you a drink?’ he asked, and when she shook her head: ‘Coffee, perhaps?'
‘No, thank you. I … er … you must be wondering why I'm here.’ She studied the ovals of her nails intently.
Damon Thorne returned to his seat, but instead of sitting down he reached for a cigar from the box on his desk, and lit it, watching her speculatively as he did so.
‘Yes,’ he said, at last, when his cigar was lighted and giving off a delicious aroma of Havana tobacco, ‘I must admit I am rather curious.'
Emma forced herself to look up at him. ‘It's Johnny,’ she said flatly. ‘He seems rather to have got himself into a mess.'
Damon Thorne seated himself and lay back lazily in his seat, surveying her sardonically. ‘Is that so? You mean your brother Johnny, of course.'
‘Of course.’ Emma nodded.
‘Go on.'
Emma sought about for words. To say what she had to say blankly would a complete admission of Johnny's guilt, whereas in actual fact he had been the victim of his own driving compulsion. But how could she convey that to this apparently unsympathetic business tycoon? Damon Thorne, whose companies occupied premises in many of the larger countries of the world, and who had always worked ruthlessly for anything he wished to achieve? He would never understand or condone weakness in any of his staff, and her brother, who worked in the accounts department of this very building, had found his salary inadequate to cover the demands his losses at gambling made.
But this was not the whole pathetic story. Johnny had found a way to borrow money from the company, and for the past six months had supplemented his salary by this method, always hoping for that elusive big win to put things straight. Once embarked upon this course, he had not dared tell his sister, and she would not have known now had it not been for the fact that there was to be an unexpected mid-year audit of the books, and even supposing Johnny had had the money to return, which he had not, there was no time to adjust the accounts to hide his embezzling.
So he had appealed to Emma, and she, knowing that unless something could be done her brother faced a heavy fine or imprisonment, or both, and dismissal from his job, had been forced to agree to speak to Damon Thorne on his behalf.
Her hesitation had not gone unnoticed, and Damon Thorne leaned forward now, and said: ‘I suppose your brother's difficulties have nothing to do with the fact that the mid-year audit begins next week.'
Emma's head shot up, and she looked at him squarely, seeing the mockingly amused expression on his dark-tanned face. There was something about his remark that caused Emma to stare at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. There was no surprise on his face, no look of dismay or concern. It was almost as though he knew more about it than she did.
She put a hand up nervously to the swathe of heavy black hair, which curved confidently in towards her neck at shoulder length, and then withdrawing her hand, she looked unseeingly at one of the cream-coloured telephones. Her long lashes veiled her eyes, as she pondered his acute perspicacity, or previous knowledge.
She was aware of him rising from his seat, and crossing to a side table where a percolator of coffee bubbled invitingly. He poured her a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar, and then brought it across to her, setting it down on the desk in front of her.
‘Here,’ he said unceremoniously. ‘You'd better have that, after all. You look as though you could use some.'
‘Thank you.’ Emma's voice was stiltedly polite. She lifted the coffee cup almost automatically, and sipped some of the delicious liquid.
Damon Thorne seated himself on the edge of his desk quite near her, looking down at her thoughtfully. Then he shrugged, and said:
‘All right, Emma. I'll make it easy for you. I know all about brother John's discrepancies in the books.'
Emma's cup clattered into its saucer, ‘You do!' she gasped. ‘And you've let me sit here in agony, wondering how on earth I was going to tell you!’ Her earlier nervousness was temporarily banished by the wave of pure anger which swept over her.
He smiled derisively. ‘Come, come, Emma,’ he said smoothly. ‘You couldn't blame me for that. After all, whether I know or not is immaterial. The situation remains unchanged.'
He was right, of course, Emma thought wearily. She ought to have guessed that Damon Thorne's senior accountants were hardly likely to have been duped by a very junior member of the staff like Johnny. And rather than tell Johnny, to his face, the discrepancy would be reported higher and higher until Damon Thorne himself heard of it. It must have amused him enormously to have her come here begging for leniency on Johnny's behalf, although as yet she had not mentioned what might happen to her brother.
‘So what now?’ she asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. His nearness disconcerted her; when he had been around the other side of the wide desk she had managed to fool herself into believing he was merely Johnny's employer, to whom she had come to ask for help. But now that he was here, only inches away from her, all the unforgotten memories of their association came flooding back to her. Had she really once been able to control this strong, powerful man? Had he once held her in his arms and pressed that now-contemptuous mouth to her willing lips? And had she really spent hours alone with him, wrapped in his arms, loving him?
A wave of hot colour swept up her cheeks, and she bent her head hoping he would not notice. Whether he did or otherwise, he refrained from commenting, but said:
‘I imagine your presence here denotes your desire to save your brother from a public exposal.’ He pressed out the remains of his cigar in the ashtray. ‘Why should you suppose I might help you?'
‘I didn't suppose any such thing,’ said Emma tremulously. ‘Johnny asked me to see you. I … I couldn't refuse. Not when I knew what was at stake.'
‘Of course not.’ He rose to his feet, and paced round his desk. Dressed in a dark business suit, and a white shirt visible above his waistcoat, he looked like a stranger again. Which was just as well, she thought, breathlessly.
‘I should tell you that when I was informed of your brother's embezzlement', Emma winced at the word, ‘I knew at once it would only be a matter of time before you asked to see me. Knowing you as I do, or rather perhaps knowing your character as I do, I guessed you would be coerced into something like this. I also know your brother rather well, and his weakness for gambling has not gone unnoticed. It was on the cards that you would be involved, and as you see, I was right.'
Emma shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I should have known better than to appeal to you,’ she said quietly. ‘After all, you have nothing to thank me for, and I rather think you might enjoy the unpleasantness Johnny is going to have to stand.'
Damon Thorne's fist slammed angrily on the desk. ‘Damn you,’ he swore furiously, aroused by her quiet dismissal of him. ‘You have no cause as yet to make any judgments on me!'
Emma rose to her feet. ‘Why? Are you going to help us, after all?’ She was sure he was going to say no, and now she didn't care what he said to her. She just wanted to get out of the office as quickly as she could, before her minute store of composure deserted her and she burst into tears. She had tried. Johnny couldn't deny that. And she had failed abysmally.
Damon Thorne came back round the desk, and looked down at her piercingly. ‘Yes,’ he said forcefully. ‘I am going to help you, but at a price.'
Emma's
