The Millionaire's Daughter. Sophie Weston

jumped and turned. She met The Look full on. It had an intensity that made her blink. For a moment, everything went out of her head except how extraordinarily close the man was. How easy it would be to touch his face…to lean forward and bury her face in that brocade jacket…even kiss. Or be kissed.

      That shook her. She said, more sharply than she intended, ‘I haven’t got time to listen to chat programmes.’

      Konstantin Vitale surveyed her. For a moment Annis had a horrible feeling that he could read her mind. She set her teeth and tried to wipe out all treacherous thoughts of warm bodies and mouths too close. She braced herself.

      But then he nodded, as if she had said exactly what he had expected her to say. Not a mind reader, then. Well, not this time. Her breath came out in a whoosh of relief.

      ‘How long have you been a workaholic, Annis Carew?’

      She glanced briefly at her father, at the head of the table. He was looking restless. Wives sitting next to him, rather than businesswomen, deduced Annis fondly.

      ‘It’s in the genes,’ she said.

      Konstantin Vitale followed her eyes.

      ‘Ah, yes, of course. The phenomenal Tony Carew.’

      There was something in his voice that made Annis uneasy. According to Lynda, it was her father who had insisted on inviting him, after all.

      ‘Don’t you like him?’ she demanded.

      ‘We have our disagreements.’

      Not many people disagreed with her father and stayed on his payroll.

      ‘What about?’ asked Annis, intrigued enough to forget her uneasiness.

      ‘Lots of things. Buildings. My timekeeping. Rights and obligations of ownership.’

      ‘Good grief.’ She looked at him with genuine respect. ‘You’ve been lecturing my father on his obligations?’

      He shrugged. ‘I don’t believe in ownership.’

      ‘Don’t believe—’ Annis choked. Tony Carew was a master capitalist with very pronounced views on what was his.

      ‘The moment you own something you want to put it in a box and stop anyone else enjoying it. That’s a miserable way of living.’

      Annis swallowed. ‘And you’ve told my father as much?’

      He laughed suddenly. ‘Sure. He wasn’t very receptive. But I said to him, “Look, there are some things you may be able to lock up and keep for yourself but major buildings aren’t among them. Too many people use them. Too many people see them, for God’s sake.’”

      Annis gave a choke of startled amusement. ‘He must have had apoplexy.’

      That gave him pause. ‘You are very—frank,’ he said slowly.

      ‘I’m my father’s daughter.’

      Their eyes met. For a moment his were not unreadable. She had disconcerted him, thought Annis. And he did not like it.

      Yes, she thought exultantly.

      And then the mask was in place again and he was laughing gently.

      ‘You are indeed. Well, you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t have the Carew—er—frankness.’

      ‘You mean rudeness,’ said Annis, interpreting without difficulty.

      ‘You both certainly make yourselves understood.’

      ‘Do we?’

      ‘Clear as crystal,’ he said dryly, as if he could read her like a book.

      It was an unsettling thought. And she was even more unsettled when he said in quite a different voice, ‘Though you’re more of chameleon than your dad.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘I like the transformation. Turquoise suits you.’

      He did not actually touch her breast where the evening-sky silk was draped. But Annis recoiled as if he had put his hands on her. The green eyes lifted, intrigued. She saw the sudden speculation there and could have kicked herself.

      To hide it, she said, ‘Don’t be deceived. The plumes are borrowed.’

      ‘I wasn’t deceived,’ he said softly.

      Damn!

      She said hastily, ‘What exactly do you do for my father? I know you work for him but are you on the payroll of Carew Electronics?’

      ‘In a way.’

      ‘That means you don’t want to tell me,’ Annis said wisely. ‘Why not?’

      He shrugged. ‘Business confidentiality,’ he said vaguely.

      Annis smiled. ‘My father is in the process of poaching you,’ she deduced.

      ‘No. I’m my own boss. And going to stay that way. Though I guess Carew does a lot of poaching where he can.’

      ‘Doesn’t every businessman?’

      He looked at her curiously. ‘You tell me. Isn’t that the sort of thing you advise on? Where to poach key staff?’

      Annis laughed. ‘If you don’t already know that, then your business is way beyond the help of a management consultant.’

      She thought he would laugh. But he did not. Instead there was an unnerving silence while he watched her.

      At last he said slowly, ‘You really are your father’s daughter, aren’t you?’

      Annis tensed. She could feel the frown coming and fought it. ‘Am I supposed to apologise for that?’

      ‘No. No of course not. It’s just—’

      But Lynda had got everyone seated at last and the waiter was beginning to take the first course round the table. Annis helped herself to cheese soufflé and Konstantin Vitale’s attention was claimed by the woman on his other side. Annis felt reprieved. By contrast, the massive but uncomplicated ego of Alex de Witt was a piece of cake.

      ‘So who’s here, then?’ he said, smiling across the table at one of his admirers.

      Annis hid her amusement. ‘The usual mix. Carew Electronics. My stepmother’s charity committees. A couple of neighbours.’

      Alex de Witt was not very interested in neighbours.

      ‘Have you seen Totality yet?’

      And then she slotted him into place. He was starring in a new play which had hit the headlines. She almost snapped her fingers as she realised.

      ‘No, I haven’t managed to get there yet but it’s on my list.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Come to think of it, why aren’t you on stage tonight?’

      He beamed. ‘We’re transferring to the West End. Opening next Thursday. Provided the director can get his act together, of course.’

      Annis recognised a cue when she heard it. She took it effortlessly.

      ‘Do you have to rehearse all over again when you transfer from one theatre to another?’

      The actor’s monologue carried them through the first course, second helpings, the removal of plates, a change of wine and the appearance of new china for the second course. Waiters arrived with large serving dishes of boeuf en croûte and Annis sighed. She had been well brought up. She knew you talked to the neighbour on your right for the first course, left for the second. Her respite was over.

      Mentally girding herself, she turned back to Konstantin Vitale and pinned on a social smile.

      ‘Have you been in London long?’

      He did not answer that directly. ‘Very smooth.’

      Annis