Escape Me Never. Sara Craven

up in the boardroom. There was only her personal folder of notes to take. She reached for it, aware that her hand was shaking a little, and her breathing ragged.

      She had to get a grip on herself, she told herself sternly. There were thousands of brown-haired, hazel-eyed men in the Greater London area alone. She saw them every day on the streets, in the Tube, in the restaurants around the office. And he didn’t look like Brett, she reminded herself almost frantically. It was the colouring only—and the stance which made her think …

      But she couldn’t forget that for a brief moment she had touched him. And he had touched her. She had actually felt the warmth of his hands on her through the fabric of her dress. She shuddered violently. The first time—the first time a man had touched her, apart from cursory, unavoidable handshakes, since Brett’s death.

      And it was no use telling herself that it was her own fault, that she’d crashed into him purely accidentally. Just that one fleeting contact, and she felt threatened.

      She wanted to run away, to hide somewhere. But there was nowhere. And they were waiting for her. At any minute, Barney would be sending someone to hurry her up. She was needed to do her job, the job which paid the rent and supported not just herself, but her child. The job she couldn’t afford to lose by keeping important clients waiting while she stayed, shivering, in her room. She must have scored zero for poise with the Grant man already. She couldn’t compound the bad impression. She snatched up the folder, and her bag, then paused again.

      Obeying an impulse she barely understood, she opened her bag and unzipped a small inside pocket, and took out Brett’s ring, biting at the inside of her lip, as she forced it over her knuckle. Her hands had grown a little. The ring felt tight, alien on her finger.

      She had never thought to wear it again, had kept it solely as a private reminder of her marriage, but now, suddenly, it seemed like the safeguard she needed and had abandoned with her shapeless khaki trousers and jacket.

      But why should she suddenly be so sure she needed a safeguard? That was the question that followed her, tormenting her, all down the long corridor to the board room where they all waited.

CHAPTER TWO

      ‘THE problem we’ve had to face,’ Cass said, her voice clear and even, ‘has been the old one of familiarity breeding contempt. Everyone knows Eve cosmetics. The range is as established and respected as Arden or Rubenstein. Yet in spite of everything that’s been done to make sure the products moved with the times, this frankly hasn’t been reflected in your advertising campaigns over the past ten years, nor by the sales. Your non-allergic brands—the fact that you’ve produced a whole range without using animal products—all these things should have been exploited—but haven’t been.’

      She paused. ‘The ideas we’ve put to you seek to put this right, and also to hammer home the message of the brand name. Eve is all woman, and Eve cosmetics are designed for all women.’

      She smiled briefly and sat down, amid appreciative murmurs. But were they really enthusiastic, or merely polite. Cass couldn’t gauge any more. She felt as if she’d put through a wringer, mentally as well as physically.

      And Roger enjoyed this, she thought limply. How could he, but she knew what the answer to that was. If Roger had been here, the line of questioning would have been very different. It would have been taken for granted that Roger knew his job, because he was a man. As a woman, Cass had had to prove she knew what she was talking about over and over again. And the man heading the Inquisition had been Rohan Grant.

      At first his questions had bewildered her a little, and she’d begun to flounder. Then she caught Barney’s warning glance, and realised that she was being tested. She resented this, and it put her on her mettle. She believed in the product—if women had to wear make-up, then Eve cosmetics were as good as any and better than most and she believed in the campaign which she’d been instrumental in designing. And if Rohan Grant was used to high-powered performances from bigger agencies, then that was just too bad.

      Now, he said, ‘Very interesting, Ms Linton, but isn’t the image you’re trying to create a little—low-key?’

      Cass shook her head, ‘I don’t think so. Whatever the situation may be on the other side of the Atlantic, I don’t think women in this country go for the hard sell over anything as personal as make-up and scent. The appeal has to be to the individual, and we have to intrigue her sufficiently to get her into the store, and up to the counter.’ She ventured another smile, this time at Mr McDowell. ‘The sad fact is that a lot of women feel intimidated by beauty counters. The choice is too vast, and the whole concept of being beautiful rather overwhelming. I want this campaign to interest them so much that they won’t just grab the first jar or bottle they see, but ask for Eve by name.’

      ‘And are you—overwhelmed by the concept of beauty, Ms Linton?’ Rohan Grant asked smoothly. ‘I notice you wear the barest minimum of make-up yourself.’

      ‘How very observant of you, Mr Grant,’ Cass said calmly. ‘And does your eagle eye also tell you what that minimum consists of?’

      ‘Why, yes,’ he drawled. ‘You’re wearing Silver Jade shadow, and Rose Blush on your lips. But no scent,’ he added reflectively. ‘I understood sample bottles of both our new fragrances, Sundance and Moonglow had been sent here.’

      ‘They have.’ Cass shrugged slightly. ‘They—don’t happen to be to my particular taste, I’m afraid.’

      He smiled, leaning back in his chair, the hazel eyes surveying her from head to foot with smiling insolence. ‘Eve cosmetics,’ he murmured. ‘Designed to appeal to all women—except Ms Linton, it seems.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ Cass said coolly. ‘But that does not mean I don’t know how to persuade other women to like them—Mr Grant. I never allow my personal judgments to get in the way of work,’ she added sweetly.

      ‘Don’t you, Ms Linton?’ It was his turn to shrug. ‘Well, you’ll have a chance to prove that to the hilt in the weeks ahead. We’ll give your campaign a trial, and see how it works out.’

      She swallowed, managed a feeble, ’Thank you,’ and began to gather her papers together. She could sense the jubilation in the air around her, but seemed to have no part in it. She’d been walking the high wire for too long. Rohan Grant’s almost laconic bestowal of the account, whether it was on trial or not, could only be an anti-climax. And a glance at her watch revealed that even if she could slip away now, she would be too late for Jodie’s open day. She felt weary to death suddenly.

      And, of course, there was going to be no chance to slip away. An elaborate cold buffet had been laid out in the next room, and champagne was being poured.

      ‘Honey babe, you were sensational,’ Barney whispered, as he pushed a glass into her nerveless hand. He gave her a wicked leer. ‘I don’t know whether it was your arguments which turned the balance, or those fabulous legs of yours.’

      ‘Thanks,’ Cass said drily, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

      ‘But you had me worried a couple of times,’ he went on. ‘I had no idea you liked living dangerously. However—it paid off in the end. Expect a big bonus from grateful Uncle Barney.’

      ‘Thanks,’ she said again, this time with real gratitude. Barney might make her grind her teeth a lot of the time, but he was unfailingly generous when rewards were called for. She might be able to afford to have some redecoration done—or to take Jodie abroad for a couple of weeks later in the year. It had been a tough winter, with Jodie succumbing, it seemed, to one virus after another, although Cass herself had escaped unscathed. Some Mediterranean sun might be what they both needed.

      She put down her untouched glass, and looked for an unobtrusive exit, but her way was blocked.

      ‘Not leaving already, Ms Linton,’ Rohan Grant said pleasantly. ‘Or may I copy