SILK WICKEDNESS 2

Suddenly she could just hear Kate’s voice. Her friend Kate had her own way of grading men. It went like this:

Category One: Not worth shaving your legs for. (Ninety per cent of men fell into this category)

Category Two: Worth shaving your legs for, but only if you’re wearing a skirt.

Category Three: Worth shaving your legs for whatever you’re wearing.

Category Four: Worth having your legs waxed for, and a cellulite treatment thrown in.

‘Definitely a four,’ Kate would have said, with more than a hint of yum-yum in her voice.

She had to admit that Kate would be right. If you were into that brand of dark and rather intimidating masculinity, of course.

‘You didn’t come here to pass the time of day,’ she remarked. ‘Would you like to state your business?’

‘Idle curiosity,’ he mused, still scanning the posters. ‘I was wondering what kind of primeval lowlife makes a living like this.’

However heartily she agreed with him that Ryan was a superlative example of primeval lowlife, it wouldn’t do to admit it now. ‘My cousin’s main business is the minicabs,’ she retorted. ‘Anyway, some people think kisso- grams are fun. Normal people, that is.’

He gave her a direct and very penetrating gaze. ‘Like you, you mean.’

‘Naturally.’

‘So you’d be tickled pink if some half-naked Tarzan burst in on your civilized dinner?’

She gave an inward shudder. Ryan’s current Tarzan had macaroni arms and did the honours in a horrible polyester leopardskin. ‘I’d love it. I’ve always had a thing about Tarzan. And if you’ve only come to make snide remarks, I’ve got better things to do.’

‘I haven’t.’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Exactly how much did my daughter pay for your performance the other night?’

The penny dropped like a meteorite. She very nearly squeaked, Your daughter? like a demented budgie. ‘Not the dark girl at the restaurant?’ she said instead. She could see a vague likeness now, but surely he wasn’t old enough to be her father?

She saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes, as if he knew exactly what was going on in her head Those eyes were not quite as chilling as she’d first thought. For some reason she thought of Icelandic pools. Freezing at first glance, but with unexpected warm springs.

‘I don’t have another daughter that I know of. One like Anoushka is more than enough. And for the record, she’s sixteen.’

‘ Sixteen? she echoed. ‘I’d have thought - ’

‘I know. She’s looked twenty-three since she was fourteen and a half.’

‘She told us she was your girlfriend!’

‘Yes, I got the message the other night. You yelled it loud enough for half of central London to hear. I repeat, how much?’

Claudia hesitated. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘So I can deduct it from her allowance. She’s obviously getting too much if she can afford pranks like this.’

Although she had a sneaking sympathy for him, she wasn’t going to admit it. ‘Aren’t we overreacting just a trifle? Besides, I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly divulge that kind of information. It’s against our ethics.’

‘Ethics? Ethics ?’

The phone cut off his strangled utterings. ‘Ryan’s minicabs,’ she answered. It was a standard airport run, and while she was scribbling the details he was casting a critical eye over her, like some high-tech spying device.

Returning his gaze coolly was getting more difficult by the second. ‘If you’re going to clutter up the office all morning, I hope you’re not expecting me to make polite conversation,’ she said. ‘I am not at my sunny, sociable best, especially with a man who treated me as if I had the plague the other night.’

‘The plague?’ he snorted. ‘You got off lightly.’ As he took a step closer the tantalizing scent he had worn that night wafted within whispering distance of her nostrils. It was very faint, the kind that whispered rather than screamed, and Claudia felt suddenly as if a large and very violent jellyfish had hit her in the stomach.

Like a video on rewind, her brain zoomed back to just how his lips had felt, as he’d shown her how to ‘do it properly next time’. She’d been too startled at the time for it to affect her, but delayed reaction was setting in fast.

And as he gazed back at her she sensed a subtle change in the atmosphere. An indefinable oasis of awareness had descended around them: the tingling that surrounded a

man and a woman when they had ceased to be just another man and just another woman.

When he spoke again, it vanished like snow in May. ‘That bet business was a load of rubbish. You’re doing this as a stop-gap but you’re ashamed to admit it. Even I can see it’s not your style. What are you? A “resting” actress? Your performance the other night had the whole restaurant riveted.’

