SILK WICKEDNESS 7

Feeling she’d only made matters worse, Claudia rose to her feet. ‘I’ll go home,’ she said awkwardly. ‘You go up to her and explain.’

A cynical snort escaped him. ‘Her door’ll be locked for hours. And then it’ll be fun and games, telling her why you were here.’

Reality hit her like a cold shower. Heaven help me. What was I about to do, just before she opened that door? Was I quite mad?

‘Guy, I’m terribly sorry,’ she said unsteadily, ‘but this minder business just isn’t on. I can’t see her even condescending to talk to me, let alone listening to anything I say. It’d be an utter waste of your money.’

‘She’s not so stroppy with everybody, you know. It’s generally directed at me.’

Why? she wanted to ask. But what was the point? Adolescent dramas were common enough. ‘It wouldn’t work. I might make matters worse, and I couldn’t have that on my conscience when I think what it would all cost.’

Not just what he was going to pay her, but the air fare, the hotel bill . . .

She was half expecting him to say, I can afford it, but he was not so crass. ‘I guess it was a lousy idea. I’ll call you a cab.’ Suddenly straightening his shoulders, he picked up a phone off a side table.

‘It’s really not necessary. I’ll walk to the main road and get one there.’

‘For crying out loud, you’ll never get a cab at this time in the rain.’ His voice was much crisper now. ‘Hamilton,’ he said, to whoever was on the other end. ‘I need a cab to . . .’ He shot her a questioning glance.

‘Putney,’ she said.

‘Putney. As quick as you can. Thanks.’

As he replaced the aerial, she gaped at him. ‘You didn’t give your address!’

‘I didn’t need to. I have an account with them. An- oushka uses them all the time. They’ll be here in five minutes,’ he added, glancing at his watch.

She felt deflated, as if she were being dismissed now she no longer served any purpose.

Well, you don’t. What on earth do you expect him to do? Ask you to stay to tea?

Reseating herself on the sofa, she said, ‘I’m so sorry I’ve wasted your time.’

‘I’ve wasted yours too.’

‘It was a lovely lunch, though.’

The ghost of a smile hovered on his lips. ‘Maybe I should have ordered that Tarzan after all.’

Even that glimmer was better than none. ‘At least you’d have got a good laugh.’

A question that had been lurking at the back of her mind pushed its way to the front. ‘Why did she want to get expelled? Just so she could be on the loose while you’re away?’

He shook his head. ‘She’s been wanting to leave school ever since her sixteenth birthday.’

‘And do what?’

‘Nothing. Unless you count hanging round clubs and picking up boyfriends with Ferraris.’

Ah. Life in the fast lane, versus the tedium of geography lessons and teachers who seemed to think ‘fun’ was a dirty word.

‘I know the feeling,’ she confessed. ‘Although at that age I’d have settled for a Mini.’

‘But you didn’t get yourself kicked out of school.’ His eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘Did you?’

‘Only in my dreams.’

‘It’s - not - funny!’

His tone made her instantly contrite. Feeling distinctly awkward, she got up. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ll wait outside for the cab. Please don’t get up.’

But he followed her out, as she’d almost known he would. At the door he paused. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped.’

‘It was my fault. It was a stupid thing to say.’

Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he gazed down at her. ‘It would have been poetic justice for that kissogram to backfire on her.’

‘Is that why you asked me? Just to serve her right?’

‘I’m not that twisted. I just had a feeling you’d hit it off. A wild delusion, obviously.’

‘What will you do now?’

He shrugged. Til sort something out.’

The bell made them both start. He opened the door and a wind straight from Siberia hit them.

‘You ordered a cab?* said the man on the step.

‘Twenty seconds.’ Guy closed the door again.

For a wild moment, as his eyes flickered over her face, she thought he was going to say. Why don’t we do dinner some time? Or even -

‘You know something?’ His voice was subtly different: rough and soft at once, like an old Shetland sweater.

She swallowed hard. ‘What?’

‘You were a bloody hopeless kissogram girl.’

Her voice came out just a trifle unsteady. ‘I’d be an even more hopeless minder for your daughter.’

A ghost of a smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’ He opened the door again. ‘All the best.’

‘Bye.’ With a bright smile she took the hand he offered. ‘She’ll be fine. ‘It’s just a phase.’

The sardonic twist to his mouth said, I’ve heard that before.

Before he knew what had hit him she stood on tiptoe, brushed her lips against his cheek. ‘She’ll be fine. You’ll see.’

She ran down the steps to the waiting cab and waved brightly.

Once the door had closed behind him her smile vanished like snow in May. You idiot , she thought miserably. One gin and a couple of glasses of wine and you’re fluttering like a bimbo butterfly. Couldn’t you see he was just waiting for you to get the hell out?

