Guilty Love. CHARLOTTE LAMB

accept the warning, but then he got up and walked away without another word.

      That evening, when she got home, Barty told her that his firm were sending him on a training course to Manchester for a week, and the stimulation of a break in his routine was good for him. He was more cheerful for the rest of the week. He left on Sunday night and Linzi slept well for the first time in months.

      The next few days were the most peaceful Linzi had had since the accident. She felt oddly younger, lighter, a sense of freedom in everything she did while she didn’t have to look over her shoulder all the time in case Barty should suddenly turn nasty. It helped that Ritchie was out of the office, too, that week, working on the site of his latest project.

      On the Thursday, however, a very hot day in late July, she answered the phone to hear Ritchie’s voice, ‘Linzi, would you check my office and see if I’ve left my black briefcase there? I’ll hang on, but hurry.’

      She laid the phone down and hurried into his adjoining office. She knew the briefcase he meant; he carried it everywhere when he was touring his sites or having a business meeting out of the office. It wasn’t on his desk or on the floor, she she checked the wall cupboard where he kept his large maps, site plans, tripods and cameras, and other construction impedimenta, and that was where she found the briefcase, open as if he had been filling it with maps and forgotten to take it with him.

      She ran back to the phone with it and told Ritchie, who groaned. ‘Damnation take it! Well, I have to have it, and it would take up too much time for me to come back—you’ll have to bring it to me. You have your own car, don’t you, Linzi?’

      ‘Yes, but what about the office?’

      ‘Get Petal in to man the phones while you’re gone, then drive out here, with the briefcase. I’m at the Green Man roundabout, that’s Junction 43 off the motorway—take the Hillheath road; that brings you straight here. I’m here with Ted; he’s going to fly me over the course of the new road in the afternoon, in the helicopter, but I must have those air maps here or Ted and I will just be wasting our time. You can get here by one if you leave straight away.’

      He hung up and she did, too, sighing. She had a pile of work to do and she knew Petal wouldn’t be up to coping with any of it.

      She turned off her computer and put the confidential documents into a filing cabinet, which she locked, then, picking up the briefcase, she went into an office across the hallway where personnel matters were handled. There was a staff of three, but this morning only one of them was visible; the others were no doubt visiting other offices.

      Petal was the one left; she was making coffee while she printed out a sheaf of letters to construction staff on some union matter. Petal ran the personnel office daily routine. She was a large woman in her forties; a brunette who wore too much rouge and had a passion for pink frilly blouses. Her real name was Rose, but she thought it was old-fashioned, and, since her husband, a Yorkshireman with a droll sense of humour, always called her Petal, everyone else did too. ‘Hi, Linzi—want a cup of coffee?’ she cheerfully asked when Linzi came into the room. ‘I’ve got your favourite chocolate biscuits today.’

      ‘I haven’t got time,’ Linzi regretfully said, and explained that Petal was going to be left in charge of the phones in Ritchie Calhoun’s office.

      ‘Oh, glory!’ Petal looked aghast. She was helpful and willing, but not exactly quick-witted, and Ritchie Calhoun made her nervous. He expected too much. ‘Must I? I’m bound to get into a muddle, and then he’ll tear me limb from limb,’ she wailed. ‘Couldn’t someone else take over?’

      ‘Sorry, Petal,’ Linzi said, shaking her head. There were younger girls working in other offices, but Ritchie Calhoun had specified Petal, so that was that.

      ‘When will you be back?’

      ‘I’ve no idea, at least a couple of hours, I expect. Just take messages and say I’ll ring back anyone who needs an urgent response.’

      Ten minutes later she was heading towards the motorway, Ritchie’s briefcase locked safely in the boot of her car. She was glad to be out of the office: it was such a hot day that it was hard to work indoors. She drove with her window wide open and a cooling breeze blowing her silvery hair around her sunflushed face.

      There was quite a bit of traffic, so it took her longer to reach the Green Man roundabout than she had expected.

      She only drew into the car park of the public house at ten past one and there was no sign of Ritchie, although she spotted his red Jaguar parked near by. He was presumably in the restaurant, at the back of the building, eating his lunch with Ted, the pilot of the company helicopter.

      Linzi found the cloakroom first, looked at herself ruefully in the mirror, and set about making herself look more presentable. She was wearing a neat white shirt and straight navy skirt, her usual office uniform.

      So she added a smart red blazer with small gold buttons, which she had only bought the day before but which immediately gave a touch of class to the very ordinary skirt and top. Then she ran a comb through her windblown hair, powdered her nose, put on tiny gold earrings which matched the buttons in her blazer, and clipped a gold chain round her throat.

      Two minutes later she paused in the doorway of the restaurant, looking around the room. She spotted Ritchie immediately, seated facing her, at a discreet table in an alcove. He saw her, at the same time, and lifted an imperative hand, beckoning her.

      She walked over to join the two men, very conscious of Ritchie Calhoun’s hard grey eyes watching her all the way. He was wearing his site working gear—hard-wearing blue jeans, an open-necked plaid shirt, strong boots. He looked even tougher dressed like that: more obviously a powerful man—with a lot of muscle and very fit—than he ever looked in a suit with a shirt and tie. He could have been any one of his workers, until you looked into his eyes and saw the cold glint of intelligence there, the habit of authority, the look of a man who knew that when he gave an order other men jumped to obey it.

      Linzi felt a shudder ripple through her from head to foot. He was a very disturbing man. She wished she weren’t so aware of him, but he radiated a powerful male sexuality that was hard to ignore. Hard for her, anyway. Her mouth had gone dry and there was a terrifying heat inside her.

      Ted Hobson gave her a broad grin. ‘Hello, Linzi, love.’ He was a small, wiry man in his thirties, with deft hands, shrewd eyes and thick brown hair.

      She had met him in the office several times; he flew Ritchie backwards and forwards, from site to site, if they were too far apart for a car journey to be practicable. She managed a shy smile.

      ‘Hello, Ted. How’s Megan?’

      His eyes lit up. ‘Fine, thanks; the new baby’s due any day now and we’re hoping it will be a girl. Megan won’t let the hospital tell her whether it is or not—she’d rather wait and find out the usual way. I think she’s afraid to let them tell her, in case it’s not a girl.’

      ‘But Megan will love it whatever it is!’ smiled Linzi, and Ted grinned, nodding.

      ‘Oh, aye. Once it’s here she’ll be happy whatever it is. My Megan is crazy about babies.’

      Megan and Ted had invited Linzi and Barty to a party soon after Linzi began working for the company. It had been fun until Barty had had one drink too many, and turned obstreperous when Linzi tried to persuade him to go home with her. He snarled, pushed her roughly away, and she had been very embarrassed, in front of a room full of people from work. Megan had been wonderful. A large, tranquil woman with glossy brown hair and a warm smile, she had appeared beside them, put an arm around Barty and coaxed, ‘Will you dance with me, Barty?’

      He had blinked at her owlishly and stuttered, ‘Sure, Meg...Meg...an! I’d love to d...dance with you.’

      She had whirled him round the room, aiming for the door, and Barty had clung on to her, his head only too obviously going round too. Linzi had followed, avoiding the amused or sympathetic glances she was getting from other guests. Outside in the hall Barty was sitting on the bottom of the