do you mean?'
‘Well, would you like it, if you were his wife? Is it fair to encourage him to cheat on her?'
Sophie sighed. ‘He is very attractive, isn't he?'
‘If you like ex-rugby players, I suppose he is.'
‘Oh——’ Sophie's smile came and went, ‘you're not much help. Haven't you ever been tempted to cheat on Roger? I know you've been going out with him for ages! Surely there've been occasions when some other man has attracted you.'
‘I don't think so.’ Rachel was crisp, her tone sharper because of the unwanted memory Sophie had stirred. ‘Look, I've got to get on. You'll have to make up your own mind. It's your life, not mine.'
She felt a little mean when the younger girl had gone, realising her attitude had been governed by that unwelcome recollection. It was difficult for someone like Sophie to cope with the practised charm of a man like Peter Rennison. How could boys of her own age compete with his sophistication—and his Jaguar XJS?
It was almost lunchtime when the switchboard rang through to say there was a call for her. ‘Oh, that will be Mr Black,’ said Rachel at once, reaching confidently for her notepad, but Jennifer, the telephonist, demurred.
‘If it had been Mr Black, I'd have put him straight on to you,’ she exclaimed. ‘Or Roger either, for that matter. But this man won't give his name, and I thought I'd better ask you before putting him through.'
Rachel's mouth felt suddenly dry. ‘He—won't give his name?’ she echoed, and the telephonist went on:
‘He says it will mean nothing to you. Do you want to speak to him? Or shall I ask him to call back when Mr Black is there?'
Rachel was silent for so long that Jennifer asked whether she was still there, and pulling herself together she said she was. ‘Did—did he ask to speak to Mr Black?’ she asked at last, aware of a sudden tightness in her stomach, and Jennifer's response did nothing to alleviate her discomfort.
‘No. No, actually, he asked for you,’ the telephonist declared, obviously just comprehending that fact herself. ‘So what do I do? Shall I put him on? I must admit, he does sound rather dishy!'
Realising that whoever was calling, it was likely to cause a talking point in the office for days, Rachel came to a decision. ‘Tell him—tell him I'm out,’ she said quickly, feeling a hot flush run up her cheeks at the deliberate lie. ‘He's probably one of those freaks that call from time to time. Just get rid of him, will you, Jennifer?'
‘He did know your name,’ the other girl reminded her doubtfully. ‘He could be a friend of your father's. Or of Roger's.'
‘Then he'll have to get them to ring me,’ said Rachel, trying to sound unconcerned. ‘Don't worry about it, Jennifer. I'll find out later.'
‘Oh—all right.’ Clearly Jennifer was disappointed that she was not going to take the call, and Rachel was glad she had refused. She could just imagine Roger's reaction if he found out some strange man had been trying to ring her. And he might, bearing in mind the grapevine at Hector, Hollis and Black.
Mr Black himself rang a few minutes later and Rachel listened to his instructions with some abstraction. She was still trying to convince herself that the previous call had had nothing to do with what had happened last night, and it was difficult to concentrate on legal matters when her brain refused to function normally. It couldn't have been him, she told herself fiercely. He had no reason for getting in touch with her again. And in any case, how had he known where to find her? There must be dozens of Rachel Flemings in the greater London area.
‘Did you get that?'
Realising Mr Black was still speaking to her, Rachel was relieved to see that her hand had automatically taken down his instructions, even while her mind was occupied with other things. ‘You want me to take the Oliver file to Mr Rennison, and then go to Willis and Potter to collect some documents. Is that right?’ she ventured, and her employer agreed rather grudgingly that it was. ‘So long as you remember to tell Rennison I want that file back tomorrow,’ he added brusquely, before clearing his throat. ‘Damn this chest of mine! I think I'm getting a dose of bronchitis. Call Mrs Black, will you, and ask her to get a repeat prescription of my tonic from the chemist. I'd ask you to get it for me, but the chap in Cricklewood knows what I need.'
‘Yes, Mr Black.’ Rachel acknowledged his request and jotted it down. ‘Anything else?'
‘No, I don't think so. I should be back around four. Do you think you could stay until six this evening? I'd like these reports typing up before I leave the office.'
Rachel hesitated. Roger was supposed to be calling for her this evening and they were going to have dinner with some friends of his. But he wasn't coming until seven-thirty, and she would have plenty of time, even if she didn't leave the office until six. If he rang before she got home, Jane could explain.
‘Okay,’ she said now, ‘I'll stay until six. Is that everything?'
‘That's it,’ he agreed dourly. ‘Goodbye.'
Sophie appeared in the doorway as she was plugging in the electric kettle to make herself a cup of coffee in lieu of a meal, and Rachel arched dark brows in her direction. ‘What, no lunch?'
‘No.’ Sophie sidled into the room. ‘I told him I had another date. Can I stay in here with you? Just until he's left the building?'
‘You can have some coffee, if you like,’ Rachel offered casually. ‘I'm not going out today. I promised Mr Black I'd be here in case there were any urgent messages.'
Sophie grimaced, and after surveying the room for somewhere to sit, she found herself a comfortable place in the leather armchair in the corner. ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking the earthenware beaker Rachel handed her. ‘This is cosy, isn't it? I wish I worked for one of the partners. Our office is as draughty as a wind tunnel!'
‘I know—I used to work there,’ Rachel sympathised, resuming her seat at her desk and propping her feet up on the waste paper basket. ‘Mmm, coffee: the saviour of the twentieth century!'
Sophie relaxed. ‘How long is it to the wedding? Your wedding, I mean. Didn't you say you were getting married at the beginning of June? Lucky thing! Have you decided where you're going to spend your honeymoon?'
Rachel looked down into her coffee cup. ‘Nothing's properly decided yet. Oh, we're getting married at the beginning of June, you're right about that. But Roger doesn't know whether he'll be able to get away at that time. We may have to postpone the honeymoon.'
‘What a shame!’ Sophie gave her a commiserating look. ‘Still, I suppose being together is the important thing, isn't it? Are you going to move into his apartment?'
Rachel nodded. ‘That's the idea.'
‘It is his own apartment, isn't it?’ Sophie was youthfully inquisitive. ‘His mother doesn't live there, does she?'
‘No.’ Rachel's smile was tolerant. ‘She has her own house in St John's Wood.'
‘I envy you, you know,’ remarked Sophie sighing. ‘Being able to give up work, if you want to. And not just because you're marrying Roger either. It must be nice to be rich.'
‘I'm