She wished her old drama teacher could have heard him. The one who’d said, ‘You can forget all about acting as a career, Claudia. Your talent is only mediocre.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you, but the last acting I did was at school. In a very amateurish production of Oliver , if you really want to know.’

She could see it was bothering him, why she was there at all. As his brow furrowed she began to think that perhaps he was older than she’d first thought. Thirty-six, thirty- seven? That would have made him about twenty when his daughter was bom.

His eyes flickered over her again. ‘What’s your name?’

It was the last thing she’d expected. For an aghast moment she had visions of legal action for Malicious Embarrassment Inflicted in a Terminally Swanky Restaurant. ‘What’s it to you?’

One corner of his mouth flickered. ‘Am I making you nervous?’

No, not lawsuits , she thought, with a wash of relief. He hadn’t been quite that angry. ‘For current purposes it’s Naughty Natalie,’ she said sweetly. ‘Or Fetching Fifi when I do the French maid. Satisfied?’

‘It’ll have to do. Just so I know who not to ask for if I ever want my worst enemy embarrassed out of his mind. I’d want someone who’d do the thing properly.’

Claudia was stung. ‘You just said I had the whole restaurant riveted!’

‘I meant by your “abandoned mother” act. The rest of it was as chaste as an old biddy kissing her cat.’

‘I’d have done it properly if you’d let me!’ Realizing too late that he’d only said it to goad her, she added, ‘I’d have held my breath and steeled myself.’

‘I’m sure you’d have made a sterling effort,’ he said in soothing tones.

She began to realize that she’d have to get up very early to get the better of him in a verbal sparring situation. Trying to sound bored, she said, ‘Mr Hamilton, it’s half past ten on a Friday morning. Haven’t you got a job to go to?’ On the other hand, he wasn’t exactly dressed for the office. In her current mood, she just couldn’t resist it. ‘Or perhaps you were on your way to the Job Centre? If so, I should ditch that jacket, if I were you,’ she added kindly. ‘Looks a tad too up-market. They might think you’re fiddling your giro.’

His mouth gave a barely-there twitch. ‘Thank you for the advice. I’ll leave you to it. Miss whatever-your-name-is.’

Drat. Just when I was beginning to enjoy myself. ‘Bye, then.’ Ninety per cent certain that it would make him wince, she added, ‘Have a nice day.’

He did wince.

What came over her then she would never know. She made no conscious decision to call him back. It just burst out. ‘Mr Hamilton!’

He turned, one eyebrow raised a fraction. ‘Yes?’

Her words tumbled out in an uncharacteristically garbled rush. Tm so sorry about the other night - I know you hated it but I hated it even more - the first one was even worse; he had horrendous bad breath and made me feel sick -1 never thought it’d be so ghastly - I’ve got to do ten more to win this bet - my cousin’s a complete and utter reptile, right out of the primeval slime just like you said - he offered me a huge cheque - he never, ever thought I’d do it, but he’s really enjoying seeing me squirm - I’d tell him to get lost right now, but I simply must have the money - not for me, for Bruin Wood - it’s a holiday home in the New Forest for inner-city children - they need new wiring and heaven knows what or they won’t be allowed to open next spring - I’ve been fundraising like mad but people get sick of being asked for money - I was made redundant, you see, so I’m at a loose end - not that I minded that; the company’s going down the drain because of their lousy senior management so I’m well out of it - I’ve got a much better job lined up for after Christmas but that’s beside the point - until I’ve wiped that grin off Ryan the Reptile’s face I’ve got to grit my teeth and be a kissogram girl.’

With the floodgates closed, she took a huge breath.

For what seemed an eternity, his shrewd, assessing gaze searched her face. ‘Exactly how much does this bet involve?’

When she told him, he didn’t bat an eyelash. ‘Just how badly do you want this money?’

‘It’s not a question of wanting ! I’ve already promised it! Do you realize how many children have never seen a cow

in a field, or fed an apple to a pony? Do you realize how many children have never even seen the sea?’

He folded his arms and gave her the silent navy treatment. Not just hair to waist, like before, but inside out, back to front, and very possibly upside down as well.

In for a penny , she thought. In for a few quid, anyway. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t care to make a small donation?’

