An Elusive Desire. Anne Mather

frowned. ‘So it’s you who’s been calling. Why didn’t you give your name? Mrs Purdom was becoming convinced a gang of thieves was planning a robbery, and you were phoning to find out if I was home.’

      ‘Oh, Jaime!’ Nicola sniffed. ‘I couldn’t give my name—I didn’t want you phoning here and speaking to Raf.’

      ‘Really?’ Jaime’s fingers tightened round the receiver.

      ‘Oh, not because of that.’ Nicola made an impatient sound. ‘I’ve got over all that. It’s just—well, I don’t want him to know I’ve called you. At least, not until it’s necessary.’

      ‘Nicola, what are you talking about?’ Jaime could hear a certain tightness in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. Five years was not such a long time, after all, and some things simply couldn’t be forgotten.

      ‘I want you to come and stay,’ said Nicola, without preamble. ‘Please, Jaime—–’ this as her friend started to speak, ‘don’t say no. Not until you’ve heard my reasons, anyway. I need someone so desperately, and there’s no one else I can talk to.’

      ‘Nicola, it’s impossible—–’

      ‘Why is it impossible?’ Nicola spoke urgently. ‘Jaime, you don’t understand. I’m almost going out of my head here. I need you, don’t you understand, I need you. You can’t just say no without listening to what I have to say.’

      Jaime sighed. ‘Nicola, if something’s gone wrong with your marriage—–’

      ‘If something’s gone wrong!’ Nicola uttered a bitter cry. ‘Jaime, everything’s gone wrong, but everything. That’s why I want you to come out here. That’s why I need to talk to you. If I don’t talk to someone soon I’ll—I’ll go mad!’

      ‘Nicola, your mother—–’

      ‘You know Mummy and I never could talk to one another.’

      ‘Your father, then.’

      ‘Oh, Daddy!’ Nicola was scornful. ‘He’s so wrapped up in the bank, he hardly ever notices I exist!’

      ‘That’s not true, Nicola. You know he’d do anything to make you happy—–’

      ‘So long as whatever I want can be bought and paid for,’ exclaimed Nicola unsteadily. ‘Jaime, you know what Daddy’s like. He thinks money can buy anything.’

      ‘It can buy most things,’ put in Jaime tautly. ‘Nicola, whatever you say, I don’t think I’m the person you need to talk to. Whatever it is, why can’t you talk it over with Rafaello—–’

      ‘Raf!’ Nicola choked on his name. ‘No, I can’t talk it over with Raf. He won’t even talk about it,’ she declared confusingly. ‘Jaime, please—please! I know we haven’t seen one another for a long time, and I know you were unhappy when I married Raf, but—that’s all in the past now. Surely you can forgive me—–’

      ‘There was nothing to forgive, Nicola,’ replied Jaime stiffly. ‘You must have known—–’

      ‘I know we never talked about it, but—well—–’ Nicola hesitated. ‘It can’t have been easy for you when Raf made me his wife.’

      Jaime held herself tightly in control. She would not get involved in an argument over Rafaello di Vaggio, she would not. Like Nicola said, it was all in the past now. Even admitting her aversion to getting involved in Nicola’s problems was to invite the suspicion that she still nurtured some resentment over what had happened; and she didn’t; she couldn’t.

      ‘Look, Nicky,’ she said, using her old pet name for her deliberately, ‘I’m right in the middle of a meeting with a group of sales representatives, and I really don’t have the time for this now. Can I call you back?’

      ‘No.’ Nicola spoke quickly. ‘I mean—I’ll call you back. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll manage it somehow.’

      Jaime hesitated. ‘This evening, then, at the apartment. Say about six-thirty.’

      ‘Your time or mine?’

      ‘It’s summertime. They’re both the same,’ replied Jaime shortly, and rang off before Nicola could say any more.

      It was difficult returning to the meeting. It was difficult trying to pick up the threads of the discussion she had been having with the sales force, particularly as she knew half of them resented her being there in the first place. But Martin Longman had chosen her out of an estimated one hundred applicants, and his confidence in her ability to handle the job more than made up for the petty jealousies she sensed from her more chauvinistic contemporaries. She knew many of them believed that her appointment owed more to her appearance than to her professionalism, but Jaime had learned to ride the insults that were frequently tossed her way.

      ‘I suggest we continue this meeting after lunch, gentlemen,’ she said, after re-establishing her position as chair-person. ‘I think we all need a little time to think over the proposals that have been made, and if anyone has any particular point they’d like to make, perhaps they would contact Miss Stephens and she’ll arrange a suitable schedule for this afternoon.’

      ‘You will be joining us, won’t you, Jaime?’ enquired Graham Aiken, with veiled sarcasm. ‘Or perhaps you have more pressing matters to attend to.’

      Jaime’s smile was a triumph of self-possession. ‘Oh, yes, I’ll be joining you, Graham,’ she declared smoothly. ‘I have one or two points to put forward myself, and as Mr Longman’s representative I shall expect full reports from all of you concerning the sales figures for your particular areas.’

      Graham’s lips thinned. ‘Then I trust we won’t spend half the afternoon waiting while you waste the firm’s time taking personal calls,’ he retorted offensively.

      ‘Oh, come off it, Aiken!’ Harold Ingram, one of the older representatives, slapped the other man on the back. ‘You’re only jealous because our beautiful assistant to the managing director doesn’t take any personal calls from you.’

      ‘Perhaps he’s hoping to divert attention from the fact that sales in the south-east have been falling recently,’ put in Hywel Evans sagely. ‘What’s the matter, Aiken? Losing your touch?’

      The slightly edged banter continued as they all left the meeting, and although Jaime was grateful that for once she seemed to have come out best in the argument, her thoughts were too absorbed with the conversation she had had with Nicola di Vaggio to enjoy it. She couldn’t imagine what could have gone wrong with Nicola’s marriage to warrant that strange invitation, and while her natural curiosity was aroused, so too was a troubled sense of foreboding. They had not corresponded, they had not kept in touch after Nicola’s precipitate marriage to the wealthy Italian count, whose title she now seemed to have abandoned. Why then should Nicola contact her now, when the most logical people she should confide in were her own mother and father?

      In her office, Jaime seated herself at her desk and observed the neat stack of letters Diane had left for her perusal. But she didn’t examine the letters. She didn’t even look at them. Instead, she surveyed the room in which she was sitting, appreciating anew the undiminishing feeling of satisfaction it gave her.

      It was a beautiful office, light and spacious, with wide, double-glazed windows overlooking the muted roar of London’s busy streets twenty floors below. The walls were panelled in mahogany, reaching up to a high moulded ceiling that added to the room’s airiness, and the floor was snugly fitted with a dark red carpet. There was a light oak desk, several comfortable leather armchairs, a shelf of books illustrating the different kinds of cosmetics used throughout the ages, and an exquisitely carved cabinet, which served both as an ornament and as a handy container for the refrigerated cupboard that held refreshments for visitors. It was the office of someone of importance, an executive, at least, and Jaime never ceased to marvel at her own good fortune in owning it.

      She sighed