Pagan Adversary. Sara Craven

not to spend as much time as possible with Nicky at the only time it was possible—after work. She had never grudged him one minute of her time, or felt deprived, but sometimes when she heard the other girls she worked with chatting animatedly about boy-friends and outings, she felt as if she occupied another world.

      At twenty-one, she was hardly likely to be written off as a spinster, the archetypal maiden aunt, she knew. She wasn’t conceited, but she was aware that her pale fair hair and wide grey eyes had an attraction all their own. But she also knew that Nicky’s existence in her life was a drawback as far as men were concerned. Roy, for instance.

      She flushed slightly as she remembered that she had actually been considering becoming engaged to Roy. Then the accident had happened, and her life had changed overnight, and somehow Roy wasn’t there any more. She’d been bewildered, and more than a little hurt, because she had counted on his support. But he had been almost brutally frank.

      ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he’d said, ‘but I didn’t bargain for a ready-made family. I don’t want to have to share your attention with a kid who isn’t even my own.’

      Harriet had told herself she was well rid of him, and knew that it was true, but the hurt still lingered, and made her chary of accepting such invitations that did come her way.

      Claudia who occupied the adjoining desk at the office pool was always trying to make dates for her, and urging her to go out more, insisting that she owed it to herself. But Harriet felt that it was Nicky who was owed—owed as settled and secure an environment as she could create for him, at least for the time being.

      Claudia was waiting agog for her return. ‘What happened?’ she hissed.

      Harriet shrugged. ‘We talked. I lost my temper.’

      Claudia grinned. ‘It’s amazing,’ she said. ‘You are the image of a cool blonde, and yet it’s like an ice-cap over a volcano. Was it the great man himself?’

      Harriet shook her head, and Claudia made a frustrated noise.

      ‘Damn, there goes my last chance of finding out what a really sexy man is like! I expected you to come reeling back here with stars in your eyes and no buttons left on your blouse.’

      ‘You’re joking, of course.’ Harriet was acid.

      ‘Not really,’ Claudia grinned. ‘After all, he must have something. Look at the birds he pulls!’

      Harriet smiled cynically as she wound papers and carbons into her typewriter. ‘Oh, he’s got something all right,’ she agreed. ‘Money.’

      Claudia snorted. ‘Bet it’s more than that. Haven’t you ever seen a photograph of him?’

      Harriet shrugged. ‘The odd newspaper one. But they don’t tell you much except he hasn’t got two heads. It’s a pity he hasn’t, really,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘then everyone would know what a monster he is.’

      ‘Miss Masters!’ The typing pool supervisor materialised beside Harriet’s desk, looking severe. ‘Miss Greystoke has buzzed. You’re wanted in the chairman’s suite.’

      Harriet’s fingers stilled on the keys of her machine. She was a good efficient worker, and she had sometimes taken dictation for the managing director and the company secretary when their own girls were away, but the chairman was another kettle of fish altogether. None of the typing pool ever filled in for the remote and efficient Miss Greystoke. And anyway, if Miss Greystoke had buzzed, it was reasonable to suppose that she was there, and not requiring a substitute.

      ‘When you’re quite ready, Miss Masters,’ the supervisor reminded her sarcastically.

      The chairman’s suite and the other executive offices were one floor up, and Harriet walked up the stairs, trying to tuck errant strands of hair back into the smooth coil she wore on top of her head. What on earth could Sir Michael want her for? she wondered in alarm. In the two years she had been with the company, she had never even spoken to him. When Kostas and Becca had been killed, it had been the company secretary Mr Crane who had dealt with her, and he had been kindness himself. But perhaps Sir Michael didn’t think she was worth the time and the money she had been allowed. But if so, was it likely he would summon her to tell her so himself?

      She was totally mystified by the time she reached Miss Greystoke’s office. Miss Greystoke was looking at her watch ostentatiously when she knocked politely and went in.

      ‘At last,’ she said coolly. ‘You’re to go straight in.’

      ‘Yes.’ Harriet hesitated. ‘Do—do you know by any chance what it’s about?’

      Miss Greystoke looked as if she was about to be withering, then suddenly relented, perhaps noticing for the first time Harriet’s pallor.

      ‘I haven’t the slightest idea. There was a message waiting when I got back from lunch.’ She smiled. ‘But don’t look so worried. He’s not a bad old stick, you know,’ she added, lowering her voice.

      Harriet returned the smile nervously. She walked over to the door of the inner office, squared her shoulders resolutely, pressed the handle down and went in.

      Unlike Miss Greystoke’s office, which was artificially lit, the chairman’s room had windows the length of one wall, and the sudden glare of sunlight almost dazzled Harriet as she stood hesitating, just inside the door.

      For a moment, all she was aware of was a man’s figure standing at one of the windows, and then as he turned and came towards her, she realised in an odd panic that whoever this was, it wasn’t Sir Michael.

      For one thing, this man was at least twenty years his junior, black-haired with a dark, harshly attractive face. He was tall too, and expensive tailoring did full justice to the breadth of his shoulders and his lean hips and long legs.

      Harriet took a breath. ‘I’m sorry—there’s been some mistake,’ she began, backing towards the door.

      He held up a swift authoritative hand, halting her.

      ‘Oh, don’t run away, Miss Masters.’ His voice was as harsh as his face, with a faint foreign intonation. ‘You were brave enough to my lawyer not so long ago. What do you dare say to my face, I wonder?’

      Oh God, Harriet thought in anguish. It can’t be true! It can’t be him.

      Trying to sound cool, she said, ‘Am I supposed to know who you are?’

      ‘We’ll dispense with the games, if you please,’ he said. ‘We’re both well aware of each other’s identity.’

      Harriet swallowed. ‘How—how did you know where I work?’

      ‘I know everything I need to know about you,’ he said cuttingly. ‘Including the fact that you are not a fit person to be in charge of my brother’s child.’

      Harriet gasped. ‘You have no right to say that!’

      ‘I have every right,’ he said. ‘Every word you said to Philippides revealed your immaturity, your headstrong foolishness. You destroyed any case you might have had for retaining Nicos in your care with your own silly tongue.’

      ‘Mr Philippides didn’t waste any time in making a full report,’ she said furiously. ‘Did he use a tape recorder?’

      ‘No, Miss Masters. I saw and heard you myself.’ He paused. ‘The mirror in that room has another function apart from allowing young girls to preen themselves in it.’

      A two-way mirror. Harriet had only heard of such things.

      She said, ‘That’s the most despicable thing I’ve ever heard!’

      ‘But then your experience had been so limited.’

      ‘No wonder your brother was glad to get away from you,’ she said recklessly, and halted, appalled at the expression of molten rage on his face.

      She said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. ‘I—I didn’t mean