A Savage Betrayal. Lynne Graham

just a bit tired.’ Without appetite Mina studied the plate that Jean had helpfully filled for her.

      Cesare would be seated at the top table. Mina tried hard not to look in that direction but a compulsion stronger than she was triumphed. Her heartbeat slowed to a dulled thud. ‘Drop-dead gorgeous’, Jean had called him and, ironically, the one time Mina hadn’t noticed those sensational looks of his had been at her interview when he had stretched her with so many difficult questions that she had emerged afterwards inwardly wrung out and possessed only of the memory of dark, deep-set eyes which had seemed to be cruelly willing her to trip up and fall apart under the pressure.

      After all his sardonic references to her lack of experience, she had been amazed when she had got the job. But within a week of entering employment in the Falcone building she had assumed that it was her sex which had made him put her through hoops of fire. She had discovered that she was the only female above the level of secretary on the executive floor and that the men in the boardroom unashamedly rejoiced in their chauvinism, reacting to her arrival in their midst with horror and downright resentment. Staying the course had been an uphill battle from day one…

      She sank back to the present, and discovered that she was still staring, her attention roaming over his strong, dark features in profile, so familiar, even after all this time, she couldn’t believe it. Her stomach clenched tight again, sudden comprehension shuddering through her to make her cringe from her own blindness.

      Of course those features were familiar to her…feminised and in miniature. Hadn’t she lived with those high cheekbones, those winged brows and those dark golden eyes for over three years? Her daughter, Susie, wore her parentage like a banner.

      ‘You’re nervous about the directors’ meeting tomorrow,’ Jean decided, finally noticing that Mina wasn’t eating. ‘I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Your promotion’s in the bag.’

      Grateful to be distracted from her painful reflections, Mina sighed. ‘Nothing’s in the bag, Jean.’

      ‘Mr Haland’s very keen for you to head up the finance section, and the other directors will accept his recommendation,’ Jean asserted in a bolstering tone.

      ‘There were other candidates.’

      ‘I doubt if they had your qualifications, and I would say your invitation to stand in for Simon tonight is as good as an advance announcement.’

      Mina had been hoping the same thing but she didn’t say so. Her self-confidence had dive-bombed in the dole queue four years ago, and her streak of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed youthful ambition had taken a similar battering. Throughout her two-week vacation, which she had spent, as she always did, at her sister’s home, Mina had crossed her fingers and prayed that she would win that promotion, and not because she was eager for the higher status or the challenge of greater responsibility. No, not at all. Mina was quite simply desperate for the considerable rise in salary which would come with the position of finance manager.

      Edwin was rising from the table, ushering his VIP guest to the podium. Below the lights Cesare’s ebony hair had the sheen of silk, and Mina was attacked without warning by a tormentingly painful image of her own fingers sliding through those thick dark strands. Her skin burning, she dropped her head and lifted her glass of wine with an unsteady hand. Cast back in time, frantically struggling to rescue her self-discipline, she didn’t absorb a single word of Cesare’s speech.

      But it must have been witty and amusing. Laughter broke out several times, interspersed by that appreciative silence which was the reward of a speaker talented enough to play his audience like a professional. But all she actually heard was the sound of Cesare’s deep, rich voice, backed by the indolent purr of his accent. Her brain seemed incapable of taking in anything more profound.

      ‘No wonder the directors are walking on air tonight,’ Jean murmured. ‘Cesare Falcone could take Earth Concern into the major leagues all on his own. Look how many journalists are here…we’ve never had a press turnout this good!’

      People were rising from their tables and starting to mingle. Edwin signalled to Mina. With all her being she wished it were possible to ignore that gesture. She stood up, relieved to see that Cesare was being mobbed. Little wonder, she reflected cynically.

      So many of their patrons only supported them because to be seen at such events lent one a certain cachet. And the chance to rub shoulders, however briefly, with Cesare Falcone, a true member of the glitterati, who when in London moved only in the most select social circles, was a chance few of their patrons would wish to miss.

      ‘A tremendous speech, don’t you think?’ Edwin remarked, curving a light arm to her back, making her stiffen in surprise, as he surveyed the crush which had engulfed Cesare with unhidden satisfaction.

      ‘Very impressive.’

      ‘Where on earth did you get to earlier?’ the older man demanded with faint irritation. ‘I wanted you to sit with us at the top table.’

      ‘I had no idea…sorry.’ But it was a challenge to look sorry. As Mina realised what a narrow escape she had had, she felt quite light-headed with gratitude. With a little luck she would be able to slip off home soon, pull herself together and decide how she would handle being introduced to Cesare, as she surely would be sooner or later.

      Tell him now, a little voice urged her. She should tell Edwin that she had once worked for Cesare, even though that fact had not appeared on her carefully doctored c.v. Edwin would be surprised, but he was highly unlikely to go back and check that same document.

      ‘I suppose it was my fault.’ He smiled, looking down at Mina, whose tiny, delicate stature never failed to remind him of his late wife. ‘I should have asked you to join us.’

      Picking up her courage in both hands, Mina parted her lips. ‘Edwin——’

      ‘Do you realise that this is the very first time you have called me by my Christian name?’ he chuckled.

      Mina flushed. She was always very formal with the directors.

      ‘Please don’t apologise,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘Being called Mr Haland all the time makes me feel as old as the hills.’

      ‘Which you’re far from being,’ Mina said politely, a little disconcerted by the warmth she read in his eyes.

      ‘I certainly don’t feel it when I’m fortunate enough to be in the company of a very beautiful young woman. Indeed I feel privileged,’ Edwin asserted with vigour, shocking her into rigidity as she glanced back up at him.

      ‘Mr Haland?’ someone intervened from behind them.

      The older man’s arm lifted from her narrow back with a reluctance that could be felt. Mina’s cheeks were pink, embarrassment and dismay having taken hold of her. She had always been aware that Edwin Haland liked her as a quiet, hard-working member of staff, but it had not until now occurred to her that he might be attracted to her.

      ‘Where have you been hiding yourself all evening, cara?’

      Her downbent head flew up and then tipped back, amethyst eyes wide with apprehension, the colour highlighting her complexion evaporating fast as her gaze connected with molten gold.

      ‘Cesare…’ she whispered tautly, striving manfully to recover her composure, telling herself that she had had plenty of time to adjust to the prospect of such a confrontation but discovering to her horror that that fact seemed to make no difference to her shattered response to his sudden looming presence less than a foot from her.

      ‘Sì, Cesare…who remembers you well,’ he murmured in a flat undertone that chilled her, intent narrowed dark eyes scanning her pale face. ‘Do I warn the old goat that he’s about to fall into the alligator pit? Or do I keep my mouth shut?’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ Mina framed without comprehension.

      ‘From the outside it looks as though you have your sights set on a wedding-ring, but I wonder if that’s true. You’re a devious little bitch,’