And the miserable devil didn’t even give you a donation?’

‘Not a sausage.’

‘Then he deserves his daughter from hell. You’re well out of it.'

Two cups of coffee and a long post-mortem with Kate had made her feel better - except that she’d left any fluttery bits right out. That way they’d fade all the faster. ‘I didn’t even think about donations at the time. And, to be quite fair to him, he had other things on his mind.’

‘That’s no excuse.’

The more she thought about it, the more Claudia was inclined to agree. While she and Kate were knocking together a stir-fry she said, ‘It’s almost obscene, the amount of money he was prepared to spend. When I think what Bruin Wood could do with that cash . . .’

Kate was chopping spring onions. ‘I expect she’s spoilt absolutely rotten.’

‘Of course she is. She was only wearing jeans and a leather jacket, but they had that designer look. And the

dress she was wearing the other night - not that I remember exactly; I was too wound up - but it wasn’t from one of those fall-to-bits tat shops where most girls that age buy their clothes. She had the look of an expensively maintained woman.’

‘Probably got a Harrods chargecard.*

‘It wouldn’t surprise me. When I was that age I was scouring charity shops.’

‘I still am,’ Kate grinned.

Claudia laughed, reaching a jar of sauce from the cupboard. She’d lashed out on limed oak units in the July sales and her father had fitted them during a summer visit. It hadn’t taken long in a kitchen where even two cooks tripped over each other.

Portly’s antennae could pick up pork fillet at fifty paces. He strolled in and rubbed ingratiatingly against her legs. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve had your dinner.’

He sat and gazed at her, one paw raised pathetically, and uttered his best, orphaned kitten mew.

‘No way,’ she said. ‘The vet says you’re obese and I have to harden my heart.’

Portly went on to Plan B: to pretend he didn’t care one way or the other about pork fillet and kid them he’d just come in to have a nap on the kitchen floor. Then, with a bit of luck, they’d both turn their backs at the same moment and he’d leap up on to the worktop and grab a smackerel of whatever was going.

He stretched out accordingly, and pretended to be asleep.

‘I know what you’re up to,’ said Claudia severely. ‘So push off before somebody treads on your tail.*

Portly gave it up as a bad job and strolled out, his tail quivering with disdain.

‘He’s spoilt rotten too,’ she admitted. ‘I over-compensated because he’d been mistreated before the shelter found him.’ Her brain rapidly connected this to something else. ‘I dare say Daddy Hamilton’s been over- compensating because the girl has no mother.’

‘You don’t know that.’

Claudia tipped the pork into a wok. ‘No, but I’d put money on it. Even if they were divorced, he’d still overcompensate. Especially if it was his fault.’

‘Oodles of pocket money, I bet. Anything she wants.’

Claudia added peppers and onions and stirred mechanically. ‘I expect so. But probably no time. He’s obviously got a very demanding job. She takes taxis all the time too. On his account.’

‘Lucky little brat.’ Kate was straining Chinese noodles. ‘So it’s back to Naughty Natalie,’ she grinned. ‘With any luck, it’ll soon be over. Christmas is almost upon us, and you know what that means.’

‘Parties,’ Claudia groaned. ‘Offices full of idiots wondering how to spice up their Accounts Department party. Ryan wants me in the office tomorrow and I’m dreading it. I just know there’ll be a booking and the little toad’ll be grinning his face off.’

She couldn’t actually see his face when she walked in next morning, since it was hidden behind the latest boy-racer car magazine. His feet were on the desk, next to a carton of fast-food fries.

‘You’re late,’ he said.

‘And you’re talking with your mouth full.’

He munched and slurped even louder, just to annoy her. ‘Found a great car in here. Porsche Carrera, only two careful lady owners.’

She slung her coat on the back of a chair. ‘Ryan, who on earth would insure you for a Porsche after you’ve written off three cars?’

‘Got a friend who knows a dodgy insurance bloke.’ Through a mouthful of food he added, ‘Knew there was something wrong with this burger. Not enough gherkin. You wouldn’t like to nip down the road and -?*

‘Don’t push your luck.’

‘Suit yourself. I’ll need you to man the office in a minute, anyway. I’m off home for a kip.’

‘But that only leaves two drivers!’

‘Tough. I had a heavy night.’ He added a wink just calculated to make her cringe. ‘With Belinda-the-Boobs.’

She raised her eyes to heaven. ‘Ryan, I am not in the least interested in your sordid sex-life. How do you expect to build up a solid client base if you’re sleeping when people want cabs?’

