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Authors: Liz Fielding
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said.
She had a bath, staying in the water until the chill drove her out. Then she surveyed the open suitcase on her bed. She would have to go with him if he still wanted her. It was too late to brief anyone else. She was a professional, took a pride in her work and that was all that was left to her. Pride.
She folded her neat, sensible clothes, so exactly right for the office. And her underwear. Not so sensible. She picked up her swimsuit and shrugged. She didn’t know if she would have the chance to swim, but it took up no room. Then she looked at her evening clothes. She had two really good dresses. One plain black. Elegant, classic, boring. The other was brilliant scarlet silk, exactly like an oriental poppy. She packed the scarlet silk.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE “boarding” sign for the flight to Bahrain appeared on the monitor, and Tara let out a silent breath of relief as they moved towards the gate indicated.
Adam had barely spoken to her since he had picked her up in the chauffeur driven limousine. She was wearing a neat black suit, plain low heeled shoes, the minimum of make-up with her hair in its customary chignon. The perfect secretary, discreet to the point of invisibility. At a casual glance she could have been almost any age.
But it took the interested observer no time at all to absorb the fair, flawless skin, the frank brown eyes and generous mouth that the merest skim of lip gloss had done nothing to accentuate. Only the faint shadows beneath her eyes suggested that sleep had not come easily.
He picked her up at eight, the harsh ring on the bell doing brutal things to her nerves so that her hand shook as she reached for the door handle.
He was dressed comfortably for travelling, as she would have been if she hadn’t needed the armour of her working clothes. Casual trousers and a light sweater over his open-necked shirt were a stark contrast to her black and white formality. For a moment they both stood perfectly still while his eyes ransacked her face, demanding some response from her and the cool polite mask she’d painted on had almost cracked beneath his seeking eyes.
The silence went on so long that his voice, when he spoke was like an electric shock.
‘You are coming then? Mr Lambert, I take it, has no objections?’ He looked over her head into the interior of her apartment as if challenging him to appear.
A touch of colour lit the fine bones of her cheeks. ‘Mr Lambert is in no position to object,’ she said, quietly.
‘Then we’d better go.’ He picked up her suitcase and without another word walked down to the car.
She followed him and climbed into the back, hoping that he might decide to sit beside the driver. No such luck. He slid alongside her, filling the ample space with his broad figure, leaned back and closed his eyes.
Someone had to make an effort to restore the possibility of a civilised working relationship or the journey would be a nightmare. ‘The flight is on time. I checked.’
‘As always, you are totally efficient, Mrs Lambert.’
‘Please don’t—’
‘Why not?’ She flinched as he stabbed the words at her, fixing her with wintry eyes. ‘I’m only doing what you asked.’
She didn’t answer and apparently satisfied he closed his eyes again. They completed their journey in silence and checked in at Heathrow, accomplishing the formalities without delay.
Adam hesitated as he handed back her passport, glancing at the name, Mrs Tara Lambert, printed neatly in the space provided and then flickered a glance at her pale face. Her outburst the previous evening had at least saved her the embarrassment that would have resulted from his more public discovery. Except that she could simply have told him that she was a widow and instead of that cold dislike his eyes might have softened with sympathy. She closed her eyes momentarily. Much better this way. His sympathy was the last thing in the world she wanted. His dislike was infinitely safer.
Their bags
She had a bath, staying in the water until the chill drove her out. Then she surveyed the open suitcase on her bed. She would have to go with him if he still wanted her. It was too late to brief anyone else. She was a professional, took a pride in her work and that was all that was left to her. Pride.
She folded her neat, sensible clothes, so exactly right for the office. And her underwear. Not so sensible. She picked up her swimsuit and shrugged. She didn’t know if she would have the chance to swim, but it took up no room. Then she looked at her evening clothes. She had two really good dresses. One plain black. Elegant, classic, boring. The other was brilliant scarlet silk, exactly like an oriental poppy. She packed the scarlet silk.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE “boarding” sign for the flight to Bahrain appeared on the monitor, and Tara let out a silent breath of relief as they moved towards the gate indicated.
Adam had barely spoken to her since he had picked her up in the chauffeur driven limousine. She was wearing a neat black suit, plain low heeled shoes, the minimum of make-up with her hair in its customary chignon. The perfect secretary, discreet to the point of invisibility. At a casual glance she could have been almost any age.
But it took the interested observer no time at all to absorb the fair, flawless skin, the frank brown eyes and generous mouth that the merest skim of lip gloss had done nothing to accentuate. Only the faint shadows beneath her eyes suggested that sleep had not come easily.
He picked her up at eight, the harsh ring on the bell doing brutal things to her nerves so that her hand shook as she reached for the door handle.
He was dressed comfortably for travelling, as she would have been if she hadn’t needed the armour of her working clothes. Casual trousers and a light sweater over his open-necked shirt were a stark contrast to her black and white formality. For a moment they both stood perfectly still while his eyes ransacked her face, demanding some response from her and the cool polite mask she’d painted on had almost cracked beneath his seeking eyes.
The silence went on so long that his voice, when he spoke was like an electric shock.
‘You are coming then? Mr Lambert, I take it, has no objections?’ He looked over her head into the interior of her apartment as if challenging him to appear.
A touch of colour lit the fine bones of her cheeks. ‘Mr Lambert is in no position to object,’ she said, quietly.
‘Then we’d better go.’ He picked up her suitcase and without another word walked down to the car.
She followed him and climbed into the back, hoping that he might decide to sit beside the driver. No such luck. He slid alongside her, filling the ample space with his broad figure, leaned back and closed his eyes.
Someone had to make an effort to restore the possibility of a civilised working relationship or the journey would be a nightmare. ‘The flight is on time. I checked.’
‘As always, you are totally efficient, Mrs Lambert.’
‘Please don’t—’
‘Why not?’ She flinched as he stabbed the words at her, fixing her with wintry eyes. ‘I’m only doing what you asked.’
She didn’t answer and apparently satisfied he closed his eyes again. They completed their journey in silence and checked in at Heathrow, accomplishing the formalities without delay.
Adam hesitated as he handed back her passport, glancing at the name, Mrs Tara Lambert, printed neatly in the space provided and then flickered a glance at her pale face. Her outburst the previous evening had at least saved her the embarrassment that would have resulted from his more public discovery. Except that she could simply have told him that she was a widow and instead of that cold dislike his eyes might have softened with sympathy. She closed her eyes momentarily. Much better this way. His sympathy was the last thing in the world she wanted. His dislike was infinitely safer.
Their bags
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