Charles Mallory wants is a secretary who won't burst into tears at the first sign of trouble -- and who won't make the mistake of falling in love with him. Unfortunately the sexy tycoon does seem to have a strange effect on his female staff. He needs a PA who's Mallory-proof! ...and the temp! His childhood friend Barbara seems perfect -- she knows him too well ever to make the mistake of falling for him. Only, working closely with Barbara is having a strange effect on Charles. Could it be that Charles is in danger of falling for the one woman who is immune to his charms?

CHAPTER ONE 'NO,' SAID BARBARA. She buried her nose ostentatiously in Colloquial Romanian. It was the fifth time she'd said it, and the fifth time she'd read that page on the compound perfect, and for the fifth time, as with all the other four, neither of the other two people in the room paid a blind bit of notice. Barbara was curled up in the window-seat of her parents' sitting room. To her right were a pleasant view of a garden, rose busheg, a glimpse of Richmond; to her left squashy furniture in floral fabrics and a confusion of unfinished projects. Half-knitted jumpers, half-patched quilts, half-embroidered napkins trailed from baskets, bookshelves, the backs of chairs. Among the confusion were her mother Ruth, a woman incapable of thinking badly of anyone, and Charles Mallory, a man only a woman who couldn't wouldn't think badly of. 'What a marvellous idea!' Ruth exclaimed now, for the sixth or seventh time. 'It's wonderful that Barbara has so many interests, but I sometimes feel she has a tendency to pick things up and put them down. It would be good for her to see something through to the end—and what a chance to use all those languages!' Ruth had always thought of Charles as a son; it was wonderful the way he'd thought of Barbara when he could have had anyone. 'It seems as if it was meant!' She beamed at Charles over the ribbing of a sweater she'd just started from a pattern out of a magazine. Charles grinned—somehow Barbara managed to see this even though she wasn't looking at him but at page 181 of Colloquial Romanian. It was the grin that had sent all the girls in his class weak at the knees that first year he'd come to stay with her parents fifteen years ago; she could just about remember the devastating effect it had had when she'd first seen it, age eleven. His face was harder now—the mouth ruthless in repose, the green eyes cold and penetrating as steel, the lines of jaw and nose and forehead almost brutal

now that the black hair was cropped so close to the skull—but the grin still lit up his face in the way that had been so irresistible at seventeen. Now, of course—well, now was another matter. 'She was the first person I thought of,' he said. He thrust his hands in his pockets and began pacing up and down the room, his long legs tracing an awkward path through the clutter. 'This is the biggest thing I've done,' he said. 'Eastern Europe is going to start taking off any day—we've got to get in now. I need someone with the right skills to back me up. Not easy to find, and I can't afford to spend six months looking.' 'No, indeed,' Ruth said sympathetically, finishing a row. 'And, anyway, the hell of it is you can't give a recipe for the right package of skills—I need a quick study. It's going to be a roller-coaster ride and I need someone who can cope with that.' 'Barbara would be perfect!' 'And I need someone I can count on.' That was the last straw. Barbara stopped pretending to read. 'Well, you can't count on me,' she said. 'I don't want to do it. I'm not interested. I do not want to work for you.' At last she had their attention. 'Barbara!' her mother exclaimed reproachfully. Charles scowled—no smiles for the Perfect Secretary. 'Why not?' 'Because you're a self-centred, bad-tempered, highhanded, arrogant swine,' said Barbara.

She lifted her chin defiantly, shook the glossy dark red fringe from her eyes and raised brilliant blue eyes to glare, furiously, at the only man she had ever loved. 'Barbara!' 'And that's an understatement!' she added unrepentantly. 'It's not a job for shrinking violets—' he began. 'It's not a job for anyone who cares about common courtesy. There are people who think drill sergeants shouldn't write books of etiquette because they're too polite. I suggest you find the other one, and hire him.' 'You only worked for me one day—' 'It was one day too many.' 'The circumstances were unusual. It won't usually be that bad; it should be a lot of fun.' He'd stopped frowning. He wasn't grinning, but there was just a fraction of a smile at his mouth. All those years as a driven man of business, self-made millionaire, had left their mark, but the smile had all its old heart-stopping charm. Who was the fool who'd said love was blind? Barbara could feel her own mouth returning the smile, her heart quickening, but she could read the temper in his eyes too. He was fighting down his impatience, partly because of Ruth, of course, but mainly because he wanted to get his way. 'Really?' Barbara said sceptically. 'Does that mean you'll do your own dirty work?' The little spark of temper flashed in his eyes, but he was still half smiling. 'Meaning?' 'Meaning if you've got half a dozen girlfriends you don't want to see any more you should tell them it's over, not tell your secretary to tell them you're in a meeting. Do unusual circumstances mean that usually you've only got

one or two to brush off, or that you're dealing with that yourself these days?'There—maybe that would show Ruth what he was really like. Annoyingly, her shot seemed to have misfired. Charles raised an eyebrow. 'Is that what's bothering you? I don't remember who I was seeing then, but I don't think I was trying to brush anyone off. I tell women not to call me at the office; I don't have time for social calls if I'm working on something, but if you don't like a polite lie you can tell the truth. I'll let you know if there's anyone I want to talk to.' It should have been a relief that there was still no one serious. As far as she knew, there never had been. Well, in a way it was a relief. But she was chilled by his indifference, just as she'd always been. His parents had sent him back to England to stay with her family for his last two years of school. Within days the phone had been ringing off the hook. Barbara hadn't been surprised. She'd never seen anyone as handsome as the new guest—of course all the girls at school had wanted to call him. But because she was living in the house she'd seen the dark, handsome face change expression as he picked up the phone; seen it stiff with boredom, stifling yawns; seen him glance at the clock, make monosyllabic replies, reach for the remote control of the TV, change channels for the football. Sometimes she'd picked up the phone herself. A girl would ask, elaborately casual, if Charles was there. 'I'll go and see,' Barbara would say. Charles would mouth, 'Who is it?' And sometimes, when she'd told him, he'd shaken his head or given a thumbs-down. It had been terrifying to see how little he cared, how bored he was by the adoration he won so easily, and it seemed she'd always known, as long as she'd known him, that she must never let him know what she felt. She'd teased him and pestered him and mocked him as if she'd really been his little sister, and he'd enjoyed it in a funny kind of way—perhaps because it had made a change from the uncritical worship he'd got from girls his own age. Maybe he'd even liked her, a little, before it all went wrong.

'It's not the only thing I don't like about it,' said Barbara. 'This could go on for months. You know I hate the idea of a permanent job; I don't like to work anywhere for more than a couple of weeks—let alone with someone who thinks ten hours is a short working day. If I've worked a month I think I deserve a holiday. At least as a temp I can go away whenever I feel like it. Give me one good reason why I should give all that up to be sworn at for eleven months out of twelve by you.' 'Money,' said Charles. 'I don't know how much you're offering,' said Barbara, 'but it's not enough. No can do. I'm going to Sardinia next month; I'll send you a postcard—"Having a wonderful time, stay where you are.'" 'How much do you want?' 'You wouldn't want to pay it,' said Barbara. This was too much for her mother. 'Barbara!' she protested. 'Charles needs your help! Surely it's not too much to ask you to put off travelling just until he has this project on its feet? He's just like one of the family—you should be glad to help him.' 'I'd have thought I'd be the last person he'd want to help him,' Barbara blurted out before she could stop herself. 'It didn't do him much good the last time I tried.' She met his eyes defiantly; she remembered, even if he didn't. Her mother looked blank. Charles gave her a sardonic look. Oh, he remembered, all right. 'I wouldn't say that, exactly,' he said coolly. 'I wouldn't be where I am today if you hadn't.' 'Fine,' said Barbara. 'Then I don't owe you anything.' 'I don't think I'd say that either,' said Charles. 'I think you still owe me, don't you?'

'Then I'll pay you some other way,' said Barbara. 'You're impossible to work for, and I want to see Sardinia before I die, and the answer is no. Why does it have to be me, anyway?' 'Because you can take shorthand at a hundred and eighty words a minute.' 'So can thousands of others.' 'And type a hundred words a minute.' 'Ditto.' 'And because you've frittered away your time ever since you left school, travelling around whenever you could get out of the country and working your way through the entire "Teach Yourself' series from Albanian to Zulu.' 'Is there really a Teach Yourself Zulu?' asked Barbara, diverted. She'd bought Teach Yourself Yoruba once, on impulse, but hadn't got round to reading it. 'I don't know, but if there is you can read it on your lunch-break.' 'You don't give lunch-breaks.' 'And because this project is going to run into a lot of problems,' he went on, just as if she hadn't spoken. 'Logistical problems, a lot of them—just getting people on the phone at the same time, or in the same place, and making sure everybody's got the relevant information in a form they can understand so everyone knows what everyone is talking about when they get together. I want to hand that over to someone else, and I've never seen a problem you couldn't get over or around.' He ran an impatient hand over his cropped black head, scowling. 'I could go through a recruitment agency and come up with someone with a slew of As at A level, or a degree in a couple of the languages, or star-spangled secretarial qualifications—or maybe a mixture of the above— and still end up with someone who'd come trailing back to me because some fax machine

in Vladivostok is on the blink, or because all the hotels in Kiev are closed for the winter...' The ice-green eyes met hers suddenly, without the trace of a smile. It was hard to believe the man who was speaking now had been the carefree, handsome boy she'd once known. 'I hadn't realised you'd disliked working for me so much last time, but it doesn't matter—I still need you. I can't afford to have a secretary who's emotionally involved; at least you shouldn't have any problem maintaining a purely professional relationship. Work out how much it's worth to you to put up with my bad temper and my girlfriends and my habit of forgetting about lunch, and do it for the money.' Barbara's mother was staring at him in dismay. 'But Charles, dear,' she protested. 'I'm sure Barbara doesn't dislike you—we all think of you as one of the family. People aren't always very polite to members of their family, you know—I used to have terrible rows with my brother, who could be absolutely exasperating, but it didn't mean we weren't fond of each other.' A faint frown of impatience creased his brows at the intervention, then was gone. 'Well, it seems I can be exasperating, at any rate,' he said. The smile that warmed his face was for Ruth's benefit only. 'I expect you remembered the fondness after the rows, though, so let's not embarrass Barbara by asking her to agree to the rest in the middle of the—shall we say argument? Anyway, I'd rather she did it on terms that made it worth her while. I know she doesn't like long-term engagements. If she takes this on she should walk away with something that will let her do what she wants.' Barbara realised that he was speaking carefully, trying to smooth over the animosity which he knew would distress her mother. He hadn't wanted to bring the subject uphere, she knew. He'd tried to arrange a meeting in town, and she'd said she was too busy. The result was that he couldn't browbeat her into doing what he wanted. It was to his credit that he was trying not to hurt her mother— that didn't mean he wouldn't have bullied her shamelessly if he could have got her on neutral ground.

A shaft of late afternoon sunlight slanted in the window, bathing the faded furniture, the ancient carpet, the half- finished jumpers and cushion covers in golden light. She'd seen it from just that angle so many times. The window- seat had been her favourite refuge, and she'd sat there, reading voraciously, throughout her childhood. For a year she'd sat there every evening while Charles had watched television and done his homework—on the rare occasions he could be bothered to do it. He'd been very bright, and very lazy, and had done very badly at school in those days, doing only what could be done in commercial breaks. Barbara had been very bright and very hard-working, but she'd done very badly at school because she got bored easily. She'd hated to do anything twice, and as she'd read ahead of the class in her books she could never be bothered to do homework by the time the class had reached the subject. It had also bored her to revise for exams. She would pester Charles to talk about what he was doing and sometimes, if the TV programme was bad enough, he would answer her questions. Sometimes he would tell her to shut up, and if she persisted he'd hand her the book with a malicious smile—except that she loved reading his books, loved holding something that was his, loved understanding an actual A-level text because she thought he'd be impressed. On the nights when there was something good on TV she'd sit, looking at the homework he should be doing or looking across the room to where he sprawled on the sofa, his eyes narrowed, half-hidden by the shock of black hair that fell in his face. In those days she couldn't watch him enough, couldn't know enough about him—but she'd thought he'd paid no attention to her. lust for a moment, ridiculously, she felt a piercing sweetness at the thought that he'd noticed her. Not just noticed—thought about her. It wasn't just that he remembered what she'd done, though that was a surprise in itself. He'd thought about the sort of person she was, about what she could and couldn't do.

Just that little hint of awareness was enough to release a flood of longing—a terrible, impossible wish that he might think about her as much as she thought about him, that he might look at her the way she looked at him. He was standing now in the golden light, waiting for her to name a figure. Her eyes were drawn to him, the way they always were when he was in the room, and it hurt to look away when she forced herself to. He was impossible to work for. He was selfish, arrogant, she hated long-term engagements and she'd done something to him that he would never forgive. He would never have come to her now if he hadn't been forced into it by his business. It would be agony to be with him every day— and the prospect was terribly, terribly tempting. 'I'm sorry, Charles,' she said abruptly. 'It's not a question of money—I just can't do it.' Her mother looked disappointed. 'Well, naturally Charles doesn't want to force you to do something you don't want to do, darling,' she said, sublimely oblivious to his impatient look. 'It did seem such a wonderful opportunity, but if you're sure, we won't talk about it any more. I do hope you're staying for dinner, Charles.' 'I'd love to,' he replied. 'And of course I won't press Barbara, but I trust she'll change her mind.' 'I wouldn't bet on it,' said Barbara, and she lowered her eyes to gaze, for the sixth time, at the account of the compound perfect in Colloquial Romanian. 'Neither would I,' said Charles, and he added, in a low voice that only she could hear, 'I never bet on a sure thing.'

CHAPTER TWO CHARLES MALLORY took the folder of letters for signing out of his in-tray, opened it, pulled out the first letter and glared. Where did they find these people? he thought in exasperation. An impatient linger jabbed the button of his intercom. 'Teresa,' he said. 'Yes, Mr Mallory,' said an almost inaudible voice. 'Have you ever thought of using the spell-check facility before printing out a document?' he asked. 'Is there a spelling mistake?' whispered the voice. Charles flipped through the rest of the pile, scowling. 'Falicitate' for 'facilitate', 'mofidy' for 'modify', 'rnyrtpt- idr' for God only knew what. Where did they find them? 'It's also quite helpful to proofread a document before bringing it in to be signed,' he added silkily. 'I've signed the one that's fit to be seen,' he added, suiting action to the words. 'The rest will have to be done again. I'll bring them out to you.' He closed the folder, stood up and stalked to the door. He emerged just in time to see the rapidly retreating back of the latest temp disappear through a door clearly marked 'EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY. ALARM WILL SOUND IF OPENED.' The howl of a fire alarm filled the building. Where did they find them? he thought bitterly, punching the buttons of the alarm disenable with the ease of long practice. He stalked back to his desk and punched the extension of Personnel with the ease of equally long practice. 'Good morning, Mr Mallory,' said the resigned voice of Personnel. 'I heard the alarm. Such a shame. I felt sure she'd last till lunch-time.'Charles drummed his fingers on his desk. 'I don't know what the problem was,' he

said. 'I simply reminded her of the existence of the spell-check and suggested she proofread her work. She should know that without being told. If she doesn't know without being told she should at least be able to take a little constructive criticism.' Personnel sighed. 'I'm sorry, Mr Mallory, but she was the only one the agency had available. All the other temps had been here before and refused to come back.' 'Well, try another agency,' said Charles. 'None of the other agencies had anyone who hadn't been here before.' 'What's the matter with them, anyway?' said Charles. 'I'm not asking for Wonderwoman. I just want an experienced secretary with the usual skills and the maturity to deal with a high-pressure environment.' 'Yes, Mr Mallory,' Personnel said doubtfully. 'It's just—' 'It's just what?' snapped Charles. 'The really experienced, highly qualified people can pick and choose. We're offering a competitive package, of course, but the creme de la creme can get the same money and benefits elsewhere, and they don't like to be shouted at.' 'Shout!' Charles exclaimed indignantly. 'I never shout. Obviously, if a whole project has to be redone because someone hasn't shown the intelligence of a child of two I might get a little impatient...' 'Apparently, you use a tone of voice that has been perceived as shouting,' Personnel said diplomatically. 'Ridiculous,' scoffed Charles. Why couldn't they find someone like Barbara? Someone who didn't dissolve in tears if you asked a simple question? Someone who'd catch your mistakes and oversights in a report, instead of adding fifty of her own? Her agency had given her an assignment with him one day a couple of years ago. He'd never had such a dream of a secretary before or since.

His fingers drummed on the desk again. He needed a decent permanent secretary if he was going to take on Eastern Europe. He'd been planning to go to Barbara's flat and talk her round. With Ruth out of the way it should have been easy enough. But he hadn't had the time, and if he waited any longer he'd find Barbara had left for Sardinia. Maybe it would be better after all just to get her in as a temp and take it from there. At least it would give him a chance to concentrate on work for a change. 'I really don't have time to go tiptoeing around some hypersensitive girl who can't even spell,' he said. 'See if you can't get Barbara Woodward through one of the agencies, will you? Make it worth their while. We've certainly sent enough business to pretty much every agency in town—that must give us some clout. Do whatever it takes to get her in.'

CHAPTER THREE BARBARA wanted to take one more temp assignment before leaving for Sardinia. She'd had money saved, but had spent some of it on a multimedia course in Bengali. On Monday she rang Jobs for the Girls, her agency, to ask for an assignment, and was immediately offered a position with the Mallory Corporation. 'It's a marvellous assignment,' enthused Sue, her supervisor. 'Directorial level, open-ended, great rate. Terribly flattering—they asked for you specifically.' 'I'd rather not,' said Barbara, wishing she'd called Charles a few other names while she'd had the chance. Devious, conniving, unscrupulous... There was a little silence. 'Hmm,' said Sue. 'Well, I don't seem to have anything else on the books just at the moment, but obviously I'll keep you posted. Let me know if you change your mind.' Barbara hung up and dialled Girl Monday-to-Friday. 'Barbara, I've got just the thing for you,' said Cathy cheerfully. 'This is a terrific place—Mallory Corporation, central London, taxi home after ten, free dinner, directorial level, top rate, open-ended...' 'I'm sorry,' said Barbara, 'but I'm looking for just a couple of weeks.' 'Well, you could go there for a couple of weeks and see how you go...' 'I'd rather try something else.' 'Hmm,' said Cathy. 'Well, the thing is, things are pretty slow right now. I don't have a lot else to offer, nothing really that would suit your qualifications.' 'I don't care what level it is,' said Barbara. 'Yes, well, I really don't have much of anything, to tell the truth, but I'll let you know.'

Barbara hung up and glared at the phone. Devious, conniving, unscrupulous, Machiavellian... She rang three or four other agencies, with similar results. Blast the man! Of course, if she told her mother, Ruth would call Charles and tell him to call the whole thing off, but he knew Barbara wouldn't give him away like that—it would hurt Ruth too much. She supposed she should feel flattered—he must have called every agency she'd ever worked for. He'd probably got the information from her mother—Ruth wouldn't have realised the dastardly use he meant to make of it. She could, of course, sign up elsewhere—but there was no guarantee he hadn't called elsewhere. The problem was, no agency in the world was going to put the interests of a lowly temp, however well qualified, ahead of the Mallory Corporation. Charles wouldn't have had to threaten to withdraw his patronage. He could have guaranteed to give the successful agency first shot at all his future business, and no agency would have passed that up. So now what? Barbara gritted her teeth, picked up the phone and dialled. 'Good morning. Mr Mallory's office,' a voice said softly. 'Good morning. I'd like to speak to Mr Mallory,' Barbara said crisply. 'I'm afraid Mr Mallory is in a meeting.' 'He always is,' Barbara said drily. 'Could you put me through anyway? It's fairly urgent.' 'He's asked not to be interrupted. Could I take a message?'

er a number of unrepeatable comments which she He'll couldknow hardly expect a secretary to tra The message is, "Never in a million years." who it's from.' She hung up with a bang. Her first thought was to call some of the firms she'd worked with over the years. Barbara had never worked for anyone who didn't want her to work for them for ever. You weren't really supposed to deal with people

independently of your agency, but then it wasn't exactly kosher of her agencies to cold-shoulder her as soon as she turned down an assignment with Charles. She could probably turn up something, but it would take time, and meanwhile she was furious. Instead of thinking of leads, she kept thinking of things to say to Charles. At last, with the inspiration of genius, she realised that she could still say them to Charles. She would go to his office, say all the rude things she wanted to Charles and then look for work. Half an hour later Barbara strode into the immense marble vestibule of the Mallory Building and took a lift to the twelfth floor. She fenced successfully with the receptionist and strode on, unchecked, down a long carpeted corridor to Charles's corner office. A girl sat, weeping, by the word processor outside. Barbara stalked to the door and flung it open, unchallenged. Unfortunately, Charles was not in the office. 'Where is he?' Barbara asked tightly. 'He's in a meeting,' the girl said damply. 'Him' and his ego,' agreed Barbara. 'Some things never change. Just where is this little tete-a-tete taking place?' 'Sorry?' sniffed the girl. Barbara sighed. She dug a little packet of tissues from her bag and handed it over. 'The meeting,' she said patiently. 'Where is it?' The girl gestured at a conference room. Maybe he was in a meeting after all. So much the better; she could embarrass him in front of a roomful of millionaires. She walked to the door and flung it open. Twenty men in dark suits stared at the door. Some were fat, some were fit; some were attractive, some were not; some were young and eager-looking,

others middle-aged and bored—none was worth a second look. Charles, at the head of the table, was looking ever so slightly harassed, but he still outshone every man in the room, just as he'd always effortlessly put in the shade every man she'd ever known. She'd expected him to look seriously annoyed at the intrusion, but he merely raised an eyebrow. 'Barbara,' he said suavely. 'So glad you could join us.' She was standing in the doorway, hands on hips, blue eyes blazing, red hair crackling with energy. This was more like it, Charles thought with satisfaction, congratulating himself for getting Personnel on her trail. Just looking at her you knew you could throw anything at her and she'd cope. Maybe he'd send Personnel a dozen roses— women liked that sort of gesture. The morning had been an unmitigated disaster so far, but now that Barbara was here it was bound to pick up. He explained to the room, in rather stilted German, that Miss Woodward was his assistant. 'No, I'm not,' said Barbara. There was an irritated murmur of comment from the collected men. She heard Czech, Polish and something that sounded bizarrely like Arabic. She'd expected Charles to try to hurry her out of the room but he merely stared at her, a challenge in his eyes. Well, if he wanted to challenge her, so much the worse for him. 'There's something I want to discuss with you,' said Barbara. 'Do you want to join me next door, or would you prefer to discuss it here?' He shrugged, raised an eyebrow and stood up. 'Will you excuse me. gentlemen? This should only take a moment.' He followed Barbara into his own office. 'I don't know what the hell this is all about, but couldn't it wait?'

'No, it could not wait!' fumed Barbara. 'How dare you ask all those agencies for me? How dare you make them refuse me any other work?' 'Is that what you brought me out to hear?' He glowered at her. 'Of all the preposterous— Look, it's perfectly common to request a specific person from an agency. We're desperate to get someone in here fast so I told the office manager to contact the agencies you'd worked for. We certainly never told them not to give you any other work. But now that you're here you may as well make yourself useful.' 'Useful!' exclaimed Barbara, at a loss for words to express her fury. 'We're having some difficulty with the minutes,' he said coolly. 'The young woman who was helping us was over-optimistic about her linguistic abilities. We're taping everything, but you can see why we'd like a written record.' 'Too bad,' said Barbara. Charles scowled. 'Look, you've said you're looking for work.' 'I never said I wanted to be a slave.' 'We were planning to pay you,' Charles said sarcastically. 'Look, I'll give you what we'd have paid the agency—a hundred pounds if you stay today, five hundred to stay the week.' 'Done,' Barbara said gloomily. She followed him back across the hall. The men around the table were all in a bad mood. They were tired of talking business in languages not their own about things they didn't entirely understand. They looked with mingled irritation and appreciation at the girl at the door, her slim figure set off by a dark blue shift dress. Charles sensed the change of mood in the room. He glanced down at Barbara, seeing her suddenly as if for the first time. She was spectacular all right—but completely infuriating. They wouldn't be so appreciative, he thought irritably, if they knew what a little hellcat she was.

Barbara frowned up at him, trying to make out the odd look on his face. Probably just wishing he'd negotiated her out of her lunch-break, she thought. She shrugged, closed the door and followed him down to his end of the table where she took a seat beside him. Barbara took up a pad and pencil. Five men burst into argument at once, and part of her mind threw itself into disentangling the various strands. But she was sitting at Charles's elbow and her whole body seemed to be aware of the fact that he was only a couple of inches away. If she looked down at her pad she'd suddenly find that her eyes had refocused on something more interesting a foot or so from the pad—the long, powerful line of his thigh, the muscle straining against the businesslike dark grey of his trousers. Or, if she looked up to identify a new speaker, she would see out of the corner of her eye the close-cut black hair and aquiline nose of the man beside her, and she would find herself waiting for him to speak just so she could look at him without pretending not to. Then he would speak, and it would be a relief to turn her head. She'd turn her head, and the brilliant green of his eyes would dash over her like a cold, careless ocean wave, leaving her shivering inside, struggling to get intelligible shorthand on the page. In spite of these distractions, she managed to make some sense of the proceedings. She soon discovered that the meeting was running into real difficulties; the second language of most of those present was German, but there were two who spoke English, another two who spoke French and one who knew Italian. A complicated system of translation. in undertones, out of the various languages into German, or from German into one of the others, was going on. She couldn't imagine what the transcription of a tape of this was going to be like. It also became clear to her after a while that the man who was helping out the Italian speaker was slightly misrepresenting the drift of the discussion and the speaker's responses, whether deliberately or unintentionally she wasn't sure.

Half an hour went by. At last, hesitantly, she put a note in front of Charles. He nodded, and wrote, 'We'll break for coffee—take over afterwards.' It occurred to Barbara that if they were going to break for coffee this would be a perfect opportunity to tell him what a swine he was, but something kept her silent. Perhaps it was the hapless Italian-speaking Czech. She thought the Pole who was helping him out was taking advantage of him, and if she left he'd have no one to help him. So she organised coffee, and when the second session began she sat beside him and took over the task of translation. It soon became apparent that he was an important player in the discussions. A number of points which had been agreed earlier were reversed, and everyone began to get very annoyed. At last Charles called a halt to the proceedings. They would, he said, adjourn until the following day. The men filed out of the room, talking animatedly—and for the most part angrily—in their native languages. Barbara began putting her notes in order. 'Charles!' she exclaimed suddenly. 'I'm an idiot! I just went on translating Italian to German—but I could have just translated from Czech! It's been a few years since I read Colloquial Czech, but I'm sure I could have done it— at least some of the time.' 'I'm glad you didn't, though,' he said. He stood up and stretched, then turned to her and raised an eyebrow. 'You'll probably disapprove of this, but you may be more use to me if people don't know how much you know. They're likely to be a bit more open among themselves if they don't realise you understand.' Barbara was about to start arguing about this when she realised what was going on. 'It doesn't matter whether I approve or not,' she said curtly, 'because I am not going to work for you. Didn't you get my message?' 'Oh, I got it,' he said. 'I could have wrung the girl's neck for not putting you through. You could have been here half an hour earlier.' 'If I'd got through,' said Barbara, 'I wouldn't have come.'

'Then it's just as well she didn't put you through, isn't it?' he said with a shrug. Barbara remembered something else. 'What on earth did you say to that poor girl?' she demanded. 'I can't remember. Something colourful, I expect.' A pencil snapped between his long, clever fingers. 'For God's sake, take that look off your face. Do you have any idea how much time and money went into setting this meeting up? She said she knew French and German, and then turned out to be totally incompetent. What do you expect me to do—give her an A for effort?' 'I expect you to be abominably rude,' said Barbara. 'When are you ever anything else?' 'Oh, I can be quite nice when I choose.' 'Yes, when you want to seduce someone,' Barbara said scathingly. 'If that's what you think, I'd better be very rude to you. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea,' he remarked, throwing his papers into his briefcase and closing it. I certainly wouldn't think anything as ridiculous as that" she retorted. The speed of her reply made the slight pause which followed all the more noticeable. 'What's ridiculous about it?' He looked at her inscrutably. 'You're very beautiful. You must have seen they couldn't take their eyes off you.' Barbara was suddenly short of breath. 'I thought you didn't want to get involved with your secretary,' she pointed out. 'I thought you weren't going to be my secretary. Looks like I can seduce you after all.' He'd looked weary at the end of the meeting, as well he might, with the prospect of the whole thing to do again the next day—but now a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

'No, you can't,' she said curtly. 'You can call my agency and tell them you don't need me any more so they'll find me another job.' 'But I do need you.' He scowled. 'If you don't type up those notes no one else is going to be able to, and God only knows what the meeting is going to be like when we pick up the threads. Finish the week, anyway—at least you'll be quids in.' Barbara was silent. She hardly knew which was worse— his infuriating, foul temper or the careless, easy charm which found its mark so surely. 'Look, what on earth is the matter with the idea?' Charles asked impatiently. 'You won't be stuck in London the whole time. We'll be travelling to Prague and Warsaw. You'll meet interesting people, have a chance to accomplish something. You'll do a terrific job, and at the end of it you'll be able to walk into something better if you want to. I don't know why you're so damned suspicious. All you've got going for you now is a record of Ds and the odd Civplus years of temping, which frankly isn't the best passport into the higher echelons of the business world—' 'I don't want to be in the higher echelons of the business world,' said Barbara. 'I get bored too easily.' 'I don't think this will bore you,' he retorted. 'And you'd be ideal for the job. Stop playing hard to get.' Barbara gritted her teeth. 'I'm not playing hard to get, Charles,' she snapped. 'I am hard to get. But if it means that much to you, fine. How much are you expecting to make out of this? I don't mean income, but net profit?' 'If it works, a couple of hundred million...' 'All right,' said Barbara. 'I want a salary of £25,000.' 'Done.' 'Plus overtime.'

'Done.' 'Plus five per cent of the shares of the company.' 'What?' 'You heard me,' said Barbara. 'Are you out of your mind?' 'No,' said Barbara, 'I am not out of my mind. You're out of your mind, Charles. If the right assistant is so crucial to the deal, you could take £100,000 and get people who are experts in these languages. You could get someone with terrific skills—you could even get someone who could cope with a dead fax machine in Vladivostok. And you'd still be quids in. If you have that much money to throw at it, you don't need me. I'll come in and type this up tomorrow, but I am going to Sardinia next month and nothing you can say or do can stop me.' Charles looked down into the snapping blue eyes of his pseudo-sister and wondered, briefly, whether the real thing could be half as exasperating. Did he really want to put up with this for a year? A standard-issue secretary would have been a puddle on the floor by now. He couldn't have that, of course, but wasn't it possible to have a secretary who just got on with the job, without starting World War III? He was about to tell Barbara to go to Sardinia and be sure not to write when the world-weary voice of Personnel echoed lugubriously in his mind. 'The creme de la creme...can pick and choose,' it said morosely. 'They don't like to be shouted at... We're offering a competitive package...' it said. 'Experienced, highly qualified people... can get the same money and benefits elsewhere.' Well, he thought grimly, there's competitive and there's competitive. He looked at Barbara evenly.

