The Marriage Solution. HELEN BROOKS

did.’ Katie smiled back at the homely face she had come to love over the years. ‘I have to sort out some business affair of Dad’s—you know, that other phone call? It’s urgent and I can’t really leave it but if anyone should phone you know nothing about it. OK?’

      ‘Of course, my dear.’ Mrs Jenkins understood her perfectly. ‘Anyone’ meant one person and one person only. ‘I wouldn’t say a word. We just want him to get better, don’t we?’

      Their house was situated on the outskirts of London, in a pleasant suburb with gracious tree-lined avenues and large houses in their own immaculate grounds. As the taxi ate up the miles into the capital the general vista changed to miles and miles of identical terraced dwellings, rows of shops broken only by the odd garage and, eventually, blocks of office buildings, neutral and blank in the cool March air.

      The taxi stopped at a particularly imposing high-rise monstrosity and she saw the sign, ‘Tone Organisation’, with a little quiver of her nerves. But she wasn’t backing out now. Her father might not think much of her but that didn’t matter. This was something that needed to be done; Carlton Reef had made that plain. It wouldn’t just go away—or, rather, he wouldn’t just go away, she corrected grimly as she stared up at the tall building.

      She needed to buy her father some time. She stuck out her small chin aggressively and leant forward to the driver. ‘Could you wait?’ she asked firmly. ‘I shan’t be long.’

      ‘No problem, miss.’ She received a toothy grin. ‘You’re paying.’

      The offices were busy and full but by the time the smart lift had carried her up to the top floor all was hushed opulence and quiet elegance. She found the secretary’s office with no trouble and prepared for battle as she opened the door, but the office was empty, the interconnecting door with the office on the left partly open.

      ‘I don’t care what it takes.’ She knew that voice, she thought blindly as her stomach dropped into her feet. ‘This is one hell of a mess, Robert, and you do what you can to get us out of it. Get back to me.’ The sound of a receiver being banged down made her flinch but in the next instant the doorway was full of a big male body and a hard square face was staring at her with something akin to amazement in the narrowed eyes. ‘Who the hell are you?’

      She realised that she wasn’t dressed in office mode, but the worn denims and thick jumper that she had donned that morning were ideal for her work, as was the no-nonsense hairstyle that held her long honey-blonde hair in a severe French plait at the back of her head. But in this world of pencil-slim skirts and the latest designer suits she was sadly out of place.

      She lifted her chin a fraction higher and stared straight into the piercing grey eyes that were watching her so intently. ‘I’m Katie White, Mr Reef, and I want a word with you.’ She was glad her voice didn’t betray her—inside she was a mass of quivering jelly. ‘I have to say you are, without exception, the rudest, most objectionable man I have ever had the misfortune to come into contact with. My father is in Intensive Care at the moment with a heart attack—not that I expect you to be interested in that—and other than wheel the bed down here I had no alternative but to come here myself, as you wouldn’t accept my call.’

      ‘How did you get past Reception and my secretary?’ he asked grimly, without the flicker of an eyelash.

      There was something in the complete lack of response to her tirade that was more daunting than any show of rage but she forced herself not to wilt as she continued to face him. ‘Reception was busy; a party of Japanese businessmen had just arrived,’ she answered shortly. ‘So I just slipped into the lift once I’d found your name and floor on the notice-board. And your secretary—’ she glanced round the large room with her eyebrows raised ‘—is your problem, not mine.’

      ‘I see.’ He continued to survey her from the doorway and she was forced to acknowledge, albeit silently, that he really was the most formidable man she had seen for a long, long time. He was tall, very tall, with a severe haircut that held his black hair close to his head and accentuated the hard, aggressive male features even more. He could have been any age from thirty to forty—the big lean body was certainly giving nothing away—but the overall air of control and authority suggested that he had learnt plenty in the school of life.

      ‘Well, Miss White, now you’re here I suggest you come and sit down so we can discuss this thing rationally,’ he said smoothly, after several seconds had passed in complete silence. ‘You’re obviously upset and I would prefer the dirty linen to be kept under wraps, as it were.’

      ‘I couldn’t care less about your dirty linen,’ she shot back furiously, incensed beyond measure as he shook his dark head lazily, a mocking smile curving the full, sensual lips for a brief moment.

      ‘I was referring to yours, not mine,’ he said laconically. ‘Or, to be more precise, your father’s.’

      ‘Now look here—’

      ‘No, you look here, Miss White.’ Suddenly the relaxed façade was gone and the man standing in front of her was frightening. ‘You force your way into my office unannounced, breathing fire and damnation, when, by rights, it should be me squealing like a stuck pig.’ He eyed her furiously. ‘I’m sorry to hear that your father has had a heart attack, if in fact that is the case,’ he added cynically, ‘but that is absolutely nothing to do with me. The loss of a good deal of money and, more importantly, Miss White, my business credibility is, however, everything to do with him.’

      ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She had taken a step backwards without realising it and now, as he stared into the big hazel eyes watching him so fearfully, Carlton Reef forced himself to draw on his considerable store of self-control before he spoke again.

      ‘Then let me explain it to you. Shall we?’ He indicated his office with a wave of his hand, standing back from the doorway and allowing her to precede him into the room.

      ‘How much do you know of your father’s business affairs, Miss White?’ he asked her quietly, once she was seated in the chair facing the massive polished desk behind which he sat.

      ‘Nothing,’ she answered honestly. ‘My father—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘He isn’t the sort of man to talk about business at home,’ she finished flatly. Or, at least, not to her, she amended silently. Never to her.

      ‘And this heart attack?’ He eyed her expressionlessly. ‘It’s genuine?’

      ‘Of course it’s genuine,’ she answered in horror. ‘What on earth do you think—?’ She shook her head blindly as words failed her. ‘No one would make something like that up,’ she finished hotly.

      ‘You’d be surprised,’ he said sardonically. ‘When the chips are down most people would do just about anything.’

      ‘Well, I wouldn’t.’ She glared at him fiercely. ‘You can ring the hospital if you like and speak to Dr Lambeth, my father’s friend. I presume you would trust a doctor at least?’ she finished scathingly.

      ‘I trust very few people, Miss White.’ He shifted slightly in the big leather chair, leaning back and surveying her through narrowed grey eyes.

      ‘Like my father.’ The words were condemning and he recognised them as such.

      ‘You don’t approve?’ he said mildly. ‘You’re an optimist, Miss White—a very dangerous thing to be in the business world.’

      ‘Well, as I’m not in the business world I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over it,’ she replied carefully. ‘And I wouldn’t describe myself as an optimist anyway; I just think most people verge on kindness given a chance.’

      He shut his eyes for a split-second as he shook his dark head slowly, the gesture more eloquent than any words, and then opened them to stare directly into the greeny-brown of hers. ‘What world are you in?’ he asked quietly, his eyes wandering over the pale creamy skin of her face and stopping for an infinitesimal moment on her wide, generous mouth. ‘You do work for a living?’

      ‘Yes.’