He seemed not to hear her. ‘If you really can’t face any more kissograms, I might just have an alternative proposition.

She gave a startled frown. ‘Sorry?’

‘You heard me.’ He looked her straight in the eye. ‘Have you got a valid passport?’

Her voice dug itself from under her tonsils. ‘A passport ? Of course I have, but . . .’

She began to think this was some elaborate wind-up. Any moment now he was going her offer her vast sums of money to smuggle plutonium to Iraq in her bra, she was going to gape and make choking noises, and that man from the television was going to burst in with a false beard, pretending to be from MI5, and then the beard would come off and a film crew would appear and everybody would crack up.

It had Ryan’s handwriting all over it.

She glanced over her shoulder for signs of hidden cameras in the corners, but there were only the usual cobwebs. She had meant to remove them, but felt sorry for the spiders.

‘Mr Hamilton, if this is some kind of weird male joke. . . ’

With a slight frown, he glanced at his watch again. ‘I haven’t got time to discuss it now - I was on my way to an appointment. Give me a ring tonight and we’ll arrange a talking lunch.’

From his inside pocket he took a pen. On the pad on her desk he scrawled ‘Hamilton’ and a phone number. ‘I’ll be in between seven and eight.’

Temporarily deprived of the power of speech, she gaped at him.

He tucked the pen back in his pocket. ‘Till tonight, Claudia.*

That was enough to restore her vocal cords. ‘I don’t recall giving you my name!*

Already halfway to the door, he turned his head just enough for her to see an infuriating flicker at the corner of his mouth. Tm psychic.*

The door closed behind him.

It took only five seconds for the mystery to solve itself. Among the half-sorted chaos on the desk was a letter that had arrived that morning from Spain. In her mother’s neat handwriting it was addressed to ‘Miss Claudia Maitland*.

Devious devil , she thought crossly. He must have seen it while I was on the phone. If her father had written it he’d have gone cross-eyed trying to decipher it. Her father’s handwriting had been known to reduce postmen to nervous wrecks.

She stared dazedly at the name and number on her pad. At least it was evidence that she hadn’t nodded off and dreamt the whole thing.

It was an inner London number - Kensington, if she wasn’t mistaken.

A whole forest fire of curiosity was raging inside her, and not even three cups of Ryan’s disgusting instant coffee could quench it.

Despite draughty Edwardian windows that let fresh air in whether you wanted it or not, it was passably cosy in Claudia’s living room.

Fresh from the bath, Kate was curled in the armchair, digesting the news. ‘Sounds decidedly dodgy to me,’ she pronounced.

‘That’s exactly what I was thinking all day. Only . . .’

‘Only what?’

‘Only he doesn’t look dodgy.’

‘They never do.’ Kate unwound the towel from her head and shook her hair into a damp curly halo. ‘Think of those Mafioso godfathers! Perfect pillars of the community until they get found out.’

‘Maybe he’s a drug baron.’ Claudia was absently stroking Portly the cat. Slumbering fatly beside her, he was taking up the other half of the sofa. ‘Maybe he’s going to ask me to take a kilo of heroin to Bangkok, disguised as prime Stilton for the Ambassador.’

‘For heaven’s sake, anybody can see you’re not stupid enough to fall for that. It could be drug money , though. Wodges of readies that he wants laundering. You’ll have to buy a yacht or something. They buy huge great yachts for cash and sail them to Florida then sell them and stick the money in fourteen different false bank accounts.’

‘But he doesn’t look like a drug baron.’

‘How do you know what drug barons look like? Have you ever met one?’

Claudia thought back to the classic-suited Guy Hamilton in the restaurant and tried not to think like her mother. Margaret Maitland would sum people up in an instant, and her verdict on Guy Hamilton would have been, ‘Good family. You can always tell. Look at his shoes.’

Margaret Maitland was one of those people who never could believe that anybody of ‘good family’, who was also English, could possibly be dodgy. Dodginess was for foreigners, and Englishmen who wore loud shirts. Why her mother had gone to live in Spain, Claudia could never quite fathom.

‘They all wear expensive suits and drive flash cars and live in whacking great houses,’ Kate went on. ‘People always think they’re stockbrokers or something until they get nicked.’

‘How do you know? You’ve never met one either.’