'That's silly money,' he said. 'You know you're not going to get it. So what you're saying is, you'd like something off the charts compared to the going rate for the job. Make me another offer.' Barbara stared at him. The problem was, she didn't want something off the charts—she just didn't want the job. But if he was seriously prepared to throw serious money at her she could walk away from temping for an awfully long time... 'There's a new issue of shares for this venture, isn't there?' she said. 'Yes,' he said curtly. 'Five per cent of that,' said Barbara. His eyes were as brilliant and as hard as emeralds. 'Keep trying,' he said. Barbara looked at him thoughtfully. Just how far was he willing to go? Or, to put it another way, what would irritate him the most? And suddenly she knew exactly what to say. A couple of years ago Charles had started up a tiny company to act as a launchpad for miscellaneous inventions that didn't fit well in the main company. Compared to the big Mallory Corporation it was nothing—but Barbara had a hunch it would hit the stratosphere a few years down the line. The fact remained that on paper it wasn't-worth much. The price of its shares was low—there was no reason in the world why Charles shouldn't let her have a few of them. 'Five per cent of Mallorin,' she said. 'And that's my final offer.' He thrust his hands into his pockets. There was a long silence, in which he stared first at the carpet and then at Barbara with undisguised dislike. 'All right, damn you,' he said. 'You'll have the contract by the end of the week. But the Mallorin stock is conditional on your completing the year.' He handed her the cassette from the day's meeting. 'For that kind of money I'd like the minutes typed up in time for tomorrow's meeting. I want you in the

office at seven a.m. sharp.' And he strode from the conference room without waiting for a reply, and slammed the door shut behind him.

CHAPTER FOUR BARBARA stayed at the office until midnight, coaxing the minutes into sense. She'd been hired for her languages so she prepared them in English, French and German, made copies and left the stacks on her desk. At six o'clock the next morning she woke to the bleat of her alarm clock. She turned it off and snuggled back into the covers. Why on earth had she set it for such an ungodly—? Argh. Blearily she sat up in bed and looked out of the window onto a glorious day. A perfect day for leaving for Sardinia. Instead she'd agreed to be a slave for a year for a mere five per cent of Mallorin. She should have stipulated ten per cent if she had to be out of bed by ten. Too late now. At seven-fifteen she staggered into the lift at Mallory, precariously balancing a cardboard tray laden with an assortment of pastries and three coffees. Charles could have one; it would take at least two, she reckoned, just to keep her eyes open. At seven-seventeen she emerged from the lift. Charles's door was open. 'You're late,' came the curt comment from within. Barbara approached the room gingerly. It faced east; brilliant yellow sunshine was streaming into the corridor. Narrowing her eyes, she entered the office and flinched. 'I told you I wanted you here at seven.' Charles was pacing up and down, a Dictaphone in his hand. He looked sickeningly fresh and energetic, his jaw freshly shaved, hair slicked down, eyes piercing, tie beautifully knotted. 'I brought breakfast,' said Barbara. 'I don't eat it,' said Charles.

'Naturally,' said Barbara. 'You're too busy dictating. I understand. You just carry on and I'll join you presently.' Charles scowled. 'It's a complete waste of time. If you have trouble waking up in the morning you'd do better to get some exercise. Go for a run as soon as you get up.' Barbara shuddered. 'Is that what you did?' she asked. 'I went to the gym for an hour.' Barbara winced. She sank feebly into the nearest chair— the enormous, leather-covered chair that stood behind Charles's desk. She stretched out a nerveless hand for her first café latte—she'd asked for three shots of espresso— and lifted it carefully to her lips. Charles prowled up and down in front of his desk. ''Don't mind me,' Barbara said pleasantly, reviving slightly under the influence of the coffee. 'I know you must want to get on with work.' She selected a croissant from the pile and bit into it. Lovely, lovely food. Lovely coffee. Perhaps she would live. 'I hope you're not planning to calculate your overtime based on a seven o'clock start,' Charles said acerbically. 'For this you think you're worth five per cent of a company?' Barbara yawned. 'More like ten per cent, but you got a good deal.' Charles glowered at her. He really did look marvellous, Barbara thought sleepily. Marvellous to wake up next to, except that you'd never get the chance because he'd be off to the gym in the middle of the night. 'A good deal!' 'Did anyone ever tell you you're beautiful when you're angry?' she asked dreamily.

'Are we going to have to go through this every morning?' Charles asked through gritted teeth. 'Every morning!' Barbara stared at him in horror. 'You don't start this early every morning!' 'I do,' he said even more grittily. 'And so will you.' 'No, I won't,' said Barbara. She put down her coffee and stood up. 'The deal's off. I'm not going through this for a year. I've done the minutes in English, French and German. There are about ten copies of each on my desk; they should be pretty clear. I really don't think your seventeen-minute start in dictation would have been that much of a handicap for me, but it's not my problem. I'm going to Sardinia.' Charles stalked out to her desk. He came back, leafing through a set of minutes. 'These are good,' he said. 'So glad you like them,' said Barbara. She started on another croissant. Charles paced up and down, turning the pages. 'All right,' he said at last. 'You can start at eight.' 'I'd rather go to Sardinia,' said Barbara, 'but I did say I'd take the job. I might be willing to start at nine.' Charles seemed about to say something when his eye was caught by the German minutes, which were now on the top of the stack. He gritted his teeth again. 'Your problem is your blood sugar is low,' Barbara explained helpfully. 'That's why it's so important to eat a good breakfast. Otherwise you're likely to be irritable and short-tempered.' 'I'm not irritable—' he began.

'Have a croissant,' urged Barbara. 'Or a Danish pastry. It will help you to get everything in perspective.' Charles threw the minutes onto a nearby chair. 'I must be mad,' he remarked. 'No, you just have low blood sugar,' Barbara reassured him. 'Have something to eat and you'll feel much better.' For a moment she wondered whether she'd gone too far. She kept forgetting she no longer had to deal with the easygoing, self-mocking seventeen-year-old Charles who'd laughed at her teasing. Now she was dealing with the driven, self-made entrepreneur who clearly saw her as the single greatest obstacle in his race to take over Eastern Europe. On the other hand, if she once started being scared of Charles... 'Have something to eat and you'll make me feel better,' she went on provocatively. 'I went to all this trouble to bring something for you—it's simple good management to show your appreciation. When a member of staff goes out of her way to do something helpful you should show you appreciate the initiative. It's good for staff morale.' It occurred to her that she suddenly felt wide awake— wonderful what arguing with Charles did to sweep away the cobwebs. The spark of temper in his eyes showed he knew she was baiting him. 'I'll have something if it will hurry you up finishing your own breakfast and getting on with work,' he said. He put a couple of croissants on a plate and took one of the cups of coffee. Barbara swivelled in the big leather chair. Around and around. 'What a marvellous chair,' she remarked on her fourth time around. 'Do you ever do this?' 'No,' said Charles. 'Too busy,' said Barbara, rotating again. 'Too important. Things to do, people to see. Got to set a good example for the staff.'

She put a foot down to stop the chair so that it faced the window. It was only seven-thirty, and the street was still fairly empty—but people were coming down it in ones and twos, a briefcase in one hand, a gym bag in the other, and all these early risers were disappearing through the doors of the Mallory Corporation building. No doubt the effect of Mr Mallory's good example. There was something depressing about it.'Dictations to dictate,' she added flippantly. She gave the wall a kick with her foot to start the chair around again. It swivelled perhaps three inches, before coming to an abrupt stop. Barbara found that she was now looking up into the thunderous face of the good example to his staff. She was about to protest indignantly when the Great Motivator took hold of her arms and pulled her roughly to her feet. 'Don't you think it's about time you grew up?' Charles was speaking through clenched teeth. She must have hit a sore spot. Well, it was good to know there was a chink in his armour. 'I am grown up,' said Barbara. 'I don't personally call not swivelling in chairs the benchmark of maturity—' 'Neither do I,' Charles agreed drily. 'I was thinking of a few other things, such as doing something with the talents you've been throwing away ever since I've known you. You should have people to see and things to do yourself. You should have a company of your own, damn it. You could do anything you want—' 'I was doing exactly what I wanted before you interfered,' said Barbara breathlessly. He was still holding her arms; the brilliant eyes blazed down into hers. Unbidden, the thought came to her that he might have held her just so if he'd meant to kiss her. It was something she'd imagined about five thousand times, at a conservative estimate, and this was as close as she was ever likely to get: Charles glaring down at her for not wearing shoulder pads and running a boardroom. A sardonic eyebrow shot up. 'The ambition takes my breath away.'

Her eyes fell to the firm, sensuous mouth, now curved in something uncomfortably like contempt. What would happen if she kissed him instead? At least she'd know what it was like... 'I don't know why you're complaining,' she said, dragging her eyes back to meet his. 'I thought you needed a multilingual secretary. Where would you be if I weren't?' 'Struggling along somehow, I imagine.' He shook her impatiently. 'We both know you've a good mind. I don't underestimate myself and, unless yours has mysteriously deteriorated since the age of eleven, I'd say yours is as good as mine. What do you expect me to think when I see someone as good as I am making silly jokes and swinging in my chair like a pretty fool with straw for a brain? Do you think it makes it better that you're not a man? You should be ashamed of yourself.' Barbara stared into his eyes. How beautiful they were— the green iris rimmed with black, the lashes thick and long, and then above, the black slash of brow... She zeroed in on the essential element in the lecture. 'Do you really think I'm pretty?' she asked. Charles ground his teeth. He dropped his hands from her arms in disgust. 'This is a waste of time. I've got work to do. Forget I said anything. Do whatever you want with your life as long as it includes typing up dictation for an hour before the meeting.' 'Yesterday you said I was beautiful,' said Barbara. 'Did you mean it?' He flicked her a glance. 'Yes,' he said. 'Can we get back to work?' 'But,' said Barbara. 'But what?' 'Nothing,' said Barbara. She had the feeling that if she said anything she would say something so stupid it would permanently destroy his flattering estimate of her intelligence. She could almost hear herself blurting out, 'If I

start my own company will you kiss me?' Bad idea. 'If I win a Nobel prize, I mean just supposing, would you maybe just for one night—?' No. No. No. It was getting up so early that had thrown her off balance. There was something about this queer inhuman hour that did something to your inhibitions. Maybe it was because it all seemed so dreamlike. She dreamed about Charles sometimes, and he was always much nicer in her dreams than he was in real life, so that in the small hours of the morning—around eight, say—Charles would kiss her or she would kiss Charles and she would try as hard as she could not to wake up. He ejected a tape from the recorder and handed it to her. 'Get started on this and see how far you get. I've just given the names and the gist. You can flesh out the letters and I'll vet them when you're done.' This was the genuine Mallory mode. For some reason it was only now that he'd reverted to type that she was struck by how completely out of character his outburst had been. At the time it had seemed just another case of Charles ordering people around. But... She stared down at him, ignoring the tape in the peremptorily outstretched hand. Since when had Charles ever been interested in anyone but himself? At seventeen he'd been self-centred and lazy; now he was self-centred and driven. And since when had he been so completely inconsistent? Last week she'd just been a cog he wanted in his machine, and he'd gone about getting it with his usual ruthlessness. Yesterday he'd been just the same. Now it seemed no sooner had he got her than he was telling her ruthlessly that she was wasting her life as a humble cog. What was going on? She'd once had a dream in which it turned out that Charles had been in love with her all along. Unfortunately, she'd never been able to have it again, and it didn't look as though life was going to improve on the dream—it wasn't exactly likely that Charles, who was confidence personified, would keep his

feelings to himself. But in that case... Well, was it just something left over from his days as honorary older brother? 'Do you think I should start a company?' Barbara asked. He glanced up at her, his expression unreadable. 'Do whatever you like.' 'Do you think I could?' she asked. 'Considering that you say you get bored with anything that lasts more than a month, I'd say almost certainly not.' Barbara felt that she was somehow not getting to the bottom of this, but she didn't know what else to ask. She took the tape from his hand; as her fingers brushed his an electric shock seemed to travel from his fingers to hers and up her arm. She snatched her hand away, watching him covertly to see if he'd noticed anything—or perhaps felt it too. But Charles was already slotting a new tape into the recorder. She took the cardboard tray, with its one remaining coffee and a few stray pastries, out to her desk and turned on the computer. None of the other secretaries on the floor were in yet, but more people were turning up with briefcases and the ubiquitous gym bags. Some of them seemed to be in fairly good shape, but none seemed to have emerged bristling with energy like Charles. In fact, Barbara thought, some of them looked almost haggard. Charles drove people hard, she knew, and she knew it often had the effect of galvanising them to achieve things they couldn't have otherwise. But should they really all look so tired? Her forehead creased in a slight frown. Soon she'd forgotten the problem, however, and was deep into turning Charles's cryptic comments into courteous, businesslike letters.

CHAPTER FIVE TWENTY Eastern European businessmen sat around a large conference table, making important-looking notes on yellow pads. Sometimes one would say something in German, and someone else who was lucky enough not to know the language would give Miss Woodward a winning smile and ask her to translate. 'It will be easier if you sit beside me, yes?' he would say, and nineteen envious pairs of eyes would follow the dazzling redhead as she made her way around the table. Well, he'd be envious too if he didn't know her better, Charles thought wryly, watching Barbara slip into a chair with a charming smile. In fact, if he didn't know her better he'd definitely want to know her better, he thought, his eyes lingering, in spite of himself, on the vivid face. Just as well he knew what an obstinate, crossgrained, exasperating— He remembered suddenly that he'd as good as held her in his arms that morning. He might as well have kissed her for all the good talking had done. He saw in his mind's eye the sleep-drenched blue eyes, the soft, full mouth, and in his imagination his head bent and— No. Charles brought his imagination under control with an effort. He couldn't afford to think that way. The meeting was actually going well. Now that Barbara was there at least they weren't glaring at each other with the look that said, I have no idea what you're talking about but I don't care because I don't like you. He needed a permanent secretary. He was about to pay a lot of money to get Barbara to keep the oils wheeled for the next year. He couldn't afford to even think about jeopardising that by even thinking about what it might be like to... With more effort he brought his imagination under control again. Another speaker started talking in English. The man to Charles's left directed a charming, helpless smile at Miss Woodward and asked her to translate. The nineteen envious pairs of eyes followed Barbara as she walked back around the table and took a seat between Mallory and the man who was lucky enough not to know English. Charles suppressed a smile as Barbara bent towards the visitor and murmured something in the visitor's language of choice.

She should really stop wasting her talents one of these days, he thought. He should have another talk with her about that, he thought, and remembered again his last talk with her, about wasting her talents, and remembered that he couldn't afford to think that way. 'Well, I think we've reached an agreement in principle,' he said. 'Let's move on to the next question.' Barbara translated in a low voice for the man beside her. The meeting didn't seem to be going too badly, she thought. It was hard to stay on top of everything because as well as translating she was also trying to take notes, and as well as trying to take notes she was also trying not to notice Charles. Well, she thought she was doing all right with two out of the three. Part of her mind was taken up with turning English into serviceable German, part was engaged in the fraught task of transcribing the rather heated discussions and part watched Charles, effortlessly dominating the room. Her confrontation with him that morning seemed to have made her even more acutely aware of him. In spite of herself, her eyes were drawn to the hard, clean line of his jaw, the fierce nose, the eyes as bracing as cold seawater. What it would be like to go through a year of this she couldn't imagine. On the other hand, she reminded herself, she had permission to start work at nine. She wouldn't be seeing Charles alone at a time when they should really both have been in bed. She would just have to avoid seeing him at odd hours, and maybe everything would be all right.

A week went by in which Barbara thought she could follow this resolution. Charles continued to come in at a time which was really late the previous day and he usually left around nine for a dinner date. Barbara came in at nine and stayed until ten or eleven or twelve, and she kept meticulous records of every extra second of her overtime. During the day there was so much work she was able to keep her mind off handsome, horrible Charles for five or

even ten minutes at a time. He didn't make any more comments on her looks. He didn't tell her to start a company. Everything was going to be just fine. But nothing could ever be fine around Charles for long. As well as making an assault on Eastern Europe, the company was still expanding aggressively within the UK. It was making a bid to develop a highly dedicated version of Mallory software for one of the biggest corporations in the country, along with a comprehensive set of training materials, and the bid had been delegated to one of Charles's brilliant, hard-working subordinates. Mike Carlin was also in charge of developing potential Polish clients, a brief which had turned out to be bigger than they'd expected. On Monday afternoon Charles called him in to check progress. Barbara sat, taking notes. Mike looked hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, but Charles didn't seem to notice anything. He kept pelting him with questions which the younger man answered somehow. Finally Charles said, 'Well, everything seems to be going in the right direction. I don't need to tell you that time is of the essence.' He grinned. 'Speaking of which, Barrett have just called to say they want to move things up by two weeks. It should still leave plenty of time for fine- tuning, but you'll need to get a move on. How's the bid coming along?' Mike looked so tired he couldn't really have looked worse, but Barbara could have sworn he turned pale. He stammered, 'Well, it's getting there.' 'Getting pretty close to the wire now,' said Charles. 'I'd like to see what you've got so far.' 'It's...it's...it's in half a dozen different pieces. You can't really get an idea—' 'Well, whatever you have,' said Charles. 'Look, I'll have your secretary bring the stuff up.' He picked up a phone and dialled an extension.

'Mallory here. Look, could you dig out the Barrett files and bring them up? Mike's going to walk me through them. The Barrett file. Barrett. That's right, and don't take all day, will you? Thanks.' He hung up and began to take Mike over some points relating to the Polish clients. About fifteen minutes later a secretary came into the room, carrying a single slim file. 'I'm afraid this is all I could find,' she said apologetically. Charles took it and leafed through. It was just a few sketches of proposals. 'This must be the preliminary file,' he said impatiently. 'I want the more recent stuff. Mike, why don't you bring it up for me?' Barbara saw the look of desperation on Mike's face. Impulsively she said, 'I haven't sent it back down yet, Charles. Sorry, I hadn't quite realised what you were talking about.' Both men stared at her blankly. 'I did a couple of extended assignments at Barrett as a temp,' Barbara said fluently. 'They have some pretty rigid ideas of how they like things done. Mr Carlin gave me his drafts, and while they looked attractive in themselves there were some things which wouldn't go down well with their head of services—and at the end of the day that's who will probably have the deciding vote. I said I'd go through and make suggestions.' 'Well, let me see what you've got,' said Charles. 'Don't be absurd,' Barbara said firmly, while Mike and his secretary stared at her in awe. 'You'll have to see them anyway after my suggestions have been processed; there's absolutely no point in wasting time looking at them twice. You're much better off looking at something that has the responses to company policy in place—otherwise you could end up just changing things that would change anyway.'

'Tomorrow, then,' said Charles. 'They'll be ready Friday,' said Barbara. 'I'd like to see what you've got tomorrow,' said Charles. 'I'll be happy to see what I can do,' Barbara said pleasantly. 'I take it you won't be needing me for the rest of the day.' 'I can't possibly spare you for the rest of the day,' said Charles. 'I've got a stack of things that got put to one side because of this meeting which have got to go out today.' 'Fine,' said Barbara. 'I'll get the Barrett proposal to you on Friday, then.' She smiled at him angelically, then added, 'I have a few questions for Mr Carlin so I'll just follow him down to his office, if that's convenient.' She raised an eyebrow at the hapless Mike, who nodded weakly. Downstairs, with his door closed, he collapsed at his desk and held his head in his hands. 'Thanks for coming to my rescue,' he said, 'but he'll have to know sooner or later. There's no way I can do it in time. Better he should know now...' Barbara had opened the slim folder. There were a few sheets of paper, not much more than random jottings. 'Hasn't the company made any other bids?' she asked. 'Sure, but nothing this size, and anyway there just isn't the time. If I dropped all the Polish stuff and did this I'd just end up dropping all the balls.' He closed his eyes, succumbing for a moment to the tiredness which had been sapping his strength for weeks. 'You've got some material from Barrett, presumably?' said Barbara, ignoring his defeatism.

'Yes, but you don't seem to understand.' His voice sharpened at last in exasperation. 'There simply isn't the time—' 'For you to do it,' said Barbara. 'Of course I understand that. But it's not too late for me.' She smiled at him encouragingly. 'I really did work for them once, you know. I think I know how to package it so they'll like it. I'll throw together a rough draft. Once he's got that you can just tell him you think the Polish side needs a hundred per cent attention. Tell him the groundwork's been done on Barrett and he should get somebody else to polish it up.' He looked at her dully. 'Pass off your work as mine?' he said. 'I couldn't do that.' Barbara shrugged. 'You know you do good work,' she said. 'Next time you'll stand up to Charles, instead of letting him give you more than you can reasonably handle. So in the long run the company's better off. Isn't that the main thing?' He frowned, drumming his fingers on the desk. 'I don't know...' he said. 'I know Mallory says you're brilliant, but—' 'He says what?' said Barbara. 'Have I got this wrong? He told me some story about the Vendler Morris report on the single currency...' His eyes closed briefly, then opened wearily again. 'Typical Vendler Morris fiasco. They kept putting people on it and then taking them off whenever a major client asked for them—whole thing a shambles, serial nervous breakdowns among the secretaries. Then they got in a temp who turned out to be some kind of crazy linguist with a head for numbers and was on the project, unlike their own staff, for three consecutive months...' Barbara suppressed a shudder. She'd been lured into the assignment with an iron-clad assurance that it would be for no more than three weeks. She'd gone into it with the plan of going off to Crete at the end of the three weeks. She'd been given one of the documents as a simple proofreading job, but had seen problems with the numbers and had started cleaning things up.

Before she knew it the three weeks had become four, then five, then six, and still Vendler Morris and the agency had insisted that if she could just stay 'one more week' they'd have everything under control. She hadn't realised Charles knew about it, but he'd developed some software for Vendler Morris a few years back—he must have heard about it then. Carlin looked at her sceptically. 'Well, we're not talking three months—we're talking a couple of days.' 'Yes,' said Barbara, 'but in this case I really do have some idea of what you're up against. At least it's worth a try.' He didn't really look convinced, just too tired to argue the point any longer. 'Well, if you're sure you don't mind...' 'I'll probably enjoy it,' Barbara said truthfully. She took the materials away with her, and for the first time since she'd started working for Charles she deliberately took a lunch-break away from her desk. Barbara went to the cafeteria and loaded her tray with a slice of chocolate cake, a slice of cherry cheesecake, a slice of peppermint white chocolate mousse cake and a cappuccino. There was nothing like dessert for stimulating the mental processes—unless it was three desserts. She went to a corner of the cafeteria and looked through the previous bids and the materials they'd been sent from Barrett. Then she closed the files and forced herself not to think about them. She let the information percolate through her mind while she finished the last of the cakes, and for the rest of the afternoon, while she rushed through six simultaneously top-priority jobs for Charles, she let the Mallory bids and the Barrett materials glare at each other deep in her subconscious, shouting, 'Mutually incompatible, hate at first sight.' Charles went off for a dinner date at nine. Barbara always knew the names of Charles's dates—they were scrawled on the pages of his desk diary in his bold, careless hand, and sometimes crossed out, too, with the same careless

hand. Tonight was Karina. As always, Barbara had to force herself not to form a mental image of the woman. She'd only end up tormenting herself, picturing the beautiful image in Charles's arms. As soon as Charles was out of the office Barbara whipped out her materials. Her desk was crowded with the word processor, letter trays, stationery drawers, Rolodex and other paraphernalia of secretarial existence—there was really no place to work. Luckily an office with plenty of work space had just been vacated. Charles had his own monumental desk, of course, and he also had a table for smaller meetings. The table, in Barbara's opinion, was just what the doctor ordered for this ailing project. She went into Charles's office, spread out her files and surveyed them glumly. The problem was that she was faced with not just two but three philosophies of business, the world and life. The philosophy of the Mallory Corporation was that ten thousand years of human evolution had been heading, with many a false turn and blind alley, for the last, greatest and most glorious monument to the human spirit—the computer. Hardware was lovely and software was lovelier and there was no problem that could not be solved by a combination of the two. The materials for previous bids daz-zled the reader with glossy coloured pages, bursting with tables and pie charts and imaginative templates, and apparently they'd been persuasive: Barbara gathered that the bids had been successful. The philosophy of Norman Barrett, seventy-two-year- old founder of the Barrett Corporation, was that a manual typewriter and a competent typist were all that any business really required to function efficiently. He was suspicious of gimmicks; he was suspicious of three-colour printing and glossy paper because the bottom line was that at the end of the day he was the one who'd be footing the bill for all that unnecessary folderol. The philosophy of the head of services at Barrett was in its way more progressive. The HOS did not want to go back to die Stone Age; up-to-date technology was, in his view, essential to the competitiveness of a business. The HOS, however, believed that a software package should be capable of

performing complex tasks, while at the same time removing all scope for initiative from the support staff actually using it. Secretaries should be like trains, speeding along predefined tracks of templates and macros and strictly forbidden to venture cross-country, exploring all the ingenious inventions of the Mallory whizkids. On the other hand, a bid should make clear that the ingenious inventions would be available to the select small number of personnel who could be trusted with them. It should also be visually appealing as a matter of pure professionalism. A bid was supposed to look impressive—it was the contractor's chance to show off its stuff, and if it didn't dazzle it couldn't be worth much. Barbara contemplated this intractable problem. It had been stewing away in her mind all afternoon, but it still looked intractable. Well, maybe she should let it percolate a little more. She strolled over to Charles's chair, sat down and kicked off. Around and around... Barbara believed firmly that the harder a problem was the less point there was in trying to force through a solution. You had to give it time to come to you. For two hours she revolved—sometimes clockwise, sometimes counterclockwise—giving a solution the chance to come to her. Of course, sometimes before the solution comes to you another problem turns up instead. At eleven she heard voices in the corridor outside. B 'Sorry to drag you back,' said Charles. 'There are a couple of things I need to look at.' 'That's all right,' said a woman's voice. 'I'd like to see your office.' 'Well, there's not much to see,' said Charles, mildly amused. That's what you think, thought Barbara. She seemed to have been turned to stone.

'Actually, I think I'll just visit the ladies' first,' said the woman. 'It's just around the corner,' said Charles. 'First right, then left, then just across by the service lift—' 'You can't miss it,' the woman said, laughing. 'I might have been able to follow all that if we hadn't finished the second bottle, Charles, but now I'm not even going to try. At least see me as far as first right.' Charles laughed. 'What's it worth to you?' 'What did you have in mind?' Charles laughed again. 'That would be telling. Come on, it's this way.' Barbara leapt to her feet. She darted to the table and hastily stacked up her materials. She couldn't risk leaving the room, but where could she go? The desk was open to the front—she couldn't hide there. She looked around wildly. There was a closet where Charles kept a spare suit, she remembered, but none of the wall panels had knobs, even when they were actually doors. You were just supposed to know which panel to press. She ran to the nearest panel and pressed what looked like an indentation where a knob should have been. It swung open, revealing a security camera. She heard footsteps in the corridor. No time to look longer. She squeezed into the narrow cupboard, closing the door behind her. The panel was opaque to the room, but from this side it was see-through. She saw Charles come into the room alone, stride across to a filing cabinet and pull out some documents. He leaned against the cabinet, leafing through the file. A few minutes later a woman came through the door to join him. Barbara gulped enviously. The woman was tall and slim, with impossibly long legs and a model's walk. Her hair was streaked blonde, her eyes were large and blue, she was immaculately made up and she wore a long black

jacket that was just fractionally shorter than the short, clinging black dress she wore under it. She crossed the room, slipping the jacket off her shoulders, and came to stand by his side. Charles seemed to be finding his file more gripping than the dazzling woman at his side. He flipped through a couple of pages more, then back to the front. After about two seconds the woman decided to take matters into her own hands. She put one hand on his opposite-shoulder, and kissed him full on the mouth. Exactly, thought Barbara. Why couldn't I do that? Why did I let him just go on and on about being a grown-up? Because, said a snide little inner voice, you had absolutely no reason to think he was interested. This woman, unlike you, at least got asked out to dinner. Charles put the file to one side. He put a hand on the woman's waist and began to kiss her with leisurely expertise. He didn't exactly look carried away on a blaze of passion, but he was obviously enjoying himself. If he hadn't been, Barbara thought acidly, he'd have gone back to the file. Barbara was beginning to feel rather sick. Of course, she'd always known about Charles's multitude of girlfriends; obviously this kind of thing, and quite a lot more besides, had always been going on off stage. But it was one thing to know it and another thing to see it. Seeing his mouth on another woman's mouth, seeing his hand move from her waist down over her hip to the top of her gleaming thigh, Barbara felt as though someone had kicked her in the stomach. I'll just stop watching, she thought at last. I shouldn't be watching anyway, so I'll stop. She shut her eyes, screwing them tight. Why couldn't she get over it? she thought despairingly. It wasn't even as if she liked him. But every time she saw him again it was the same—she felt as if a bolt of lightning had nailed

her to the spot, while he felt nothing at all. Was it always going to be like this? Was she always going to drift through life with nothing she cared about—no job that mattered, no one to love? Barbara gritted her teeth. Would it be different if she slept with him? She'd heard Charles make chilling comments on more than one occasion about some girl he'd chased and then dropped. Once she'd even shouted at him for being so selfish, and he'd only shrugged. 'It's not deliberate,' he'd said. 'You don't know you'll go off her when you're crazy about her, but once it's happened it's happened, so what's the use of pretending?' Well, maybe she could actually go off Charles and get on with her life. It wasn't as if he was that particular, after all. He'd said she was beautiful. How hard could it be to seduce him? She could seduce Charles, go off him and find someone who wasn't an arrogant swine to fall in love with. Barbara's eyes were still screwed shut. In spite of all her efforts to distract herself, she felt as if all her attention was still directed towards the filing cabinet. She couldn't hear much. Who knew what they were getting up to? I could seduce him, she told herself, but she didn't believe it. Maybe if she made the first move Charles would respond. Safe in a closet, it seemed perfectly possible that she might actually make the move. But faced with the real Charles it would be a different matter. The very fact that she was so attracted to him would make it impossible. She'd look up into his eyes, and they'd be looking mockingly down at her, and her nerve would desert her. Barbara opened her eyes. The room was empty. The file was gone. If it hadn't been for the drawer of the filing cabinet, just an inch ajar, she'd have thought she'd imagined the whole thing. She was about to burst back out into fresh air when she realised they might be anywhere. She waited another fifteen minutes to be on the safe side, but no one came into the office. She stumbled out of the security closet, back to the table, and set out again her materials. Now, suddenly, the solution came to her.

