had encouraged Cassandra to think for herself, and since Mike’s death they had grown so much closer. It was strange, when there was no blood relationship between them, but Mrs Roland came much closer to being the mother she had never had than did Aunt Esme, and Cassandra had never regretted taking the flat which kept them in such close proximity.
Leaving her car in the basement garage, Cassandra took the lift up to the fourth floor with a sense of weariness out of all proportion to the day she had spent. It had seemed such an exhausting day somehow, and at the back of her mind was the suspicion that Jay Ravek had something to do with it. But that was ridiculous, she thought impatiently. She hardly knew the man. They had only exchanged the briefest of words. And yet she knew a nagging sense of disappointment that she would not be seeing him again. That was what was depressing her. He was the first man since Mike she might seriously consider having an affair with, and Liz had made that practically impossible by her vitriolic attitude. If she had not known better, she would have suspected Liz’s behaviour to be that of a jealous female, but that could not be so. Liz was a beautiful woman. She was never short of escorts. And if Jay Ravek was as dissolute as Liz said he was, he would obviously have been unable to resist the temptation.
Her flat was not large, consisting simply of a bedroom, a bathroom, a living-room and a kitchen. But it was the first real home of her own she had had, and Cassandra coveted the independence it proclaimed. It was not opulently furnished, but the choice of colours was hers, and the bright banners of green and orange revealed a character searching for its own identity.
Soft lamplight lit on a velvety orange sofa, splashing the rather austere stereo unit with warmth. Cassandra dropped her bag on to the couch, kicked off her shoes, and removed her coat before padding through to the small but stylish kitchen. She depressed the switch on the stereo unit as she passed, releasing the strains of John Lennon’s music into the apartment, and determinedly hummed to herself as she extracted her frozen dinner from the fridge. It would be foolish if she allowed thoughts of Jay Ravek to ruin what was left of the evening, she thought, putting the meal into the microwave oven to defrost before cooking. After all, her abstraction over him should warn her that he could be dangerous to her new-found peace of mind, and perhaps her first affair should be with someone who did not stir her emotions so deeply.
The telephone rang as she was making coffee, and leaving the pot percolating, she went to answer it. It was her mother-in-law, and Cassandra relaxed, perching on the arm of the sofa, and cradling the receiver against her ear.
‘You’re late, darling.’ Mrs Roland’s voice was warm with affection. ‘I called about half an hour ago, but you were still not home.’
‘I’ve been doing accounts,’ remarked Cassandra drily, and heard her mother-in-law’s sigh of understanding. ‘We really will have to employ an accountant soon. Even with a calculator, my arithmetic isn’t up to all the book-keeping we have to do.’
‘How about Paul Ludlum?’ suggested Mrs Roland at once. ‘His father was Henry’s accountant for years, and from what I hear, Paul has an excellent reputation. I could speak to him, if you like. Explain the situation. I’m sure he’s just the man you need.’
‘It sounds interesting,’ agreed Cassandra cautiously. ‘And it would take a load off my shoulders.’ She paused. ‘If we can afford it.’
‘Of course you can afford it, Cass.’ Mrs Roland was adamant. ‘You know how well the business is doing. I have every confidence in you.’
‘Well—thanks.’ Cassandra felt a glow of warmth inside. ‘You know, I’d never have had the nerve to do this without you.’
Mrs Roland chuckled. ‘It’s nice of you to say so, darling, but I don’t believe it. You’d have made it, sooner or later. Give yourself the credit, not me.’
‘Well, anyway—–’ Cassandra let the sentence speak for itself, ‘I’m about to pour myself a cup of coffee. Would you like one?’
‘Oh, darling, I can’t.’ Mrs Roland was apologetic. ‘I’m just on my way out actually. You know—it’s my bridge evening.’ And as Cassandra acknowledged this with a rueful exclamation, she went on: ‘I only rang to let you know I took a phone call for you earlier.’
‘A phone call? For me?’ Cassandra felt the first twinges of alarm. ‘Who was it? And how did you happen to get the call?’
‘It was a Mr—Ravek,’ declared her mother-in-law, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘A client, I suppose. He’d found my telephone number in the book under this address, and I assume he expected it was yours. Do you know him?’
‘I’ve—met him.’ Cassandra’s sense of apprehension was fast giving way to a state of nervous excitement. ‘Did—er—did he say what he wanted?’
‘Well, he wanted to speak to you, of course,’ replied Mrs Roland at once. ‘You sound—strange, Cass. Who is he? A boy-friend?’
‘No!’ Cassandra’s response was vehement. ‘I—hardly know him.’ She paused. ‘Did he mention why he wanted to speak to me?’
‘No.’ Her mother-in-law considered for a moment. ‘He asked if you were available, and I explained that I was the wrong Mrs Roland, and he rang off.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Cassandra could hardly keep the disappointment out of her voice. Obviously he had discovered that there was a Mrs Roland listed as living in the building, and assumed it was her. When her mother-in-law explained his mistake, no doubt he had then presumed that she lived with her husband. And as she had only occupied this flat for a little over six months, her number was not in the book. But why had he rung her anyway? And why not at the office? The possibilities were endless, and none of them gave her any satisfaction right now.
‘I told him I’d give you the message,’ Mrs Roland was saying now, and Cassandra started: ‘What message?’
‘That he’d rung, of course,’ replied her mother-in-law patiently. ‘Cass, is there something wrong? This man’s not been bothering you, has he?’
‘Heavens, no!’ Cassandra’s laughter was slightly hysterical. ‘As I told you, I hardly know him. Er—Liz introduced us, today, at the Stafford reception. You remember—I told you I was going with her.’
‘I see.’ Mrs Roland sounded intrigued now. ‘So who is he? The name sounds foreign.’
‘Well, I don’t think he is.’ Cassandra felt a sense of relief at being able to talk about him. ‘He’s a journalist, so Liz says. For the Post.’
‘Ravek? Ravek?’ Mrs Roland said the name over. ‘You know, now I come to think of it, the name does sound vaguely familiar. Ravek!’ She said it again. ‘Yes, I have it. It’s Jay Ravek, isn’t it?’
‘He’s that well known, hmm?’ remarked Cassandra cynically, remembering Liz’s condemnation, but her mother-in-law gave an impatient exclamation.
‘No. No, you misunderstand me. I recall reading something about his mother, when she married Sir Giles Fielding—you know, the M.P. He was a barrister before he became interested in politics, and I believe I was introduced to him once at some dinner Henry and I attended. Anyway,’ she uttered an apologetic chuckle, ‘I’m digressing. What I really wanted to say was that his mother is Russian, her parents’ name was Ravekov, and they were émigrés at the end of the last war.’
Cassandra frowned. ‘But—if his father’s name is Fielding—–’
