She squinted at the label attached to his jacket. ‘Matt? Is that really your name?’ She made one of those graceful little gestures. ‘No, don’t answer that, since you won’t tell me the truth anyway…’ She glanced up at him. ‘Okay, Mr Crosby, you’ve done your job. You can take me back to the hotel now.’
‘For the brandy and the interview?’
‘I don’t drink.’
‘Never?’
‘Not since I turned eighteen. Before that, of course, it was almost mandatory. A bit like losing your virginity before you go into the sixth form…’ Her voice trailed away, and for just a moment he thought she was going to blush, which was interesting. It was clearly a well-used ploy to shock maiden aunts—if such things still existed—but why would she think it would shock him? Why would she even bother to try? His silence seemed to unnerve her a little. ‘Actually, you might be right about that drink.’
‘I know I am.’ He leaned forward to start his car. ‘And it’s definitely time we got out of here,’ he added, as he glanced in the mirror. ‘Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind about giving an interview?’ With a jerk of his head he indicated the approaching television crew, who were looking for anyone who might have seen something interesting or some local with a point of view to air.
She half turned, hesitated, then shook her head. ‘No…’
‘You’re sure? You could win the sympathy vote right now. A few tears on the pavement will melt hearts of stone. And the glimpse of underwear will ensure you have at least half the country’s undivided attention.’
She stiffened, grabbed the front of her dress and began to work on the buttons. ‘That’s not my style, Mr Crosby.’ She caught his questioning look. ‘They might have wrecked my press conference but I’ll think of some way to turn this to my advantage. I mean, it hardly puts Mr Parker on the side of the angels, does it? It’s odd, because I would have thought he was cleverer than that…’
‘Maybe he’s more desperate than you thought. And you’ve missed the point.’ And a button, but he thought it wiser not to mention that. ‘If whoever set this up had been successful, you wouldn’t have been around to organise anything.’
She stared at him and he could see the reality of what had happened was beginning to sink in. ‘Yes. I see.’ She glanced back again. ‘Maybe I should—’
‘No, you shouldn’t. As you said, it’s not your style.’ Besides which, her lipstick was smudged, her sleek cap of hair uncharacteristically mussed. For a moment she didn’t look anything like the controlled, determined young woman who had fearlessly taken on big business and had it on the run. She looked like a girl who, for a moment, was just a little bit lost, and Matt wanted to hold her, reassure her. He managed to stop himself, but it was a close-run thing. ‘And if you’re at all keen to hang onto your reputation for unruffled perfection in the face of adversity, Miss Blake, I think I should tell you that you could use a comb.’
She lifted her hand to her hair in a self-conscious gesture. ‘Oh, right. In that, case, Mr Crosby, I suggest we retire to the bar of the hotel with all speed.’
‘Just Crosby will do,’ he said as he let slip the handbrake, checked the mirror and moved away from the kerb. ‘Or Matt, if you promise to keep your feet to yourself. I don’t usually allow people who kick me to get that personal. What do your family call you?’ he asked, while she was making up her mind.
‘A nuisance?’ she offered. ‘And I hate to think what the construction industry call me.’
‘Much the same,’ he said, with a grin. ‘But the less printable versions.’ And, since he didn’t intend listing them, he put his foot down hard and his old Mercedes surged forward, leaving the approaching news hounds standing.
Once out of sight of the Assembly Rooms he slowed, and a few moments later pulled into the staff car park at the rear of the Delvering Arms.
‘We’ll stick to the back way, I think,’ he said, taking her arm and steering her in via the kitchen. He nodded to the chef and headed for the stairs.
Nyssa stopped abruptly. ‘I thought we were going to have a drink?’ she said.
‘We are. But not in the bar. It’ll be a bit crowded?’ he suggested as her eyebrows hit her hairline.
‘In that case I’ll still need my key,’ she said.
‘I’d wait until things have quietened down a bit,’ he advised, taking his own key from his pocket.
‘But—’
‘People will be looking for you. Your room is the first place they’ll go.’ She still hesitated. ‘They may not all have your best interests at heart,’ he pointed out.
‘I still have my doubts about you,’ she said crossly.
She might suspect that he was connected with Paton, but it was obvious that she wasn’t totally convinced. It was smart of her to be suspicious, but Matt didn’t want her having second thoughts about him now. ‘You can call Gil Paton from my room, if you like,’ he said, hoping to reassure her.
‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘Your little skirmish will be on the news later. He might worry.’
‘If you’re that concerned you can call him yourself.’ She turned and headed up the stairs without further argument, giving him a great view of the way her dress clung to her figure, the way the skirt swayed seductively about her hips and legs. She stopped abruptly as she reached the top and he narrowly avoided bumping into her. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to bump into her. Just that his body had taken enough punishment for one day, both physical and sensual. ‘Well?’ she demanded, when they reached the top of the stairs. ‘Will you call him? Report in? Tell him that he was right? As usual.’
Matt wasn’t sure what was irritating her the most—the fact that her brother-in-law thought she needed a bodyguard, or the fact that he had been proved right.
‘Why would he listen to me? I’ve never met the man. My room’s this way,’ he said, indicating the corridor to the left.
She made a dismissive noise. ‘You expect me to believe that?’
He offered a smile by way of reply. ‘This is it.’ And he slid the key into the lock and held the door open for her. ‘And there’s the phone. Help yourself. See what he says when you thank him for saving you from…’ He stopped. From Parker’s deep, dark dungeon? Was the man desperate enough to take a short cut if he thought he might get away with it?
He’d assumed she was just a pretty face to front the group, but now he’d seen her in action, met her, Matt had no doubt that Nyssa Blake was the driving force behind the campaign to save the cinema.
While there would certainly be a fuss of monumental proportions if she disappeared for any length of time, media attention would shift from the cinema to the hunt for Nyssa, distracting her supporters, leaving them without a leader. And if it could be made to look as if she had been frightened off, had run away…
It shouldn’t be beyond the wit or imagination of Charles Parker to arrange sightings of look-alikes in a variety of glamorous places, fostering resentment and anger among those people who had