What they should aim at, she decided, was an idiot- proof core, something self-explanatory for the most essential day-to-day functions. Something so simple it didn't need training. Something a temp just in for the day could use. Something as simple as a typewriter and a stack of pre-printed forms. The core would be presented in sober, businesslike black and white, and it could have a title like 'Simple as a Typewriter'. Then there could be another section which showed all the snazzy options available for dazzling Barrett clients. The high-impact glossy colour would be kept for a section where it wasn't just selling the product to Barrett, but showing Barrett how it would be selling itself to someone else. It could be called 'Value for Money' to appease Mr Barrett—because, in fact, all the facilities would be the standard options on Mallory software, things Barrett wouldn't have to pay extra for. Barbara sat down with the sample bids and began scrawling all over them. She covered a blank sheet of paper with balloons and arrows. She tore pages out of the samples and rearranged them. She tore pages out of the Barrett materials and interleaved them with the others. When she was satisfied with what she'd got she went out to her computer. Some of the material she needed was actually on the company network. She called up the files she needed and made copies. Then she got to work. She was tired, but she kept fuelling her excitement with the idea in a rather frenzied way to keep her mind off Charles. By four in the morning she had a preliminary draft in place.

CHAPTER SIX 'WE ' LL be going to Prague tomorrow. Get us on a flight that gets us there by two, business class is fine, four nights at a hotel,' said Charles. It was eight o'clock on Wednesday night. Barbara frowned. She loved Charles, but she didn't think the universe revolved around him. The last thing he needed, in her opinion, was someone to make him think his drive and single-mindedness and ability to shut out other people gave him a moral right to be spared inconvenience. Unfortunately for the improvement of Charles's character, the world—or at least the female half—thought otherwise. If she suggested to the other women in the office that a complaint might once in a while be in order, the response was always, 'Oh, no, I couldn't bother Mr Mallory!' A string of dazzlingly beautiful women came to the office and waited, sometimes for as long as an hour, to be taken out to dinner by Charles. None of them ever reproached him for being late or walked out after five minutes, the way Barbara would have done. Or they'd call on the phone to find out why he was late, and apparently wait for hours in restaurants he'd assigned as rendezvous. As far as Barbara was concerned, the only thing that would have made the wait worthwhile would have been the chance to throw soup at the man who'd made it go cold, but Charles never seemed to get his comeuppance. Everyone seemed to think he was doing them a favour by showing up at all. It was time someone taught him a lesson. 'Please,' said Barbara. 'And see if you can turn these around so I can work on them on the plane.' He thrust a mass of scrawled papers across the desk. 'Please,' said Barbara.

'Make sure you bring the laptop—no, make that two. I'll give you my revisions so you can get on with them on the plane but I'll be wanting some of the data files myself.' 'What's the magic word?' said Barbara. Charles scowled. 'I thought I was making it worth your while to put up with my manners. For five per cent of Mallorin I'd have thought you could live without the magic word.' Barbara looked him straight in the eye. 'I can,' she said. 'And, yes, you're making it worth my while. But you're just as rude to everyone else—you're not paying them over the odds.' 'I haven't heard any complaints,' he said with a shrug. 'No,' agreed Barbara pleasantly. 'But then you never listen to anybody except yourself, so it's hardly surprising.' A sardonic black eyebrow shot up over one brilliant green eye. 'I must be out of my mind,' he remarked. 'London, Secretary Capital of the World, and I deliberately shell out hundreds of thousands of pounds for one who can't take a letter without trying to reform my character into the bargain. It's sweet of you to go to all this trouble, Barbara, but just give it up as a bad job, would you?' Barbara knew the careless, charming smile she could expect if she gave in; she also knew she wanted the fleeting warmth of that indifferent caress just as much as all the others who went tiptoeing around so as not to bother Mr Mallory. Well, too bad. 'No,' she said flatly. She ran her hands through her hair in exasperation untilit stood up in an excitable red mass over her crackling blue eyes. 'You can't do this, Charles,' she said impatiently. 'You've got first-rate people working here, but they're not doing a first-rate job because whenever

they run into problems the first thing they think is they mustn't bother you. What on earth is the point of expanding into Eastern Europe when you can't even get this place working properly?' 'Something your wealth of experience has naturally qualified you to advise on,' he said quizzically. Barbara met his eyes unsmilingly. 'I don't need a wealth of experience,' she said. 'I've been here a couple of weeks and I know more about the place than you do.' 'Well, you always were a quick study,' he said coolly. 'At least where my business was concerned. Would you mind making those reservations before the travel agents close?' Barbara bit her lip. She punched in the numbers from memory. A recorded voice told her she was in a queue, then gave way to Handel's Water Music in an unusual arrangement for bagpipes. They were lucky to have found an agency that stayed open late for business clients, but she could wish it was one with a different taste in music. 'You know what I'm like,' she said. 'If you wanted someone to say "Yes, Charles", "Of course, Charles", "You're so wonderful, Charles", you could have had anyone else on the planet. If you were hoping I'd join the chorus you're wasting your time and money.' He was about to reply when the travel agent came on the line. Barbara made the necessary arrangements and hung up. 'You'll have these for tomorrow,' she said, picking up his mass of papers and turning back to the computer dismissively. She sensed, rather than saw, that Charles was still standing by her desk. She heard him pick up the phone, key in a number and wait. A few seconds went by. 'Julia?' said Charles. 'Charles here. I hate to do this, but a crisis has come up and it doesn't look as if I'll be able to get away. Can

we leave it till I get back from Prague? Should be some time next week... You're a darling. Bye.' He put down the receiver. 'Right, that's that taken care of,' he said coolly. 'Leave that for now, Barbara. Let's go and have dinner and get this sorted out.' Barbara whirled around on her chair. 'What?' she exclaimed furiously. 'You actually, blatantly, shamelessly, gratuitously stand somebody up and then you have the nerve to expect me to have dinner with you instead? How dare you?' Charles flicked up an eyebrow in surprise. 'Friend of yours?' Barbara searched, briefly, for words, and decided that the entire 'Teach Yourself series from Albanian to Zulu could not do justice to the occasion. Her hand flew up before she could stop herself and there was a sharp, satisfying crack as her open palm connected with his cheek. She dropped her hand and stared at him defiantly. She knew she should say she was sorry—after all, it was completely out of line—but it was something she'd been wanting to do for years. Someone should have done it years ago. His skin had gone first white and then red under the blow, and that was satisfying, too. The look in his eyes wasn't quite so satisfying. There was anger there—well, that was only to be expected. More worrying, there was speculation. 'I thought you wanted me to do my own dirty work,' he said. 'How can you, Charles?' Barbara glared at him. 'Don't you ever think of anyone but yourself? Just because you happened to think of something you'd rather be doing, you think—'

She was interrupted, infuriatingly, by a howl of laughter. The green eyes sparkled and he looked suddenly very much younger. 'Barbara, darling,' he said, grinning, 'if you think I'd rather have dinner with the one woman on the planet who won't say "Yes, Charles", "Of course, Charles", "You're so wonderful, Charles", the one woman who won't give me the time of day, let alone a kiss goodnight... I thought you thought this was important. The next week is going to be pretty frenetic so if there's something we need to talk about we should talk about it now. Anyway, it was only a casual arrangement with Julia. I didn't realise I needed to clear cancelling with you or I'd have explained.' His eyes were speculative again. 'You say it was casual,' Barbara protested. 'As far as I can see, all that means is you felt you could change plans at the last moment. How do you know she looked at it that way?' He shrugged. 'Because it's a game for grown-ups, darling. I know you don't play it. You'll just have to take my word for it that people who do know the rules.' 'Which you make up as you go along,' said Barbara. 'What do they do—ask to be put on the mailing list for updates?' Charles gave her a maddening, indulgent smile. He took her coat off the coat-rack. Barbara hesitated. If she was going to have to go to Prague the next day this was going to cut into the time she needed for the Barrett presentation. She'd only got a preliminary draft so far; she was really going to have to push it if tonight was the last night she'd have to work on it. Besides, Charles had behaved abominably. She shouldn't be rewarding him. On the other hand, this was a golden opportunity to show him some of the problems thrown up by his style of management. And when would she ever again get to have dinner with him? She compromised by continuing to argue.

'And how do you know I don't play the game, anyway?' she added indignantly. She stalked around the desk and was about to snatch her coat when he held it for her to slip on. Reluctantly she slid her arms into the sleeves, standing just inside his arms. For just a moment his hands fastened on her arms, and then she was free. He was looking down at her with an odd, rueful smile that sat strangely on a face normally so hard. 'Because you haven't changed since you were eleven,' he said. Barbara could feel her anger melting away in spite of herself at that quizzical, almost affectionate look. Well, knowing Charles, he knew exactly what he was doing. She scowled at him. 'How would you know?' she said pointedly. 'I don't think you want to know,' he said, his mouth quirking up in another of those easy, charming smiles. 'Let's just say you still say exactly what you think. First rule of the game is not to give anything away—' 'Unless you can wrong-foot someone,' said Barbara. Her dark blue eyes met his defiantly. 'I don't like that rule. It doesn't mean I'm completely inexperienced.' 'Does that mean I can kiss you goodnight after all?' His eyes gleamed. 'I can hardly wait.' Her eyes fell involuntarily. 'If we're going to this restaurant, let's go,' she said brusquely. 'I have a lot to do.' Half an hour later they sat in a small alcove, sheltered by orchids and a Madagascar palm, in a restaurant so expensive there were no prices on the menu. 'I should make you go halves,' Charles said, grinning, taking in Barbara's appalled look at the menu. 'Considering what I'm paying you. But I'll be nice. You're about to tear a strip out of me, aren't you, for driving people too hard? Just remember I'm not always a complete tyrant.'For the first time Barbara forgot to be self-conscious. 'It has nothing to do with that,' she said.

'You set this example of being a kind of superman and everybody thinks they have to be, too. You tell people to do impossible things and they think they have to do them or be complete failures.' Charles shrugged. 'You have to stretch people to get results.' Barbara placed her order without even thinking of the price. 'You stretch them too far,' she said. 'They're all tired. When people are tired they make stupid mistakes. They can't think far ahead because they're always struggling just to do the latest impossible thing.' 'It seems to have worked so far,' he pointed out. 'Seems,' said Barbara. She took a sip of wine. The candlelight gleamed on the copper of her hair. 'You forget we're working to a tight schedule,' said Charles. 'We don't have a lot of time to get this up and running. We've got to work fast.' The candlelight threw his hawk-like features into sharp relief. Barbara forced herself to talk on, explaining all the things she'd noticed since her arrival. Charles listened more patiently than she'd expected, but she couldn't persuade herself he was doing more than humouring her. At last, halfway through the meal, he smiled. 'Well, you may have a point, but we do have a deal to swing. People are going to have to go on doing the impossible for a good while yet.' 'Speaking of which,' said Barbara, 'I've got a fair amount left to do on the Barrett presentation. Do you really need me to come with you?' 'Yes,' said Charles. 'You're just doing some formatting, aren't you? Leave whatever you've got on my desk in the morning. I'll have a quick look at it before we go, then I'll hand it over to Mike to finalise.' Barbara's heart sank. Could she really get the presentation ready in time? She had been pretty happy with it, but at the thought of Charles casting a

cold eye over something that was essentially all her work she suddenly thought of all its weak points. Still, there was nothing she could do. 'All right,' she said reluctantly. Charles took a sip of wine, surveying her thoughtfully over the rim of the glass. 'You really are beautiful, you know.' Barbara looked at him coolly. 'First rule of the game— don't say what you really think,' she reminded him. 'Who said I was playing the game?' he said softly. There was a little quirk to his mouth which dared her to go on. 'You're always playing some game or other,' Barbara said. Charles laughed. 'True enough,' he admitted disconcertingly. He grinned at her. 'You know, the funny thing is, I can't imagine your boyfriends at all. What type of man do you go for?' For a moment Barbara was struck dumb. She stared at the emerald-green eyes, the quirking smile, as if her mouth might let the truth out against her will. At last she said, with an effort, 'Oh, I don't have a particular type.' 'Play the field, do you?' His eyes mocked her. 'Are you any better than I am at letting them down lightly?' 'I could hardly be worse,' Barbara said tartly. Charles gave a shout of laughter. He realised, with a faint sense of shock, that he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed a dinner so much. Enjoyed—that was the wrong word. He'd complained about her habit of disagreeing with everything he said, but the fact was that he felt alive in a way that he never did with his usual dates. Julia would have agreed with everything he said, and he'd have known all along that she was his for the asking. Whereas Barbara... He remembered the way she'd slapped him across the face with the full force of her arm and laughed again.

Barbara tried to bring the conversation back to the company, but each time Charles headed her off. At last she said, 'Well, if you don't want to talk about it you don't have to. I'd better get back to the office.' Charles shook his head. 'I mustn't drive you too hard,' he said. 'I'll take you home.' 'I'd rather you didn't,' said Barbara. 'If you do I'll just have to come in early tomorrow morning. It's easier to stay up late.' 'Fair enough. Well, maybe I'll come in too. This thing from Prague blew up rather suddenly; there are some things I might as well deal with.' Barbara couldn't think of any way to argue him out of this. Well, with any luck he wouldn't look at what she was doing. Charles drove back to the office, parked in the underground car park and turned off the engine. He glanced at Barbara. 'You know, it's probably just as well we came back,' he said. 'If I'd dropped you off at home I might have forgotten you were my secretary and asked to come in.' 'I'm not just a secretary, I'm a shareholder,' Barbara said pertly. 'And there's no rule against sleeping with shareholders. On the other hand, I am only a five per cent shareholder, and I do so much overtime I must be a hundred and fifty per cent secretary, so maybe we'd better not go all the way.' It was almost dark in the car. If she'd been able to see him she probably wouldn't have said it. There was a moment of silence. Then he said, 'Barbara, darling, if anyone else had said that to me I'd know how to take it, but with you I'm not so sure.' There was a laugh in his voice. 'If I'm reading this wrong, though, could you just remember you've already slapped me once tonight?' His head bent towards her, and then his mouth was on hers.

Barbara melted against him with a little sigh. She would probably regret this tomorrow. She would probably regret it as soon as it was over. Because as soon as it was over it would be over, and Charles would immediately start treating her like all his other conquests—in other words, like dirt. But it wasn't over yet, and it was wonderful. Whatever happened, at least he had kissed her once outside her dreams, and it was even better than all the times she'd dreamed it. Maybe, knowing what it was like, she could at least dream it better. It was just the way she'd expected—like an Irish coffee with the coffee three times too strong, four times the whisky and lashings and lashings of sugar—something smooth and sweet, with a kick like a mule. She opened her mouth wider to taste him better, hoping he wouldn't stop kissing and start despising her too soon. He had kissed her quite lightly at first, so maybe he really hadn't been sure what she'd meant, but as soon as she responded he began kissing her more passionately. It seemed to her that he was actually showing a lot more enthusiasm than he had for the woman in his office two nights before—well, of course, the woman had had a file to compete with. Barbara put one hand behind his head, her fingers through his close-cropped hair. Now all her life she would know what it felt like to run her fingers through his hair. He laughed deep in his throat, raising his head. 'Just how far can you go with a five per cent shareholder, Barbara?' he murmured beside her ear. She turned her head so that her mouth found his again. Any minute now he was going to decide it was over and he'd gone off her, insofar as you could talk of going off when there'd never been anything really on. His mouthwas so soft, yet so firm. Oh, and he must have shaved again before going to dinner, because his skin was so lovely and silky smooth. She put the palm of her hand up to feel it, and now all her life she would know what it felt like to stroke his cheek. The tip of his tongue grazed the inside of her lips. She put the tip of her own tongue up to meet it, teasing it. He laughed again in his throat. 'Barbara,' he said against her mouth, his lips pressing against hers on the 'B', his breath mingling with hers on the 'r'. She had one hand on the back of his head, the

other on his cheek; she could hold him against her mouth and never let him go... His tongue thrust deeper into her mouth, and a jolt like an electric shock ran through her. This was a lot further than she'd ever gone with any of the men who'd tried to kiss her, only to be told she didn't feel that way about them. They hadn't, of course, been told that she felt that way about a selfish, arrogant egotist next to whom they had all the sex appeal of a wet sock. What was she supposed to do? she wondered. If she just sat there, doing nothing, he would think she was completely inexperienced and be even more conceited and self- satisfied than he was anyway. Too bad she'd closed her eyes so soon the other night—maybe she could have picked up some ideas. Everyone always said ice-cream ads were full of sexual innuendo—maybe she should have paid closer attention to the ice-cream ads. Suddenly the door beside her was thrown open. Charles pulled his head away and threw open the door on his own side. He got out of the car and slammed the door. Barbara stared after him, dazed. What on earth had she done wrong? Charles was standing by her door. He was breathing hard. 'Come on, Five Per Cent,' he said softly. 'I can't kiss you properly with a gearshift in the way.' He took her hand and pulled her roughly to her feet, closing the door behind her. Barbara leaned back against the car. Now that they were out of the car she could see him better—see the green eyes, glittering under the black slash of brow, the mouth still moist with her kisses, the hair rumpled where she'd run her fingers through it. The only thing she could think was that at least it wasn't over. She stared up at him, her eyes enormous dark blue pools. He bent his head, and suddenly their mouths were locked together again. She put her arms around his neck; his tongue was in her mouth again, his hips hard up against hers. Her body melted against his; she couldn't think any more about what she should do—there was nothing in the world except

his devouring mouth, his hard, muscular body and the sound of her pulse, beating in her ears. He was straddling her, making his desire for her aggressively clear, and that was exhilarating, too. Even if he didn't love her, at the physical level—at least at this moment—he wanted her as much as she wanted him. When sanity returned she knew she'd remember that Charles had never been exactly choosy—but she didn't have to be sane just yet. Barbara completely lost track of time. It could have been five minutes or five hours later that he lifted his head. 'Bloody hell,' said Charles. 'What?' said Barbara in a ragged voice. Her heart was pounding like a sledgehammer. 'You know damned well what.' A muscle twitched in his cheek. He ran one hand lightly over the glossy dark copper hair. 'Fire beneath the fire,' he said softly. 'But of all the times to find out...' Barbara stared up at him. His eyes were a green so intense they seemed to glow in the dark, and that glowing intensity had been ignited by her.'I can't even say "Where have you been all my life?'" he said. He closed his eyes for a moment, then forced himself to stand back. The eyes opened on a look of brilliant mockery. 'You've been buzzing around like a gadfly all my life.' He raised an eyebrow. 'You've been telling me what a selfish, arrogant swine I am every time you got the chance. If you were going to fraternise with the enemy, Barbara, did you have to pick this of all damnable times?' 'I didn't pick the time,' Barbara said breathlessly. 'You never said you wanted to kiss me before.' 'Even my arrogance has limits, Barbara,' he said drily. She could see his chest rising and falling; his breath must be coming quickly still, just as hers was. 'Does that mean you'd have let me if I had?' Barbara swallowed. 'I might have,' she said, with a desperate attempt at nonchalance. 'Just to see what all the fuss was about.' 'And what's the verdict?' There was lazy mockery in his eyes.

She would have liked to say something dismissive, but what was the point? He could see for himself that she hadn't thought it was overrated. 'It was lovely,' she said simply. Her eyes dropped to his mouth with frank appreciation. Charles swore softly under his breath. Then he laughed. 'For someone who doesn't like the first rule of the game, you don't seem to do too badly for yourself,' he said. 'Come on, Five Per Cent, let's get back upstairs. We've got work to do.'

CHAPTER SEVEN CHARLES returned to his office, leaving Barbara at her word processor. There were at least five things to do that had top priority, but for a moment he sat in the leather chair and swung round to face out into the dark. His own face stared sardonically back at him, reflected in the glass. His pulse was still racing. He'd been every kind of fool to let it go so far—if the Perfect Secretary had belted him one and then resigned and gone off to Sardinia he'd have had only himself to blame—but he was only flesh and blood after all. He remembered the softness of her mouth under his, the unexpected ferocity of her response—he'd have to have been a plaster saint not to go on. In fact, thinking back, he was amazed by his restraint. He gritted his teeth, trying not to think back. Work, he thought. I've got to work. There's work to be done. He swung the chair back to face the desk, pulled a few papers out of his briefcase and glared at them. For some reason Barbara had assumed it would be like working there during the day, when Charles was constantly throwing jobs at her. To her surprise he left her alone and got through work of his own. The morning deadline gave a new impetus to her attack on the Barrett presentation; she worked feverishly on the sections, tightening them and ironing out inconsistencies. She knew it was just supposed to be a rough draft, but knowing Charles would be looking at it made her nervous of every shortcoming. She printed the document out at three in the morning, put it in a binder and took it through to Charles's in-tray. He was looking through a file, but he glanced up as she came in. 'That's your Barrettised Barrett presentation? Terrific. I'll have a quick glance through it first thing in the morning. We don't have to leave for the airport till ten so it gives us a little time.' Barbara had been dreading his first response, but she couldn't help feeling a little miffed that he didn't want to look at it instantly. Still, it was his decision.

Charles stood up. 'Well, if that's all you've got, I'd better take you home,' he said. 'There's the typing you gave me just before we went out to dinner,' Barbara reminded him. 'There wasn't that much on the tapes—you can do it tomorrow before we leave.' He flicked up an eyebrow. 'Don't tell me you don't want me to take you home, Five Per Cent. I've been looking forward to it all night.' Barbara could feel herself turning hot then cold at the look in his eyes. 'Well, I'm certainly not standing around waiting for a night bus,' she said tartly. 'No, I can't let you do that,' he agreed, a smile tugging at his mouth, 'so I'll see you safe home.' He was silent for the whole drive home. Without any clue to his thoughts, Barbara was left to the turmoil of her own. Surely he wouldn't just drop her off after all that? Or would he? Would he assume she was expecting him to kiss her? Would he want to come in? He pulled up in front of her house and turned off the engine. Barbara opened the door on her side. 'Thank you for the lift,' she said politely. 'I'll see you to your door,' Charles said blandly. He got out of the car, came round to her side, and escorted her courteously to the house. Barbara didn't want to look as though she was expecting anything to happen; it would be so embarrassing if it didn't. She opened her bag and began rummaging nervously through it for her keys.

'Barbara,' Charles said softly, the ghost of laughter in his voice, 'what are you doing?' Barbara gave a nervous start. The bag slipped from her hand, doing a somersault through the air, spilling its contents in a graceful arc before collapsing face down on the ground. She knelt down to retrieve her possessions, but Charles was ahead of her. He'd dropped to one knee, upturned the errant bag, and was now methodically replacing its contents. At last the only item left on the ground was the elusive set of keys. Charles handed her the bag, picked up the keys and stood up. Barbara stood up beside him. 'Well, I really can't stay long,' he said, inserting a key in the door and turning the lock, 'but since you insist I'll come in for just a minute.' Barbara fought down a nervous giggle. He held the door open for her, followed her inside and shut it behind him. For a moment she stood beside him in the dark. She should turn on the light, but she couldn't move. It was as if there were a force field between them, something that would draw them irresistibly together the instant she stopped fighting it. Later she never knew whether she'd made a movement towards him. It just seemed that she stopped fighting it, and suddenly his arms were around her and he was kissing her ferociously. Her body seemed to melt into his. She felt as though her bones had turned to water. If he hadn't been holding her she would have fallen to the ground. She put her arms around his neck, anchoring herself to the one solid thing in the world. Much later his mouth left hers, and she heard his voice by her ear. 'I should go,' he said, his breath warm on her cheek. 'Yes, you should,' said Barbara.

'But I'm not going to,' he said, still with that ghost of a laugh in his voice. 'Come on, Barbara, show me how the other five per cent lives.' 'My flat's upstairs,' she said. 'There are stairs just in front of us, and my flat's upstairs.' The jittery travelogue seemed to have a life of its own. 'The house is divided into flats. I have a self-contained flat on the first floor.' His laugh caressed her. 'Well, I'm glad to have that straightened out. Let's have a look at this first-floor, self- contained flat, shall we?' 'Of course,' said Barbara. She started up the stairs, forgetting to turn on the light. She heard Charles behind her on the stairs. 'You've still got the keys,' she said breathlessly, waiting for him at the top. He'd kissed her twice. Three times if you counted inside and outside the car as two separate times. 'So I have,' said Charles, joining her at the top of the stairs. 'Which one is it?' He spread out the keys; her fingers brushed his as she selected one, sending an electric shock up her arm. How could just touching him do that? she thought despairingly. And why had no one else had that effect? She'd tried to go out with other men, tried to put him out of her mind, but how could you put someone out of your mind if kissing other men was as exciting as kissing the sofa? Charles slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. Barbara turned on the light and they went into the living-room of the small one-bedroomed flat where she'd been living for the past five years. The room was cluttered with books and there were a couple of family photos on the mantel, including a group picture from one Christmas because Charles was in it. Charles was walking up and down, his hands in his pockets. 'It's just the way I imagined it,' he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. Barbara smiled shyly. It was odd to see him in the light, looking just the way he always did, after that passionate kiss downstairs in the dark. It was odd—no, it was wonderful to see him in her flat. She'd never imagined in a

million years that he would ever actually visit her here. Later, when he went on to girl number 5,672, or whatever it was he was up to, she'd be able to look around her flat and see him walking up and down and smiling. Suddenly he squatted down in front of a bookcase and pulled something out. 'Good Lord, so you actually kept this,' he said. 'What is it?' said Barbara. 'Zazie Dans le Metro. I gave it to you one Christmas when you were about fourteen.' 'Of course I kept it,' Barbara said offhandedly. 'I never throw away a book.' It was the first whole book in French she'd ever read. The colloquial French had been fiendishly hard, but she'd kept reading anyway, struggling to follow the story of the obnoxious little girl who'd gone to visit her uncle in Paris when the Metro was on strike, and who wanted to see nothing in Paris except the Metro. She still remembered opening the slim package by the tree, not knowing who it was from, then seeing his name and knowing he'd only bought it so as not to hurt her parents' feelings. Even so, it had been her favourite present. 'One little terror deserves another,' he'd written inside the front cover, and he'd signed with a dashing scrawl—'Charles'. He gave her a gleaming glance. 'That would explain it, then. I thought I saw a lot of old friends here.' 'It was very thoughtful of you to remember me,' Barbara said politely. At one point she'd kept all the books he'd given her over the years in one place; thank goodness she'd later decided to scatter them alphabetically throughout her collection. 'Wasn't it just?' He raised a sardonic eyebrow. 'Especially considering what a self-centred, bad-tempered, highhanded, arrogant swine I am.' 'Would you like a drink?' asked Barbara, changing the subject. He leapt lightly to his feet.

'No, I don't want a drink,' he said. He was smiling down at her. 'I'd just like to make sure there hasn't been some mistake.' 'Mistake?' Barbara said blankly. 'I'd like you to kiss me where you can see what you're doing.' He grinned at her, the old heart-stopping, knee- weakening grin that he'd been turning on girls so carelessly ever since she'd known him. 'It was dark in the car,' he said seriously. 'You may not have realised you were kissing a selfish, arrogant swine with no consideration for his staff. You didn't turn on the light downstairs, either. I could have been anybody. I could have been somebody without any of the character defects you've been calling to my attention for the last fifteen years.' Barbara wasn't going to take this lying down. 'Don't be silly,' she said loftily. 'It was just a kiss. I didn't think it was necessary to ask for a character reference.' 'I'm so glad to hear you say that, Barbara,' he said gravely, the gleam in his eye belying his tone of voice, 'because you can see for yourself I'm just the same old selfish, arrogant swine you've been lighting into all this time, and I'm going to kiss you again. I'd hate for you to be kissed by a selfish, arrogant swine and not know what was happening until it was too late.' He put one hand in her hair, cupping her head, and bent his head, kissing her softly. Her mouth opened under his; she raised one hand to his shoulder. He was kissing her for the fourth time, she thought wonderingly. It would probably never happen again so she should make the most of it. She should remember all the best parts of all the other kisses and make sure they happened again, and she should remember all the things she'd wished she'd done the other times and do them this time while she had the chance. This kiss seemed to be different from the others. He was kissing her softly, coaxing her mouth open. His hand held her head, but he was hardly touching her, so that she was somehow more conscious of his body just inches away. She remembered that she had put her hand in his hair last time.

Most of the time she sat in meetings next to him, or she sat in his office, taking notes, and her eyes would be drawn to the powerful column of his neck with the black hair cropped close at the base of his head and all she could do was look. Now she could run her hand up his neck into his hair; she could do anything she wanted to. She slid her hand up over his collar, up the back of his neck, and splayed her fingers in his hair so that she could feel the hard curve of his skull. What hadn't she done last time? What else had she always wanted to do? Sometimes when he was working late at the office he would take off his jacket and pace up and down, and she could see the powerful shoulders and muscular back under the cotton of his shirt. He was wearing his jacket now, but she could slip her other hand inside it. She did so, feeling the corded muscles of his back. Now she would never see him pacing up and down in his shirtsleeves without remembering this. She melted into his kiss, revelling in the contrast between the strength of the body under her hands and the soft, soft mouth on hers. They were standing beside the long sofa which had been a present from her mother. Charles drew her down onto it. They were sitting on a pile of books. He was still kissing her. Oh, it was lovely. Why was he stopping? He had raised his head; a smile quirked at his mouth. 'Mind if we move all this stuff to the floor?' he said. Barbara shook her head speechlessly. Charles swept the books to the floor with a single ruthless gesture. He swung his long legs up onto the sofa, stretching out on his side against the back, propping himself on one elbow. 'Care to join me, Five Per Cent?' His eyes gleamed up at her. Barbara lay down on her side, facing him.

His mouth brushed hers. Were they still on four? Or maybe that was four and a half, she thought, her mouth stinging from the contact. The emerald eyes were perhaps an inch from hers. 'Lie down on your back,' he said softly. 'I've left you lots of room.' Barbara lay back, looking up into his face. 'Are you seducing me, Charles?' she asked. 'Certainly not,' said Charles. 'In the first place you're my secretary, and I don't believe in getting involved with my secretary. In the second place you're only a five per cent shareholder and, as you pointed out yourself, I couldn't possibly go all the way with someone who only had five per cent. And in the third place—' his eyes gleamed with amusement '—we don't have the time.' A smile tugged at his mouth. 'This is just a practice run. Mind?' Barbara supposed she should say something sarcastic— he really was impossibly arrogant. But the teasing look in his eyes disarmed her. A smile tugged at the corners of her own^ mouth. How was she supposed to look disapproving when she'd been kissed four and a half times by someone who for years had only kissed her in her dreams? She shook her head, the dark blue eyes meeting his with a gleam of their own. 'I thought you were being suspiciously nice,' she said. 'Just getting into practice, are you?' 'Mmm.' His mouth brushed hers again. 'I'd just like to see,' he said softly, laughter in his voice, 'exactly how far a five per cent shareholder is prepared to go with a cocky director who never thinks of anyone but himself...' Barbara smiled up at him. They were lying on her sofa. Now, whenever she sat on her sofa, she'd be able to remember Charles lying there next to her. 'You don't seem very worried about it,' he said. 'Considering all the times you've told me...' his mouth brushed hers '...in no uncertain terms...' he kissed her again '...all the things you're always telling me...' he kissed her again, his mouth curving in a smile against hers '...in no uncertain terms.'

