was non-committal. In truth, he hadn’t devoted as much attention to the reasons why they had gone to Sutton Grange as he should. From the moment he’d laid eyes on Felicity Hayton he’d been hard pressed to keep his mind on anything else. Her cool, honey-blonde beauty had done forgotten things to his nervous system. Just thinking about how her skin felt-smooth and soft beneath his fingers—still caused a definite tightening in his groin.
Which was fairly pathetic, and he knew it. Ever since the youthful marriage he had contracted in college had ended with a ‘Dear John’ letter while he was in Vietnam, he had had no use for emotional relationships. There had been women, of course—plenty of them, he acknowledged without conceit—but they had served their purpose and been forgotten. He supposed his association with Rose Chen was the closest thing to a permanent relationship he had had since his teenage years.
But it was just a job, and one which he sometimes despised himself for. He liked Rose, he admired her spirit, and sometimes he’d even felt some affection towards her. But he didn’t love her. He doubted he had ever really loved anyone.
‘Something is wrong, isn’t it?’ Rose was nothing if not persistent. ‘What did Robert say to you? He wasn’t awkward or anything, was he? I know his mother was a real pain, but I thought he kept his cool.’
Except where his fiancée was concerned, thought Oliver drily, remembering the way the other man had dragged Felicity—Fliss—up from her chair and practically savaged her. Oliver could still feel the fury he had felt when Hastings had put his hands upon her. He hadn’t cared at that moment whether the younger man had known of his father’s dealings or not. All he’d wanted to do was put his hands about the other man’s thick neck and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze …
‘He’s a runt,’ declared Oliver succinctly, his own feelings briefly getting the better of him. He knew it wouldn’t do to alert Rose Chen to the dislike he felt for her half-brother, but it felt good to voice his contempt just the same.
‘You think so?’
Naturally, Rose Chen was interested in his opinion, and Oliver had to quickly fabricate a reason for his remark. ‘I gathered from his mother that he doesn’t like work,’ he said dismissively. ‘If even half what she says is true, he seems to spend most of his time either at the race-track or on the golfcourse.’
‘I see.’ Rose Chen caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘That could be useful, couldn’t it? If Robert isn’t too familiar with running the business, he may not be so opposed to my taking charge.’
‘In a pig’s eye,’ said Oliver, wondering if Rose could really be as gullible as she liked to appear. Personally he didn’t believe it for a moment. She was James Hastings’ daughter; she must know what there was at stake.
Rose Chen lifted her slim shoulders now. She’d worn a cream silk suit to go to Sutton Magna, but she’d shed the jacket since she got back, and her arms were bare. Her hair was short, moulding her shapely head like a black cap. Her small breasts were taut against her silk vest, and the short skirt of the suit showed her legs to advantage. She was small and exotic and sexy, but Oliver felt no attraction as she preened before his gaze.
The trouble was, he was comparing her dainty appearance to the long-legged Englishwoman he had met on the Hastingses’ terrace. And, although Fliss didn’t possess Rose Chen’s sophistication, she was infinitely more feminine. Tall, easily five feet eight, he guessed, and not thin in the way most women these days were thin, but supple, and shapely, with breasts a man could die for. She was elegant and classy, with legs that went on forever. Not at all like the women he was used to, with her golden skin and hair …
‘Whatever,’ Rose Chen murmured carelessly, lifting her arms and cupping the back of her neck. Her oval eyes sought Oliver’s as he lounged against the writing table. ‘I think I’ll take a shower. D’you want to join me?’
Oliver straightened. ‘No, thanks,’ he said swiftly, and then tempered his refusal with a brief smile. ‘I’ve got some unpacking to do, and I thought I might call home.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s cheaper ringing from London than it is from the Far East.’
Rose Chen hid her impatience badly. ‘We will dine together, I assume? You won’t be too tired? Or suffering from jet-lag?’
Oliver strolled towards the door. ‘I’ll try to keep awake,’ he responded over his shoulder. ‘Shall we say seven-thirty? We’d better not make it too late. Hastings is picking you up at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, isn’t he?’
‘He’s picking us up,’ amended Rose Chen tersely. ‘I want you to come with me, Lee. You’re so much better at reading people’s faces than I am.’
Oliver acknowledged her remark with lazy indulgence, but as soon as the door had closed behind him he frowned. He knew that as far as the colonel was concerned things could not be going better. The old man had actually asked Oliver to try and get inside the Hastings offices and find out as much as he could about distribution and so on. And, while accompanying Rose Chen was not quite what he had had in mind, it might be possible to use the visit to his own advantage.
He called Hong Kong while he was waiting for room service to deliver the bottle of Scotch he’d ordered. It was already the early hours of the following morning there, but he guessed Colonel Lightfoot would be waiting for his call. Rose Chen had no idea that ‘calling home’ were his own code words for keeping in touch with the agency. So far as she was concerned, he was keeping in touch with his family. And, doubtless he’d do that, too, if only to cover himself. Besides, his mother would appreciate it.
Colonel Lightfoot’s voice was barely drowsy. If he had been asleep, he was one of those people who was instantly awake. Oliver guessed he’d half expected him to call the previous evening. But until he’d encountered Robert Hastings he’d really had nothing to report.
‘The family,’ said the colonel, after Oliver’s initial impressions had been aired. ‘Do you think his wife is aware of what’s been going on?’
‘Difficult to say.’ Oliver wasn’t sure what he thought about Amanda Hastings. The woman had come on to him, but that might have been her way of sounding him out. She had certainly been curious about his relationship with Rose Chen, but once again she might have had her own reasons for asking so many questions.
‘You say you’re going to the company’s offices tomorrow?’ The colonel didn’t waste time on speculation. ‘I don’t think anyone will make any mistakes while you’re around, but you may be able to assess whether Rose Chen has any authority.’
Oliver absorbed this without comment. Unless the upheaval of learning she was Robert Hastings’ daughter had made Rose Chen more vulnerable, he doubted he would learn anything from her behaviour. As far as business was concerned, Rose Chen had been the ideal employee: she had respected her employer’s confidence, and never betrayed any of his secrets, even in the heat of passion.
‘Of course, it’s her reaction to Robert Hastings we’re interested in,’ the colonel went on doggedly. ‘The apparent animosity between them may be just a front. We can’t be absolutely sure that neither of them knew of the other’s existence before Hastings cashed his chips.’
Oliver didn’t argue, but personally he was fairly sure they hadn’t. Even without Rose Chen’s response he had sensed that, for all his apparent affability towards his half-sister, Robert Hastings was inwardly seething.
There had been that moment with his fiancée, for example. He hadn’t just been reacting to the fact that another
