Escape Me Never. Sara Craven

      ‘Most of my empire, as you call it, seems to be flourishing,’ he said drily. ‘Which gives me more time to spend on the ailing sections of it, like Eve.’ He paused. ‘It happens to be rather close to my heart. Would you like to know why?’

      ‘Not unless I can use it in one of my campaigns, Mr Grant.’ She met his gaze fully for the first time. ‘Otherwise it’s not really any of my business. Now, perhaps you’ll excuse me. I think Barney—Mr Finiston—wants to speak to you.’

      His mouth twisted slightly. ‘He probably does at that. However there are still several points from today’s presentation I would like to go over with you—perhaps over dinner tonight?’

      Cass’s jaw dropped. She said stupidly, ‘I don’t understand.’

      He looked faintly amused. ‘What’s so baffling? You eat, I presume, and you’ve heard of dinner—a meal, consisting of several courses, taken in the evening.’

      His tone flicked her on the raw. ‘I do seem to recognise it,’ she said coolly. ‘But I’m afraid I have other plans.’

      ‘Change them,’ he suggested. His voice was pleasant, but the note of command was implicit, and unmistakable.

      ‘I’ll do nothing of the sort,’ Cass said, her voice shaking a little. ‘Incredible as it may seem, Mr Grant, I have no wish to have dinner with you tonight, or any other evening. And if the Eve account is conditional on my agreement, you’d better say so now. I think Barney might have something to say about a member of his staff being—sexually harrassed even by an important client like you.’

      She paused. ‘And in case you hadn’t noticed, I happen to be married.’

      He gave her a long, hard look. She’d made him, she thought detachedly, very angry.

      ‘I’d like to meet your husband,’ he said silkily at last. ‘He must have the guts of Genghis Khan to get to first base with you, you little fire eater. The invitation, as it happens, was to dinner, not to bed. Christ, woman, I thought the next round of discussions could take place in slightly more congenial surroundings, that’s all. A table is often more conducive to agreement being reached than a desk, or haven’t you noticed?’

      She said, ‘I find our present surroundings quite congenial enough, Mr Grant, and I work office hours.’

      ‘I see,’ he said. ‘You disappoint me, Ms Linton. I’d begun to think you were the real thing, for a change, but you’re just another married lady playing at career woman. Pity,’ he added with a shrug, and walked away.

      She watched him go with sudden apprehension. She might be the blue-eyed girl where Barney was concerned, but if Rohan Grant relayed the gist of their conversation to him, then she would be in deep trouble.

      Perhaps she even deserved to be. She seemed to have misconstrued his motives pretty thoroughly. But it was far better for him to write off her conduct as boorish, than to know the truth—that even the prospect of sharing a conventional tête à tête dinner with him frightened her half to death. She did not want to be alone with him, ever, or on any terms of intimacy. She wanted all future dealings with Eve to be with Mr McDowell and Mr Handson. She wished Rohan Grant had stayed in Paris and rubber-stamped his approval of that campaign from a distance.

      What’s happening to me, she asked herself desperately, with a little shiver. She was beginning to feel positively light-headed. Perhaps in reality the radio alarm had never gone off that morning, and she was still in bed, having some nightmare.

      Somebody from the accounts department came over to her. ‘Barney says don’t forget to let us have the bill for that dress,’ he said in an undertone.

      She said, ‘I’d prefer to pay for it myself. That way, I can give it to a jumble sale with a clear conscience.’

      He gasped at her. ‘Cassie, are you mad? It looks terrific on you. I’d hardly have known you.’

      ‘I hardly know myself,’ Cass said hardily, ‘And I don’t like it. Back to reality tomorrow.’ She made her way towards Barney. He was not, she noted with relief, talking to Rohan Grant, or anywhere near him. She touched his arm. ‘Would it be all right if I went home now. I have a slight headache.’

      He was all concern. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with the same damned thing as Roger.’ He peered at her frowning. ‘You’re very pale,’ he added accusingly. ‘You’d better take a taxi. Charge it to expenses.’

      Cass nodded wanly, and made her way to the cloakroom. Her clothes were there, in the boutique carrier, but she felt disinclined to change. It could wait till she got home, she decided.

      And the headache hadn’t been just an excuse. It turned into a real one on the journey, most of which Cass spent with her eyes closed.

      ‘Good party?’ the driver asked cheerfully as she paid him.

      ‘The best,’ she said.

      Mrs Barrett’s brows climbed almost into her hair when she answered her bell. ‘My goodness,’ she exclaimed. ‘What a transformation.’ Then she caught herself guiltily. ‘Not that you don’t always look nice, Mrs Linton.’

      Cass smiled at her wearily. ‘Is Jodie all right?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make the open day, but …’ she spread her hands helplessly.

      ‘Well, she was naturally disappointed,’ Mrs Barrett admitted. ‘But I think she’s over it now. I made some of that flapjack she likes for tea, and she’s watching television. She’ll be thrilled you’re home early.’

      ‘You look different,’ was Jodie’s instant greeting.

      Cass kissed her. ‘Different better, or different worse,’ she asked teasingly.

      ‘I don’t know.’ Jodie wriggled free. ‘You didn’t come,’ she accused.

      ‘Sweetheart, I couldn’t.’ Cass stroked her hair, grieving inwardly. She should have been with her daughter that afternoon, not dressed up like a Christmas tree, trying to make an impression on a man who combined too much money, and too much power, with infinitely too much sex appeal.

      She shivered again. Well, at least now she’d admitted why he frightened her so. It was easy to armour oneself, when there was no temptation to break out of its protection, she thought sombrely.

      After Brett, it had been easy to swear her private vow of total celibacy. Easy to keep it too. Now, in the course of one afternoon, everything had changed. Nothing was simple any more, and might never be so again, and if she didn’t take some aspirin soon and lie down, her head would probably burst.

      She listened to Jodie’s excited account of the open day activities, sampled the flapjack, and accepted gratefully Mrs Barrett’s carefully written account of everything Jodie’s teacher had said about her brightness and promise. After the dark beginning to her child’s life, it was the kind of thing she needed to hear.

      She made herself a drink with fresh lemons, when she was in her own flat, and took the promised aspirin, but when she opened her eyes the next morning, everything was infinitely worse, and she closed them again groaning.

      She ached everywhere fiercely, and would have burned up, if she hadn’t felt so cold all the time. But she dragged herself out of bed, and made Jodie’s breakfast.

      When Mrs Barrett arrived to collect Jodie, she took one horrified look at Cass’s grey face and shivering body, and ordered her back to bed.

      ‘It’s this forty-eight hour thing that’s going round,’ she said portentously. ‘They say the doctors won’t even come out for it—just tell you to keep warm, and drink plenty. I’ll keep Jodie with me for a couple of days, while you sleep it off.’

      Cass thanked her hoarsely, and tottered back to bed. After which life became a blur for several hours. She was vaguely conscious of Mrs Barrett bringing jugs of squash, and telling her she