His eyes smiled into hers. 'God, you're beautiful, Barbara. More beautiful than a five per cent shareholder has any right to be.' She'd lie on her sofa, Barbara thought, and she'd remember Charles telling her she was beautiful and kissing her. 'Now, Barbara,' Charles said seriously, 'if I do something you don't like I want you to tell me. Instantly.' His eyes gleamed over a perfectly straight mouth. 'You're always telling me I ride roughshod over people. Now, you know I can't afford to alienate my shareholders so I want you to tell me if I do anything you think might alienate a shareholder.' 'All right,' said Barbara. She felt as if she was drowning in those glorious sea-green eyes. 'That's good,' said Charles, 'because a selfish, arrogant swine is unbuttoning the dress of a five per cent shareholder of the company.' She could feel the pull of the fabric as his fingers pushed the buttonhole over the first button, then the release of tension as the button slid through and his fingers moved to the next. His eyes held hers. 'Being so selfish and arrogant,' he said very softly, 'if you don't tell him...' he flicked up an eyebrow '...he might not know when to stop.' Barbara stared up at him, her blue eyes enormous. His hand was down to her waist. She seemed to have stopped breathing; it was as if just drawing a breath might break the spell. 'Don't stop,' she said at last breathlessly, the words just audible. 'I've got to stop,' Charles said softly. 'I've run out of buttons.' His hand slipped inside her dress and rested lightly for a moment on her thigh before running up the line of her side. He brushed her mouth again with his. 'A selfish, arrogant swine,' he murmured in her ear, 'has his hand on your breast.' His thumb slid across the flimsy fabric of her bra, dragging it across her nipple. 'Bloody cheek—'

'Stop,' said Barbara raggedly. He took his hand away abruptly. She shook her head impatiently. 'Stop joking,' she said hoarsely. Her eyes were enormous dark pools. 'You don't have to. It's lovely.' He smiled at her. 'Sorry. My mistake.' He hooked a thumb inside the lapel of her dress and pulled it off her breast, so that the whole side of the dress fell away from her towards the floor. Then he drew the other side of her dress towards him, tucking the fabric down between them. She was wearing a gauzy bra that fastened in front; he unfastened the hook and let the two halves of the bra fall down to either side, too. He looked down at her for a long moment, then met her eyes. 'I said you were beautiful, Barbara,' he said softly, 'but I didn't know the half of it.' His eyes drifted down again. The corner of his mouth quirked up. 'Let's get rid of these tights,' he said. He slid a hand under the waistband and rolled the filmy tights down over her hips. He propped himself on his other hand to pull them down each thigh, over her knees and finally over her feet, then dropped back to his elbow. 'Mmm, lovely,' he said, sliding his hand up over her flat belly. She shivered at his touch; the warm hand on her cool skin seemed to send a warm flood of sensation through her body. He bent over and kissed her breast. She gasped involuntarily; it was as if a live wire had been put to her breast, setting off a convulsion of pleasure. She could feel his mouth, hot and soft and wet, and the supple tip of his tongue, playing with her nipple—sending arrows of unbearably piercing sweetness through her. She drew a shuddering breath. She'd never imagined that anything could feel like this. Why couldn't it just go on and on? Why did it ever have to stop?

He didn't stop for a long time, and when he did it was to kiss her other breast. She shuddered uncontrollably. His tongue kept setting off explosions of sweetness until her whole body seemed to be one quivering mass of pleasure, but with a strange aching between her legs that grew as he went on. As if he had sensed this, she felt his hand drift down again over her stomach and slip inside the filmy scrap of fabric across her hips. Abruptly, unthinkingly, she jerked away from him, overcome suddenly by horrible embarrassment. Charles's hand dropped away immediately. He raised his head, a look of faint surprise in his eyes, as if to make sure he had understood her. 'I—I'm sorry,' Barbara stammered. 'Don't be sorry,' he said softly. 'I want you to tell me what you want.' He looked at the vivid face—the black eyebrows that had scowled at him, the eyes that had alternated between scorn and fury, the broad mouth that had hurled insults at him over the years. She'd maddened him more times than he could count, but even when the insults had been close to the mark there'd been an electric energy in the air around her that had made him, oddly, like her better than most of the women who'd adored him unquestioningly. Like—it wasn't the right word. Even at her most infuriating she'd never bored him. Now the dark blue eyes were drowning with desire, the broad mouth swollen with his kisses. It was as if he'd never seen her before. She flashed him a sudden, unexpectedly mischievous look. 'Well,' said Barbara, 'you might take a few of your clothes off.' He gave a shout of laughter. 'As many as you like,' he said, his eyes dancing. He gave her a hard, swift kiss and sat up, sliding his legs under hers. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it to the floor, then loosened his tie and pulled it free. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'How much further do you want me to go?' he asked.

Barbara smiled. 'I'll take over now,' she said. She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled herself up onto his thighs so that her face was level with his. She unbuttoned his collar and undid another button, and when he gave her his heart-stopping, careless grin she kissed him and kept going. He was still grinning when she got down to his belt and pulled out his shirt. She could never have imagined that he could be so easy to be around. Usually he couldn't be in the same room with her for two minutes without saying something infuriating. He'd probably smiled at her more times in the last half-hour than he had in the whole fifteen previous years— really smiled, that was, instead of giving her the old mocking smile she'd always hated. It was odd to think that he'd done all this so many times with so many women. Other women must have unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it out, and he must have grinned, and it hadn't made any difference—the very next day he'd lost interest and hadn't bothered to call and had been bored if they called him. She knew she'd remember every minute of this night for the rest of her life—the touch of his hand, the taste of his mouth, that knee-weakening smile in his eyes—and yet the fact was that if he could have his way he'd never speak to her again. He'd have to speak to her, of course, because she was still his secretary, but what he'd want would be never to see her again. 'What is it?' said Charles. 'What's what?' said Barbara. 'I don't know,' he said. 'You had a rather strange expression on your face just now.' Barbara made an effort to smile. 'I don't know,' she said. 'Probably just wondering whether to let you keep your trousers. I think I'll respect your modesty.' 'I'm too arrogant to be modest,' he said, with another grin, 'but I'll respect your modesty. Come here and kiss me again.'

He put his arms around her, holding her to him inside his open shirt for a long, lingering kiss. Barbara tried not to think of anything but that moment. If only she could enjoy it while it was here, instead of being constantly aware of how soon it would be over and how cold and distant he would be tomorrow. But some of the magic was gone. It was wonderful to be in his arms, of course, but even as he kissed her she could not put aside a growing feeling of dread. In the end she was actually the one to break off. She raised her head and glanced at her watch. 'Charles,' she said, 'it's six o'clock. You need to go home and pack.' His eyes were brilliant. 'Must I?' 'You said you needed to spend a couple of hours in the office this morning before we go. If you've got to be in the office by eight, you've got to go home and pack now.' 'I suppose you're right,' he said. 'Of course I'm right,' said Barbara. She slipped off his knees and stood up. Charles rose to stand beside her. He really did look wonderful, she thought gloomily. She liked him much better this way, with his shirt hanging out and that lurking smile in his eyes, than in his driven executive mode. Too bad she was likely to get so much more of the latter than the former. Even as she thought it he was buttoning up his shirt and shaking out his cuffs. He slipped on his jacket and put his tie in a pocket. Barbara fastened her bra and began to button up her dress. Charles gave her a rueful smile. 'God, I hate to see you do that,' he said.

She smiled at him shyly. Maybe he would be like this as long as he was here, then as soon as he walked out the door there would be a sea-change and he would never smile at her like this again. 'Well, what do you say to one for the road?' he said. She walked into his arms and raised her mouth to his. She'd long ago lost count—this could have been anything from twenty to one hundred. The only thing she knew for sure was that it was the last. She devoured his mouth, trying to fix its taste in her mind—trying to fix in her mind for ever what it felt like to have him want her so badly. At last he raised his head. 'Here's hoping they don't pull me over for driving under the influence,' he said quizzically. 'I think we read a poem at school about kisses like wine; they didn't tell us the half of it.' He glanced at his watch and whistled. 'You'd better start packing yourself,' he said. 'See you in the office at nine?' Barbara nodded speechlessly. 'Terrific.' He bent his head and brushed her mouth with his for positively the last final time, and he was gone.

CHAPTER EIGHT BARBARA got into the office a couple of minutes before nine. She had showered and changed and packed, and all in all she felt pretty good, considering she'd had no sleep and was about to be comprehensively snubbed by the only man she had ever loved for having kissed him the night before. Charles's door was open. 'No, of course it's not a problem,' he was saying. 'It needs a little fine-tuning, obviously, but we can certainly get the preliminary proposal in by Tuesday. Thanks for letting me know.' Barbara put her things by her word processor and turned it on. Then she wandered over to his door just in case a miracle had happened. It hadn't. Charles was leafing through her Barrett presentation, his expression black. He looked up to see her at the door, and the scowl deepened to a glower. 'Good morning, Barbara,' he said coolly. 'Would you mind coming here a moment?' Barbara walked up to his side. She hadn't expected to like being snubbed and she didn't like it—but the funny thing was that, just at the moment, it wasn't the fact that he was ignoring last night that bothered her. The Barrett presentation was her baby; he was holding it in his hands and instead of exclaiming in amazement over the marvellous infant, he had actually had the audacity to frown at it. 'What's the matter?' she said frigidly. 'Where did you get this?' he said, slapping the presentation with an impatient hand. 'Where did I get it?' she repeated doubtfully.

'Where did you get the material you were reformatting?' he said irritably. 'Well, from Mr Carlin...' Barbara said uncertainly. 'You must have taken the wrong disk,' Charles informed her. 'Is something the matter?' Barbara asked. 'You could say that,' Charles said grimly. 'Cancel our reservations for Prague, will you? Something's come up that I can't walk away from. Oh, and get Mike Carlin up here pronto.' Barbara went out to her desk and called the travel agency. Then she called Mike Carlin and told him Charles wanted to see him. Then she went back into Charles's office to defend her baby. 'What exactly is the problem?' she asked challengingly. He raised an eyebrow. 'I know you were trying to be helpful, Barbara, but you've just wasted everybody's time by reworking the wrong thing. If you'd shown it to me when I asked I could have told you two days ago.' He tossed the presentation aside contemptuously. 'As it is, Barrett have just moved the deadline up again. They want the preliminary proposal in by Tuesday and we've lost time we could ill afford while you polished up something we can't use. I'll have to see this through myself now, and frankly I can't really afford not to be going to Prague either.' Barbara would have liked to argue, but she was afraid of getting Mike in trouble if she said too much. She just looked at her darling presentation and smouldered. Mike came through the door five minutes later. He still looked haggard—well, goodness only knew how much sleep the Polish deal was costing him. 'Hi, Mike,' said Charles. 'Charles,' said Mike.

'I've been looking through the Barrett presentation,' said Charles. 'There are some good things here, but I do have just one question.' 'What's that?' Mike said wearily. 'I'd just like to know,' Charles said softly, his eyes cold with rage, 'why this entire proposal is based on the last version of our software instead of the most recent one.' Mike looked at him for a moment. 'Well?' said Charles. Mike's mouth hardened. 'I'll tell you why,' he said quietly. 'The reason is that the folder you saw a couple of days ago represented the sum total of the work I'd done on the project. Everything you see here was done by your secretary, based on previous bids we'd made and materials from Barrett. The previous bids were all made before we developed this version; I forgot to point that out to her.' There was a moment of dead silence. Green eyes met grey, then Charles began to talk. He didn't raise his voice; he merely made clear, in a tone as icy and brutal as an Arctic sea, his opinion of a man who could take on one of the most important opportunities for the company, leave it as a few scrawls on scraps of paper in a file for four months and then, instead of allowing the problem to be faced head-on by those capable of dealing with it, delegate it to one of the secretaries. It went on for a long time, and Mike listened without protest until Charles wound down. At last he came to an end. 'I've never questioned your talent, Mike,' he said, in a tone of voice that made the comment sound like an insult, 'but you're obviously out of your depth. There are people you can throw in at the deep end and they thrive on it—I thought you were one of them. That was my mistake. It's clear you just don't have what it takes to operate at this level.'

The haggard eyes narrowed, and Mike spoke at last. 'I used to think I'd like to go out on my own,' he said. 'I had a lot of ideas that interested me which you didn't want to follow up. Our competitors have come up with one or two of them independently and done pretty well out of them so there's no reason to think it wouldn't have worked out eventually.' He shrugged. 'But when my wife got pregnant a couple of years ago I thought I couldn't afford to take risks.' He looked at Charles, his grey eyes burning. 'Well, I haven't just missed the baby's first word—I've got a two-year-old with a hundred-word vocabulary and I've missed every single damn one of them. I haven't spent an evening with my wife in a year; I haven't spent a whole day with my wife and child since the baby was born, and that includes Christmas. I don't know what risks I thought I was sparing them, but they can't be any worse than abandoning them in every sense but the legal one.' He threw his own copy of the proposal on Charles's desk. 'You'll have my letter of resignation by the end of the day,' he said. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Barbara looked for some sign of regret on Charles's face but there was none. Surely he must feel something, she thought. Mike had been a protege of his, a university dropout he'd taken a chance on who'd turned out to be brilliant. Surely he wasn't going to let it end like this? 'Right, well, it's got to be in place by Monday,' he said curtly to Barbara. 'You've cancelled Prague? Good. We've got from now to the end of the weekend to turn this round. Four days for the substance, one good night's sleep and we'll still have Monday to catch howlers and make it look pretty. I'll look at what you've got and bring it up to speed so we're not selling an outdated package. If we work together we should be able to swing it.' Barbara folded her arms across her chest. 'So you're just going to let him walk out?' she said incredulously. 'Just like that?' 'If he hadn't resigned I'd have asked for his resignation,' Charles said grimly.

Barbara glared at him. First she'd wondered whether kissing him might make her go off him. It hadn't seemed to—as soon as he'd stopped kissing her she'd just wanted him to start again. Then she'd wondered whether the powerful physical chemistry might somehow neutralise the exasperation she felt with Charles most of the time. Well, considering that she'd never before wanted to up-end an executive-sized flower arrangement—with water—over his head, the answer to that also appeared to be a resounding no. 'You told me he was absolutely brilliant!' she said accusingly. 'We're not competing for a Nobel Prize,' Charles said drily. 'We're competing for market share against some of the most ruthless and powerful operators in the world. If somebody can't take the pace we're better off without him.' 'Oh, really! Barbara said scathingly. 'Well, in my opinion they'd actually be better off without you. If they had someone at the top who didn't expect everyone to be superheroes, like his conveniently unattached self, they could be part of a world-beating team.' Her eyes sizzled. 'The brains of the people in this organisation are your biggest assets and, considering that you've just decided it was a clever idea to force out one of the best people you've got, I'd say the best brains in the company aren't at the top. In my opinion you should call him back and offer him six months' paid paternity leave and an apology.' 'You're welcome to your opinion,' Charles said coolly. 'Now, if you've had your say, let's get down to work.' 'No, thanks,' said Barbara. 'If Mike leaves, I'm going with him.' Charles shrugged. 'I'd just like to point out that if you leave before your year is up you forfeit this five per cent shareholding you've made so much of. I can't say that agreeing to it was the best bargain I ever made, but you may want to think twice before giving up something likely to be worth several million pounds.'

'It's not going to be worth the paper it's written on if you keep throwing away brilliant people,' Barbara said acidly. 'Besides, I happen to like Mike. I think it would be fun to work with him. It would certainly be an improvement on a year of your style of personnel management. Where exactly did you come up with it anyway? Did you find a previously undiscovered manuscript, passed down from Attila the Hun, or is it your own invention?' His jaw hardened. 'Barbara, you don't have the track record to entitle you to pass judgement on management decisions. I knew it was a mistake to kiss you.' 'Yes,' Barbara agreed sympathetically. 'It's odd, isn't it? Before you kissed me I always agreed with everything you said. Funny how just a couple of kisses could make a girl so uppity.' He shot her a look of pure, unadulterated dislike. 'At least think about it,' pleaded Barbara. 'I realise this is a tight deadline, but we can meet it and this could be a blessing in disguise. They're a tough nut to crack. I don't think the type of presentation you've made before would have worked for them, and Mike could have wasted a lot of time on it, without anyone actually being better off.' The dark blue eyes stared intently into his, willing him to listen to her. 'Just think,' said Barbara. 'Even if Mike had miraculously managed to come up with a presentation, you wouldn't actually have been better off if it had been completely off-track—and nobody here would have known it was off-track because you don't know how Barrett work. Well, even if you think he should have managed better, what's the point of losing him when you're actually no worse off? And you've said yourself he's brilliant. You said he had ideas so far ahead of the time there wouldn't be a market for them for the next twenty years. Do you really think someone like that is going to just walk in off the street to take his place?' 'You do like him,' Charles said edgily. 'Maybe work isn't the only reason he hasn't seen this wife and baby he was so touchy about.'

The suggestion was so preposterous that Barbara couldn't help laughing out loud. Mike Carlin was brilliant, and he wasn't bad-looking, but she couldn't even look at him when Charles was in the room. 'He's not my type,' she said, her mouth curling up involuntarily as she remembered that she'd actually been kissed now by the only man she'd ever wanted. See how furious he looked now—good thing she'd got him to kiss her before all this blew up. Look at the way he'd said kissing her had been a bad idea—if he could, he'd probably take it back! Too late now. Her eyes sparkled. 'I thought you didn't have a type,' said Charles. 'I don't,' Barbara said, catching herself. 'I like lots of different kinds of men,' she lied offhandedly, 'but Mike Carlin isn't one of the kinds I like. On the other hand,' she pointed out, 'I didn't think you picked your staff on the basis of whether I might like to sleep with them.' The angry look in his eyes had given way to a kind of exasperated amusement. 'Why the hell did I think I wanted to work with you for a year?' he asked, looking at the cocky stance and unfazed expression of the Perfect Secretary, the only member of a staff of 465 who'd never for even two seconds looked afraid of him. 'I'm not sure,' Barbara riposted instantly. 'One thing I do know is it wasn't for my looks, because you specifically said you didn't want to get involved with your secretary.' Her mouth quirked up again, remembering those lovely, lovely kisses. Ha! 'At one point,' she said primly, 'I got the impression you'd changed your mind on that one. Now you appear to have reconsidered your position. I wonder whether it might be worth maintaining a similarly flexible approach to a member of staff you once described to me as a genius.' He drummed his fingers on his desk. 'You could be right,' he said at last, to her amazement. He flicked her a gleaming glance. 'Maybe I should reconsider just how uninvolved I want to be with my secretary while I'm about it, but first things first.'

He picked up his phone and punched in an extension. 'Mallory here. I want to talk to Mike Carlin. Isn't he in his office? Oh, I see. Well, get him to pick up, will you?' He put the phone on 'speaker'. There was a short pause, then the secretary's voice came crackling through. 'I'm afraid he doesn't want to talk to you, Mr Mallory.' Charles gave a short laugh. 'Well, I can't say I blame him, but I'd like a word with him. Look, I want you to go back in and say two words to him and see if that gets him to the phone.' 'What are the words, Mr Mallory?' Even over the crackle the voice was sceptical. 'Paternity leave.' 'I'll try, sir.' There was another pause. Then a man's voice came on the line. 'Carlin speaking.' 'Mike,' Charles ran a hand absent-mindedly through his hair. 'Barbara's just been pointing out to me that we can't get another genius by putting an ad in the paper. She says we should do whatever it takes to get you to stay. She said she thought six months' paid paternity leave would do for starters. I don't know if I can really stretch to that, but I wondered what you'd say to this: Six months' paid paternity leave, with as much work as you want to keep you from going insane among the nappies, or whatever damned thing it is they wear at two.' There was a very long silence. At last a voice came slowly over the line. 'Is this some kind of joke?'

'I never joke about babies, Mike. You're a braver man than I am. Look, I'll draft the offer and get Barbara to type it up and take it down. Just don't walk out without thinking it over.' He cut the connection and gave Barbara a sardonic look. 'Well?' Barbara raised an eyebrow. 'All right, maybe I won't sell my shares after all.' 'You don't have any shares yet. You're just a probationary shareholder.' 'That didn't seem to bother you last night,' Barbara said pertly. He grinned. 'I had other things on my mind.' He stood up. 'Now, of course,' he said thoughtfully, 'I realise that you're an actual secretary and only a potential shareholder, and that kissing you is a very bad idea.' He came around the desk to look down into her vivid face, the brilliant red hair and brilliant blue eyes crackling with energy. His mouth quirked up in the crooked smile that was so disarming. 'But I'm going to do it anyway.' He bent his head and kissed her swiftly and ruthlessly. It was over too soon, but Barbara wasn't complaining. Now he'd kissed her again after he was never going to kiss her again! In years to come, while Charles went on avoiding babies and accumulating lovers till they outnumbered his ties, she'd be able to remember all these kisses. First she could remember daring him to kiss her in the car, and then she could remember that he'd kissed her later without even being asked. Didn't that count for something? And then he'd actually kissed her the morning after when she thought she'd exhausted her ration for a lifetime because the morning after Charles always moved on to the brush-off. And for about two seconds there'd been a sort of smiling look in his eyes, too. 'I'll come out to your word processor and just dictate the offer over your shoulder,' said Charles, just as if nothing had happened. 'We'd better get it

down to Mike before he decides to go it alone out of sheer bloody-mindedness.' 'Something you would naturally never do,' Barbara quipped. Her mouth was still stinging from his kiss. Maybe she should try that one of these days—just say, 'I know kissing you is a bad idea but I'm going to do it anyway,' and go ahead with it. He might not be trying to brush her off yet, but it would come. When it did, she could take matters into her own hands. 'Not at all,' said Charles. 'I'm thinking about what I'd do in his position. In his position I'd be out the door by now.' In fact, thought Barbara, maybe she should practise now when he wasn't trying to brush her off. She put her mouth up and kissed him lingeringly. He laughed and kissed her back. There, that wasn't so bad! She'd now had an extra kiss that he'd never meant to give her, she thought with satisfaction. In future years, when Charles was up to girl number 10,332, and Barbara had long since left the company, she could come back from time to time, walk into his office and kiss him before he could stop her. 'Barbara,' said Charles, 'you're lovely, and I could stand here doing this all day, but we've got a genius to pacify and a bid to pull together.' His eyes were smiling at her again. 'Could we get out Mike's offer?' He stood behind her as he dictated the offer. Barbara typed it in and printed it out; he signed it with a flourishing scrawl and gave her a gleaming glance. 'You're a damned expensive addition to the team, Barbara,' he said. 'First you blackmail me into making an offer I should never have considered in a million years just to get you on board, and now you've got me throwing money at somebody who, till you came along, seemed perfectly happy with working for his keep.' 'You thought,' said Barbara. Her mouth still felt his kiss. Lovely, but that didn't mean she had to stand for this kind of nonsense. 'In my opinion,' she said coolly, 'I've already justified my level of compensation by intervening

when you were about to lose one of the most valuable members of staff through sheer obstinacy. Not to mention getting this presentation into a form where it stands some chance of meeting the deadline...' She stopped talking, cowed by the unexpectedly grim look on his face. All the amusement had dropped away. 'Yes,' said Charles. 'I never did get around to mentioning that, now I come to think of it.' He gave her a measuring glance. 'We need to talk about that when you get back from Mike's office.' 'Talk about what?' said Barbara. 'About the fact that you're not just a probationary shareholder or a temporary secretary,' he said. 'Some things never change, do they, Barbara?' She couldn't read the expression in his eyes, but just because she couldn't read it that didn't mean she had to like it. 'What do you mean?' she said. 'You know damned well what I mean,' he said. 'Once j wasn't enough, was it? You're still standing in the shadows, scared of the spotlight, bored with the things you're stuck with if you stay out of the spotlight.' He raised an eyebrow. 'You pretend being a secretary is enough for you, Barbara, but it's not, is it? No wonder you can't stick to it for more than a month at a time. Try it on a semipermanent basis and you're climbing the walls in a couple of weeks and back to your old habits.' 'That's not fair,' said Barbara. 'I only did it because Mike didn't have the time and I didn't want him to get in trouble—' 'With the result that the whole thing blew up in my face, nearly losing me, as you yourself pointed out, an irreplaceable member of staff.' His eyes held hers. 'You're still an incorrigible ghostwriter, Barbara. Don't you think it's time you gave it up?' Barbara bit her lip.

'Take that down to Mike,' he said. 'As you know, we don't have a lot of time. But before we get down to business...' he gave her a mirthless smile '...I think we'd better have a little talk.'

CHAPTER NINE BARBARA took the letter downstairs. She found Mike sitting in his office, surrounded by half-packed boxes. He looked up at her grimly. Barbara handed over the piece of paper. 'You know, it's not a bad offer,' she said. 'But that doesn't necessarily mean you should accept it.' The dark blue eyes sparkled. 'Why should you put up with Charles? He's impossible to work for. He knows you're brilliant. If you go it's the company's loss. You could actually be better off working for yourself.' Mike was scanning the letter. He raised his eyes to the vivid face of the only person he'd ever seen give Charles Mallory his own back again. 'No, that's not really true,' he said. He smiled ruefully. 'It's one thing to have ideas and another to cash in on them. The commercial side drives me insane; it's a discipline you have to impose on yourself or, rather, you have to impose it on yourself if you're on your own, only I'd probably retreat into my home office and indulge in endless fine-tuning instead. I'd do it here if he'd let me get away with it.' 'Well, obviously you must do what's best,' said Barbara. 'But you don't have to let him walk all over you. Charles is completely selfish and arrogant and he never thinks about anyone but himself; I can't understand why everyone puts up with it.' Mike grinned. 'Because he's better than any of us, much as I hate to admit it. You start explaining something to him and he's there before you've finished the sentence. You've got a problem and before you've finished the question he's got the answer. The last year or so has been hell, and I shouldn't have let it get on top of me, but I'd rather work with Mallory than somebody with half the brains who worried about hurting my feelings.' Barbara sighed. She knew she should be pleased—after all, she'd done everything but throw the office desk out the window to get Charles to

change his mind—but it was depressing to find Mike so ready to rejoin the fan club. 'Well, shall I tell him you'll reconsider, then?' she said. 'I'll send him an e-mail,' said Carlin. He sat down at his computer and his fingers began flying over the keys. Barbara sighed again. She would have liked to think Mike was telling Charles he'd have to think very carefully about the offer, and that he'd probably want a commitment from Charles to come personally and babysit once a week for six months just to make up for all that agony of mind. Something told her that was sheer wishful thinking. She left the office, her feet trailing. Charles was waiting for her. It would be just like the last time. She'd thought, once in a while, that he'd forgotten, or at least put it behind him—but he would never forgive her. He'd always hate her for what she'd done to him. She couldn't face talking to him. She didn't care if he was waiting for her; she needed moral support. Barbara turned her steps to the company cafeteria. Maybe three helpings of white chocolate peppermint mousse cake would help to take her mind off her troubles. She loaded her tray with five desserts and a cappuccino, then took it to a table and sat, staring at the tray. She couldn't remember now what had given her the idea. It might have been one of the other times his school had sent home an exam on the honour system, and she'd watched-him do a few questions then rush through the rest at random to finish in time to catch the FA Cup. Or it might have been the fact that she'd spent so much more time looking at his maths books than any of the others. His other books had been full of hard words, and if she asked him what they meant he just told her to look in the dictionary, but the maths books were full of numbers, and if she didn't understand she could sometimes pester him into explaining because at least he couldn't send her to the dictionary.

It had been worth struggling with something so hard just to have him, every once in a while, drop onto the sofa beside her and tell her what a pest she was. 'I never wanted to have a sister, Barbara,' he'd say, 'and now I know why.' 'You're a bloody nuisance, Barbara. Run away and play with your dolls like a good girl.' The green eyes would be iaughing at her under the black fringe of hair, and then he'd look at the page and tell her what it all meant. Maybe that was why she'd done it. Or maybe it was because he'd gone out with Monica Lewis for two weeks, which had been a week longer than he'd ever gone out with anyone else, and Barbara had tried the only way she could think of to get his attention. Well, if that's what she'd wanted, she thought bitterly, it had certainly worked. Charles had come home one day with a maths exam which was supposed to have been done on the honour system. As usual, he'd gone through the problems he could do in five minutes or less, got bored and had left the paper on his desk. Then he'd gone out to spend the rest of the evening with Monica Lewis. He'd been getting consistent Cs and Ds on the work he'd bothered to do in the time he could spare from TV sport and serial girlfriends, and another C was about to join the ranks. He hadn't bargained for the sister he'd never wanted. Barbara wasn't supposed to go in his room but she sneaked in anyway, and there was the exam. She looked at it just to see what it was like, and there were lots of problems that Charles hadn't bothered to do which he'd explained to her at one time or another. Now that Charles had gone off with Monica, he probably wouldn't be back until early morning—he wouldn't be doing any more work. Barbara had a brilliant idea. She could do all the problems he hadn't donel She could copy his handwriting so no one would know, and then when he got an A she would tell him and he would be absolutely astounded! At first everything went according to plan. Charles returned to the house in the early hours of the morning, woke late and came down to breakfast just as Barbara was leaving for school.

'Looks like I'll have to be fashionably late again,' he said indifferently, taking his time over coffee. Papers were coming out of his file every which way—it was obvious he hadn't looked at them. As Barbara soon discovered, the paper was indeed a dazzling improvement on the efforts to date of the school's most unsatisfactory student, Charles 'Could Try Harder' Mallory. The first sign of trouble came the following afternoon. Charles was off somewhere with Monica; Barbara was at home, killing time, when the phone rang. She picked it up at the same moment that her father picked up upstairs. It was the head of Charles's school. 'Hello, Giles, it's Robin. Look, we've got a bit of a problem here.' There was a short pause. 'It's about Charles's maths exam. As I'm sure I don't have to tell you, he hasn't been applying himself all year, and now we've got a fourteen-carat A paper out of thin air. His teacher tells me it's simply not possible that this could be his own-work. It's the same paper you set last year when you were taking that class. I know how careful you are, Giles, but the question does have to be asked—is there any chance he could have got at the answers in your desk?' Barbara's father had many good qualities, but neatness was not among them—his desk at home was a chaos of jostling papers. 'As far as I'm aware, the answers are locked in my filing cabinet,' he said doubtfully. 'I might have had them out on my desk, but if he could find them there he's a better man than I am...' 'Right, well, I think that's all I need to know,' was the ominous reply. It was obvious to Barbara that the head was privately convinced that Charles had cheated. There was only one thing to do. The next day Barbara headed for school on her bike. As soon as she was out of sight of the house she headed for Charles's school. She locked her bike in front of the building, presented herself at the office of the head and explained, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, what she had done. The result was not at all what she had expected. The head summoned Charles from a class. In came Charles in his lames Dean black T-shirt and

jeans, his black hair falling over one eyebrow and his green eyes bored and defiant. 'I gather you're aware, Mallory, that your performance on the maths exam has raised questions of cheating.' The head looked at him severely. 'I could not in any circumstances condone dishonesty, but if you came across the answers in Giles's papers I can at any rate understand that you might have yielded to a moment's temptation. It's quite another matter, however, when you try to shift the blame to a child.' Charles raised an eyebrow. 'I'm afraid I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about,' he said. 'Sir.' He shrugged. 'I hadn't realised standards had fallen to the point where a D raised questions of cheating.' Barbara burst in with a flood of explanation. 'It didn't get a D,' she said. 'It got an A. I did all the problems you didn't do, just the way you explained them to me. It was easy, and now he won't believe me.' The head said indulgently that her loyalty was very touching, and he said severely to Charles that they could not condone this kind of behaviour and that he faced suspension, if not expulsion, from the school. 'My life is in ruins,' Charles said in tones of exaggerated horror. 'What have I done!' 'It's no laughing matter,' the head said angrily. 'I think it's an absolute scream,' said Charles. 'I don't give a toss about the school, but I didn't cheat and I'm not leaving for something I didn't do.' The head folded his arms across his plump chest. 'Fair enough, Mallory,' he said, with an appearance of open- mindedness, but Barbara knew something bad was coming. The head was fat and bald and even his secretary didn't look at him. Charles had only to walk into a room for all the girls' heads to turn. If he walked down a corridor girls hid in doorways just to watch him go by. Barbara could just tell the head hated him.

