which had done nothing to improve his mood.
Her apparent conviction that she just had to snap her fingers to get him back had made him bitterly angry, and only served to reinforce his present dislike of women. Especially the ones who used sex as a weapon, as she had.
That same morning, Paul had rung and informed him flatly, ‘Well, this is your last chance. On Friday evening Miss Mansell will be hostess at Jenkins’s retirement party. After that, she’ll be leaving.’
Getting no immediate response, he suggested, ‘Tell you what, why don’t you take a quick look at her, see what you think? She’s easy on the eye without being too distracting. And I’m quite sure that she’s not the kind to throw herself at you.
‘If you want to actually meet her, I can introduce you simply as a friend of mine. If not, you can stay in the background, do the whole thing discreetly.’
In no mood for a party, Michael chose the latter course.
‘In the meantime,’ Paul promised, ‘I’ll find out as much as I can about her.’
At eight o’clock that Friday evening, partly concealed by the luxurious foliage of one of the decorative plants, Michael was standing on the balcony that encircled the Mayfair Hotel’s sumptuous ballroom, where Arthur Jenkins’s retirement party was taking place.
Already he was half regretting coming. Admittedly he needed a good PA, but a good PA didn’t have to be a woman. Still, to pacify Paul, he would stay long enough to hear what he had to say, and take a look at this Miss Mansell.
From the vantage point he had chosen almost opposite the raised dais, where later a presentation was to be made, he was able to get a commanding view over the assembled company.
An orchestra at present occupying the dais was playing dance music, and quite a lot of couples were circling the floor, while the remainder of the guests were standing in groups laughing and talking as the waiters dispensed champagne.
It was a truly glittering occasion. Arthur Jenkins had been with Global Enterprises for over thirty years, so in spite of the threatened economical slow-down no expense had been spared.
The woman Michael had come specifically to see wasn’t in evidence. So far he’d only glimpsed her from a distance. Tall and slim with dark hair taken up in an elegant swirl, she was wearing an ankle-length chiffon dress in muted, south-sea-colour shades of aquamarine, lapis lazuli and gold.
Paul, the only other person who knew he was there, had pointed her and Arthur Jenkins out to him.
‘What did you manage to find out about her?’ Michael asked quietly.
‘Not a great deal,’ Paul answered. ‘The only information Personnel could give me was that she’s twenty-four years old, quiet, efficient, and came to Global straight from a London business college.
‘The people she worked with say she did her job well, and described her as having a friendly manner, but tending to keep herself to herself.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Very little’s known about her private life but I did manage to pick up, from the grapevine, that for some time she wore an engagement ring.
‘After she stopped wearing it, a few months ago, it appears that several of the men in the office tried their luck, but all of them were given a very cool reception, not to say the cold shoulder. It seems she’s gone off men.’
Michael frowned thoughtfully. From that brief report, Jennifer Mansell sounded ideal.
However, reluctant to admit as much, he merely said, ‘Thanks for the information.’
Paul shrugged heavy shoulders. ‘Such as it is. Well, I’d better go and circulate. I take it you don’t want to meet her now?’
Shaking his head, Michael answered, ‘No.’
‘Well, when you’ve managed to get a good look at her, if you do change your mind, just let me know.’ Paul sketched a brief salute before heading for the stairs.
Michael was waiting only a minute or so when Arthur Jenkins and Jennifer Mansell came into view once again.
With no unseemly display of thigh or bosom, the simply cut dress she was wearing showed off her slender, graceful figure to perfection.
As she got closer he noticed that on her right wrist she was wearing a small watch on a plain black strap, and, on her right hand, a gold ring.
Her dark head was turned away from him as she conversed with her portly companion.
For some strange reason—a kind of premonition, perhaps—Michael found himself oddly impatient to see her face.
When she did turn towards him she was smiling, and he caught his breath. He knew that face, and not just because something about her reminded him of a young Julia Roberts.
Though they had never actually met, he had seen her before. But where and when?
And then he remembered, and he found his heart beating faster as he relived the little scene that had taken place at the castle, was it five years ago or six?
It had been late afternoon and, the only visitor still remaining, she had been standing in the cobbled courtyard, bright with its tubs of flowers.
Head tilted back, a coolish breeze ruffling her long dark hair, she had been watching some early swallows wheeling overhead, smiling then, as she was smiling now. He had been standing on the battlements, looking down. Still smiling, she had glanced in his direction. For a long moment their eyes had met and held, until, as though shy, she had looked away.
Though he hadn’t had the faintest idea why, even then she had seemed familiar to him, as if he had always known her.
Seeing her start to head towards the main gate, he had turned to hurry after her. But by the time he had descended the spiral stone stairway of the north tower she had vanished from sight.
Impelled by a sudden urgency, he had moved swiftly across the courtyard and beneath the portcullis. At the bottom of the steep, cobbled path that led up to the castle gate, a car had been just pulling away.
He had tried to attract her attention, to no avail. As he had stood there the car had bumped down the uneven dirt road, turned right, and disappeared round the curve of the rocky hill.
Climbing up to the battlements again, with a strange sense of loss he had watched the silver dot take the picturesque coastal road that skirted the island, and head in the direction of the causeway.
To all intents and purposes the little incident was over, finished, but he had thought about her, wondered about her, and her face had stayed etched indelibly in his memory.
He had tried to play his disappointment down, to tell himself that he couldn’t possibly feel so strongly about a woman he had only glimpsed, and never actually met. But wherever he went he had found himself scanning the faces of people passing by, unconsciously looking for her.
Over time, the impact she had had on him had gradually faded into the recesses of his mind, but he had never totally forgotten.
Now
