A Suspicious Proposal. HELEN BROOKS
been on edge all evening. I could almost feel the waves coming off you,’ he drawled lazily, ‘and you were the same this afternoon, but in a different way.’
He was too perceptive by half. She watched his eyes wander over her face and she knew he was doing it deliberately, his gaze pausing on the soft swell of her lips until she could feel them tingle as though he had kissed her.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said tightly. She was going to tell him, she was, but in her own way, and certainly not defending herself at the same time.
‘You’re like several different women under the same skin,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘and you change from one to the other like a nervous little chameleon. Why are you so guarded tonight, Janice? Is it me in particular you’re chary of, or all men?’
This had gone quite far enough and, in view of his comments, there would never be a better opportunity to tell him he had made a mistake—a big mistake—this afternoon, she thought feverishly. And then he completely took the wind out of her sails and had her floundering for words when he leant forward, his hard dark face amazingly tender, and said, ‘You’re a phoney, Janice Beaver. All this wild living and seeking of attention—that’s not the real girl. Has someone hurt you? Is that it? Whatever he did, whatever happened, he’s not worth messing up your life for. Believe me, I know.’
‘Xavier, please.’ This was awful, terrible. He was making her feel so guilty. She took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring, and removed her hand from where it was resting under his before she said, ‘This isn’t like you think.’
‘Someone did hurt you, didn’t they?’ It was as though he hadn’t heard her. ‘And badly.’
She wished she’d never started this. She swallowed deeply, the tension making her voice brittle as she said, ‘That’s nothing to do with this and it was a long time ago.’
‘Time’s relative and it might help to talk about it.’
She had to explain who she was. She took another deep breath, the elusive and very male scent of him teasing her nostrils as he leant even closer, his silvery eyes reflecting a shaft of light from the discreetly placed lamp above their table, and she had just opened her mouth to begin, to tell him, when the pianist stopped playing and instead spoke into his microphone, reading from a card one of the waiters had just given him.
‘Sorry to interrupt the flow, ladies and gentlemen, but there is an urgent call for Miss Esther Russell. If Miss Russell is here, perhaps she would make her presence known or make her way to Reception.’
‘Janice?’ Xavier’s voice brought her startled eyes back to his. ‘Don’t let him win, don’t let him ruin your life, because that’s what’ll happen if you’re not careful.’
‘I have to go to Reception.’ Essie’s voice was slightly hysterical but she couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like a black comedy, a dark farce.
‘Reception?’ And then his brows drew together as he said, ‘Esther Russell? Isn’t that the girl you were bridesmaid with today? Is she in the hotel, then? Do you know where she is?’
‘She—she is me,’ Essie stammered ungrammatically.
‘She’s you?’ He stared at her as though she had lost her mind and maybe she had, Essie thought wildly. Perhaps that explained why she had been so incredibly stupid as to think she could take Xavier Grey on and win.
‘Look, I must answer that call.’ She rose as she spoke and he rose with her, his manners impeccable even in the midst of all the confusion. ‘Please, you stay here.’ She couldn’t have him standing over her while she spoke into the telephone; she wouldn’t be coherent. ‘I’ll be back in a few moments, I promise, and then I’ll explain properly, but…but I’m Esther Russell and the call is probably to do with my work and it’ll be important. I…I have to go.’
He nodded, somehow giving the impression that he hadn’t moved a muscle at the same time, and she gave him one last helpless look before fairly flying out of the restaurant.
Oh, it couldn’t have all gone more wrong, she told herself frantically as she hurried over to the reception desk, and what on earth was this call about? It could only be Jamie or Peter, and they would never have bothered her unless there was some sort of disaster—but for the life of her she couldn’t think what.
‘Essie?’ It was Peter Hargreaves, who owned the small town practice where she worked, and his voice was both apologetic and frustrated. ‘Essie, I’m sorry to bother you on your weekend off and at this time of night, but it’s urgent. That case you’ve been dealing with, Colonel Llewellyn’s hunter? Well, the horse has taken a turn for the worse and I think I need to operate, but I can’t find the case history. The animal’s worth a fortune and you know how much the Colonel thinks of him—he treats him better than he does his wife, and I dare not leave anything to chance. I need to be fully acquainted with everything you’ve done so far and the strengths of the medication he’s on, all of it. The damn computer’s down and I can’t find the hard-copy file. Any ideas?’
Essie wrinkled her brow. They rarely bothered with the hard-copy files—Peter had an excellent computer system that was both efficient and fast—but there was always the odd occasion, like this one, when old methods came into their own.
‘It’s not in the filing cabinet, obviously, else you wouldn’t be ringing me.’ Essie thought for a moment. ‘Have you asked Jamie if he knows?’
‘He’s out at Sanderson’s farm: his daughter’s pony’s sick, and you know old man Sanderson. He must be the one person in the whole of creation not to own a phone,’ Peter said tersely. ‘Silly old blighter. It’s a hell of a way there, with the Colonel’s place in the opposite direction, and I might miss Jamie anyway.’
‘You say he’s gone to deal with Jenny Sanderson’s pony?’ Essie asked quickly.
‘Yes. It sounded like it had colic, which was what we thought the Colonel’s hunter had, but—’
Essie thought rapidly. She knew Jamie’s habit of slinging every scrap of paper that ever came his way into the huge bottom drawer of his desk until it became too full to close—it didn’t matter what it was: letters, cheques, circulars, reports—they all went in. ‘Could Jamie have got the Colonel’s file out before he went to the Sanderson farm?’ she asked carefully. ‘If the symptoms were similar, he might have checked that file first, in case it proved the two cases were linked.’
‘You think he’s taken the damn file with him?’ her boss growled furiously.
She hoped not, oh, she did hope not, because Jamie had been in hot water more than once lately for his cavalier attitude to paperwork and records.
Essie crossed her fingers and said rapidly, ‘I’m sure he hasn’t but he might have looked at it and, if he was in a hurry to get to the farm, put it in the bottom drawer of his desk for quickness until he got back.’
‘He’d better not have, not with the computer down. Hang on a minute, Essie, and I’ll check.’
The silence at the other end of the telephone made Essie aware of her surroundings again and, as she glanced across the thickly carpeted, luxurious reception area towards the big glass doors through which the restaurant was located, she felt her stomach turn right over. Xavier was going to be mad. He was going to be absolutely livid, she told herself weakly.
‘Essie?’ It was Peter’s voice again and now she jerked her attention back to the matter in hand. ‘I’ve got it. The young fool’s got everything but the kitchen sink in that drawer. You wouldn’t believe it.’
She would.
There was the sound of rustling paper and then Peter said, ‘Yep, I can see exactly what you’ve done and it’s fine, just fine. Right, I’ll take it from here and I’m really sorry to have bothered you, Essie. How did the wedding go?’
It was very much an afterthought and Peter was