'I'm prepared to believe you simply never happened to be interested enough to work to your ability,' said the head. 'All the same, you must admit it's unfortunate your interest happened to revive in circumstances where you could have had outside assistance, however unintentional.' He smiled. 'I think I owe you the chance to clear your name beyond the shadow of a doubt, Mallory. I'll ask your teacher to draw up a new exam with questions that haven't been on any of the past papers. We'll arrange an invigilator, and you can sit the exam—let's see, I think we can have everything in place in a couple of weeks—we'll say a fortnight from today.' Charles gave the head a single cool green look. 'Fine,' he said. 'But I'm not setting foot in the place until you've apologised for throwing around unsubstantiated accusations. I'll come back for the exam and your apology. Come on, Barbara, I'll take you home.' He left the room without waiting for a reply. Barbara followed him down one long corridor, and another, then out into the sunshine. He strode off down the street, not waiting for her; she forgot about her bicycle, running to catch up. 'Charles,' she said breathlessly. 'Charles, wait!' When he stopped impatiently, his eyes blazing, she gasped out, 'But why don't you let me take the exam and then they'll believe me? I told them you didn't tell me to do it but they didn't believe me!' It had never occurred to her that they wouldn't. She'd thought she had only to confess, but of course she'd never been the kind of child who dazzled adults with impressive vocabulary and brilliant marks. 'Could try harder' was the best her teachers could say of her, too. Naturally, no one thought a twelve-year-old with bad marks could be behind the mysterious A any more than they thought a lazy eighteen-year-old could be. Charles looked down at her with cold fury. 'What a fantastic idea,' he said sarcastically. 'Then everyone will know I didn't cheat—I just got a twelve-year-old to do it for me. Why don't you just mind your own business, Barbara? Find someone your own age to play with and leave me alone.'

He stalked on ahead without speaking to her. And somewhere in the half-hour between the school and the house he changed. He went to the store and bought a two-week supply of some kind of athletes' meals. He took them up to his room, and for two weeks the family didn't see him. He managed, somehow, to cover two years' work in two weeks. He went back to the school to take the new exam and got an A. Then he left the school, said goodbye to Barbara's parents and went to London. From what she could gather, he applied the same single-minded ruthlessness to his life that he'd applied to the make-up exam. He set up his own business. In the first year he cleared £100,000, in the second a quarter of a million. By the time he was twenty-five he was worth about £5,000,000. Charles came back sometimes to visit her parents, but he never talked about the reason he'd left. In fact, he never really talked to Barbara again, except as part of general conversation. He got richer and richer, and he went on changing girlfriends on a weekly basis, and he never forgave her. Barbara looked gloomily at her five desserts. She just couldn't eat them somehow. Now she'd have to go upstairs and Charles would give her a freezing look and tell her to mind her own business and go away and leave him alone. At last she stood up. Better get it over with. She left the cafeteria, dragging her feet, and headed for the lift. About an hour after she'd left Charles's office she trailed back in again. Charles was pacing impatiently up and down. 'Where the hell have you been?' he snapped. 'I got a delirious e-mail from Carlin forty-five minutes ago. I told you to get back up here.' Barbara stopped at the door, hugging her elbows to keep herself from shaking. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm sorry I ruined your life, Charles. I'm sorry about the exam. I never meant it to work out that way. You were going out with Monica Lewis and I thought you'd be impressed.'

Charles stopped in mid-stride. 'What the hell are you talking about?' he said. 'I know you'll never really forgive me,' said Barbara. 'I know it was a terrible thing to do. I just didn't think.' Charles gave her a rather strange look. 'It was a terrible thing to do,' he said, with a rather rueful smile, 'but it didn't exactly ruin my life, you know. I was so bloody bored at school—I was too damned lazy to do anything you didn't have to do, and the things we had to do were too easy. I could have gone on for years that way, not knowing what I could do. Those two weeks were a trial by fire, all right, but at least they made me see what I could do when I put my mind to it—at least they made me see I was wasting my time.' He grinned. 'I realised that if I could do in two weeks something that took other people two years there had to be money in it somewhere, and I was right. I realised if I worked hard enough there was nothing I couldn't do— pretty powerful stuff at eighteen.' "Ehen why do you hate me?' said Barbara. 'I don't hate you,' said Charles. He gave her an exasperated look. 'Of course I was furious at the time. You'd threatened me with the ultimate humiliation—having everyone think an upstart of a twelve-year-old could do it better than I could—but at least it put a gun to my head and made me get on with my life.' That was what he said, Barbara thought, but he still looked furious. 'In that case, I don't see why you look so furious,' she said. 'Here you are, a multimillionaire—and all because of me.' 'That's one way of putting it,' said Charles. 'Another way of putting it seems to be that there you are, a penniless temporary secretary—and all because of me.' 'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Barbara. Whatever it was, he still looked furious. It was fifteen years ago, for heaven's sake. Why did he have to go on brooding about it?

He sighed. 'Look, as I'm sure you remember, you very nobly confessed to your crime and nobody believed you because your marks were as lousy as mine and you were six years behind. You were panting at the bit to take the exam and prove it, but I was damned if I'd let you.' He raised a sardonic eyebrow. 'If I had, everyone would have realised what had been sitting under their noses all that time. Something tells me you'd never have looked back. But nobody believed you, and the funny thing is that even though you knew you'd done it, it was as if it hadn't happened if nobody thought it had. I don't know why you needed somebody to tell you you could do anything you wanted when you should have seen it for yourself, but you did need it and I took that away from you. 'Now here you are, fifteen years later, and you're still hiding behind the scenes, as if your work can't stand on its own if people think you did it. You can't do something interesting unless you can pretend it's by someone people take seriously. You're not twelve any more, Barbara.' He shrugged. 'Don't you think it's time you grew up?' Barbara stared at him. Could any of this possibly be true? Could it really be that Charles had never hated her, except maybe a little just after they'd left the school? 'So you really don't hate me?' she said. 'Of course I don't hate you,' he said irritably. 'I've been sending you Christmas presents for years. Why would I do that if I hated you?' 'I thought you didn't want to hurt my parents' feelings,' said Barbara. 'Barbara,' said Charles, 'I'm a selfish, arrogant swine, as you never tire of telling me. If once in a while I decide to spare someone's feelings I get my secretary to send a dozen roses. I don't go out and look for a present. Besides...' his eyes gleamed '...how could you possibly think I hated you after last night?'

'You're always telling me sex has nothing to do with feelings,' said Barbara. 'But I'm glad you don't hate me.' She was shivering inside. She would probably feel happy later; right now she felt terrified. 'I don't hate you,'' Charles said evenly, 'but I'm not having any more of this kind of thing.' He flicked her Barrett presentation with his hand. 'If you work for me you take responsibility for what's yours.' 'But if I'd taken responsibility you wouldn't have let me do it,' said Barbara. 'Of course I wouldn't,' he agreed, 'because there's no way someone can function effectively as my secretary and at the same time put together a presentation at this level.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Only you have, haven't you? Or, rather, you would have if you'd brought in the right version. So, now that I see what you can do I'd have to be a damned fool to keep you as my secretary.' 'You don't want me to be your secretary?' said Barbara. 'But I thought you couldn't do without me.' He grinned. 'You were always over-priced as a secretary. Seems to me I can get more for my money if I kick you upstairs—or rather downstairs. You'll probably end up with an office on the ninth floor.' Barbara held on to the door for support. She wondered if she was going to faint. Charles went on talking, and now he was talking about all the things he thought she could bring to the company if she went on doing work like the presentation—ways she could bring her languages into play, what an asset she was going to be. He was actually talking about her the way she'd heard him talk about some of his subordinates, the really good ones he'd found in various unorthodox ways and lured into the company for the sheer fun of working with that brilliant, notorious slave-driver, Charles Mallory. Hmm. Well, it might be fun to stop taking dictation, Barbara thought. Except that Charles was always dictating, one way or another. On the other hand, she'd had fun, working on the presentation. And it wasn't as if she couldn't stand up to Charles. In the past she'd sometimes been handicapped, knowing the terrible thing she'd done to him. If it wasn't such a terrible thing

after all, she'd be in a much better position to keep him from riding roughshod over her. 'It does sound interesting,' said Barbara. 'Good,' said Charles. 'And one good thing is that nobody will think I slept my way to the top. If I'd slept with you, you'd never speak to me again.' 'What?' said Charles. His green eyes sparkled ominously. 'It's common knowledge,' said Barbara. 'Or, rather, it's common knowledge to people who know you. Women who've just met you obviously don't know, but of course then you sleep with them and they get the picture after a day or two.' Charles glared at her. 'That's not true,' he said. 'Obviously I've had some one-night stands—most people have in this day and age—but it's certainly not the rule. If people think that, they have completely the wrong idea of me.' Barbara smiled at him. Now that she wasn't going to be his secretary she wouldn't have to be quite so polite. 'I see,' she said sceptically. 'So, what you're saying is you've sometimes slept with a woman and called her the next day.' 'Well...' 'Within the week,' Barbara amended charitably. 'Yes.' 'But probably it was sometimes because you'd promised to call and you thought you really had to.' 'Sometimes.'

Barbara raised an eyebrow. 'Did you ever do it because you actually wanted to? I mean, were you ever disappointed when she wasn't there? Were you ever not disappointed when she picked up the phone?' There was a short pause while Charles looked back over the years. 'I can't remember a specific occasion,' he said at last. 'But that doesn't mean it hasn't happened.' He shrugged. 'I don't tend to analyse my feelings when I pick up the phone, Barbara. Sometimes I call, sometimes things come up. End of story.' 'Hmm,' Barbara said noncommittally. 'Well, all I can say is if I'm as good as you think it's a good thing we didn't go all the way. As things stand, you're not losing a secretary, you're gaining a presentation genius. If we'd slept together, something tells me you'd have just ended up accidentally on purpose losing a secretary.' Her eyes sparkled. She couldn't wait for Charles to say something rude so she could say something rude back. He wasn't saying anything, though; he was just looking at her. There was a rather strange expression on his face. Over the years Charles Mallory had developed a knack for picking talent. He could spot it in people with no formal qualifications; he could spot it in people with disgraceful exam results, people whose teachers and employers deplored bad attitude, lack of industry, inability to concentrate. Mallory Corporation had shot ahead of most of its competitors on the back of a stable of dark horses, each one hand-picked by its maverick founder. He was used to finding people in dead-end jobs and giving them their first big break. Every single one had been almost speechless with disbelief; every single one had stammered out a promise to do his very best, to justify Charles's faith, to do whatever it took not to let him down. None had taken the news matter-of-factly. None had launched into an unprovoked critique of his personal life. None, that was, until now. Charles walked across the room to the doorway where Barbara was still standing.

'Barbara, darling,' he said softly, 'if we'd slept together you wouldn't be quite so prickly right now—in the first place because you'd have had a lovely time, and in the second place because you'd want to do it again.' His eyes gleamed. 'But I wouldn't be avoiding you, Five Per Cent, because if I'd slept with you I'd want to do it again too.' Barbara looked up into his eyes. They were the glorious glowing green of the Aegean Sea—you'd never have guessed he'd been hauling her over the coals not five minutes ago. Just the look in his eyes turned her knees to water—but that didn't mean it couldn't change in two seconds. That was the thing to remember about Charles. He was as ruthless and changeable as the sea, and you could never count on anything he said. A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybeyou couldn't count on him; all the same, this was better than watching him promise undying devotion or at least a two-night stand to other women. Here was Charles as good as saying he wanted to sleep with her, and she hadn't even won a Nobel Prize! 'That's what you always say,' she said, unimpressed, 'before you sleep with someone. Afterwards you realise you're just not interested and if you're not interested what's the use of pretending?' She grinned up at him insouciantly. 'Better stop while you're ahead, Charles. You'll never win this one. I've known you too long.' Charles was looking down at her with mingled amusement and exasperation. 'If we'd gone all the way—as you rather quaintly put it—last night, I'd have won this one already,' he said. 'But we'll have to put this on hold for now.' He ran his thumb across her mouth, his eyes holding hers. Then he shrugged and laughed and kissed her. Barbara kissed him back enthusiastically. It wouldn't last, of course, but it was lovely to have Charles acting as if he found her irresistible. It would be horrible when he went on to someone else, but maybe she'd just be able to remember the good parts. Now Charles was saying something sensible.

'In the next four days we'll be lucky to get twenty hours' sleep between us,' he was saying. 'We can't afford to waste time, Barbara, so no personalities. We've got to turn out work that can outclass people with a hell of a lot more resources than we can call into play—which means we've got to do it on sheer brainpower.' He arched an eyebrow. 'Which means we can't afford distractions. This has got to be a purely professional relationship, Barbara.' Barbara flicked up an answering eyebrow. 'I understand perfectly,' she said. 'Next time I see you about to kiss me I'll stop you, politely but firmly. Would you like me to wear something long and concealing?' 'I'd like you to get down to work,' said Charles. 'Call Personnel and have them book me a new secretary. She must have a tractable disposition and not resent getting out of bed before noon.' 'Yes, Mr Mallory. Of course, Mr Mallory. You're so wonderful, Mr Mallory,' said Barbara. 'We'll see what we can do.'

CHAPTER TEN CHARLES leaned back in his chair and scowled. They'd been working non-stop for two days. The latest version of the presentation lay on the desk in front of him; on the other side of the desk the ex-Perfect Secretary was explaining why no one but an idiot would have made six of the ten criticisms he'd made. He reckoned she was right about three of them. On the other hand, he wouldn't have slipped up in the first place if he'd been working with, say, Mike Carlin. That was, he wouldn't have slipped up if he'd gone out with Julia on Wednesday as originally planned, fired Mike Carlin the next day when the whole mess came to light, and then just dealt with it himself. Because the fact was that no one but a complete idiot would have imagined he could keep his mind on the job when he'd done everything but sleep with Barbara two nights before. In theory he'd just pulled off another brilliant bit of talent-spotting. Barbara had a better mind than Mike Carlin, and it was a pleasure to see her apply it to something up to her weight. But she was also a lot better- looking than Mike. The more businesslike and professional her clothes, the more he couldn't help remembering that he'd undressed her just a couple of days ago. He'd look at her, remembering, and she'd catch his eye, eyebrow raised, mouth in a mocking smile, and he'd know she knew exactly what he was thinking. It was as much as he could do not to pull her into his arms on the spot. If he'd just stayed another hour on Thursday morning and slept with her he could have kept Mike and given her a much deserved promotion and it wouldn't have mattered because he'd have got her out of his system. Now, when one of the biggest contracts to come their way was in the balance, and he needed to give the job at hand a hundred and twenty per cent of his attention, he found himself mentally undressing his new presentation expert. He'd never been worried by a challenge before, but he'd brought to every challenge he'd ever faced the same ruthless single-mindedness he'd brought to that ridiculous maths exam. He couldn't afford this.

'You know I'm right,' said Barbara, coming around the desk. She perched on the edge, flipping through the presentation. 'You can't take this out without changing the whole focus and making it sound way too technical.' Charles glared at her. She wasn't that different from the way she'd always been—she'd always been coming up at odd moments and perching on the nearest piece of furniture the better to pester him. But the long, skinny legs of the eleven-year-old had turned into legs that went on for ever; he had to fight down an impulse to run a hand up over her knee, see the vivid face so set on its argument turn towards him in sudden awareness. 'You could be right,' he said curtly. He stood up abruptly and began pacing up and down the room, hands in his pockets. 'Of course I'm right,' said Barbara, slipping off the desk to the ground again. 'Also, if you look at this pie chart you wanted to put in—' 'I take your point,' he said hastily. She seemed to be about to come over and buttonhole him; if she did he couldn't answer for the consequences. 'Look, why don't you get on with your departmental sections? I've got to slog through some pretty nasty programming; I'd better get on with it.' For a moment Barbara looked as though she was going to carry on the argument regardless. Then she shruggedand left the room. It was what he'd wanted, but as soon as she'd left he wanted to call her back. Damn the girl—he'd heard other men complain about this sort of thing, going on about some woman they couldn't get out of their head, and he'd always felt a sense of cool superiority. He'd never let himself get bogged down in anything like that. The women in his life took second place to work and they knew it or, if they didn't, they weren't in his life much longer. Most of the time they didn't mind; sometimes one threw a scene and walked out and found someone else, and he just shrugged and moved on. Barbara didn't look as though she was about to walk out, but he had an uneasy feeling that if she did he wouldn't like it. If only he'd slept with her when he'd had the chance, he thought for the thirtieth time. Well, it wasn't

too late. They'd wrap this up and he'd take her out to dinner and back to his place and then he could get on with his life. Cheered by this simple plan, he walked over to the computer, sat down and began to give at least a hundred and ten per cent of his attention to the nasty programming. Just like a typewriter, he thought, remembering Barbara's slogan. Just like a typewriter. Why can't a woman be more like a man? Why can't a computer be more like a typewriter? Barbara returned to her desk to brood over departmental sections., She'd told Charles what an idiot he was, but she wondered whether it had really struck home. In fact, for the last two days she'd been wondering what on earth Charles had seen in her. The first thing he'd done was to go through her presentation and tear it apart. Then he'd gone through the manual on the new version of the software with her, grilling her on how its various marvellous features might go into the presentation and putting tabs on the pages. Then he'd sent her away and told her to have a preliminary draft ready in two hours. Barbara had brought the draft back in three hours and Charles had torn it apart and sent her away again. He hadn't torn it apart this time, but he'd complained about a lot more things than he had any right to. And now she had the special departmental sections to write. As soon as she did he'd probably tear them apart, she thought resentfully. She'd thought they'd be working together, but every time she went in to talk to him he just tore apart what she'd done and then sent her away again. He was probably wishing he'd decided to work with Mike Carlin. By the end of the weekend Barbara thought she must have rewritten the presentation twenty times. Charles never bothered to be tactful. If he liked something he usually just said it would do; if he didn't he said he'd never seen anything so stupid in his life. On the other hand, at least she gave as good as she got. She'd go in to Charles and argue with him and go away and go back and argue some more. She'd never been so tired in her life. She'd never had so much fun before in her life.

She didn't care if Charles shouted at her; the fact was, he'd given her something she hadn't even known she'd wanted. She'd always imagined that she didn't care who got the credit for something, as long as the quality of the work was acknowledged. What she hadn't realised, she saw now, was how conservative and unadventurous you had to be if you were working undercover, doing something someone else would put before a board, or a committee, or a panel. Now that the presentation really was hers she could have inspired risky ideas and throw them in and argue for them. She could be as original as she liked, without worrying that somebody whose work it was supposed to be wouldn't be able to explain it if asked. She'd never realised how one exciting, original idea led to another; and she'd never realised, she had to admit, just how terrifyingly brilliant Charles was. Mike had been right—you started to explain and Charles was there before you finished. He always saw the point, and half the time he could go one better. He'd been as good as his word in keeping her at arm's length—but every so often, just when Barbara hit her stride in shouting him down and pointing out why her presentation was not the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen, his eyes would meet hers and an involuntary smile would tug at the corner of his mouth. As for Barbara, she would never, ever again sit beside him, stealing little glances when she thought she could get away with it. She'd promised to be good, and she was being good. She knew now how easy it was to kiss someone before he could stop you, but had she done it even once? No. And she hadn't said anything either. But she hadn't promised not to look. He'd thrown off his jacket and loosened his tie about half an hour into the marathon; she could look at the shirt tucked into his belt and remember that she'd once pulled his shirt out and unbuttoned it and put her arms around him inside it. She could look at his hair and remember running her fingers through it. She could look at the hard jaw, the plane of his cheek, and remember running her hand over it. She could look at his mouth and remember that he had kissed her too many times to count.

By three a.m. on Monday the presentation was complete. Barbara took it into Charles's office for the last time. Charles was sitting at his computer. He pushed his chair back and gestured at the screen. 'What do you think?' he said. On the screen were the words 'Simple as a Typewriter'. They vanished, to be replaced by a list of options—directories for pre-existing documents, various types of blank documents. A bar of text at the top of the screen explained how to make a selection, which Barbara did. She was now in a standard letter; again a bar at the top of the screen explained what to do. 'The idea is that we challenge our rivals to a play-off,' said Charles. His eyes were hollow from lack of sleep, his jaw could have done with a shave, but he was grinning. 'We bring in people who've never used a computer before—how long does it take them to produce a simple letter from scratch? Bring in temps who've only used one package—see how long it takes to produce a simple letter on one of the others. Idea is, they buy our stuff and they can use anyone's.' He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them wide. 'It's brilliant,' said Barbara, staring. It looked simple, but the simpler it looked, the more work lay behind it. Most men at Charles's level, of course, wouldn't slog through the programming needed to produce something like this. 'Paperclips and rubber bands, but I think she'll fly. Enough to give them the general idea, anyway.' He closed down his machine, then stood up and stretched. 'But...' said Barbara. 'But?' said Charles. 'Couldn't you, or rather our competitors, come up with something pretty similar, starting with any of the other packages?' she said doubtfully. He shrugged. 'Sure. But I'm betting they won't. They could if they knew everything you've told me about the company, and maybe they'd have found

that out if they'd had as much to lose by not getting the deal, but they don't. Chances are a lot of people in the company already know one or another of the major packages; our competitors can count on factions voting for them who know the commercial product without any modifications. They'll be trying to sell what they've got as it stands. We may not be inwith much of a chance, but the only one we've got is to take them by surprise.' Barbara sighed. He was right, of course. They'd put so much effort into it, and yet at the end of the day that was all they had—not much of a chance. Well, they'd done what they could. She yawned uncontrollably. Charles's estimate of the amount of sleep they'd get had been optimistic; her head felt as though it was filled with wet sand, and her eyes were dry and staring. 'So we're done?' said Barbara. 'For the moment. Let's go to bed, shall we?' Barbara stared at him. 'What, now?' she said. Charles stared at her, then laughed. He didn't know why he was so surprised, considering what had been taking up about fifty per cent of his mental energy for the past four days. The fact was, if he got any more tired he'd be comatose—it wasn't going to help get her out of his system if he took her to bed and promptly passed out. 'And I thought I had a one-track mind,' he said. 'Barbara, darling, I know it's been a while, but once upon a time there was a thing called sleep. You do it in a bed. If you want to join me in mine, you can sleep with me. I think I'll save seducing you for a night when I'm fully conscious.' Barbara flushed. Considering the way he'd been looking at her all weekend, she didn't think she'd jumped to conclusions. 'That's all right,' she assured him. 'I don't have to turn you dowji now. If you'd rather be rejected when you're fully conscious I'm happy to wait.'

He laughed. 'I won't rise to the bait; I'm too tired. You're welcome to my bed if you want it. Otherwise I'll take you home.' She'd been furious two seconds before, but suddenly the thought of going home alone was depressing. She'd been with him almost non-stop for four days. If she went home it would be over, whereas if she went home with Charles it wouldn't be over yet. It might look a little inconsistent, but after all he had offered. 'Could I really?' said Barbara. 'Really what?' 'Sleep with you? Go home with you? I'm so tired,' she said. 'It's at least half an hour to my house, and your flat is only five minutes away.' Charles stared at her. He raised an eyebrow. 'You know, I'd like to think I'd understand you if I were functioning at a hundred per cent capacity, but somehow I doubt it.' 'What's to understand?' Barbara said airily. 'I'm tired. If I go home with you I can be asleep in fifteen minutes instead of forty-five. I didn't realise you were making an offer I couldn't accept.' Charles ran a hand through his hair wearily. At last he shrugged. 'Fine. Sure. Let's go.' 'I'll call a cab,' said Barbara. 'You shouldn't drive when you're so tired.' She began dialling the number, waiting for the inevitable argument, but he just slipped into his jacket and waited for her. He must be more tired than she'd realised. They took the lift to the street and fell into the waiting cab, silent from sheer weariness. A few minutes later the cab drew up at the converted warehouse by the river where Charles had a penthouse. He tipped the driver generously. Barbara followed him into the building, her eyes already half-shut, and stumbled after him into the lift.

There was a soft swooshing noise, and the doors opened onto an enormous room with a spectacular view. Barbara's eyes were three-quarters shut. 'Where's the bedroom?' she asked. 'This way,' said Charles. He led the way to a door at the far end of the room. Barbara staggered after him, her eyes seven-eighths shut. 'Do you want pyjamas?' asked Charles. He was standing at the door of what seemed to be a walk-in closet. 'Don't care,' said Barbara, looking longingly at the vast bed in the centre of the room. 'You'd better,' he said. 'You'll want to wear that tomorrow. Here.' He threw her a pair of black silk pyjamas. 'You've got one minute if you don't want an audience,' he said, grinning, and disappeared into the closet. A shirt came flying out. Barbara kicked off her shoes, pulled her dress off over her head and threw it on a chair. Her bra followed. She slipped on the pyjama top, pulled off her tights and pulled up the pyjama bottoms which promptly fell down again. She stepped out of them with a shrug and headed for the bed. Charles came out of the closet. He was wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms and nothing else. Barbara had thought she couldn't open her eyes, but they widened from nine- tenths shut to a goggling three-tenths shut—all those hours in the gym certainly had paid off. She slid under the duvet, still staring. Charles grinned at her. 'Preview of coming attractions,' he said. 'Let's get some sleep.' He slid in beside her. Barbara wouldn't have thought she could sleep for two minutes with Charles half-naked beside her, but in fact the minute her head hit the pillow she was out cold.

Six hours later sunlight was streaming in the window and she was wide awake, as if all the tiredness had been wiped away with a sponge. Charles was lying on his side, one arm flung across her. She shifted onto her own side to face him. He stirred but did not wake. His jaw was black with stubble; thick black lashes shuttered his eyes; all that ferocious energy was still. She'd been right, Barbara thought gloomily; he was marvellous to wake up next to. Just for a moment she indulged in a fantasy in which for the rest of her life she woke up next to Charles. His arm would lie heavy across her just as it did now, his jaw would be dark with stubble, the black lashes would lie on his cheek, and because she had every right to be there she'd be able to kiss him awake and watch the sea-green eyes open, watch his mouth quirk up in a smile... Barbara sighed. She had about as much chance of that as of walking on the moon. It was too bad—she thought they'd make a good team. Charles needed someone who wasn't dazzled by his money and his brilliance and his charisma and his good looks and his charm. Not that he'd ever see it that way. Well, Barbara thought, there was no point in worrying about things she couldn't change. The main thing was to make the most of her opportunities. She was not going to go around for the rest of her life remembering that she'd had the chance to wake Charles with a kiss and had passed it up. She slid closer inside his arm until her face was level with the sleep-bound face of the man beside her. She bent her head forward and brushed his mouth with her lips. The stubble on his jaw pricked her cheek; his mouth was hot under hers. She increased the pressure of her mouth on his, and now his mouth returned the pressure and his arm tightened around her. The glorious eyes opened drowsily, then snapped open suddenly. He laughed, and she could feel his mouth smiling as he finished the kiss. Then he propped himself on his elbow.

'I'm surprised you managed to restrain yourself this long,' he said, grinning. 'If you could have seen your face this weekend—now I know what the phrase "devour with your eyes" means.' Barbara laughed. 'Well, I never promised not to look,' she said.'True enough,' said Charles. 'Has anyone ever told you your eyes are like blue laser beams?' 'No,' said Barbara. 'They must have made you promise not to look,' said Charles. There was a smile in his eyes. Barbara smiled back. 'They probably didn't need to—' She broke off abruptly, but it was far too late—he was on her like a hawk. 'What's this?' he asked, one black eyebrow swooping up. 'Don't tell me the arrogant monster is your favourite flavour!' 'To look at,' said Barbara, making a desperate recovery. 'But handsome is as handsome does.' 'So I've heard,' he said. His eyes were speculative. 'Which reminds me, we've some unfinished business, haven't we?' 'If you want me to rewrite the presentation again the answer is no,' said Barbara. 'That wasn't exactly the business I had in mind,' he said, an eyebrow flicking up again. 'I always said I didn't want to get involved with my secretary, but I never said anything about presentation specialists. I more or less promised to seduce you as soon as time allowed.' 'So you did,' she said affably. 'And I promised to turn you down. Would you like me to say "nothing doing" now, or shall I save it up for some later date when time would allow you to seduce me if I were prepared to go along with it?'

Charles opened his mouth. Barbara bulldozed cheerfully on. 'I should warn you that if you want me to wait it may be some time before you hear the bad news,' she said. 'Speaking as a former secretary familiar with your diary, time wouldn't allow you to seduce me for the foreseeable future even if I were prepared to co-operate—which I'm not. Even as your presentation specialist, I'm going to need to hear your voice on occasion.' Charles gave up on whatever it was he had thought of saying. He smiled and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that turned her bones to water. Quite a long time later he raised his head. 'And to think I've been wondering all these years what it would take to shut you up,' he said, a gleam of mockery in his eyes. 'Since when did you pay a blind bit of notice to anything I said?' scoffed Barbara, struggling to bring her breathing under control. 'You'd be surprised.' The deep voice caressed her; the green eyes were as mild as a silky tropical sea—naturally, Barbara thought cynically. After all, she hadn't slept with him yet. The Great Seducer had had a good night's sleep— of course he was raring to go. Not that she wasn't enjoying herself, of course; just because she didn't believe one syllable of it, that didn't mean she wasn't having a good time. 'If I were you I'd save the charm for Barrett,' she said. 'They pay better, and they might actually fall for it.' 'Who said I was going to Barrett?' Charles flicked up an eyebrow. 'I've got to go to Prague, Barbara—I should have been there days ago. I pulled every string I could think of to get them to put things on hold till this week.' 'Then who's going to Barrett?' Barbara asked blankly. 'Mike?' 'Mike?' said Charles. 'Why, because he scribbled a few ideas on a pad five months ago?' His eyes mocked her. 'No, I had in mind someone who knows the presentation inside out.'

