the rumours, of course,’ Matt said briskly. ‘And who could blame him if he did mix business with pleasure with someone who looks like that? Okay, give us the background on TTO’s current market position, Rod. Concentrate, everyone. We need to find any chinks in their armour, any weaknesses. I’ll set up a meeting with Heston in the next few days to find out what sort of war this is going to be.’
His eyes fell on the photograph again. Bianca Milne had a cool, remote, Madonna-like face—but what sort of mind lay behind those big green eyes? A woman more ruled by her head than her heart, obviously.
Matt thought of his dead wife, who had been warm and funny and sweet, a woman ruled by her heart, never her head. God, he missed her. Day and night. Especially at night when his bed was cold and empty.
Pulling himself up, he pushed his memories away, staring at the photo of Bianca Milne. Rumours didn’t come from nowhere. Had she slept with Lord Mistell’s son just to get that contract? Was that the sort of woman she was? Rod had heard she was Heston’s mistress as well as his right-hand woman.
The girl with that purity of countenance and coldness of eye must have a few weaknesses, which could be useful to know. And maybe she was Heston’s weakness? It could be even more useful to know that.
Bianca was dictating to her secretary when Don rang. ‘Ready?’
He rarely wasted words or time. She wasn’t surprised by his curt tone.
Looking at her watch, Bianca was surprised, however, to realise it was already twelve o’clock. It had been a busy morning; she had lost track of time, deep in concentration, trying to get as much work as possible done before she left for this very important lunch appointment.
‘Yes, of course. I’ll see you downstairs in two minutes.’
Don rang off in his usual curt fashion and Bianca quickly finished dictating.
‘Get those into the computer, and printed, Patricia, and I’ll sign them before I go home tonight.’
Patricia stood up, her shorthand pad in one hand, checking the pages of notes, the number of letters to be done, her face gloomy at the thought of all that work. She was a small, dark girl who didn’t really enjoy her job. She had been engaged for six months and was counting the days to her wedding, after which, she’d frankly told Bianca, she meant to have a family as soon as possible and give up work for ever.
Bianca had drily said, ‘What an old-fashioned attitude. Two incomes are better than one, you know, especially during the first year or so of a marriage. Can you afford to give up work and live on one salary?’
But it seemed that Patricia’s future husband was a financial analyst who earned six times what Patricia could earn. Her income would not be important to them.
Smiling smugly, Patricia had told her, ‘We don’t have to worry about money; Tony earns more than enough for two and he wants to have kids as much as I do. He’s thirty-five, his biological clock is ticking loudly. So is mine. I love kids and I want to have a lovely house and garden. That has always been my ambition. I’ve never been married to my job, you know, the way you are.’
‘Yes, I’ve noticed you don’t enjoy your job,’ Bianca had said flatly. ‘Let’s hope you enjoy being a housewife. I think you’ll discover housework isn’t exactly fun, either. Well, give me plenty of notice so that I can find a replacement for you.’
Next time she meant to make sure she got a livewire secretary who put a bit more into her job, enjoyed what she did; not a lacklustre girl only interested in clothes, her own appearance and her private life.
Walking to the door now, Patricia asked over her shoulder, ‘What time do you think you’ll get back from lunch?’
‘No idea. It depends how the Hearne people react. We could have a short, nasty exchange and break up early. Or we could go on all afternoon. Just make sure those letters are ready for me to sign when I get back.’
Sniffing pointedly, Patricia went out and Bianca went over to the mirror on her wall to check on her appearance. Fortunately there were no hairs out of place in her blonde chignon, so she did not need to touch that, but her pale pink lipstick needed to be renewed, and there was a faint sheen of perspiration on her nose and temples, so she swiftly brushed loose powder over her foundation.
Appearance was half the battle with some men. She had researched Matt Hearne for some months, and knew he didn’t have a reputation as a lady-killer, but if he was like most men he would be staring at her while they talked and she wanted to make the right impression.
Her very feminine colouring, delicate-featured oval face and slender figure were in startling contrast to the businesslike navy blue pinstripe suit she was wearing.
She dressed that way whenever she had an important business meeting. In the beginning men had taken one look and begun talking indulgently, condescendingly, as though blonde hair and big green eyes must mean she was a ninny.
In her job, that male attitude was a nuisance. It wasted valuable time. It was boring having to fend off passes, and irritating that men did not take her seriously.
She had tried various ways of making men treat her with respect as a colleague or an opponent, and had found that wearing a man’s suit worked best.
It presented a conflicting visual impression which left men uncertain how to treat her, put them off their stride long enough for Bianca to have time to convince them she was no airhead and they should listen to her as attentively as they would listen to a man.
She collected her elaborately presented folder from the desk, glanced through it to make sure she had everything she would need, slid it into her black leather briefcase, before walking out to the lift on the landing outside her office.
TTO occupied most of this new, modern, luxury office block in the City of London. The offices in which Don Heston and his team of secretaries and assistants worked was on the thirtieth floor. Above that lay the roof garden, where they sometimes held summer barbecues for the staff, sunbathed, ate their sandwiches. On the same level was the elegant, expensively furnished apartment Don kept for himself or visiting VIPs from other countries in the world who did not want to stay in hotels.
He was waiting for her in his long black limousine on the forecourt of the building. A large, rugged man with curly brown hair sprinkled with silver, and hard, piercing brown eyes, he looked younger than he was because he worked out in the gym each day, played golf, swam, watched his diet and wore expensive, designer fashion in the latest styles.
Sliding into the back seat beside him, Bianca pretended not to notice as he ran his usual acquisitive stare over her.
‘You’re late.’
Her face was calm and unworried by the snapped accusation. ‘Sorry, Don. I was dictating when you rang.’
‘Done all your homework on this deal?’
‘Of course.’
He gave her a satisfied nod. ‘Good girl.’ Casually he shifted nearer till his knee touched hers, his eyes still roving over her from head to toe. ‘You know, that outfit should be a passion-killer—I usually hate to see women dressing as men—but you manage to look sexier than ever in it. Let’s hope Hearne thinks so; it would be very useful if he fell for you the way young Mistell did.’
She
