skill and kindness and, as far as Annis could see, no injuries at all, not even to the male ego.
But for once Bella was less than confident. ‘I hope so.’ She sucked her teeth, unusually grave. ‘This one makes me jumpy.’
Annis stared. ‘That doesn’t sound like you.’
‘I know. Oh, well, life is full of new experiences.’ Bella dismissed her uneasiness with a shrug. ‘Tell about you. Who is the man of the moment?’
‘Would I be here without protection if there was a man of the moment?’ Annis said dryly.
Against her will her eyes drifted towards Konstantin Vitale. The Look very much in evidence, he was assessing Bella with appreciation, as if she were a new car or some other toy for boys. It made Annis want to hit him.
Unaware, Bella said, ‘You know if you got a feller for yourself Mother would lay off.’
Annis flung up a hand.
‘OK. OK. You haven’t got time for anything but the business. I believe you even if Mother doesn’t.’ Bella looked round. ‘Who is her candidate for tonight, anyway?’
‘I’m not certain,’ said Annis evasively. She had no idea why she did not tell Bella the truth. Except that Konstantin Vitale was now staring unashamedly and Annis somehow did not want Bella to notice. ‘Whoever I’m sitting next to at dinner, I suppose.’
Suddenly very like her mother, Bella looked naughty. ‘Do you want me to distract him?’
Not the way he is looking at you now.
‘I think I can handle it, thanks.’
‘Well, you’ve had plenty of practice.’
Annis managed not to wince. Bella would not have understood. She knew that her mother’s matchmaking annoyed Annis. She had no idea that it was really hurtful.
Annis was saved from her unhappy reflections by the announcement that dinner was served.
‘Here we go,’ said Bella under her breath. ‘Don’t bite his head off, whoever he is.’
The dining room was a picture. The table had been extended to its entire length and covered with a starched and snowy cloth. Around the walls Lynda had filled every alcove and corner table with golden autumn flowers. Polished wood, crystal goblets, gold leaf and silver gleamed in the candlelight.
There were place cards but Lynda stood at the head of the table, skillfully breaking up conversations and directing people to their seats anyway. She waved Bella down the table to sit between two grey-haired men currently deep in debate. It underlined the point that Lynda did not need to do any matchmaking for Bella.
Annis looked down the table. Her heart sank. Yes, there he was. One or two of the men at this evening’s party were positively devastating but there was only one lion in the jungle tonight and she had already met him.
He was standing behind a chair next to an empty place. The confidence blazed out of him. Oh, yes, he was much more than a peacock. The sheer physical vitality of the man was almost shocking. Annis felt her mouth dry, unexpectedly.
As if he felt her looking at him, he glanced up. Their eyes met. His were coldly amused. While she—
Annis drew a sharp breath.
From a distance he looked even tougher than he had close up. Tough and sexy by anyone’s standards, let alone those of a quiet twenty-nine-year-old with more expertise in business than men. And, of course, that was the place that Lynda waved her into.
‘We meet again.’
‘Yes,’ said Annis gloomily. Her heart was pattering irregularly and she had the unpleasant feeling that her head was about to detach from her body.
She turned to look at her other neighbour. He was a tall blond hunk she had seen holding three wide-eyed women enthralled by his conversation before dinner. His hair gleamed as gold as the border on Lynda’s best porcelain.
‘Hello,’ he said, smiling broadly as if she should know him already.
‘I’m Annis—’
‘Hi, Annis, great to meet you,’ he said before his attention was claimed jealously by one of the admiring ladies who still gathered about him. In fact they stubbornly resisted Lynda’s increasingly imperious hand signals to take their own seats.
‘Great,’ muttered Annis.
She squinted at his name card but it was turned at just the wrong angle. Had she met him before? He did seem faintly familiar, now she came to think about it.
Her mind scampered. Son of one of her father’s friends? Employee of Carew’s? Former acquaintance from children’s parties? Sailing club?
In her ear, a dry voice said, ‘Alexander de Witt. He was on the radio on Wednesday, television yesterday and will be all over the Sunday newspapers this weekend. You must be the only person in the room who doesn’t recognise him.’
Annis jumped and turned. She met The Look full on. It had an intensity that made her blink. For a moment, everything went out of her head except how extraordinarily close the man was. How easy it would be to touch his face…to lean forward and bury her face in that brocade jacket…even kiss. Or be kissed.
That shook her. She said, more sharply than she intended, ‘I haven’t got time to listen to chat programmes.’
Konstantin Vitale surveyed her. For a moment Annis had a horrible feeling that he could read her mind. She set her teeth and tried to wipe out all treacherous thoughts of warm bodies and mouths too close. She braced herself.
But then he nodded, as if she had said exactly what he had expected her to say. Not a mind reader, then. Well, not this time. Her breath came out in a whoosh of relief.
‘How long have you been a workaholic, Annis Carew?’
She glanced briefly at her father, at the head of the table. He was looking restless. Wives sitting next to him, rather than businesswomen, deduced Annis fondly.
‘It’s in the genes,’ she said.
Konstantin Vitale followed her eyes.
‘Ah, yes, of course. The phenomenal Tony Carew.’
There was something in his voice that made Annis uneasy. According to Lynda, it was her father who had insisted on inviting him, after all.
‘Don’t you like him?’ she demanded.
‘We have our disagreements.’
Not many people disagreed with her father and stayed on his payroll.
‘What about?’ asked Annis, intrigued enough to forget her uneasiness.
‘Lots of things. Buildings. My timekeeping. Rights and obligations of ownership.’
‘Good grief.’ She looked at him with genuine respect. ‘You’ve been lecturing my father on his obligations?’