Barbara stared at him in horror. 'No,' she said. 'What do you mean, "No"? You're the obvious choice,' he said cheerfully. 'I am not the obvious choice,' said Barbara. 'I've never done anything like this before. The deal's worth millions. I wouldn't know where to begin—' 'Well, you'll just have to get coaching,' Charles said ruthlessly. 'You know Barrett, you know the presentation—why should I send in someone less qualified just because you've got first-night nerves? You've got to start somewhere—might as well try the deep end.' Barbara closed her eyes. She hadn't thought anything could distract her from lying in Charles's arms in his bed beside him, with another kiss imminent, but the nightmare in store was working wonders. 'When is this supposed to happen?' she asked weakly. 'Next week. They want the preliminary proposals in tomorrow, then the candidates get to make their pitches next Monday with the full thing. Gives you a week to get on top of the finer points of the software, iron out any wrinkles in our "Temp Challenge" and practise your public speaking. It's a walkover.' Barbara shuddered. She opened her eyes to look at him pleadingly. 'I'm sorry, Charles,' she said. 'I just can't. You've got to find someone else. I'll let you down and I'll lose you the contract—' 'No, you won't,' he said ruthlessly. 'You'll start earning that ridiculous pay package or I'll know the reason why. Sorry, Barbara, but you're the right man for the job. End of story.' 'I want my old job back,' said Barbara. Charles grinned at her. 'You can't do that, Barbara,' he said. 'You know I can't sleep with my secretary.' 'I don't want you to sleep with me,' Barbara said tartly.

'Sure you do,' he said cheerfully. 'Tell you what, we'll save it for after Prague. You can sew up the Barrett deal, I'll charm the pants off the Czechs and we'll celebrate before we take on the world. Is it a deal?' 'No,' said Barbara. 'Then that's settled,' said Charles. He kissed her again, his mouth hot and urgent, then raised his head to look in her eyes again. 'I can hardly wait.'

CHAPTER ELEVEN ON TUESDAY Charles caught a noon flight to Prague. He settled into his seat in Business Class and opened his briefcase. He'd brought a lot of company reports and background material to go through, and had also asked his new secretary to give him a printout of the breakdown of the latest results for Mallory. He'd given her the document number and asked her to put the hard copy in his briefcase. He now took out the document, which was in a folder. He began to look through it, then flipped through with gathering fury. The document gave the results as of February—it was now June. The folder, he now saw, was labelled 'Results—latest breakdown'. The girl seemed to have thought a version of the document which had been 'latest' several months earlier had a permanent right to the title, and that there was no point in going to all the inconvenience of printing out a more recent version. In point of fact there had been any number of more recent printouts— it was just that the idiots Personnel had foisted on him over the months had not happened to file them in this particular folder. He put the document back in his briefcase with a scowl. This was what he got for promoting Barbara—more of the standard issue of hopelessly incompetent assistants. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now, but as soon as he got off the plane— Actually, as soon as he got off the plane he could call Barbara, he thought suddenly. He had the laptop and a portable printer with him. She could just e-mail him the latest version of the document, and he wouldn't even have to talk to the idiot who had given him this one. Not that he could expect any sympathy from Barbara, of course—she'd probably tell him it was all his fault—but at least she'd get the job done with a minimum of fuss. At least she wouldn't dissolve into tears if he made some simple observation on the simplicity of the instructions which the secretary had been asked to follow. Since he couldn't go through the financial data he'd wanted, he should really get on with the background material. He took a handful of company reports out of his briefcase. Barbara was completely preposterous, he thought. It was simply not true that he didn't talk to women as soon as he'd slept with them. As soon as he got back he would sleep with Barbara and get her out of his system and prove that she was completely wrong.

He would help her with her career. Usually when he thought of her these days he found himself imagining, in vivid detail, what it was going to be like to go on undressing her, what it was going to be like not to stop at kisses. This time, unexpectedly, he had a mental image of her intent, excited face as she hammered home some point about her presentation. It was as if he'd brought to life again something he'd thought he'd killed off years ago to further his own ambition. He was pricked by an unaccustomed feeling of tenderness. He mustn't let it happen again, he thought. She was bright and full of promise, but she had a long way to go; he must find things for her to do where she wouldn't be tripped up by her inexperience, fatally damaging her confidence. Everything was going to be different this time, he decided. He'd been selfish and egotistical in his teens, and Barbara always treated him as though he hadn't changed. He would prove she was wrong. First he would sleep with her so she stopped getting under his skin, then he would go back to being a kind of honorary older brother—the kind of older brother he should have been all those years ago. He could go back to seeing women who didn't interfere with his concentration, and Barbara would see how generous and encouraging and altruistic he really was and stop sniping at him every time he made a polite request of some member of his staff. Having reached this satisfying conclusion, he opened an annual report and put her out of his mind. He read a couple of pages and found he was thinking about her again. He gritted his teeth and read another page, and found he was reliving the moment when he had woken up to feel her mouth on his. What in God's name was the matter with him? Whatever it was, he didn't like it. He would sleep with her the night he got back, he decided. The sooner he stopped thinking about her the better.

Barbara, meanwhile, was actually glad to have Charles out of the way. She grilled every member of staff at Mallory who'd ever given a pitch, then she hijacked Mike Carlin and made him give her an intensive session on the new software. She called her old temp agencies and had temps come in to try the new challenge just to see how it worked. She bought a new suit and

she practised in front of a video recorder, giving the presentation again and again and again. It should have been easy to put Charles out of her mind since he was out of the office, but it wasn't—and not just because memories kept turning up at five-minute intervals. The real thing kept turning up at the end of her phone. Not that Charles necessarily asked for her. He would call the unsuspecting temp brought in while Personnel hired him a secretary, scorch the wires from Czechoslovakia until the temp hung up and stormed out of the building in tears, then call the switchboard and ask to be put through to Barbara. 'Where do they find these idiots?' he would snarl, and then throw out some question so complicated you had to be a genius or at least telepathic to understand, let alone answer it. Somehow or other Barbara would get to the bottom of it, find the file, dig out the spreadsheet and fax across the crucial piece of paper. Then he would tell her she shouldn't be wasting her time on trivial secretarial tasks. 'Correction,' Barbara retorted the fourth time it happened. 'You shouldn't be wasting my time. But you asked for my extension so you must have decided it was pretty urgent.' 'It is urgent—that's why I need to have a competent secretary instead of an airhead.' 'Anyone competent doesn't have to put up with the likes of you,' Barbara said cheerfully. It felt good to be insulting Charles again; at least it took her mind off her presentation. 'How's the presentation coming along?' asked Charles. 'Don't ask,' Barbara said gloomily. 'I just did,' said Charles. 'I know the subject inside out,' said Barbara. 'I've bought a new suit. I've practised in front of a video camera. It's going to be diabolical.'

'You'll wow 'em,' said Charles. 'Does it have a short skirt?' 'Ish,' said Barbara. 'I knew I was right to hand this one over to you,' said Charles. 'Do you know how to say "I can't get you out of my mind" in Czech?' 'No,' said Barbara. 'Neither do I,' said Charles. 'And if I did you wouldn't understand it, but the English sounds so corny. How's your Hungarian?' 'It doesn't stretch that far,' said Barbara. 'And mine's non-existent. Well, we'll just have to consider it unsaid. Sayonara, darling.' The line went dead. Barbara stared at her receiver, then slowly replaced it. Could he possibly mean it? Just for a moment a warm glow spread through her, but then she remembered. Charles could be charming when he wanted to be, and he always did want to be before he'd slept with someone. You couldn't take it seriously. Besides, if this presentation was the complete fiasco it was almost certain to be, he wasn't going to be wasting much more of his charm on her. She shuddered and started going through her presentation for the fortieth time. It was easy to talk herself into sense when she wasn't talking to him. The end of the week was a relief because at least he wouldn't be turning his secretary into a wet rag and then asking to be put through to Barbara instead. But no sooner had she got home on Friday night than the telephone rang. It was Charles. 'I'm off duty,' said Barbara. 'So am I,' said Charles. 'Wish you were here.' 'So do I,' said Barbara, with heartfelt sincerity. 'Then someone else could do this presentation.'

'You'll be fine,' said Charles. 'Is there something I can do for you?' asked Barbara. 'No, this phone call is purely altruistic,' said Charles. 'I just wanted to talk to you. Are you sitting on the sofa?' 'Yes,' said Barbara. 'Wish I were there,' said Charles. Barbara couldn't say anything. For a moment the memory of lying there with him beside her was too vivid. 'Say something,' he said softly, a hint of laughter warming his voice. 'Do you wish I were there?' 'I can hardly say no,' Barbara said tartly. 'Sure you can.' Even down a phone line, hundreds of miles away, she could hear him grinning. 'If you think it.' Barbara closed her eyes. Why did it all come so easily to him? He wasn't terrified of rejection; he just said whatever he thought. So why couldn't she? 'Well, I...' she began. 'I...I wish you were here too.' 'I think of you when I wake up,' he said. 'Do you think of me?''Sometimes.' He gave a shout of laughter. 'Only sometimes?' 'Sometimes I wake up and think about the presentation,' she said. 'Sometimes I think of you.' 'I think of you just before I open my eyes,' he said softly. 'I imagine opening my eyes and looking into eyes like sapphires. Did I ever tell you you're beautiful?'

'A couple of times,' Barbara said. She'd heard his side of this kind of conversation before; funny how it didn't make any difference, knowing how often he'd said this kind of thing—how she felt a terrible rush of pleasure when she heard them said to her. 'Is something wrong?' he asked. 'No,' said Barbara. 'It just feels funny, hearing you say these things to me.' She couldn't imagine saying it to his face; somehow it was easier over the phone. 'Meaning, you think it's just a line?' 'N-not exactly,' she said. 'I mean, I think you really do want to sleep with me.' 'To put it mildly.' Laughter warmed his voice. 'Is there something wrong with that?' 'No, of course not,' said Barbara. 'But you think you'll never hear from me again after the morning after.' 'I would never hear from you after the morning after if there were a night before,' said Barbara. 'Which there won't be because I have to be on speaking terms with my boss.' 'Do you know how to say "I've got you under my skin" in Romanian?' asked Charles. 'No,' said Barbara. 'You spend all this time studying these languages, and you never seem to know how to say anything useful,' he said. 'Never mind, darling, I'll sweep you off your feet when I get back and then I'll prove you wrong.' 'Hmm,' said Barbara. 'Do you happen to have a Czech- English phrasebook handy?'

'Somewhere—why?' She could tell he was still grinning. 'See if it explains the English word "no" anywhere,' she said. 'I take it you haven't come across it before. Goodnight, Charles.' And she hung up. It immediately started ringing again, but she ignored it. Serve him right. Then it stopped ringing and she wished she'd picked it up. She'd have years and years of not hearing Charles rave about her eyes—why waste one of the last chances she'd ever have? He called again on Saturday night and Sunday night, telling her how the deal was going, and about Prague, and about how he wished she'd come with him. She couldn't remember Charles ever taking so much trouble even when he did want to sleep with someone—but then, of course, she'd never seen him when he was divided by the whole of Western Europe from the person he wanted to sleep with. She sat curled up on the sofa, teasing him and insulting him, while he laughed and told her he'd make her eat her words, and sometimes she believed him—for a moment.

When Barbara got to Barrett on the big day—Monday— she found her two rivals already there, looking each other up and down like wary dogs. They cast her a glance when she walked in, then went back to looking at each other with an indifference that spoke clearer than words. Neither thought she—or Mallory—presented any threat to the big players. Barbara gritted her teeth; she'd see about that. The three rivals were shown to a small conference room where a number of people from Barrett were waiting. Mallory was to go last. Three hours later Barbara was feeling better. Her rivals had gone through their paces with the ease of long practice. She could see old Mr Barrett scribbling notes on a pad, his bushy white eyebrows scowling; it was as if she were seeing it through his eyes, seeing umpteen flashy features which no productive member of staff should be using in the first place.

Then it was time for lunch. Just as everyone was about to sit down Barbara pulled her trump card. She walked over to the head of services and said pleasantly, 'I'm sorry to bother you. Could you have Personnel arrange twenty temps to turn up for two o'clock?' The head of services raised an eyebrow at this colossal piece of impertinence. 'I don't know what qualifications you're looking for,' he said drily, 'but you'll be lucky to get them at short notice.' Barbara smiled. 'Quite,' she said coolly. There was a short pause while everyone in the room registered that something was happening. There was a flicker of interest in the eyes of the head of services. 'What qualifications are you looking for?' he asked. 'I want ten temps with experience of Mr Rogers's package,' she said, with a smile at Rival A, 'and ten with experience of the latest version of Mr Peters's package. If Personnel can't drum them up in an hour, they can make up the numbers with whatever they can find.' A little smile cracked the head of services' rather dour features. 'We'll see what we can do,' he said. He picked up a phone and barked orders. Barbara gave a smile of angelic innocence at her rivals. Her blue eyes gazed limpidly around the room, before settling upon the buffet. 'Ah, lunch,' she said benignly. After lunch she escorted everyone to the training room. She had arranged for it to be set up ahead of time: ten machines had Rival A's package, ten had B's and ten had Mallory's. As the temps arrived she directed those trained on B to the A machines, those trained on A to the B machines. Most of the temps complained that they had never used the package before. Barbara smiled angelically. Then they were joined by ten members of Barrett staff, who were shown to the Mallory machines.

Barbara explained the trial. Everyone was given three documents to produce. When they were through they were to come to the lecture room and drop off their sheets in the boxes provided. She returned to the lecture room with her companions and launched into her presentation. Within fifteen minutes all the Mallory documents were back in the Mallory box. They were followed half an hour later by a straggling group of temps with documents from package A and package B. 'It's not so long ago,' said Barbara, 'that you could call a typing pool and count on getting someone in at short notice who could use whatever equipment you had.' She smiled and looked straight at Mr Barrett. 'Things aren't so simple now; progress isn't always an improvement on all fronts. The more sophisticated a package is, the greater the danger that only people trained on it can use it. That's why it's so important to have the option of simplification. You shouldn't ever have to stretch existing staff just because people are sick or on holiday and substitutes can't be found.' Mr Barrett wasn't the type to smile, but he wore less of a scowl than he had all morning. 'Mallory isn't the best known,' Barbara concluded, 'but maybe it should be. Members of your staff have just produced three standard documents with no previous training in the software. I've covered some of the latest features in our package, but I think for sheer value for money the best thing we can offer is the simplicity which enables you to make the most of your greatest asset—your own staff.' She gave another angelic smile to her competitors and stepped away from the podium.Mr Barrett came up and shook her hand. The head of services came up and gave her a broader version of the dour smile. The look of strained good humour on her competitors' faces told its own story. Barbara put her papers and transparencies back in her briefcase. 'I'm sure you realise that there's absolutely nothing in this that couldn't be done quite easily with our package,' Rival A said to Mr Barrett, with a forced smile.

'As a presentation this was quite a performance,' said Rival B, 'but if you look at the actual product nothing about this is new.' He flashed Barbara a look of acute annoyance. 'I could perfectly well have put together something along these lines.' Mr Barrett gave him an unenthusiastic look. 'Yes,' he said drily. 'But you didn't.' Rivals A and B drove off in their company cars. Barbara took the train back into central London. She kept shaking inside, looking back over the presentation. Charles was coming back tomorrow night, she remembered. Suppose, just suppose, she actually did sleep with Charles, and suppose the presentation was spectacularly successful—would that make a difference? Would he go on speaking to her afterwards? She was walking casually down the street, mulling over this question, when a terrible thought struck her. She'd implied to Charles more than once that she'd had lots of sexual experience. What on earth was he going to think if they ever did go to bed? What if he guessed the truth? She happened to be walking past a bookshop. Barbara strode inside and went down the section on intimacy. There seemed to be lots of illustrated books which would be helpful if she only had the nerve to buy one. Steeling herself, she took down Yes! You Can Satisfy Your Man, took it to the till and paid for it. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. She was too restless to go back to the office. Well, she'd just take the rest of the afternoon off and study. Three hours later Barbara sat with burning cheeks on her sofa. Her new book was full of helpful suggestions and illustrations just in case you didn't understand the suggestions. The problem was, she just couldn't imagine trying any of them out on Charles. All the other women he'd slept with probably took it all completely for granted—in fact, one of them had probably written Yes! You Can Satisfy Your Man—and as soon as he slept with her he'd see that she was completely inexperienced.

She was just about to go through one of the earlier chapters again when she remembered a little detail she'd overlooked, which wasn't covered in the book. The fact was that a whole encyclopaedia on the subject of how to satisfy your man wouldn't have helped on this one. The book took it for granted that somewhere along the line you'd slept with somebody a few times before; you already had the basics—now you just wanted to improve your technique. It didn't give any tips on how to fool Don Juan into thinking you'd played the field when you were actually still a virgin, the reason being, she thought bitterly, that it couldn't be done. Barbara tossed the book aside. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried, she thought indignantly. She'd have liked nothing better than to take her mind off Charles, if not with a grand passion then at least with a fling. She'd tried going out with other men, but if you got bored just kissing someone, what were you supposed to do? Barbara grimaced. She'd been telling Charles, of course, that she had no plans to sleep with him, but deep down, she realised, she'd been thinking she should take the chance while she had it. It might not be the best deal in the world, joining the ranks of his conquests between numbers 3,372 and 3,374, but it was better than nothing. Just lying here on the sofa with him that one night— seeing that look in his eyes—was probably the best memory she had, followed in close second by waking up beside him and in close third, fourth, fifth et cetera by all those other kisses. It wasn't a choice between life with the man she loved and a one-night stand—it was a choice between life without the man she loved and life without the man she loved with memories of one night in his arms. However, it was one thing to make that choice, and quite another to have Charles know about it. He wasn't stupid; it would take him one second to add two and two and get five. As soon as he discovered she was a virgin he'd want to know why and, worse, why she'd decided to lose her virginity to the one man she'd been criticising for years. Then she wouldn't just have the rest of her life without him—she'd have the rest of her life with Charles knowing. Well, she just couldn't do it. Her defences weren't much, but they

were all she had. She was just going to have to make it clear that this was a purely professional relationship.

CHAPTER TWELVE CHARLES got back the next evening. Barbara had been torn all day between thinking it would be safer to leave on the stroke of five and trying to stay late so she could see him. In the end she decided it would definitely be safer to leave at five, but killed time in her office anyway. At six-thirty the door of her office swung open, and Charles strode in. He'd only been gone a week, but just seeing him made her heart do a little somersault. It was as if her memory toned him down after a while—as if some mental censor looked at all her images of him and said no one could possibly have eyes that green or a mouth that seductive, and edited all the images to look more like ordinary people. Then Charles would walk in, impossibly handsome, so charming that the furniture was probably having palpitations and so full of energy the air sizzled. Today all this charm and energy was directed at Barbara, since Charles was under the impression that he was about to seduce her. 'How was Prague?' said Barbara. 'Challenging.' He grinned. 'Too bad I promoted my secretary. Still, I survived.' 'Good,' Barbara said feebly. There must be something else she could say. 'I think the Barrett presentation went all right,' she said. 'All right?' said Charles. 'Of course it's too soon to tell—' Charles laughed. 'It's not, actually. I hate to spoil the suspense, but when I got in I found this waiting.'

nto herBarbara desk. picked it up and glanced through it. It was a letter from Mr Barrett himself, no less, complimenting Mallory on its understanding of the needs

of his business. It explained that a formal contract would follow in due course, and that he looked forward to doing business with them. 'I don't believe it,' Barbara said blankly. 'Why not? You did understand what they needed. Better than I did, seemed to me. I thought you'd do a brilliant job of persuading them, and you did.' He smiled at her, his eyes warm. 'Funny thing is, as far as I'm concerned the best thing about it is that you pulled it off. It's a major step forward for us, obviously. But when I saw this the first thing I thought was that I'd picked another winner.' Barbara smiled shyly. 'Yes, but it was just an accident that I'd happened to work there,' she pointed out. Charles shrugged. 'Anyone could have had the knowledge; that's not the same as knowing what to do with it.' He flicked her cheek with a finger. 'Anyway, this really gives us something to celebrate.' 'Yes,' Barbara said uneasily. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 'Lucky I caught you here,' he said blandly. 'Considering that you don't as yet have any other work on your plate now that Barrett's dealt with. But at least it means you can leave with a clear conscience. Let's go and have dinner.' Barbara knew this was a bad idea. It wasn't dinner itself that was the problem, but one thing could lead to another—and she had a pretty good idea of what Charles expected it to lead to tonight. On the other hand, what was she supposed to say? She could hardly come out and say 'Actually I'm a virgin' to an invitation to dinner. So what possible reason could she give for refusing? Besides, she didn't want to refuse. This job wouldn't last for ever. How much longer would she even have the chance to have dinner with Charles? And not just any Charles, but a Charles who, instead of glaring at her or mocking her, was actually smiling the smile she'd seen hundreds of times—directed at other women. She'd just swung a deal that would make

him millions of pounds— no wonder he liked her. Well, why couldn't she enjoy it just this once? 'All right,' she agreed. They went to a restaurant with a famous chef, but Barbara hardly tasted the food. Charles sat across the table from her, filling her glass, passing her breadsticks, always with that smiling look in his eyes. This time he'd taken her out to dinner not for business reasons but just to be with her. For the rest of her life she'd be able to remember that for three whole hours he'd sat across the table and smiled at her. At ten o'clock he said, 'Well, what do you say? Want to come back to my place and listen to that jazz CD I was talking about?' His eyes gleamed, inviting her to share his amusement at this variation on a standard line. Barbara knew she should say no. But when would she ever have a chance like this again? She could go back with him and at least he'd kiss her again. Of course, he'd probably be pretty annoyed when she told him she wasn't planning on going any further, but at least she'd have a few more kisses to add to her life's grand total. 'I'd love to,' she said. Charles grinned. 'Then let's go.' They went back to Charles's penthouse. Last time Barbara had been so exhausted she hadn't really taken it in; now she walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and gazed out, open-mouthed, at the glittering city below. Behind her came the notes of a cool sax, shimmering percussion. 'Something to drink?' said Charles. 'Brandy? Coffee?' 'Brandy,' said Barbara. She was going to need a little fortification to get through this little discussion, she thought gloomily.

'Coming right up.' He went to a drinks cupboard, then crossed the room to her side carrying two glasses and handed her one. He grinned. 'To my right-hand man. Mallory's secret weapon. The Barrett Bombshell.' Barbara took a long sip of brandy. Charles bent over and brushed her mouth with his. 'Come and sit down,' he said softly. Barbara followed him to the sofa. The brandy did seem to be helping. It seemed to have cleared her mind. She supposed she'd been vaguely thinking of just kissing Charles as much as she could get away with and then breaking the bad news. Now she realised that was a bad idea. He would probably be annoyed if he found out when he thought he was halfway to the bedroom, whereas if she told him right away, and established some ground rules, he would probably want to kiss her anyway and he wouldn't blame her if he got frustrated. Good thing he'd suggested the drink. She took another swallow and sat down beside Charles. 'Charles,' she said. 'Mmm?' He'd put an arm around her shoulders; his eyes smiled into hers. 'There's something I think I should tell you.' 'Mmm?' His hand stroked her hair. Barbara took one last swallow of brandy, emptying the glass. 'I don't want you to get the wrong idea,' she said. She forced her eyes to meet his. 'I can't sleep with you,' she said baldly. There, at last it was said. His mouth quirked up in a smile. 'What, still afraid I'll never speak to you again?' he said teasingly. 'I swear I will. You're my Barrett bombshell, Barbara. I can't give my secret weapon the cold shoulder.'

'I'd just rather not,' said Barbara. 'I thought it was fairer to let you know now.' The bad news didn't seem to have made much of a dent in his self-confidence. 'Was it something I said?' he asked softly, his breath warming her cheek. 'I take it back, whatever it was.' He brushed her mouth with his again, lingering until she leaned back against his arm, her mouth softening under his. Presently he raised his head to look down at her. 'God, you're beautiful,' he said. 'But it's not just that. There's something wild and untamed about you—always has been. I'd go to your family for Christmas, and I could have the most beautiful woman in London on my arm—someone who makes millions out of her face. You'd come into the room, and she'd look like a pet cat next to a tiger.' An eyebrow swooped up in sudden self-mockery. 'Yes, and you'd have your claws in me in less time than it took to say hello.' He kissed her again, his mouth swift and hard and urgent. 'Can't tell you how many times I've wanted to do that,' he said presently, the green eyes brilliant. 'Or how many times I've wondered...' The black slash of eyebrow shot up again, leaving her to finish the sentence. 'I'm sorry,' Barbara said stolidly. His air of self- congratulation made it easier to go on; he obviously took it for granted, in spite of what she'd said, that she was his for the asking. She raised her dark blue eyes to his and said, with limpid innocence, 'I've never slept with anyone before.' 'You what?' Charles said blankly. 'I'm waiting to meet the right person,' said Barbara. 'I want it to be something meaningful,' she added. She could feel herself grinning inside at Charles's look of stunned incredulity. 'I'm waiting for the person I want to spend my life with,' she said. 'I want him to be the first.' 'You're a virgin,' said Charles. 'Yes,' said Barbara. It seemed to be going pretty well, she thought. He seemed to be thinking quite a lot of things, most of them unrepeatable, but

at least he didn't seem to have guessed who she wanted to spend her life with. 'But...' said Charles. He was looking at her sceptically. 'Why didn't you bring this up the other night?' he asked. 'You said you couldn't sleep with your secretary,' Barbara explained. 'The question didn't arise.' 'Why do I feel there's more to this than meets the eye?' said Charles. He raised an eyebrow. 'You did come back here tonight, after all. Don't tell me you thought we were just going to listen to milestones in jazz.' 'I don't mind kissing you,' said Barbara. 'I like kissing you. But I didn't want you to get frustrated and then blame me.' Her eyes met his with the angelic innocence which had maddened the rival representatives of two major software companies. It now seemed to be maddening the director of a third. For a moment his eyes glowed with sheer temper. Then suddenly he laughed. 'I should have known it couldn't be that easy,' he said ruefully. 'Why do I put up with you, anyway? I could have called any one of a dozen women for dinner and afters, and instead I get the perfect ex- secretary who doesn't mind kissing me as long as I don't get frustrated.' 'You were the one who kept saying you were going to seduce me,' Barbara pointed out. 'Just because you said it didn't mean it was going to happen.' 'No,' he agreed. 'But I could have sworn...' The eyebrow flicked up again. 'I know you think I'm arrogant, but to tell the truth I'd always taken it for granted I'd be wasting my time on you—until just recently.' He smiled. 'You don't kiss like someone who wants to stop at kissing. And the way you were looking at me that weekend...' 'You're very attractive,' Barbara said dismissively. 'Aren't I just?' He grinned. 'Well, at least you're not saving your kisses for Mr Right.'

He bent his head and lowered his mouth to hers. His mouth was soft and warm, coaxing hers open—not that it took much coaxing. Her lips parted instantly and her arms went around his neck, holding him closer. Had it really only been a week since she'd kissed him? It seemed more like a year. Oh, what would it be like when it really was years and years? She'd thought she'd remembered how marvellous he tasted but it was so much better than she remembered. This time she must really remember, she thought, breathing in the heady, masculine scent of his skin and hair, locking her mouth to his just in case he tried to stop. So far he showed no signs of trying to stop. His tongue was deep in her mouth now, the probing tip sending shock waves of sensation through her. She buried the fingers of one hand in his hair, and slid her other hand down along the smooth, hard line of his jaw; there was something indescribably erotic about holding his head between her hands while his tongue thrust deeper and deeper into her mouth. Oh, why did it ever have to stop? she thought dizzily. One of his hands slid down her side to her waist. She had started wearing suits to the office now, and his hand slipped inside her waistband, pulling out her blouse. She held her breath. His hand was warm against her skin. She let out her breath on a little sigh, and his hand moved to her breast, his thumb slowly scraping over the gauzy fabric of her bra. He was kissing her less urgently now, his mouth softened so that all her attention was centred on the slow movement of his thumb on her breast. She was trembling uncontrollably. Arrows of pleasure seemed to run through her body, piercing her again and again as his thumb moved back and forth. After a very long time he raised his head. His hand was still on her breast. 'Don't stop,' she breathed, her eyes pools of desire. He smiled faintly. 'Barbara, darling,' he said wryly, 'did you ever stop to think who you'd blame when you got frustrated?' 'No one,' she said huskily. 'As long as we're clear on that one,' he said with a shrug. He unbuttoned her blouse with unnerving one- handed expertise, then bent to kiss her breast.

His mouth was hot on her sensitive skin, his tongue teasing her nipple. She breathed out a long, shuddering sigh. He raised his head to meet her eyes. 'Why did you stop?' she said faintly. Her heart was racing; the blood was drumming in her ears. 'Because it's ridiculous,' he said. He stroked her hair with one hand. 'Barbara,' he said softly, 'you know you want me. You want me as much as I want you, which is saying something. If this idea of saving yourself has been your guiding principle for years maybe I shouldn't ask you to set it aside at the drop of a hat, but when was the last time you actually thought about it?' 'I can't remember,' Barbara said truthfully. 'Well, you know yourself best, obviously.' He smiled. 'But you might consider giving my principle a run for its money.' 'What's that?' Barbara asked hoarsely. If only he would kiss her again. 'The thing that matters isn't whether you sleep with anyone else before you find your one true love. It's whether you sleep with anyone else after.' Barbara laughed. 'I should have guessed,' she said. 'Of course you should,' he said. 'But isn't there some truth in it? If you'd found Mr Right you wouldn't be here now, or if you were here it would be just as much of a betrayal to kiss me as sleep with me. And it would make sense to be loyal to a person, and a relationship, that actually existed. But right now there's nothing with that claim on your loyalty. All you can really know is what you feel right now. 'Isn't it better to be true to the feelings you actually have? If you ever meet someone and feel you want to spend the rest of your life with him, you can be true to that when it happens. In the meantime, why not be true to what you actually feel right now?'

You really had to hand it to Charles, Barbara thought. A word for any occasion. He sounded so sincere. To listen to him you'd have thought the only thing he was interested in was what was best for her. Devious, conniving, Machiavellian—well, what did it matter? The important thing was that he'd given her an easy way out. 'Hmm,' said Barbara. 'You know, I think you may be right.' 'What?' said Charles, startled. 'I never thought of it that way before,' she said. 'As you say, it doesn't really make sense to tiy to be loyal to someone who may not even exist.' 'Exactly,' said Charles. He looked as though he didn't quite believe his ears. 'The question is just whether I'd like to sleep with you right now.' 'Yes,' said Charles. He looked distinctly wary. 'And I think I would. Shall we go into the bedroom?' 'Why do I get the feeling there's more to this than meets the eye?' he said. 'I can't imagine,' said Barbara. 'The fact is, you're so devious you think everyone else is too.' She raised angelic blue eyes to his face. 'Do you promise to be gentle?' 'I'd better not,' Charles said dangerously. 'Considering that at the moment I'd like to wring your neck. I'd love to know what game you're playing.' Barbara smiled. She felt marvellous. Everything was going to be just fine! She'd get to sleep with the man she loved! Of course, he would probably never speak to her again, but then, sooner or later he was bound to find somebody else anyway. Sooner or later he'd stop speaking to her; at least this way she'd have slept with him first.

