sudden splash, as if of an object striking water, alerted her to the fact that someone was using the pool outside. The patio windows were slightly ajar, as witness the billowing curtains, but even if she had not been able to hear the rippling water she’d have guessed what was happening by the patterns spreading on the ceiling above her head.
She was tempted to get up and see who it was. But the anxiety—fear—that it might be Catriona Redding kept her anchored to her seat. Besides, she did not want to be caught spying on whoever might be using the pool. She had to remember she was here for an interview, and, as such, she would be unwise to risk losing the job out of curiosity.
All the same, her eyes were drawn in that direction, and she felt a twinge of envy for whoever had the right to cool off in that way. For all the room was air-conditioned, she could feel the draught of warm air coming in through the crack in the windows, and her nerves were working overtime to send an unpleasant trickle of perspiration down her spine.
A shadow moved beyond the windows, and she realised the swimmer had emerged from the pool. She saw the silhouette of a man, tall and dark, moving with a lithe grace across the tiled apron. His back was to her, for which she was grateful, for when he bent to lift a towel from one of the chairs that faced the water she was almost sure he was naked.
Her mouth dried instantly. Whoever he was, he was obviously someone Catriona Redding knew well. She blinked. It was something that had not occurred to her. That the woman might be involved with someone else. Which was foolish, she acknowledged impatiently. Successful women could have their pick of admirers.
All the same, Catriona Redding had to be fifty, if she was a day, and the man who had drawn Jaime’s eyes appeared to be in the prime of his life. Though she couldn’t really tell through the drifting veils of chiffon. It was just an impression she had received from the casual indolence of his stride.
She swallowed uneasily, hoping that, whoever he was, he wouldn’t decide to enter the house through the study’s inviting windows. Could she get up and close them before he noticed? Would he think she’d been spying on him, if he glimpsed her through the glass? She didn’t know why she had such a strong compulsion to avoid a complete stranger, but she breathed a little more freely when he moved away.
Her relief at this escape almost overshadowed the sudden opening of the door. But the reminder of why she was here brought her automatically to her feet, and she was already schooling her features when Catriona Redding turned to face her.
‘Miss Harris?’ The name could mean nothing to her, and the hand she held out to Jaime was as cool and impersonal as she could have expected. Slim fingers, their elegance enhanced by several gold rings—none of them a wedding ring—gripped Jaime’s fingers briefly. ‘Please sit down, Miss Harris,’ she instructed smoothly, seating herself in the grey leather chair across the desk. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey?’
Jaime struggled to find her tongue. She hadn’t expected to be so affected by this first meeting, and it was galling to feel as nervous as she did. She was an honours graduate, for God’s sake. For the past five years she had been lecturing to students who should have been far more intimidating than one woman. But the fact remained she was tongue-tied, as much by Catriona Redding’s appearance as anything else.
The woman was quite simply stunning. Her silken cap of silvery blonde hair, tinted perhaps, framed a face that showed little evidence of its years. Dark blue eyes, between sooty lashes, were spaced wide above well-marked cheekbones. A delicately shaped nose set off a mouth that was full-lipped without being exactly generous. And her skin was smooth and unblemished, and only lightly touched with a golden tan.
Jaime didn’t quite know what she had expected, or quite why she was as surprised as she was. She’d seen Catriona Redding’s picture on the jackets of her books, so she should have been prepared for this. But the reality was so much more shocking than the image had ever been.
‘Is something wrong?’
Jaime’s hands clenched in her lap. Pull yourself together, she chided herself angrily. Do you want her to think you’re naive as well as stupid?
‘I’m sorry,’ she said hurriedly, hoping she didn’t sound too sycophantic. ‘It’s just such a—a thrill—for me, meeting you in the flesh. I’ve—read all your books, Miss Redding.’ That, at least, was true. ‘I’m a great admirer of your work.’
Was she?
‘You are?’ Apparently the other woman accepted this without question. A wintry smile appeared. ‘Do you have a favourite? I’m always interested to hear which books strike a chord with my readers.’
Jaime swallowed. For a moment her mind went blank, and she couldn’t remember even one of the titles. But then rationality returned, and she found what she was looking for. Even if it was difficult to be objective when she’d read all twenty books in less than a month.
‘I—I think I enjoyed Heartless best,’ she answered, wondering if her choice, which had been made at random, possessed some hidden meaning she was unaware of. After all, her father would probably say the title was appropriate, but she didn’t want to think of Robert Michaels right now.
Thankfully, her answer seemed to satisfy her would-be employer, and she made some deprecatory comment that allowed Jaime a little more time to study her appearance. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have guessed that Catriona Redding was in her late thirties. There was an air of agelessness about her that was deliberately enhanced by the rather severely tailored suit she was wearing.
‘I believe you’ve been living in London, Miss Harris,’ she prompted now, and Jaime endeavoured to keep her mind on why she was supposed to be here. Why she was here, dammit, she reminded herself fiercely. It wouldn’t do to appear too overwhelmed at the prospect of working with the famous author.
‘Um—yes,’ she replied, aware that she was being given a penetrating appraisal in her turn. ‘I—er—I’ve been working as a research assistant at the university.’
‘So I see.’ Catriona consulted the file she had taken from the pile on her desk. ‘Impressive qualifications for someone who wants to work as my secretary.’ She lifted her head. ‘Do you mind telling me why you want this job?’
Jaime drew a breath, and started on the explanation she had devised for just this situation. ‘I’ve been restless for some time,’ she said, which was also true. ‘And, before I got my degree, I took time out to get some secretarial qualifications, and worked for nine months as a secretary in a small publishing house. That—that was what first inspired my interest in your books, Miss Redding. One of the girls I worked with lent me Harvest Moon, and—and I’ve been a fan ever since.’
‘And this—interest in my work encouraged you to give up your position at the university?’
Catriona sounded sceptical, and Jaime couldn’t altogether blame her.
‘Partly,’ she answered carefully. ‘But, as I said before, I was already dissatisfied with my job. Researching ancient languages can become boring, Miss Redding. I was looking for something new, and when I saw your advertisement it seemed like an amazing coincidence.’
‘I see.’
Catriona continued to regard her with that faint air of suspicion, and Jaime had to control the impulse to check that her hair was still neatly confined in its braid or that her lipstick wasn’t smudged. There was no way this woman could know that she had not been employed as a research assistant, she assured herself. Her superior at the college was a friend, and it had only meant twisting his words a little.
‘So tell me about yourself,’ Catriona suggested at last. ‘My agent dealt with your qualifications, and the salary that’s on offer. I want to know a few personal details, Miss Harris. Tell me about your family.’
Jaime moistened her lips. ‘I don’t have a family, Miss Redding.’ Then, taking a chance, she said, ‘My father died a few months ago, and I have no other close relations.’
‘No husband?’ Catriona consulted