you’re not a bridge fanatic.’
‘No.’
Rachel would have gone past him, but he spoke again: ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
She halted, and turned to look at him. ‘No, thanks.’
‘Why not?’
She hesitated, tempted to brush him off without a second thought, but out of the corner of her eye she suddenly saw that Jake Allan had just entered the hotel and was crossing the lobby towards them. If she walked away now, he would no doubt stop to speak to the manager, and she would have no opportunity of speaking to him herself.
‘I—er—I don’t drink,’ she averred, mentally measuring the narrowing distance between herself and Jake Allan.
‘I’ll buy you a tomato, juice, then,’ suggested Carl eagerly, but before she could reply a shadow fell across them. Carl turned half impatiently, to see who dared to interrupt them, but quickly schooled his features when he recognised the man. Rachel was impressed. Whoever Jake Allan was, he certainly had the power to bring Carl to attention.
‘Good evening,’ he said, his dark gaze flickering over Rachel with ruthless detachment. ‘Good evening, Carl.’
Carl nodded and smiled, shifting rather awkwardly. ‘Did you enjoy your walk, Mr Allan?’
Mr Allan! Rachel raised her dark eyebrows. What had happened to the casual use of the man’s Christian name?
‘Very much,’ Jake Allan was saying now, with a slight upward lift of his mouth. ‘Is dinner over?’
Carl nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Some minutes ago. Er—the game’s begun.’
‘Good.’ Jake’s dark eyes shifted to Rachel again. ‘How are you, Miss Lesley? I haven’t seen you about the hotel for some days.’
Rachel’s knees resumed their unsteady wobbling. ‘I—Mrs Faulkner-Stewart has been—indisposed. I’ve been taking care of her.’
‘Very well, I’m sure,’ he conceded with faint mockery. He flicked an assessing look in Carl’s direction, as if summing up the situation. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me …’
Rachel cast a dismayed look at Carl, and then, stumbling over the words, exclaimed: ‘Are you going upstairs?’ And at his nod: ‘So am I. Er—goodnight, Mr Yates.’
The young manager’s lips tightened, but there was nothing he could do, and Rachel’s heart was pounding as she quickened her step to keep up with Jake as he strode towards the lifts. Both lifts were in operation at that moment, and they were forced to wait for one to make the descent to the ground floor. It was an awkward few moments, not relieved when Jake said suddenly: ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
Rachel’s cheeks burned. ‘Done—what?’
Jake gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Yates will get the wrong impression.’
Rachel quivered. ‘I’m not worried.’
‘Perhaps I am.’
She sighed. ‘But why?’ she implored. ‘I was on my way up to my room when he stopped me.’
Jake ran a hand round the back of his neck, and tugged the hair at his nape. He was wearing a leather overcoat this evening, and the wine-coloured fabric accentuated the sallow cast of his skin. His long legs were encased in dark green whipcord, and Rachel had great difficulty in preventing herself from staring at the narrow welt of brown flesh that appeared between his black nylon sweater and the low belt of his pants when he stretched.
The lift arrived, and Rachel preceded him inside. They had it to themselves as before, and Jake pressed the button for the first floor. He didn’t look at her as they were borne upward, and it took only seconds to cover the few feet to his landing.
The doors slid open and Jake took a step forward, but while Rachel was contemplating going up to her room and giving in to the tears that were threatening, he stopped and said: ‘What do you plan to do for the rest of the evening?’
Rachel swallowed convulsively. ‘What do I—why, watch television, I suppose.’
His stare tore her nerves to pieces. ‘And if I offered an alternative?’
‘Wh—what alternative?’
He sighed, as if becoming impatient with himself as well as her. ‘What’s your name? Rachel? Rachel—do you know how old I am?’
She shrugged uncertainly. ‘Thirty-eight, thirty-nine …’
‘I’m forty-one. How about you?’
She shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Nearly nineteen.’
‘Eighteen!’
‘All right. Eighteen.’
He raised his eyes heavenward. ‘I must be out of my mind!’
Without another word he stepped out of the lift, and the automatic mechanism set the doors gliding closed. Unable to prevent herself, Rachel pressed the button to open the doors again, and stepped through them, feeling a sense of inevitability as they closed behind her, and the lift whined away upward.
Jake, who had been striding along the corridor towards his apartments, glanced over his shoulder as he heard the lift depart, and his brow furrowed angrily when he saw Rachel standing there. He halted abruptly and came slowly back to her, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.
Rachel shook her head, unable to voice what she had thought. ‘I—I can use the service stairs,’ she stammered, and he uttered a word she scarcely understood.
‘You’d better go,’ he said. ‘If anyone sees you on this floor——’
He broke off expressively, and her lips trembled. ‘That would never do, would it?’ she burst out, unable to prevent the words in her humiliation.
Jake’s dark eyes raked her savagely. ‘All right, all right,’ he snapped. ‘If you don’t care, why should I?’ He spread a mocking hand towards his door. ‘Come into my parlour!’
Rachel pressed her lips together. ‘Couldn’t we—couldn’t we have a drink together?’
‘I thought I heard you telling Yates you didn’t drink?’ he countered.
‘I don’t. Not much, anyway.’
‘Nor do I. My—doctor won’t allow it.’
This last was said with heavy sarcasm, and she guessed it had not always been so.
‘We—we could have a coffee …’ she ventured, but he shook his head.
‘I think not.’
‘Why not?’
‘I have no intention of inciting