'What game?' she said innocently. 'As you say, I want you as much as you want me.' She paused. 'Would you really never sleep with anyone else again if you found the right girl?' He hesitated, then shrugged. 'Yes,' he said simply, as if daring her to laugh at him. 'She wouldn't be the first, but she'd be the last.' 'And you're just hoping you don't meet her any time soon,' Barbara said quizzically. He laughed. 'Oh, I wouldn't say that. But enough of me. It's time to take a hand in your education.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN LATER Barbara could never decide what had been best about the night. She'd heard stories from friends about their first time; some had joked and some had complained and some had said at least it hadn't hurt too much. At some level, after all the stories, she'd taken it for granted that it would be a disappointment. It would have to be because she'd imagined it so often and longed for it so much. Well, it hadn't been a disappointment. They'd gone into Charles's bedroom and she'd started taking her clothes off in a businesslike way and throwing them to the floor. Something about this matter-of-fact approach had made him laugh. Then he'd grinned at her, that old grin that she'd always tried to resist in the past—only now she hadn't had to resist. He'd started taking off his own clothes and throwing them to the floor, then suddenly he'd been beside her, naked, still grinning, and he'd laughed and thrown his arms around her. Her cheek had been pressed against his chest. She'd been able to hear his heart beating; the strong arms had held her close. She'd imagined this moment so many times, and yet the one thing she'd never imagined was that she could feel so absolutely safe. She'd locked her arms behind his back, closing her eyes. 'You're just doing that because you're scared to look,' he teased her, his breath warm in her hair. 'You just want to show off because you've spent all those hours at the gym,' she retorted, a breath of laughter in her voice. 'I think we should just turn out the light. Speaking as someone who spent all those hours you spent at the gym in bed.' He laughed and began kissing her and she kissed him wildly back, and that was the way she remembered it afterwards—that strange mixture of laughter and passion, the way even when he had brought her to the peak of

ecstasy it wasn't the purely physical thing she had somehow imagined because even then he was somehow there with her. He lay on his side afterwards, facing her, head propped on his hand. 'Well?' Barbara stared at him. The magazines were full of articles about sex, but she couldn't remember one ever mentioning what everything looked like afterwards. She'd never seen anything as beautiful as Charles, lying beside her, looking into her face. His eyes were that glorious, glowing green under the black slash of brow, the close- cropped black hair was slightly damp, the planes of his face were shadowed by the light behind him. If she wasn't careful she would blurt out 'I love you' before she knew it. 'It was wonderful,' she said. 'You're not supposed to say that,' he said with a lurking smile. 'You're supposed to say "Is that it?" and cut me down to size.' Another thing she hadn't expected was the way all the barriers between them seemed to just fall away. She felt as though she could tell him anything. If she wasn't careful she probably would. 'It wasn't the way I expected,' she said. Her dark blue eyes met his candidly. 'I thought it would be more impersonal somehow because...well, because you'd done it so many times.' He hesitated, then gave her a wry smile. 'Well, it can be. This must be some kind of first for me too. I don't think I've ever slept with someone I knew so well.' She'd have liked to ask if he'd liked that better; she'd have liked him to say it was wonderful for him too, better than it had ever been before. In fact, what she'd really have liked him to say was that he'd suddenly realised that he was madly in love with her and wanted her to marry him. 'Did it—does it make a difference?' she asked.

'It's very erotic,' he said. He stretched out a hand and ran it lightly down her side, his eyes holding hers. 'Though that may partly be because you've usually got your defences in such good order.' 'M-my defences?' she stammered, wondering if he'd seen through them at last. 'Attack is the best means of defence,' he reminded her. 'You've been attacking me ever since I can remember.' He bent over and kissed her, his tongue slipping inside her mouth as if he were swiftly possessing her again. She raised one hand to the back of his head, burying her fingers in his hair, then slid it down the back of his neck, over the powerful shoulders, down the muscular back to the narrow waist. His body was so beautiful, and just for a little while it was hers. Tomorrow he'd get dressed and be back in his suit and all the barriers would be back up; she knew she'd never have another chance to lie beside him like this so she should make the most of it. She hooked a leg over his, pulling him closer; she could feel him hardening against her again, and he laughed deep in his throat. He made love to her again, with the same mixture of raw passion and tenderness which had overwhelmed her the first time. What would it be like to go through a whole life remembering it? Well, better than going through a whole life with nothing to remember, but... She closed her eyes involuntarily, then opened them to find his eyes on hers. He was lying beside her again, propped again on his elbow; she'd always heard that men fell asleep afterwards, but Charles just kept watching her with that funny, lurking smile. 'You can go to sleep if you want to,' she said. 'I can what?' said Charles. 'Go to sleep,' said Barbara. 'Isn't that what men like to do?' Charles grinned. 'Not on your life,' he said. 'I want to savour this moment. I'd like to fix it in my mind to remember the next time you tell me what a selfish, arrogant swine I am.'

Barbara smiled at him. 'If I'd realised it was making such an impression I'd have said it more often,' she said. 'Don't I know it,' he said. 'Anyway, the only reason it made an impression in the first place is because all the other women you meet are so uncritical,' she said. He gave her a lazy smile. 'Just interested in different things. They're looking for someone rich and successful to take them to the right restaurants and take them back to the right kind of place afterwards. If they find that they're not going to dig much deeper.' Barbara tried to imagine what it would be like making love to someone you thought was only there because you were rich and successful. It sounded rather depressing but, of course, she'd seen the women Charles went out with— they were all spectacularly beautiful, and Charles was probably sparing her feelings by not pointing out how wonderful it was on a purely physical level to sleep with someone spectacularly beautiful. 'Oh,' she said. She regarded him thoughtfully. 'Do you ever feel lonely?' she asked impulsively. 'No, I don't think so,' he said. Of course, she'd known really that all the barriers weren't down, but it was chilling to be put in her place. Her eyes fell from his face, wandering along the long, lean body stretched out beside her. 'Sorry,' said Charles. He put a hand under her chin and tilted it up so that her eyes met his. His mouth twisted wryly. 'I didn't mean to— You've got to be pretty self- sufficient in my line of work—it becomes second nature to repel intruders. I don't think I'm ever lonely in the sense of wanting to pour my heart out to someone, but that's not to say—' He broke off, frowning slightly, then raised a self- mocking eyebrow. 'I've been bored sometimes. That's probably not quite what you had in mind.'

'Bored?' said Barbara. 'Something tells me I'm about to hear how selfish and arrogant I am. I've always played with women who knew the rules. I'd say it's worked pretty well in the sense that you can have good sex with someone you don't know all that well, but when it's over the last thing you want is a lot of small talk. I don't think I'd realised how much time I'd spent lying beside someone and wishing one of us was somewhere else.' Barbara stared at him. He seemed to be saying this was different somehow, but how different was different? Did it mean he'd actually be speaking to her tomorrow? Did it mean he might sleep with her again? Well, whatever it meant, one thing it didn't mean was that she could ask all the questions she wanted to ask. A smile tugged at his mouth. 'What, no lecture on my selfishness and arrogance?' he teased her. She smiled. 'I don't have the energy,' she said. 'Another first,' he said. The lurking smile was back in his eyes. He said, 'It's funny, you've been getting under my skin for years, but I always liked you—even when you were just a kid you could make me laugh. Then, after the big exam blow-up—I don't know, you seemed so angry. Sometimes you seemed to hate me. I thought I really must have ruined your life. Maybe that's why this feels so different—it's as if we were always meant to be friends.' Barbara forced herself to smile. She knew she should be glad. After all, he'd as good as said this was better than his thousands of nights with supermodels. At least he wasn't bored. But the word 'friends' was so cold and distant compared to what she felt. It just came down to the same old thing—she'd have to keep pretending. If she let him know what she felt he'd suddenly remember how nice and uncomplicated it had been with all the supermodels. 'Well, I don't hate you,' she said.

'And you're too lazy to tell me how selfish I am,' he said, grinning. 'This really is my lucky day. Looks like I'd better make the most of it.' They made love again, and again, and again—it was as if he couldn't get enough of her. At last, when the sky was starting to lighten to the colour of grainy charcoal, he fell asleep beside her. Barbara couldn't sleep. She lay watching his face, trying to remember the smile he'd had in his eyes. Probably, when he woke up he'd wish she was somewhere else and she'd never see that look again. The sky grew lighter. She'd once thought, she remembered, that if she slept with him it might get him out of her system. He'd said that once he slept with a woman he lost interest; she'd thought she might lose interest too. Something told her this was never going to happen. Now she had a whole night with him to remember—if it had been hard to be attracted to other men before, what was it going to be like now when she had a whole night of fireworks to look back on? Now it was day. She'd once woken him with a kiss— now she didn't dare. What if he opened his eyes and she saw boredom there? What if he opened his eyes and it was obvious he wished he'd woken alone? Even as she thought it he shifted slightly, his leg brushing against hers. His eyes opened, and as they saw her they widened and he gave her a sleepy grin. 'My God, so I didn't dream it,' he said. 'It really happened.' 'Yes,' Barbara said edgily. 'Any regrets?' 'No,' she said, even more edgily. 'You seem rather distant,' said Charles. 'Come here and kiss me.'

He put an arm round her and pulled her up against him until she was stretched full length against the magnificent body, his mouth on hers in a warm, sleepy kiss. 'God, you're lovely,' he murmured. Barbara melted against him. Why couldn't it always be like this? She knew she shouldn't think about the future. She should just enjoy the here and now... He drew out the kiss, his mind gradually surfacing to wakefulness. There was something strange about the situation, though he couldn't put his finger on it. Something was missing. Well, he would think about it later; he should just enjoy this now— It struck him suddenly. He shouldn't be enjoying this now. That was, if it had been like all the other times he wouldn't have been enjoying it. He would have woken up and his mind would have sprung instantly into action, reviewing strategy, throwing up the insane early morning ideas which might not stand up to the light of day or might, on the other hand, be worth millions. With physical satisfaction would have come boredom and impatience, infallible signs that he'd got her out of his system and could get on with his life. Except that when he'd woken up and remembered and realised it wasn't a dream he hadn't felt bored or impatient—he'd felt... He didn't know what he'd felt. It had felt good at the time but it sure as hell wasn't the way you felt when you'd got someone out of your system. It made him vaguely uneasy. Still, he thought, maybe he was worrying unnecessarily. On a purely physical level last night had been pretty explosive; if you had that kind of experience you wouldn't necessarily want to move on immediately to something less exciting just for the sake of a change. Besides, he'd always liked Barbara; it hadn't been reasonable to expect he would wake up beside her and feel the way he did when he woke beside someone he didn't know well and didn't want to know better. He should just accept what came and be grateful. It had been a marvellous night; why complain if the morning was just as good?

'What a way to wake up,' he said, raising his head at last. 'What time is it, anyway?' 'It's about seven,' said Barbara. 'I should really go home and change.' 'I suppose you should,' he said. He smiled at her. She really was lovely, he thought. He was a fool to question his luck. Barbara would have liked to make it last as long as possible, but then he would have been the one to bring it to an end and it would have hurt more to see him try to get rid of her. 'I'd better go,' she said, trying to pull herself away. His arms tightened around her; his mouth took possession of hers. Oh, it was lovely. Why did she always have to be on her guard? She relaxed against him, meeting his mouth as hungrily as if they had never kissed before. Much, much later he raised his head; the lurking smile was back in his eyes. 'So it really wasn't a dream,' he said. 'What's that supposed to mean?' said Barbara irritably. If she wasn't careful she might say something. She'd been careful so long—what if she let something slip at the last moment? 'Oh, nothing,' said Charles. A rueful smile tugged at his mouth. 'If this goes on much longer I may have another first to mark up against your big night. A lot of things that looked rather urgent on the plane back suddenly don't look quite so urgent.' He flicked up an eyebrow. 'What do you say—shall we take the day off? I can tell my secretary I'm spending the day in bed.' Barbara stared at him. She'd never heard of Charles putting anything ahead of work; she'd never heard of Charles even turning up on time for a dinner date if the date had to compete with work. 'Hmm,' said Charles. 'Something tells me silence does not imply consent. Maybe I'd better see if I can be a bit more persuasive.'

He bent his head and kissed her breast, his tongue setting off explosions of pleasure; somehow her body seemed to respond to him even more now that she knew the heights to which he could take her. He raised his head, the green eyes saturated with desire. 'Barbara,' he said softly. 'Barbara. Barbara.' She closed her eyes for a moment. In a way she couldn't imagine anything more wonderful than just staying here with him, especially when it was his idea—and even more especially when it was something he'd never done before. But she felt so tired. It tore her apart, being so close to him and having to pretend it was just a physical thing. On the other hand, if she went away now she might never have the chance again. On the other hand... 'What is it?' The deep voice was right next to her ear. She opened her eyes. 'It's just...' Maybe she could risk saying something that was a little bit true. Her blue eyes met his. 'It's a little overwhelming,' she said. 'Couldn't we?' She broke off. 'I don't want to take anything for granted,' she said, 'but couldn't we...?' 'What?' He was still smiling at her. 'Could we come back again tonight?' she said in a rush. There, she'd said it. Now she'd have to watch him find an excuse. 'If that's the way you want it, sure.' 'Then let's do that,' said Barbara. 'And now I'd better get dressed.' She slid away from him before he could pull her back, and jumped off the bed to the floor. 'You don't mind if I use the shower, do you?' 'Go right ahead.' She scooped up her clothes and left the room. Charles lay back in bed, his hands under his head. A faint frown creased his brow. Overwhelming, she'd said. Well, obviously, any man liked to hear that a girl's first time had been

overwhelming if it had been with him. But was that really what she'd had in mind? What was it she didn't want to be taking for granted? He began to remember various things he'd said the night before. It wasn't that he'd said anything he hadn't meant, but what if Barbara took it for more than it was? Or what if she took what she was feeling for more than it was? If her first time was overwhelming and she didn't realise, because of her inexperience, that it would have been as good with anyone if you assumed the same level of physical attraction and reasonable technical competence... 'Oh, Lord,' he groaned. Well, he could nip things in the bud by explaining that he'd changed his mind and he didn't think they should sleep together again. Then she'd see things in perspective. The problem was, he wanted to sleep with her again; in fact, if he didn't he suspected he'd be thinking about it even more obsessively than he had before he'd known what it was like. He just didn't want Barbara to take it too seriously. Why did everything have to be so complicated? If she came back that night he'd have to say something to make sure she didn't take it too seriously—it wouldn't be fair to her otherwise. But he didn't want to hurt her feelings, and besides, what was he going to say when the fact was that he'd never met a girl he liked so well—in bed or out of it? It could be so fantastic if it didn't have to get complicated. Why should he have to spoil it? He remembered suddenly, with relief, that there was a way out. If it was going to be complicated it didn't have to be that night, because he'd agreed to have dinner with Julia. Barbara came back into the room, fully dressed, her hair still damp from the shower. She was so beautiful, he thought. He'd have liked to tear her clothes off again and pull her back into bed, but he could see that was a bad idea. No, better try for a cooling-off period. 'I've just thought of something,' he said casually. 'What?' said Barbara. Now she'd hear the excuse. He raised an eyebrow. 'I rescheduled dinner with Julia for tonight. I know you have strong views on my treatment of women

generally and Julia in particular. Even I, accustomed as I am to thinking of no one but myself, think it would be a bit much to stand her up at short notice twice in a row. On the other hand, maybe it's a bit much to take her out to dinner when I want to be in bed with you. What do you think?' Barbara stiffened. She'd heard Charles's offhand treatment of girls, whether or not he was tired of them, too often to be surprised by anything he could do. That didn't mean she had to like it. She'd have liked to tell him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him, but what was the point? She'd been telling him for years, and if it hadn't done any good then it certainly wasn't going to now. He'd got what he wanted; there was no point in expecting him to lavish charm on someone he'd got into bed. She'd never had any illusions as to his character, after all. It was just her bad luck to have fallen in love with a man with the sensitivity of a cardboard box. 'I don't know,' she said wearily. 'You're the one who knows the rules.' 'Well, I think I'd better go through with it,' he said. 'Then when I see you again you won't have an excuse to call me selfish.' His eyes gleamed with amusement. 'On the other hand, I'd better think of some way out of kissing her goodnight; I definitely don't think it's a good idea to kiss her when I want to be in bed with you.' 'Well, maybe you'll want to be in bed with her by the time you have to deal with the problem,' Barbara said acidly. His eyes widened and his mouth curved in a smile of pure delight. Why had he worried about her taking it too seriously? It was only too obvious that she was keeping back a whole quiverful of barbed comments. Any minute now she'd tell him how selfish and egotistical he was and how much she was looking forward to meeting some man with a basic sense of decency to spend her life with. Too bad he'd as good as called tonight off; he could easily have moved Julia to another day. 'Never tell me you're jealous!' he said, a black eyebrow shooting up. 'Or, rather, make my day—don't tell me you're not jealous. Want me to cancel?'

'Of course not,' Barbara said stiffly. 'You're right, you shouldn't stand her up twice.' 'All right, I'll be good,' he said. 'We'll just have to make up for lost time tomorrow night. Is it a deal?' Barbara looked with a mixture of longing and exasperation at the coolly confident face so close to hers. He wanted her, of course, but he wouldn't spend the hours until tomorrow night aching for her the way she would ache for him. He wouldn't be remembering every minute of the night they'd spent together. He took so much for granted. If only, if only just once she could see him thrown off balance, see him genuinely doubt, for once in his life, that he could have some woman he wanted. Well, it would be a good lesson for him, but of course she wouldn't be able to give it. She gave him a reluctant smile. 'It's a deal.'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN BARBARA got into her office at nine o'clock. It looked exactly the way it had when she'd left; it was hard to believe that only one night had gone by since she'd been there, wondering whether to leave or to wait for Charles. She turned on her computer. There was an e-mail from Charles, suggesting some things she could do to follow up on the Barrett deal until he thought of another project for her to get her teeth into. It didn't say anything else. He could have suggested they have lunch together in the cafeteria or at a local restaurant, but he didn't. He could have said all kinds of things, but he didn't. Barbara put her elbows on the desk and propped her chin on her hands. He was going to have dinner with Julia, she thought, gritting her teeth. All day long it would be gnawing away at her, and tonight she would just keep thinking about the two of them together. Then she'd see him tomorrow night, and then the next day Charles would get nervous again and go out with someone else just in case Barbara expected him to marry her. Why should she have to go through this? she thought resentfully. She'd be better off just breaking it off now. Charles's other women probably had some faint hope that he'd change; well, they didn't have the benefit of fifteen years of watching Charles in action. She glanced at the screen of her computer, where Charles's comments regarding the Barrett deal were still displayed. Basically there was next to nothing for her to do. She would have to liaise with their administrator to discuss their requirements in more detail, but once that was done the work of actually putting together the final package would be done by someone else. Charles had talked of finding a new project for her—well, if he had really thought of her the way he thought of the other talent on his staff he'd have thrown her into something else whether she was ready or not. It was only too obvious that he'd lost interest in her potential as newly spotted talent as well, she thought gloomily. No doubt he'd meant what he'd said at the time, but who could say how much of it had been enthusiasm generated by wanting to sleep with her?

What would probably happen would be that he'd leave her stuck here in this stupid little office with nothing to do. She'd be well paid, of course, but she'd put in a year doing nothing in particular, and at the end of the year he'd suddenly notice she wasn't making a contribution and decide not to renew her contract. Which would be fine with her because she'd never wanted to spend her life in an office anyway, but in that case she might as well go off to Sardinia now and be done with it. Barbara frowned. She'd had a taste of interesting work for the first time, and this was a chance that wouldn't come again. She should try to make the most of it. So what if Charles had lost interest? Couldn't she come up with something herself? What she should do was look for some other deal. Maybe if she found some other deal that made millions he would stop wondering if he should start avoiding her... No, she told herself sternly. Charles was neither here nor there. It was up to her to make something of this, and not get sidetracked just because Charles was doing exactly what he'd been doing ever since she'd known him. She stood up and began pacing up and down the room. A new deal, she thought. A new deal. Most big companies were already committed to a software package. Why would a big company change? It wouldn't, she thought. It just wouldn't. Unless, she realised excitedly, it had to. Suppose it was bought up by a bigger company that used a different package? Well, that wouldn't do Mallory much good. But suppose it was exploring a merger with another company and neither side wanted to lose face? To install a brand-new package from scratch in both companies would be far more expensive than switching to one or the other. But her assignments with various investment banks had given her some idea of just how much money could be spent on this kind of face-saving exercise when corporate giants came head to head. It was just a matter of finding the right people to approach. She made a quick call to Barrett to arrange to meet the director of services, which was all she could do at this stage on that front. Then she went to the company library, got the last few months' editions of the financial papers and magazines, collected a coffee and several pastries from the canteen, and went back to her office to think.

Charles spent the first part of the day catching up on things that had been coming in while he'd been in Prague, thinking resentfully of his approaching date with Julia and snarling at his secretary. After lunch he went on catching up and thinking resentfully of Julia, minus the secretary. He didn't want to see Julia—he wanted to see Barbara. He could go downstairs and see Barbara, of course, but what if she got the wrong idea? On the other hand, if he went downstairs to see her he could at least kiss her again, even if he couldn't do all the other things he'd like to. At four o'clock he remembered that he'd been promising to think up a new project for Barbara. He might as well go down and see her and have a quick brainstorming session. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea, of course, but there was such a thing as being too careful. At least it would prove she was wrong about him not talking to women after he'd slept with them. He found Barbara sitting cross-legged on her desk in the middle of a floor now carpeted with financial journals. Shewas reading one, scribbling occasional notes on a pad. She didn't look all that different from the red-headed urchin who had perched on sofas and the backs of chairs and pelted him with questions. It was funny the way just the thought of her had had his imagination sizzling all day. She looked up, the vivid face falling instantly into the look of not-so-friendly mockery she seemed to save just for him. 'Why, Charles,' she said. 'You shouldn't have.' 'Shouldn't have what?' he asked, momentarily caught off guard. 'Come to talk to me. You could have had your secretary send me a dozen roses. What if I got the wrong idea? What if I rushed out and ordered a wedding dress?' 'Will you stop it?' he said, laughing in spite of himself. 'You can't be too careful about these things,' Barbara said helpfully. 'Some girls just don't understand. Now, I realise that just because I'm moving in with you—'

' What?' He goggled at her for one split second of horror, before taking in the gleam of malice in the brilliant blue eyes. 'You're right,' he told her. 'I should have sent you a dozen roses. Not the actual flowers, of course, just thorns on the stem. Too bad my secretary left after lunch.' 'What a shame,' said Barbara sympathetically. 'And so unreasonable. After all, you weren't to know she wasn't telepathic. The agency should have known by now that you wanted someone who could read your mind. How were you to know this one relied on the spoken word? Besides, it's not nice for a man in your position to have to use thevwords "please" and "thank you". How were you to know she'd have such unreasonable expectations?' Charles shut the door behind him. He strode across the crackling sheets of the financial papers to the desk. 'How, indeed?' he said, that smile in his eyes. He put his arms around her, and kissed her ruthlessly on the mouth. Barbara dropped her magazine and kissed him back. Oh, he was lovely, she thought. She'd been reliving the night before all day and now, out of the blue, here was a whole new completely unexpected kiss. He raised his head to smile down at her. 'Glad to see that still works,' he said. 'Have I ever told you how exasperating you are?' 'Not in so many words,' said Barbara. She ran one hand along the smooth line of his jaw up to the back of his neck, and pulled his head down again. His mouth was hot and demanding on hers—she could have sworn he'd been thinking of nothing else all day too. 'You're exasperating,' said Charles, some time later. 'Also, you remind me that I once had a secretary. What's your secret?' 'M-my secret?' she stammered, startled. 'Oh, my secret,' she said, with a rush of relief, realising what he'd meant. 'It's just common sense, really.'

There was a speculative look in his eyes which she didn't like. It hadn't escaped her that he'd relaxed the minute she'd started insulting him in her old way. 'Do you have a backlog?' she asked, hurrying onto safer ground. 'We'll send my secretary up. I really don't have anything for her to do. I'll just explain that you don't come with a volume control. Shouting is your normal speaking voice.' She slipped to the floor beside him and picked her way to the door, still trying to distract him from the awkward moment. 'Carol, you wouldn't mind going upstairs and helping Mr Mallory clear his backlog, would you?' Carol gazed dreamily at gorgeous Mr Mallory in a way that suggested she was new to the company. 'Of course not,' she said ecstatically. 'He would appreciate it very much,' said Barbara, digging an elbow into Charles's side. 'Oh—Oh, yes, I would,' said Charles, belatedly taking the hint. 'Thank you very much.' 'My pleasure, Mr Mallory,' breathed Carol. 'Don't mind his bad language,' advised Barbara. 'He can't help his upbringing. And he doesn't really mean it when he shouts. Mr Mallory is really a sheep in wolfs clothing. He—' 'Don't pay any attention to Barbara,' said Charles, giving Carol the lazy smile that had been turning women weak at the knees for years. 'I have a terrible temper, and I mean all the terrible things I say, but I'd appreciate it if you'd put up with it just long enough to get some letters out for me. I've left some tapes on the desk upstairs; if you'd just type them up and print out the letters it would be a big help. Please,' he added, gripping Barbara's elbow as a precautionary measure. 'Of course, Mr Mallory,' said Carol. She shut down her word processor and headed for the lift.

'You're so wonderful, Mr Mallory,' added Barbara. 'Poor girl. Why did you come down anyway, Charles?' He grinned down at her sceptical face. 'Not just to prove a point, if that's what you mean. I said I'd try to think of a new project for you. Thought I should talk it through with you. Want me to lay on some training? I'm sure you'll agree your background is pretty patchy; I don't want you to trip up because of inexperience.' Barbara dropped her eyes. Wouldn't she ever learn? All he had to do was show the least little sign of friendliness and she thought there was hope. She should just be grateful he was standing beside her. She shgok back her hair, squaring her shoulders. 'Actually, I've had an idea,' she said. 'Come into my office.' 'Said the spider to the fly,' mocked Charles. 'All right, all right.' He followed her back into the room. 'Shoot.' 'Feffel & Meyers,' she said. 'What about them?' asked Charles, propping his shoulders against the wall and looking down at her. 'Apart from the fact that they've been stonewalling us for years?' 'And Rutherford Carlisle.' 'Another stone wall I've come to know and tolerate. What about them?' 'They're two of the biggest independent investment banks in the country,' said Barbara. 'They were seriously exploring a merger last year. It makes sense, but neither wants to be second among equals.' 'I'm listening,' said Charles. 'Well, Feffel uses a system from our number one competitor, while Rutherford has a system from our number two competitor. There's something symbolic about one or the other having to switch over. Suppose

we persuade them there's a third option?' Her eyes sparkled. 'You know, somebody who was pretty junior when I was temping at another firm just got head-hunted to Feffel—I could sound Peter out over dinner. I temped for a while at Rutherford, too—I think I know who to call and what to say. 'What do you think? Could we afford to make it worth their while? If the merger goes ahead the new entity will be a major player—it would make an important statement about Mallory if they switched to us as they moved into the twenty-first century.' Charles stared down at her. She was absolutely right. If the idea worked out it would be a big step up the ladder for them. Here he'd been thinking of a way of babying her into the big league, and she was way ahead of him. He was impressed in spite of himself. Of course, he wouldn't have promoted her if he hadn't thought she was good; he just hadn't expected her to be good so fast. 'You don't need me to tell you it's a good idea,' he said slowly. The funny thing was, he felt cheated. He'd meant to help her along; the way things were going, he wouldn't have the chance. 'So it's all right for me to call Peter?' 'Sure.' Barbara flashed him a glance of pure mischief. 'I can't wait to tell him what I'm doing now,' she said. 'He used to tell me I could do his job as well as he could. It was always so obvious he meant it as a big compliment. I used to think, Well, if it's true I don't need him to say it and, anyway, if I had his job I'd do it better. I think I'll suggest somewhere really expensive and then insist on paying.' Charles laughed. 'That'll show him.' 'I'll give him a call right now,' said Barbara. She punched numbers rapidly into the phone.

Charles watched, bemused, while his protegee ran rings around someone who'd apparently been head-hunted by one of the most competitive investment banks in the country. 'Well, obviously it would be good to meet before you go to New York,' said Barbara. 'I'll have a look in my diary... Oh, I see. No, tomorrow's fine.' She named a time and restaurant and hung up with a shrug. 'You don't mind, do you?' she asked, glancing at Charles. 'I know we were going to have dinner tomorrow night, but Peter's off to New York in a few days and I thought I should strike while the iron is hot.' 'Sure,' said Charles. It made perfect sense; he just couldn't remember any woman he'd ever known doing anything like it. Well, none of them had dreamed up a deal this size over the space of a morning. He waited for Barbara to suggest they meet the next night instead, the way any other woman would have if she'd cancelled a dinner date with him. The suggestion didn't come. 'Can you get me some numbers in time?' asked Barbara. 'I'd like to be able to give them a rough idea of the kind of deal we can offer; you'll know better than I would what you can afford.' 'Sure,' said Charles. He had to fight back a smile at the way she'd thrown the job at him, just as if he were the one who was on probation. Just being with her made him want to laugh. She was funny, and bright, and passionate; just when he thought he knew her inside out she surprised him again. Why couldn't he just enjoy this for what it was? Why had he had to be so paranoid this morning? 'Look,' he said suddenly, 'why don't you have dinner with me tonight and we'll thrash it out? I can reschedule Julia. This is important.' Barbara opened her mouth and shut it. She'd slapped him once and it hadn't done any good. Nothing she'd ever said had ever done any good. She'd hated the idea of his dinner with Julia, but just the idea of having dinner with Charles after yet another of his self-centred reschedules made her see red.

