a relationship can be.’
‘If you want to make it so,’ replied Mrs Purdom, watching with some misgivings as Jaime helped herself to a gin and tonic. ‘Well, and what time will you be wanting dinner? It’s a cold meal, so you can please yourself.’
Jaime lounged gracefully on to the couch, curling one of her long legs beneath her. ‘Oh, in about an hour, thank you, Mrs Purdom,’ she answered, putting up a lazy hand to loosen the coil of hair secured at her nape. ‘I think I’ll take a bath before I eat. I’m tired, I may have an early night.’
Mrs Purdom’s somewhat severe features softened. With her hair loose and falling in straight lines about her face, Jaime looked years younger than the elegant business executive who had walked into the apartment, and the housekeeper regarded her anxiously. With her guard down, and the strain of the afternoon’s business meeting showing in her face, Mrs Purdom thought she seemed more weary than usual, and the affection she felt for her employer kindled as she bent to gather up Jaime’s shoes.
‘You look tired,’ she declared, holding the shoes against her, and Jaime sighed.
‘Thanks!’
‘No, you know what I mean,’ exclaimed the housekeeper warmly. ‘You need a holiday, Miss Forster. You didn’t have one last year, and it’s already the end of May and you’ve made no plans for taking one this year either. What you need is a couple of weeks in the sun, away from dusty offices and boardrooms. Mr Longman would let you go, whenever you liked—you know he would. Doesn’t sunbathing on some hot sunny beach appeal to you?’
‘Not particularly.’ Jaime gave the housekeeper a rueful smile. ‘I’m not the lotus-eating kind, Mrs Purdom. Besides, we’re launching the new range in three weeks, and I can’t be away for that. It’s my baby.’
‘If you ask me, you’d be better employed having a real baby, instead of a cosmetic one!’ retorted Mrs Purdom shortly, and Jaime gurgled with laughter.
‘A cosmetic one! That’s good, Mrs Purdom. I must remember that. I may be able to use it in our next promotion.’
The elderly housekeeper sighed. ‘You won’t be serious, will you?’
‘About having a baby? No.’ Jaime gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘I’m not married, Mrs Purdom.’
‘Nor likely to be, judging by the way you behave,’ exclaimed the housekeeper dourly. ‘What happened to that nice Mr Penfold? You had him here to dinner a couple of times, and I thought—–’
‘Robert Penfold is just a good friend, Mrs Purdom,’ replied Jaime firmly, finishing her drink and placing the glass on the low table beside the couch. She rose lithely to her feet. ‘I think I’ll have my bath now. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to eat.’
Mrs Purdom shrugged expressively, but she said no more, and Jaime was grateful. Right now, she was in no mood to argue her reasons for not seeing Robert Penfold any more, and the prospect of a long soak in a hot bath was much more to her liking. There was still the problem of what she was going to do about Nicola’s call, and she hoped that a period of relaxation might provide her with sudden illumination.
Leaving the living room, Jaime crossed the narrow hall that separated it from her bedroom. In the beige and gold apartment she had decorated herself, she shed the rest of her clothes with some relief, and walked with feline grace into the adjoining bathroom.
As the water hissed and spurted into the sunken tub, she reflected, as she had done many times since she acquired this apartment two years ago, how lucky she was to have such pleasant surroundings to come home to. The last flat she had had, which had certainly been an improvement on the bedsitters she had previously occupied, had not been much bigger than her living room here, with a tiny bedroom and kitchen, and a bathroom that did not contain a bath, only a shower. One of the first things she had done when she leased this apartment was to spend part of every evening in the tub, luxuriating in its depth and size, and the sybaritic sensuality of the water.
As well as her bedroom and bathroom, there was a second bedroom and bathroom which Mrs Purdom used, the living room, of course, and a dining room and kitchen, fitted with every modern gadget available. There was even a small study, where Jaime could work in private, and situated as the apartment was on the tenth floor of the building, it was not troubled by the traffic sounds from Elgin Square.
She was just lifting her foot to step into the steaming water when the telephone started to ring. Frustrated at the realisation that she had not yet had time to think about what she was going to do, Jaime was tempted not to answer it, but something, some inner sense of loyalty perhaps to the girl Nicola had been, made her reach for a fluffy lemon bathrobe.
She reached the bedroom phone just as her housekeeper lifted the kitchen extension, and picking up the receiver, she said: ‘I’m here, Mrs Purdom.’
‘It’s me, Jaime, not Mrs Purdom,’ exclaimed Nicola’s voice huskily, and Jaime heard the housekeeper ring off as she explained the situation.
‘I’m sorry I missed your call earlier,’ she added, perching on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m afraid I was late getting home from the office. My secretary had to leave early, and there were one or two things I wanted typed up, so I did them myself.’
‘My, how efficient you sound,’ remarked Nicola, rather caustically. ‘The perfect lady executive! What’s it like to be able to boss people around, Jaime? Your secretary told me you’re Martin Longman’s assistant now. You certainly have made a success of your career.’
Jaime breathed deeply. ‘Is that why you rang, Nicola? To talk about my job? Because I should tell you, I have a hot bath waiting, and a pile of contracts to go over after dinner.’
‘Damn it, Jaime, don’t be so bloody supercilious!’ Nicola’s voice broke on a sob. ‘You know why I’m ringing, why I’ve been ringing for the past week or more!’ She paused. ‘Have you thought over what I asked you? Or—or is all this talk about how busy you are intended to warn me you haven’t the time to consider my invitation?’
Jaime sighed. ‘Nicola, whatever you want to talk to me about, couldn’t you tell me now? Or write me a letter? I promise I’ll reply as—–’
‘No! No, I couldn’t.’ Nicola’s voice rose perceptibly. ‘I need to see you, Jaime. I need to talk to you face to face. As—as for telling you over the phone—–’ She broke off and then continued in a lower key: ‘Anyone could be listening, anyone. Raf has spies everywhere, I know he has. He doesn’t trust me, you see. He never has. Oh, Jaime, please say you’ll come out here. If—if you don’t, I may just—just kill myself!’
OF course she wouldn’t! Jaime knew that. Or at least, that was what she told herself as the British Airways Boeing flew smoothly south over the snow-capped peaks of the Swiss Alps thousands of feet below her. People who threatened suicide seldom actually went through with it. It was a cry for help, that was all; the only means Nicola could think of to get her to do what she wanted. All the same, it was a request Jaime had found herself unable to refuse.
Even so, as she made arrangements to take two weeks’ leave of absence from her job, Jaime had known herself for a fool. It was the wrong time to be vacating her desk; it was the wrong place for her to be going; and it was certainly for the wrong reasons that