He put on his best injured expression. ‘I can’t drive safely if I’m knackered. I don’t suppose you appreciate just how knackering a really wild night can be. For your information, an hour of rampant nookie burns as many calories as running the London Marathon. Never mind several hours of mind-blowing - ’

‘Ryan, shall I tell you something?’ She stood with folded arms and a pitying expression. ‘A psychologist once told me that men who brag about their sex-lives are either impotent or lousy lovers.*

‘Cobblers. Who’s bragging, anyway? I was merely stating facts.’

She hadn’t really expected her inspired fib to wipe that grin off his face, but it was always worth a try.

‘You’re just jealous,’ he went on. ‘Going to bed on your tod every night. I could fix you up, if you want. I’ve got this friend who won the Mr Wet Boxer Shorts last year. Hung like an elephant.’

She filled the kettle. He's just winding you up. Ignore him.

‘He’s got a couple of birds on the go, but I dare say he could fit you in,’ he went on, stuffing the last of the burger into his mouth. ‘Specially if I tell him you’re desperate. He’s good like that. Kind-hearted to the lonely and deprived.’

Just do that saintly smile that really gets up his nose. ‘That’s terribly sweet of him, Ryan. When I’m desperate for a really elephantine seeing-to, I’ll bear him in mind. And what makes you think I’m going to bed on my tod every night, anyway?’

‘Jungle telegraph,’ he said, aiming his burger paper at the bin and missing. ‘Also known as your mum ringing my mum and my mum ringing me.’ He put on a passable imitation of her own mother’s voice. ‘ “And I’m so terribly worried about Claudia. What a pity she broke up with Matthew - such a lovely boy and a very nice family. His father was a wine merchant, you know.” ’

It wasn’t much use retaliating, since she could imagine her mother saying exactly that. She had never stopped going on about Matthew and what a ‘lovely boy’ he was, even though they’d broken up over two years back. Still, if Ryan was stirring, she might as well stir in return.

‘Next time your mother rings, tell her I’m right off men/ she said, filling the kettle. ‘And I’ll see how long it takes for my mother to hear I’ve become a rampant lezzie. I’d hazard a guess at ten minutes, knowing your mother’s gossip potential.’

She put the kettle on, wincing at the spilt coffee and dirty mugs he’d left on the tray. ‘Why are you such a slob ?’

‘I was thinking of you, my dear Claud. Something to keep those idle little mitts out of mischief while I’m gone. Besides, I never clear up if there’s a woman to do it.’

She repressed the urge to strangle him with the lurid tie he was wearing. Rising to his bait was exactly what he wanted.

Leaving the fries carton on the desk, he got up and put his jacket on. ‘Tatty-bye, then, sweet cousin. Be good.’

For the thousandth time, she marvelled that to the untrained eye Ryan actually resembled a normal human being, even in a bright pink jacket and that dreadful tie. About five feet eleven and on the lanky side, he still had the mischievous, curly-haired choirboy look that had let him get away with murder as a child.

He still had the curls, rather longer now. And he still had the look. And he knew it.

‘D’you know why old Auntie Flora from Killiekrankie left me all that dough?’ he’d remarked the other day. ‘Because she came to stay one Christmas when I was six. Ma and Pa carted her off to school to see me be a shepherd in the Nativity Play and the poor old dear was moved to tears.’

He had actually got up and demonstrated, putting on a piping little voice. ‘We must haste at once to Bethlehem! Come, let us follow the bright star!’

He’d sat down again, chuckling. ‘She used to send me a postal order every birthday after that, and I used to write her a little letter in my best joined-up writing, saying, “Dear Great-Auntie Flora, thank you very much indeed for the money. I have put half in my savings bank and I have sent the rest to the poor children in Africa who don’t have any food. I hope you are well, love from Ryan.” ’

Claudia had gazed at him with withering contempt. ‘You unutterable little creep.’

He had only grinned the more. ‘You haven’t heard the best bit. I was in Scotland a couple of years ago so I dropped in. Ma had said she was on the way out, so I thought, Well, no harm in reminding the old girl of her saintly great-nephew, just in case she hasn’t finalized her will.’

Remembering it all made her want to kick him, but since he was on his way out it would only delay him.

‘Oh, by the way,’ he said casually, his hand on the door, ‘if you check the diary, you’ll see there are a couple of bookings. One’s for Wednesday night; a French maid for some old bugger’s seventieth. The other’s much more fun. A rugby club bash on Saturday night. They want a Little Red Riding Hood, would you believe, as their captain’s name is Bill Wolfson. And, you’ve guessed it, they call him Big Bad Wolf.’

Her heart was plummeting to her ankles.

‘Should be a good laugh,’ he grinned. ‘Especially for me. I’ve told them you’ll need a minder at a do like that. They want you to trip up to Big Bad Wolf and say, “Goodneth me, Mithter Wolf, what big eyeth you have!” ’