Buttoning herself up with furious, trembling fingers, but aware that he must have seen at least the flesh-coloured silk and lace of her low-cut French bra, she spat, ‘How dare you! How did you get a key? This is intolerable!’
‘It’s Yvette’s master key,’ he said placidly, laying the offending article on the table next to her earrings and bracelet. ‘She—er—agreed with me that there was obviously some unfinished business between us.’
‘Oh, no, there’s not!’ Martha flashed, then took a breath as she tried to think, tried to gather herself into some sort of icy composure. ‘At least to my mind,’ she said in a suddenly cool, reflective voice, ‘there’s only this, Simon Macquarie. You posed the theory that I’d somehow tracked you down and ingratiated myself with your aunt in a bid to...’ She paused, which was fatal as it turned out.
‘To re-establish yourself in my life?’ he suggested gently, but with such mockery that she winced. ‘It did cross my mind, yes.’
‘Then you must be mad!’ she accused. ‘I had no idea she was your aunt, and believe me, if I had, the last thing I’d be doing is working for her.’
‘Well,’ he murmured with a faint smile, ‘you’ll have to forgive me for being a little wary of your motives, Martha. But I must say——’ that clever, amused gaze roamed up and down her figure ‘—I have to give you full marks for ambition, my little Aussie tart. This is a rather astonishing climb up the ladder from serving drinks and propositioning guests. Like to tell me how you achieved it?’ And with a wryly raised eyebrow he sat down at her kitchen table and picked up the gold bracelet she’d cast down in such a rage, to run it thoughtfully through his long fingers.
Martha had never actually seen red before but what saved her was the sudden, startlingly clear mental picture of what had happened to her the last time she’d slapped this man’s face. So she closed her eyes on the red film, very briefly and discreetly filled her lungs with air as she’d been trained to, then sat down opposite him with a shrug and said, ‘How do you think? It’s amazing what you can achieve—on your back.’
For a long moment their gazes locked, hers not even defiant, she hoped, yet she was momentarily puzzled by the tinge of scepticism she thought she saw in his; then it was gone and she wondered if she’d imagined it.
But he said abruptly, ‘So that part of it was always true?’ And there was no mistaking the cold disgust in his eyes now.
‘Of course. Did you ever doubt it?’ Martha asked sweetly, despite the strange mixture of hurt and the feeling that she was tumbling down a mine-shaft—by her own hand but unable to stop herself. ‘Perhaps I was a bit...rough in those days. Is that what made you have doubts? Well, I’m much, much more experienced now, Mr Macquarie. Would you like a demonstration?’
He relaxed all of a sudden. ‘No, thank you, Miss Winters. I think I could live without it. No,’ he mused. ‘What activated certain doubts was the sometimes undoubted genuineness of your—rages. But I guess we’re all wrong from time to time. Does my aunt know how you operate?’ he asked drily.
I’ve gone too far—I’ve done it again! Martha found herself thinking dully as she coloured a little. Why does this man do this to me? Then she stood up abruptly, swung her hair defiantly and said equally drily, ‘No. In fact I’ve turned over a new leaf. Now I’ve got this far it would be silly to...well, I guess you know what I mean.’
‘Acquire a sleazy reputation?’ he suggested softly.
‘Yes,’ she said shortly, but couldn’t prevent herself from shooting him one brief, blazing glance.
His lips twisted. ‘Well, I hope you succeed. And I hope you don’t find it too difficult to live without,’ he added, standing up himself.
Martha knew exactly what he meant as his gaze drifted up and down her again as if he could see beneath the blue crêpe and the coffee silk and she was reminded with deadly accuracy how it felt to have his hands on her body, but he didn’t leave a thing to chance. He moved towards her and stopped only inches away so that she was assailed by everything about him that she’d always found so tormentingly attractive: his height and the width of his shoulders; the slight tang of a lemony aftershave and the sheer male smell; the hard planes and angles of his fit, lean body that she’d secretly so admired. And she recalled the rapture of being kissed and held by him and how her heart had beaten and her skin shivered of its own accord, how her nerves had leapt...
She swallowed as she tried to gaze up unaffectedly into his eyes and remembered that he’d always been more than a match for her, and not only physically. She remembered, too, how he’d looked into her eyes, often after a passionate embrace, with that assessing, clever amusement lurking in the greeny depths of his and that wry, ironic twist to his lips and just sometimes with a more deadly kind of mockery.
She opened her mouth, desperate for something to say to break the unbearable tension of the moment, but he spoke first. ‘Live without sex, I mean,’ he murmured, and smiled as she trembled suddenly. ‘It should be interesting, Martha, to see how you cope. And I suppose one can’t altogether blame you for working your way up the ladder on your back when there are places on your body where your skin is like silk and there are curves and hollows so well arranged and designed, so erotic and sensitive, it’s...’ he paused ‘...almost a crime to find that you haven’t got the heart and soul to go with them. But——’
‘Get out,’ she whispered, rigid and white to the lips.
‘Just going. Good luck...’
‘Look, Madame, I apologise for walking out of your party but if you want to sack me for it that’s fine with me.’
Yvette Minter threw up her hands. She was wearing a colourful, stiffened-silk dressing-gown and she’d descended the area steps and knocked Martha up only moments ago. It was the morning after the party, a Sunday morning, and about nine o‘clock. ‘Why did I know you would say something like that to me?’ she demanded in clearly aggrieved tones. ‘Can you not even offer me a cup of coffee at this horrendous hour of the day?’
Martha shrugged and turned to the stove where a percolator was bubbling gently. ‘If you like.’ She poured two mugs.
Madame glanced at Martha’s bent head during this process but uncharacteristically said nothing for a time as she sat down and arranged the rich folds of her gown around her.
‘There.’ Martha pushed a mug across the table and after a brief hesitation sat down herself.
‘Merci.’ Madame smiled faintly and pursed her lips.
This caused Martha to wonder what was coming and it was as if Madame guessed her thoughts, because she said lightly, ‘I was just thinking—such a difference! Last night you were all fire and elegance; today you are like a teenage girl.’
Martha grimaced down at the floral patterned leggings and voluminous T-shirt she wore. ‘So?’
‘That’s another thing—how many times you say, “So?” to me, like so.’
‘Sorry. I guess what I’m trying to say is this. If I’ve blown my chance, if I’ve disgraced myself thoroughly and you can’t see any hope of retrieving things and making me famous——’ there was a tinge of irony in her voice ‘—you only have to tell me straight.’
‘Martha,’
