mouth turned down. ‘I think you know better than that.’
Cassandra gasped. ‘Are you always so direct?’
‘Would you prefer a different kind of approach?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not something I’m familiar with,’ she said blankly. ‘Mr Ravek—–’
‘Jay,’ he corrected her briefly. Then: ‘Look, it’s too cold to talk here. Do you have an appointment, or will you let me buy you lunch?’
Cassandra shivered, suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings again. ‘I don’t think—–’
‘Why not?’ His lean face revealed a trace of irritation. ‘You know you shouldn’t believe everything you read in the press.’
‘I don’t.’ That much was true. But Liz had been so vehement. ‘I just—–’
‘What harm can eating lunch with me do?’ he interposed swiftly. ‘I don’t bite, and I do know my table manners!’
Cassandra half smiled. ‘I’m sure you do.’
‘Is that a grudging acceptance?’
She made a decision. ‘All right.’
‘Good.’ He gestured towards his car. ‘Shall we go?’
Her determination wavered. Her impulsive consent to eat with him had not taken into account the method of getting to a restaurant, and somehow his car seemed such an intimate form of transport after what he had said. After all, what did she know about this man? Nothing that was good, certainly.
He seemed to sense her uncertainty, however, and his expression twisted into an ironic smile. ‘You can trust me,’ he said flatly. ‘I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. Now, can we get moving?’
Cassandra gave in, and at her nod of acquiescence, Jay Ravek swung open the nearside door of the vehicle and waited while she got inside. His own entry was accomplished with the ease of long practice, and after settling his length behind the wheel, he started the engine.
As they turned out of the mews, Cassandra spared a thought for Chris, realising she should have left him a message telling him where she was going. But to suggest doing so now would smack of over-caution, and she could well imagine Jay Ravek’s interpretation of her leaving some explanatory note.
The car was soon bogged down in the lunchtime snarlups, and feeling the need to clarify her position, Cassandra endeavoured to make light conversation. What he had said earlier, about his reasons for ringing her, didn’t seem credible somehow, and linking her hands together in her lap, she introduced the usual topics of weather and traffic.
His responses were monosyllabic as he concentrated on negotiating the busy streets, but once they had a clear stretch of road, he cast a lazy glance in her direction.
‘You knew I’d ring, didn’t you?’ he remarked, disturbing her anew. ‘What did your mother-in-law tell you?’
Cassandra bent her head. ‘Oh, only that you’d rung. As you said, she thought you were a client. Only most people ring the studio.’
‘Most men?’
Cassandra looked up indignantly. ‘Most clients,’ she corrected him shortly, and Jay inclined his head.
‘But you did know?’
Cassandra schooled her features. ‘How could I?’
‘I don’t believe you’re that naïve,’ he responded, his voice low and disruptive. ‘But—–’ he shrugged, ‘we’ll play it your way, if it suits you.’
Cassandra didn’t know how to answer him, so she didn’t try. Instead, she tried to guess where he was taking her, and what she was going to tell Chris when she got back.
Jay eventually turned the powerful sports car into the car park of a hotel north of Willesden. It was not a hotel Cassandra was familiar with, but judging by the number of cars in the parking area, it was a popular eating place.
A cocktail bar gave on to a small dining room, and mentioning that they could get a drink at their table, Jay preceded Cassandra into the restaurant. They were shown to a table at the far side of the room, overlooking the sunken garden at the back of the hotel, where wilting plants surrounded a murky rock pool.
A waiter provided menus, and Jay asked Cassandra what she would like to drink.
‘Oh, just a dry Martini, please,’ she answered politely, and he ordered a gin and tonic for himself before allowing the waiter to depart.
‘So,’ he said, when they were alone, ‘do you feel happier now?’
Cassandra fingered the red napkin in front of her. ‘I don’t know this place,’ she replied, without answering him. ‘Do you come here often?’
Jay lay back in his chair, regarding her with sardonic eyes. ‘I guess Liz Lester has been talking,’ he remarked. ‘What did she tell you?’
‘Not a lot.’ Cassandra kept her tone light, and forced herself to look at the menu. ‘What do you recommend? I rather fancy scampi. How about you?’
‘Food’s not a fetish with me,’ he responded easily, putting his menu aside. ‘So long as it’s reasonably cooked, a steak will do fine.’
Cassandra nodded, glad of the diversion from more personal matters. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I like steak, too. But I think I’ll stick to the fish. It sounds delicious.’
‘Good.’
His acquiescence was indifferent and she was glad when the waiter brought their drinks, and she was able to use her glass as a barrier between them. His eyes were too penetrating, his perception too shrewd; and she looked at the other diners in an effort to avoid looking at him, in case he could read her thoughts as well.
‘I suppose you do a lot of entertaining,’ he remarked at last, his voice lower, more persuasive. ‘In the course of your—work, naturally.’
Cassandra turned her lovely eyes in his direction. She had the distinct suspicion there was an insult there somewhere, but for the life of her she couldn’t understand why he should be baiting her in this way.
‘I—we—do entertain, occasionally,’ she agreed, shaking her head when he offered her another drink. ‘But the company is very small yet. We don’t have an unlimited expense account.’
‘No.’ He rested his arms on the table, cradling his glass between his palms. ‘And there’s just the two of you—you and this young man, Chris Allen?’
‘Yes.’
The waiter came to take their order, and after he was gone again, Jay continued his catechism: ‘Have you known him long? Allen, I mean?’
Cassandra shrugged. ‘About seven years, I suppose. I knew him before—before I was married.’
‘Ah—–’ Jay absorbed this with a curious expression. ‘Perhaps you should have married him. You might have been—happier.’
She held up her head. ‘Maybe,’ she responded, her tone a little chilly now, and as if realising she was beginning to resent his interrogation, Jay smiled.
‘I guess you’re wondering why you agreed to have lunch with such an ignorant swine, aren’t you?’ he suggested ruefully. ‘Forgive me, but—–’ he paused, ‘perhaps I’m not used to such sensitive companionship.’
Cassandra hesitated. ‘I should have thought that was patently untrue,’ she declared steadily, and his lean mouth took on a humorous twist.
‘So I was right—Liz has been talking. Am I allowed to say anything in my own defence?’
She sighed, putting down her glass, not quite sure whether to take him seriously or not. ‘You don’t have to defend yourself