'I'd love to, Charles,' she said affably, 'but I don't think it would be terribly helpful. It's already half past four— you won't be able to get the data in time. Why don't we just discuss it tomorrow over a sandwich?' The look on his face made it all worthwhile. She didn't think it had even occurred to him that she might actually say no. He gave her a lazy smile—the same knee-weakening lazy smile he'd tossed Carol about ten minutes ago. 'Two guesses why not,' he said softly. Barbara smiled at him pleasantly. 'I had a lovely time last night, Charles,' she said kindly, 'but this is really important. I need a good night's sleep if I'm to do a good job. Maybe we can have dinner together some other night. And you'll have the figures for me by tomorrow lunch- time? Terrific.' Charles was looking at her blankly. Hadn't anyone ever turned him down? Well, it would do him good. Even if it didn't do him good, it was doing wonders for her. She might not like the idea of this dinner of his with Julia, but even less did she like the idea of just coming whenever Charles snapped his fingers. 'So glad you enjoyed yourself,' he said sardonically, raising an eyebrow. 'I'll see if I can't get some figures for you. See you at lunch.'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN BARBARA spent the evening mainly remembering the night before and trying not to think about Charles having dinner with Julia. He'd said he wasn't going to kiss her goodnight, but what if his old friend Julia kissed him first and he thought the only polite thing to do was kiss her back? Somehow she couldn't imagine Charles struggling madly to disengage himself. What if he kissed her back and one thing led to another? Or what if he changed his mind and kissed her first when he'd said he wouldn't? Charles spent the first part of the evening mainly remembering the night before and wishing he hadn't idiotically postponed the return engagement. He'd never thought of Julia as a doormat, but it suddenly struck him that she agreed with everything he said. It didn't matter what he said, Julia would instantly say she'd never thought of it that way before, or that it put the whole subject into a completely different perspective, or that he knew more about it than she did. That had never stopped Barbara from telling him he was an idiot and doing her best to prove it. Julia was as dazzlingly beautiful as ever, but he was bored. Then, just as they reached dessert, Julia came out with her first interesting remark of the evening. 'Interesting' was the wrong word. 'Terrifying' was more like it. 'So it's happened at last,' she said rather sadly. 'What's happened at last?' asked Charles. He'd been talking enthusiastically about his latest, greatest success in talent-spotting. 'You've fallen for someone,' said Julia. She gave a rather rueful smile. 'I didn't think you were the type.' 'I'm not,' protested Charles, horrified. 'You're blowing this up out of all proportion. She's an attractive girl, and obviously very bright—I mean, I just gave her a chance and she's headed straight for the stratosphere—but I haven't fallen for her. I've known her family for' years, and obviously she's a friend...'

'So it's purely platonic,' Julia said sceptically. 'Well, no, not exactly,' Charles admitted. 'When is it ever with me? But what does that have to do with it? You'd realise how impossible it would be if you met her. She's completely impossible. She's absolutely infuriating. She's the last person I'd ever want to...' he avoided, just in time, the word 'marry' '...settle down with.' Julia looked unconvinced. 'Well, if you say so,' she said. 'But don't ask me back tonight, Charles. I'm sure I'd go if you asked, but I'd really much rather not.' Charles looked across the table at the gleaming blond hair and the spectacular figure in its clinging black dress. It wasn't just that he hadn't the slightest intention of asking her back; it was almost as if he couldn't imagine doing so. 'Whatever you say,' he said. What in God's name was the matter with him? He put Julia in a taxi and got home at the embarrassingly early hour of eleven o'clock. He paced irritably up and down the living room, his eye caught at each lap by the sofa where he'd sat with Barbara the night before. Where he'd seduced Barbara, come to that, except somehow it hadn't felt like it. He had a sudden impulse to call Barbara and ask if she wanted any advice, just to hear her tell him she didn't need his advice and then gratuitously list five reasons why he was the most selfish man on the planet. Look, pull yourself together, he told himself. Women were incurable romantics. They took one look at a relationship any man would see at a glance was based on sex and thought it was heading for the altar. They'd ratherthink a man was in love with somebody, even if it wasn't them, than accept the simple fact that men were different. Even if he was going to marry somebody, which he wasn't, Barbara was the last woman in the world to fit the bill. If he ever did decide to marry it would be a business decision. He'd want someone poised and sophisticated, someone who could play the role of corporate wife to perfection—someone, in fact, like Julia.

He grimaced at the thought of spending the rest of his life with Julia. He'd have to spend the rest of his life hearing that his latest half-baked idea had put everything in a totally different perspective. Horrible. Yes, but he didn't have to marry anyone, he reminded himself. He was successful anyway. He didn't have to sign away the rest of his life to get more successful. If he wanted Mallory to be a world-class operation he could just go on the way he had in the past, picking good people and giving them the chance to show what they could do. People like Barbara. Maybe he should give her a call. He realised, in exasperation, that he'd been coming back to this attractive idea ever since he'd come home. Maybe he should call her just so he could stop thinking about it. It was ridiculous. Why shouldn't he call her? He picked up the phone and punched in her number, glaring at the wall. 'Hello?' said the voice that had been trying to cut him down to size for the last fifteen years. 'Barbara?' 'Charles? Is anything the matter?' The note of astonishment in her Voice reminded him that he really had no reason for calling. 'No, I—I just wondered if you'd thought any more about this Meffel & Fires—that is, the Feffel & Meyers deal. Want me to brief you for your dinner?' 'I think some rough figures will be enough for now,' said Barbara. 'You can give me what you've got at lunch tomorrow. I'm going to keep things fairly informal at this stage—I think it would be a bad idea to overwhelm him with a full-scale presentation.' Just the sound of her low, husky voice made him want her. 'I wish you were here,' he said softly, in the tone of voice that women had been finding irresistible for years. 'What?' said Barbara.

He laughed. 'I wish you were here. I've been thinking of you all evening, you know—thinking about last night. I've been kicking myself for remembering Julia this morning. It wasn't really a fixed thing anyway. And it can't have been much fun for her, sitting across from someone whose mind was obviously somewhere else.' 'No,' said Barbara unencouragingly. It was too bad she was at the other end of a telephone line, Charles thought regretfully. If she were here in the room with him he could pull her into his arms and kiss her; she'd soon stop being cold and distant then, he thought with satisfaction, remembering the way she'd melted against him. 'Well, shall we say the day after tomorrow?' There was a short silence. Finally Barbara said, 'Charles, would you mind if we went back to having just a professional relationship? I enjoyed myself last night, but I'm not very good at telling the difference between a fixed thing and a half-promise. I think I'd always be wondering whether something I thought was a date was going to turn into a vague possibility as soon as you met someone else you found more interesting. 'You told me once that most of the women you know understand the rules of the game so I think it would be better if you went back to seeing them. Obviously there's no reason we shouldn't go on being a good team professionally.' He had been through this kind of thing before, of course. He'd always been able to deal with it when it had seemed worth the trouble, which it usually hadn't. He tried some of the phrases which had worked so well in the past, but before he'd hit his stride she interrupted. 'I'd really rather not,' Barbara said simply. 'And now I've really got to get some sleep. I want to be in good form tomorrow. Goodnight, Charles.' And she hung up.

Charles stared at the receiver, then put it back down furiously. How had this happened? Half an hour ago at least he'd known he was going to sleep with Barbara again in the fairly near future; now she'd walked out on him. If it had been any other woman he'd have been sure of being able to talk her round, but you could never tell with Barbara. He didn't like any of this. He didn't like the stab of disappointment he'd felt; he didn't like the way he'd wanted to call her back the moment she'd hung up, to explain that it had all been a terrible misunderstanding and he would never, ever stand her up for another woman because he couldn't imagine wanting to be with another woman when he could be with her. What was wrong with him? She was right, he decided grimly. He'd made a mistake having anything to do with a woman who didn't know the rules. She'd got him all worked up because she was taking it all too seriously. He couldn't afford to have his thoughts hijacked by Barbara every five minutes. He should go back to seeing J,he kind of woman he understood, and who understood him. He extracted a slim electronic organiser from his breast pocket and began scrolling through names. Anabel, Belinda, Caroline, Diane... Gritting his teeth, he began making phone calls.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN BARBARA'S dinner with Peter went better than she could have hoped. He was initially sceptical about persuading anyone that all staff should have to retrain, but became cautiously encouraging after hearing of the Barrett experiment. He confirmed Barbara's guess that the different systems had a symbolic value which went beyond purely practical considerations. 'But nobody's going to want to admit that,' he told her. 'Any way you can make this look like a purely practical decision? You've got people on both sides swearing there are things you can do in two seconds on their pet system that take two hours with the other; if we could trump that with a system that did both...' Barbara thought privately that this was one of those things that sounded so easy and obvious and would probably cost years of man-hours. She smiled and said it was a good idea and put the whole thing in a new perspective— Charles would have been astounded if he'd been there to hear it. For the next two weeks she threw herself into research. It was one way of not thinking about Charles. As soon as she'd put the phone down that night she couldn't believe what she'd said. She'd deliberately thrown away at least one more night with Charles, and all the kisses she could squeeze in before he found someone else—and for what? Pride. If he'd been in the same room she couldn't have done it. Now it was done, and Charles was taking her at her word. It just showed he'd never been seriously interested, even at a purely physical level, in the first place. He seemed to be going out with a different woman every night. She'd work late and call his office at six-thirty or so to ask a question, and he'd explain that he had to rush because he was expecting Elinor, or Fiona, or Gina, to walk in the door any moment. Well, Barbara thought grimly, at least she had a career. It wasn't so much fun now that she didn't have Charles to bounce ideas off, but it beat typing. It wasn't so much fun now that she'd ruled out interfering with Charles's concentration. She couldn't exactly walk into his office and kiss him, the way she'd once thought she would when he tired of her, because she was the

one who'd said it should be purely professional. It wasn't much fun, but at least it was something. Another professionally rewarding week went by. Taking a break from yet another professionally rewarding morning, Barbara ran into the head of Personnel in the cafeteria. The head of Personnel looked harassed. 'What's your secret?' she asked Barbara wearily as they left the till with loaded trays. 'My secret?' said Barbara, smiling. 'With Mr Mallory. He's been through six secretaries in three days. He always had a pretty impressive turnover, but we could usually get someone who could last a week. Have to admit we never had anyone with your stamina.' The woman sighed. 'I know it's a marvellous opportunity for you, Barbara, but my heart sank when he promoted you. At first I thought you'd reformed him somehow—one girl actually said he was quite sweet to her, if you can believe it. Now he's gone back to being the same old slave-driver, only worse.' 'Well, obviously, if people let him get away with it they only encourage him,' Barbara said sternly. 'It's terribly bad for him.' 'Bad for him,' said Mrs Cox faintly. 'One girl couldn't take more than an hour of it. I don't know what he says to them.' 'Do you want me to have a word with him?' Barbara asked. 'With Mr Mallory!' 'Let me rephrase that,' said Barbara. 'I'm going to have a word with Mr Mallory whether he likes it or not.' It had been some time since she'd told Charles what she thought of him, she realised. She couldn't kiss him, of course, but she could still insult him. It would do them both good.

She took the lift to the top floor, a martial gleam in her eye. A sobbing secretary fled past Barbara and through a door marked EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY. The howl of an alarm filled the building. Barbara punched the keys to turn off the alarm, then approached the door of Charles's office. He was on the phone so she paused just outside. 'I know, darling,' he was saying, 'but it's all new to me. I've never been in love before.' He was laughing, the kind of laugh that would once have gone with that lurking smile in his eyes. 'Well, of course it's marvellous, but it's an absolute nightmare.' Barbara leaned weakly against the wall. So that was what had happened. Somehow he'd met someone else, and this time it was the real thing. 'No, I haven't told Barbara,' he was saying. 'It's not exactly— I mean it's not the easiest thing in the world to work into the conversation. You know what she's like...' Barbara bit her lip. So it was someone she knew. 'I don't really know how she'll take it.' He paused and laughed again. 'Yes, that's easy for you to say, darling, but you're not the one facing the firing squad. Still, the sooner the better. I'll let you know how it goes.' Barbara gritted her teeth. She couldn't stand it. Charles would explain that he'd met the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Was it Hilary? Or Irene? He'd explain that he'd fallen in love, and she'd have to stand there, smiling and pretending she didn't care. Well, she did care. She wanted him, and she couldn't have him. Instead she had a professionally rewarding career that she'd never even asked for. Well, maybe she couldn't have Charles, but at least she could have something she wanted. She was going to Sardinia.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN BLAZING sunshine roasted a white crescent of beach and sparkled on the waves of a bright blue sea. Barbara sat under an enormous striped beach umbrella, slathered in sun-block. She had the pale skin of a redhead, and had to be careful about the sun. She'd been swimming once, and was now reading an Agatha Christie in Italian—it was the only novel the tiny local newsagent had had to offer in the local language. 'Buon giorno, Poirot,' said the detective's sidekick. 'Buon giorno, Hastings,' replied Poirot. So far so good. A shadow appeared on the sand in front of her umbrella. Barbara kept her eyes studiously down. She'd spent most of her holiday fending off persistent Sardinian men. She was not really in the mood for fending off another. 'Buon giorno, signorina,' said a deep, lazy voice. 'Mind if I join you? I see you're reading a book; you must want to be interrupted.' Barbara looked up. Her eyes travelled up long, lean legs to a narrow waist, powerful chest and broad shoulders which had spent hours and hours at an ungodly time of night at the gym. Her eyes travelled on; they met eyes as brilliant a green as the sea. He was wearing black swimming shorts; he was carrying a towel. He flopped down on the towel beside her. Her heart turned over inside her. 'Charles?' she said. 'Do you know how long it's taken me to find you here?' he said. 'Why couldn't you have picked a small Greek island? For that matter, why did you suddenly disappear to an island at all?' He flicked up an eyebrow. 'I thought you were getting your teeth into Feffel & Meyers.'

'I know,' said Barbara hastily. 'I just decided it wasn't for me. I'm sorry to have left so suddenly, but I thought enough had been done so someone else could take over.' He allowed his eyes to rest on her face for a moment. He'd been imagining it for weeks, but his imagination hadn't believed the real thing could be so vivid. Her hair was like a cap of flame in the blazing sun; her eyes matched the sea for brilliance; the sharp eyebrows seemed to fire questions at him even when her face was in repose. How could he have thought, even for a moment, that she wasn't the only one for him? And he'd probably thrown away the only chance he'd ever have. 'Well, obviously it's your decision,' he said, sticking to the safety of business a little longer. At least until he'd asked her he didn't know it was out of the question. She wasn't scowling at him, anyway. Maybe that was a good sign. He thought wearily of all the weeks he'd tried to fight it. He'd gone out with someone different every night, but they'd all seemed the same. They'd all tried, more or less delicately, to find out when they'd see him again, and he'd been his usual offhand self in brushing them off. Then it had hit him. He didn't care whether they didn't like his style or not, because he didn't care if he never saw them again. If one walked off and swore never to speak to him again she was always replaceable. They were all replaceable. > But he'd never known anyone like Barbara, and he'd never find anyone like her again. If he didn't get it right with her he'd lose her, and there would never be someone to put in her place. The only problem was, before he'd realised this he'd treated her as if he had a large supply of Barbara clones in the closet. Why should she want to have anything to do with him? And, if she didn't, nothing he could say would change it. It wasn't that the women he'd gone out with had said the wrong thing—that if they'd said the right thing he'd have fallen in love with them. There was nothing any woman could do or say to make him feel about her the way he felt about Barbara—and, presumably, nothing he could say to make Barbara feel that way unless she felt that way already. Well, if it was all down to luck, he thought grimly, he might as well find out now.

'That's not really why I'm here, anyway,' he said. 'We've some unfinished business. I wanted to talk to you, and then suddenly you weren't there.' Barbara bit her lip. 'Do we have to talk about it?' she said desperately. 'It's so beautiful here. It's probably good for you to get away; couldn't we just enjoy it and not talk?' Ruth was a romantic idiot, he thought furiously. It was perfectly obvious that he was wasting his time. He should have remembered that Barbara's mother was an incurable optimist. Still, he couldn't leave without saying what he'd come to say. 'I don't want to spoil your holiday,' he said wryly. 'On the other hand, I've gone to rather a lot of trouble to track you down. I realise you may not like what I'm going to say very much, but I feel I owe it to you somehow.' 'You don't owe me anything,' Barbara said quickly. 'I know we slept together that night, but we both— Didn't we both accept it for what it was?' 'Which was what? His expression was uncharacteristically grim. 'We were acting on what we felt at the time,' said Barbara. 'We weren't making any promises.' 'No,' said Charles. He lay on his side, propped on one elbow. The green eyes flashed over her like a wave, as cool and clear as seawater. In spite of herself, her eyes were devouring him; it had been three weeks, and it felt like three years. He looked tired, she thought; he must have been working hard. 'Something tells me I'm wasting my time,' he said. 'After all, you've never exactly made a secret of your feelings. That night was— Well, I was going to say it was out of character, but maybe it wasn't; after all, you didn't exactly make a secret of the nature of your feelings that night either.'

Barbara sighed. 'Charles,' she said, 'what are you talking about?' He raised an eyebrow. 'Do you always make it so hard for someone to propose to you?' he asked. Barbara stared at him in dead silence. She could hear the waves lapping on the shore; she could hear a little breath of wind blowing wisps of sand down the beach. 'Do I what?' she said at last. Well, at least it wasn't a no. He smiled. 'I know it's a bit sudden,' he said. 'I was going to lead up to it but you didn't give me much of a chance to explain.' Barbara pushed a strand of hair out of her face. 'There's nothing to explain,' she said. 'You've gone mad. Everyone in the company works too hard, and you work harder than any of the others; I suppose you've been driven mad by overwork. It will do you good to lie here in the sun and relax.' 'I can think of a lot of things that will do me good,' Charles said coolly. 'You might say yes. You might agree to a replay of the other night. You might let me finish what I was going to say. I'd like to think at least one of the three was a remote possibility.' Barbara bit her lip. Charles seemed so strange somehow. She'd seen him around women for years, and for as long as she could remember he'd always been so suave, so effortlessly charming. She'd never seen him like this. 'Say whatever you want,' she said at last. 'Thanks,' he said. He frowned slightly, then glanced up at her. 'Look, I realise... What I mean is, I know the weeks after that night weren't exactly...that is...' He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. 'Hell,' he said with feeling, 'I told your mother this wasn't going to work.' 'You did what?' said Barbara. He grinned. 'You can't seriously think I'd be here if I hadn't talked to her? I know you think I'm arrogant, but I'm not insane.'

'My mother told you to propose to me?' said Barbara. He grinned again at her look of incredulity. 'Let's say she encouraged me.' He shrugged. 'The thing is, after that night we spent together I know I did everything wrong. You' ve got to understand, I'd spent years going my own way and doing pretty much as I pleased; I was used to being in control. But you'd really got under my skin. I kept thinking about you when I was in Prague, and it was irritating. It got in the way of work—or at least it's not exactly that it got in the way but I wasn't being single- minded about it.' He smiled wryly. 'I kept thinking of reasons to call the office, which seemed perfectly reasonable at the time except that I couldn't get rid of this edgy feeling until I'd talked to you, and then as long as I had you on the phone it would be all right but as soon as we hung up I'd start feeling edgy again.' Barbara looked at him shyly. 'I thought you seemed to be calling quite a lot,' she said, 'but I thought maybe you always did if you were in Prague and the person you wanted to sleep with was in London.' He grinned. 'I'd never been there before so there's no "always" to go by. Judging by past experience, though, I'd have been more likely to find someone who wasn't at the other end of a telephone line.' 'That's about what I thought,' said Barbara. 'It seemed so unlike you. But when you talked to me you were exactly the way you always were.''I don't know how you can say that,' he protested. 'I've never tried to tell a girl I couldn't get her out of my mind in Czech and Hungarian.' His tone was light, but his eyes glowed as they looked at her. 'I couldn't get you out of my mind,' he said. 'I thought I'd get it out of my system, and then when we'd slept together it was worse. I couldn't stop thinking about you.' He gave her a rueful smile. 'I resented the fact that anyone could make me feel that way; I resented minding if you came in and tore a strip off me for being rude to my secretary; I resented the fact that I could want so badly something that was out of my control. So naturally I behaved in a way that confirmed all the worst things you've ever thought about me.'

Barbara closed her eyes. The fresh sea air cooled her face; the waves were still crashing softly on the shore; the sand was soft under her towel. She was in Sardinia on holiday. That much was clear. There was some certainty in the world. The question was—had she gone completely insane? Maybe all that longing for Charles had made her just imagine him? She opened her eyes. Charles was still lying there in his swimming shorts. All the evidence suggested that Charles was actually here with her in Sardinia. All the evidence suggested that Charles— 'Are you all right?' asked Charles. 'I think so,' said Barbara. 'For a moment I wondered whether I was the one who'd gone mad from overwork, but I don't think so. I think you're here. I don't think I'm talking to a figment of my imagination. I just can't believe I'm hearing what I think I'm hearing.' He frowned. 'I know I'm doing this all wrong,' he said. 'I should be saying I woke up and realised I'd found the woman I'd been looking for all my life.' He gave her another rueful smile. 'But it's not like that, is it? You think what that means is you'll have everything you have already, with the perfect partner thrown in. You don't realise somebody is going to walk into your life and turn it upside down. Well, I didn't want my life turned upside down.' 'Oh,' said Barbara doubtfully. He didn't look like someone whose life had been turned upside down. He looked pretty much the way he always did except that the old easy charm didn't seem to be coming quite as easily as it usually did. 'So, what do you think?' said Charles. 'Well, you must be serious about it to have come all the way to Sardinia,' said Barbara, 'but you don't seem like somebody whose life has been turned upside down. Are you saying you're actually...' She couldn't finish the sentence.

'In love with you?' He flicked up a sardonic black eyebrow. 'Yes. For my sins. Out of all the women in the world, I had to fall in love with the one who won't say "Yes, Charles", "Of course, Charles", "You're so wonderful, Charles". No wonder I've been such hell to be around.' He sifted fine white sand through his fingers and gave her a sudden, gleaming glance. 'I used to want to wring your neck sometimes; no wonder it took me a while to work out what had hit me. But I'm bored when you're not there; we strike sparks off each other. The office seems empty when I know you're not there; my flat seems empty because you were there and now you're not. I want you to marry me; will you think about it?' He'd mentally gone through about 400 proposals, at a conservative estimate, on the plane, and this one had come in at number 398. Now it had come out just to spite him. No wonder she wasn't looking more enthusiastic, he thought bitterly; he'd done a better job casually flirting with the tea lady than proposing to someone he wanted to spend his life with. Now Barbara was just looking at him, not saying anything. She was obviously trying to think of a nice way to turn him down. Barbara stared at him. Charles had made all the running so far. He'd kept talking, and talking, and she hadn't given him any encouragement. She knew it wasn't fair, but she'd kept her secret for so long. If he knew it, would he change his mind? But she couldn't seriously say no, and she couldn't say yes and keep something like this from him. 'Charles,' she said. 'Yes, Barbara,' said Charles. 'There's something I have to tell you,' she said. He frowned. 'There's somebody else?' he said. 'No,' she said. 'There's nobody else.' She took a deep breath. The dark blue eyes met his. 'There's never been anybody else,' she said.

Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. 'What do you mean—there's never been anybody else?' he asked. 'You told me you liked lots of different kinds of men.' 'I made it up,' said Barbara. 'I didn't want you to know.' She scowled at him. 'It's not as if I thought you were perfect,' she said bitterly. 'If I had to pick someone to fall in love with, you're the last person I'd pick.' 'Thanks,' said Charles. 'But I didn't have a choice,' she said. 'It just happened. I've always felt this way. I've never been able to look at anyone else. It didn't seem to matter how infuriating you were.' Charles j^vas staring at her. 'So the other night...' he said, working it out. 'When you said you'd been waiting to sleep with the man you wanted to spend your life with, I was the one you'd been waiting for?' 'Oh, no,' Barbara said hastily. 'I just made that up. I mean, I'd been trying for years to be attracted to someone else so I could forget about you, and if I could have found someone I was even a little bit attracted to I probably would have slept with him—it's just that I could never find anyone. But I thought if you knew I was a virgin you'd be suspicious so I just said the first thing that came into my head.' Charles gave a shout of laughter. 'Barbara, darling,' he said, the green eyes gleaming with amusement, 'no wonder I can't live without you. You're completely insane.' 'And you don't mind?' she said. 'That you're insane?' 'That I was in love with you all along?' It was terrifying to say it. Now he would always know. She could never take it back now. If he changed his mind she would be just the same, except that he would know.

He stared at her. She wouldn't say it unless it was true. So she'd always been his. He hadn't been in love with her all along—she'd only been a little girl when they'd met, after all—but hadn't she stopped him from being anyone else's? He'd known so many women over the years— hadn't there always been something missing? His mouth quirked in a crooked smile. 'Well, maybe all along I was just looking for someone like you, only there isn't anyone like you—a little spitfire who can give the air an electrical charge just by opening her eyes.' Barbara risked a smile back. She didn't seem to have scared him away. He was looking at her as if he couldn't get enough of her—as if he could never get enough of her. 'Does this mean I still get my five per cent of Mallorin, then?' she asked. 'I think you get rather more than that,' he said, flicking up an eyebrow. 'Unless you know of an alternative ceremony. "With five per cent of my worldly goods I thee endow" sounds a bit thin if you ask me.' Barbara smiled a little more broadly. Knowing Charles, she'd have expected him to launch into the details of a prenuptial contract. If he was throwing around his holding in Mallorin like that—let alone all the rest—he must be serious. 'Do you know how to say "I want all my children to look like you" in Estonian?' asked Charles. 'No,' said Barbara. 'Do you know how to say "When you're not with me you're the only thing I can think of' in Tamil?' The old lurking smile was back in his eyes. 'Not offhand,' said Barbara. 'How about "You can start up your own company and I'll look after it if you get bored with it" in Maltese?'

'Not really,' said Barbara. 'Well, let's try an easy one,' said Charles. His eyes met hers steadily. 'How do you say "I love you" in English?' 'I love you,' said Barbara. 'Good,' said Charles. 'That's very good. And I love you too.' He stretched out a hand, smoothing back the brilliant copper hair. His head bent, and he kissed her. She clung to him as if he was the one certain thing in a crazy world. At last he raised his head. She stroked his cheek. It came to her suddenly. All the moments she'd treasured because she'd thought she could never have them again, all the things she'd done because she'd thought she'd never have another chance—now she would have a whole lifetime of them. 'When do you want to get married?' she asked. He grinned and kissed her swiftly before replying. 'As soon as humanly possible,' he said. 'When I left, your mother was promising to make you a wedding dress.' Barbara's eyes widened in horror. 'Oh, no!' she exclaimed. 'Oh, yes,' said Charles. 'Once she starts we can't get married until it's finished, and as it never will be finished we have a window of opportunity for this marriage which may never come again. It's now or never, Barbara. What do you say?' 'Now, of course,' said Barbara. 'Now and always.'

EPILOGUE 'IF YOU'LL just hold still for a moment, dear,' said Ruth, kneeling on the floor beside Barbara. 'But the ceremony was supposed to start an hour ago,' protested Barbara. 'Can't we just forget about the hem? I'll be just as married with an unfinished hem.' Her copper hair gleamed under a veil and her slim figure was set off by a narrow-waisted, full-skirted dress in ivory silk which showed that Ruth could almost finish a project when she put her heart into it. She had finished three feet of the twenty-foot hem with tiny, invisible stitches—just seventeen to go! A furious knock came at the door. 'Barbara, what's going on in there?' said the irascible voice of the groom. 'We're finishing the hem,' said Barbara. 'Charles!' Ruth exclaimed in dismay. 'Go away at once! You're not supposed to speak to Barbara before the ceremony.' 'If she doesn't come out in two seconds I may never speak to either of you again. I'm not marrying her for her hem, Ruth. Unhand my bride.' Ruth smiled indulgently and continued to hem. 'I'm nearly done, dear,' she said cheerfully. The door opened and Charles stalked in. He was wearing black tails and looked, Barbara thought, both devastatingly handsome and furious. His eyes lit up when he saw Barbara. 'Hello, gorgeous,' he said. 'Will you marry me?' 'Yes,' said Barbara.

'Thank God for that,' said Charles. 'I've been stood up at the altar. Why let a perfectly good wedding go to waste?' Barbara laughed. 'I'm sorry,' she said. She raised a hand and ran it along his jaw. It was smooth and silky. It was so lovely when he'd just shaved, and then when he woke up in the morning before he'd had a chance to shave his jaw was dark and rough—and that was lovely too. And now she'd be waking up beside him for the rest of her life. His face softened at the smile in her eyes. 'God, you're beautiful,' he said. He bent his head and kissed her. 'Charles!' exclaimed Ruth in horror. 'You can't kiss the bride until they say you may kiss the bride!' 'Too late,' said Charles unrepentantly. 'Now, fill me in on the hem situation.' 'Just sixteen feet left to go,' said Ruth. 'Then we've just got to find something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue and we're set.' 'Right,' said Charles. His eyes scanned the room, and lighted on Barbara's briefcase. They had been arguing the afternoon before over strategy, laughing and sticking coloured pins in a map. The blue pins represented Mallory. He opened the briefcase and pulled out two boxes of blue pins. 'These are mine,' he said. 'This is a new box.' He held up one box. 'This is an old box.' He held up the other. 'I hereby lend them both to Barbara.' He dropped to the floor beside Ruth and began turning up the hem and sticking pins through the cloth, one pin every six inches, with impatient fingers. 'But, Charles,' said Ruth. There was genuine distress in her voice. 'I want it to be perfect for Barbara. How can she walk down the aisle with pins in her dress?'

Charles looked up, the dark, hawk-like face suddenly rueful. 'Ruth,' he said, 'have a heart. When she didn't show up I thought she'd changed her mind. I thought she'd stood me up just to pay me back for all the times I've stood women up without even thinking, because I'd thought of something better to do.' 'But, Charles,' Ruth protested, 'Barbara wouldn't do something like that.' 'Sure she would,' said Charles, flashing Barbara a mocking glance. 'It's what I love about her. But I'd still like to make sure she's mine before she thinks better of it.' 'Well...' said Ruth unhappily. Barbara sank among billows of ivory silk. She put a hand on Charles's shoulder and looked into his eyes, smiling. 'I'll never think better of it,' she assured him. 'But we're so lucky. We've got something no one can take away. I'm sorry I kept you waiting, but now that you're here...' She left the sentence unfinished, but he saw the plea in her eyes. He put the boxes of pins to one side. He laughed. 'Now that I'm here I don't care how long it takes,' he admitted. 'Well, how's this? Reception first, wedding afterwards. I'll call Mike and get him to make the arrangements. I'll stay here and keep you company.' Barbara pointed out that none of them would then be at the reception. 'Good point,' said Charles. 'Well, we won't call it a reception, then, we'll just call it pre-wedding refreshments. Mike can set up another reception for after the ceremony. What's a best man for, after all? It will keep him on his toes.' He pulled out his mobile phone and called Mike. 'Right, that's all set,' said Charles, once he'd ended the call. Barbara stared at him. 'You're so arrogant,' she said. 'This is all because you couldn't wait. If you had your mobile phone with you why didn't you just call the house?'

Charles laughed. 'I wanted to see you,' he protested. 'I was afraid you might have come to your senses. If you had I'd have had to kiss you out of them again. I'd better kiss you again just to be on the safe side.' He kissed her until she had to hold on to him for support. Ruth pointed out severely that there would be plenty of time for that sort of thing later on, then resumed sewing the hem with tiny, invisible stitches. They were married five hours later. No one commented on the bride's hem, but everyone agreed she looked radiant. The groom could hardly take his eyes off her. -