The Playboy's Ruthless Pursuit. Miranda Lee
this with every man she met. Was it him personally, or something else? Maybe she’d had a row with someone. The missing boyfriend perhaps?
‘You organised all this by yourself?’ he threw after her.
‘Most of it,’ she tossed back at him. ‘The hotel staff were very helpful, of course.’
They arrived at the stage, which ran across the far end of the ballroom and which could be used for many purposes. Concerts. Award nights. Presentations. Whatever. Tonight it was set up with a podium in the middle, a microphone attached. There was a long wooden table behind it, which held an array of objects and a laptop computer, open, at one end. Clearly, this was where Alice would be standing, handing him items and jotting down the numbers of the winning bidder.
A man wouldn’t want to be of a nervous disposition, Jeremy thought as he glanced up at the podium. Fortunately, he wasn’t. But he wondered how Jacobs would have coped. Not that he knew the man well. Kenneth could be a secret exhibitionist for all he knew. Lazy did not mean shy.
There were three flights of steps, which led up onto the stage. One at each end and one in the middle. Alice stopped at the base of the one in the middle and finally turned to face him. She looked a little flushed in the face, but her eyes remained cool.
‘I left the list of items for sale on the podium,’ she told him. ‘Perhaps you could have a look at them whilst I go check that seating.’
‘Okay,’ he agreed, and watched as she wound her way back through the tables, not stopping till she reached the one nearest the door, at which point he shrugged and made his way up onto the stage.
The list of items was extensive and varied. Sporting and entertainment memorabilia. Several dinners for two at five-star restaurants. A family weekend at a B&B in Weymouth. A short holiday for two in Spain. Premiere seats to a rock concert. Return flights to various European capitals. An oil painting of the Duchess of Cambridge by an up-and-coming London artist. Last but not least was the privilege of having Kenneth use a person’s name—amend that to two—in his next thriller.
Jeremy didn’t take long to scan the list, replacing it on the podium before taking a moment to inspect the wooden gavel, even giving it a practice bang, which echoed through the cavernous room and had several waiters lifting their heads for a moment. Not Alice, however, who was already no longer at the table near the doors. Jeremy wondered if that had just been an excuse not to remain in his company longer than strictly necessary. His teeth clenched in his jaw as he made his way down from the stage and headed for the exit. Frankly, he was beginning to feel slightly peeved. And confused. What was it about him that she didn’t like? He wasn’t used to women not liking him. He certainly wasn’t used to being given the cold shoulder.
Jeremy soon saw that Alice wasn’t outside in the pre-dinner drinks area, either. People had begun to arrive, but it wasn’t crowded enough for him not to spot her. Creamy blonde hair like hers did stand out.
‘Jeremy Barker-Whittle!’ a male voice boomed out from just behind his shoulder. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
Jeremy turned with some reluctance to face the owner of that voice. George Peterson had been a client of his when he’d been an investment consultant. The owner of several car yards, he had entrusted Jeremy with building his considerable savings into an early retirement portfolio. Fortunately, Jeremy had obliged. George was in his late fifties, his wife around the same age, Jeremy liking the fact that George hadn’t traded his wife in for a younger model as most self-made men seemed to do at some stage.
George beamed at him. ‘I was talking to Mandy here about you the other day, wasn’t I, love? I said whatever am I going to do now that Jeremy’s no longer looking after my money? I got so nervous last month that I cashed in all my stocks and shares and put them in the bank.’
‘Not such a bad move, George. Things are very volatile at the moment. Still, your money’s not going to grow much sitting in the bank. Perhaps you should think about buying property.’
‘See, what did I tell you, love? Jeremy’s always got his finger on the pulse. So what are you up to these days, lad? Got a proper girlfriend yet or are you still playing the field?’
It was ironic that Alice came into view right at that moment, smiling and chatting with people as she worked the room, a glass of champagne in her right hand. Their eyes met and Jeremy smiled at her, at which point George’s ruddy face swivelled round to see what he was smiling at.
‘Very nice,’ George said, thankfully in a low voice. ‘Is she your date for tonight?’
‘No,’ Jeremy admitted. ‘She’s the lady who’s organised this do. Her name’s Alice Waterhouse. Alice!’ he called out, and beckoned her over. ‘Come and meet some very good friends of mine,’ he added, smiling at the thought that she could hardly avoid him now.
‘I know Alice,’ Mandy piped up. ‘I spoke to her on the phone when I first got her email about tonight. When I told her how much a fan I was of Kenneth Jacobs’s books, she said she’d put me on the same table as him.’
* * *
Alice plastered a smile on her face and went to meet Jeremy’s very good friends.
Jeremy introduced them, Alice quickly remembering her phone conversation with Mandy.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said straight away, glad to be able to direct her conversation towards anyone but the very annoying Jeremy, who continued to smile at her in that smug fashion, as though they had some kind of secret relationship going on. ‘Mr Jacobs can’t be here tonight. He’s got a dreadful cold. We’re still auctioning off his prize, though. His publisher here has very kindly agreed to do the auctioneering honours tonight.’ With that, she served Jeremy with a saccharine smile that didn’t touch her eyes.
‘What?’ George’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘Is she talking about you, Jeremy?’
‘She is indeed.’
‘When did you become a publisher?’
‘Shortly after I left banking.’
‘Is there money in it?’
‘Probably not,’ Jeremy said drily. ‘But as they say in the classics, it’s not always about the money.’
George guffawed. ‘That’s a good one. A Barker-Whittle saying it’s not about the money.’
Alice noticed that Jeremy’s eyes stopped sparkling for a split second. Not that she cared.
A waiter with a tray of drinks paused next to their group, offering them flutes of champagne or orange juice. They all selected champagne, all except Alice who already had a glass, which she was not actually drinking. She couldn’t afford to get tipsy, not if she had to deal with lover boy all night. Her vain attempt to avoid him till dinner hadn’t worked, she conceded with a degree of frustration.
‘I really should mingle,’ Alice said. ‘I’ll see you all at dinner, since we’re on the same table.’
‘How lovely!’ Mandy gushed.
‘I’ll mingle with you,’ Jeremy offered immediately.
‘No need to do that,’ Alice blurted out in alarm. ‘You should stay and look after your friends.’
‘We don’t need looking after, little lady,’ George retorted. ‘Off you go, both of you.’
The conspiratorial smirk he sent Jeremy did not escape Alice’s notice. Lord knew what he’d said to the man.
‘Why did George look at you like that?’ she asked bluntly as she made her way through the milling crowd, Jeremy at her side.
‘Like what?’
She ground to a halt and glared up at him. ‘Like he was secretly playing matchmaker.’
‘Can’t say that I noticed.’
Alice sighed in exasperation.
‘George