the room was packed with people, Georgia suddenly felt as isolated and afraid as if she had been alone with him on some dark and deserted street.
Those black eyes held her hazel ones mockingly as he reached into the inner pocket of his elegant dinner jacket and pulled out a slip of white card.
‘Then let me spell it out. You have no need at all to fear that our relationship will be anything other than the “strictly business” deal you’re so determined to insist on. Because, you see, if I did want anything more personal—more intimate—then, believe me, you would be the last woman on earth I would choose.’
The casual way he tossed the card onto the table so that it fell just short of her hand was deliberately insulting in its arrogance. The insult was deepened by the offhand way he continued.
‘My number’s on there,’ he declared coolly. ‘Ring me when you want to talk business.’
And before Georgia could regain enough composure even to think of a retort, let alone utter it, he had turned on his heel and strode away, disappearing from sight within seconds as he was swallowed up by the crowd.
FOR perhaps the twentieth time that day, Georgia reached into her handbag and pulled out the small slip of white card, frowning darkly as she studied the words printed on it in an elegant script Not that she had any need to read them through again; she already knew them, and the telephone numbers, off by heart.
‘Ring me when you want to talk business.’
Lucas Mallory’s drawling voice echoed inside her head, the calculated note of contemptuous dismissal searing over tightly stretched nerves.
‘If I did want anything more personal.you would be the last woman on earth I would choose.’
‘Damn you!’ Georgia muttered aloud, addressing the words to the piece of card as if it was the man himself. ‘Damn, damn, damn you! The feeling’s totally mutual, and if I never see you again it will be far too soon!’
Given the choice, she would leave the whole thing well alone, tear the card into tiny pieces and deposit it and her unpleasant memories of the meeting with Lucas in the wastepaper bin once and for all
But she didn’t have the choice, that was the real problem. Only that morning her mother had been on the phone, full of gossip and excitement.
‘I’ve booked Wyndhams to do the catering. They did Polly and Tim’s anniversary do and it was wonderful. Oh, and we’re having that trio that played at Meg’s wedding. We’ll open the doors between the sitting room and the dining room so there’ll be plenty of room for dancing, and have the buffet in the garden room—with champagne, of course!’
‘Of course,’ Georgia echoed wanly, but Anna Harding didn’t seem to need any response, being well launched onto her current favourite subject.
‘I did wonder just who I could get to propose the toast, but when Meg suggested Bryn Walker he seemed the obvious choice, and he was delighted to be asked.’
‘Bryn Walker?’ Georgia didn’t recognise the name.
‘The new manager of the Leeds store, darling! He and his wife will be coming, of course.’
‘But I would have thought that someone closer.’ Never a daughter, of course. ‘Perhaps one of his friends.’
‘Oh, but then I wouldn’t have known just who to choose, and I didn’t want to put anyone’s nose out of joint. And, of course, it is such an important anniversary for Harding’s, as well as Dad’s birthday.’
And Georgia knew only too well which of those two events her father would regard as being the most significant. His membership of the Harding dynasty meant much more to him than his position in his own family.
‘Of course,’ she said again, and this time her mother caught the strained note in her voice.
‘You are coming, aren’t you, George?’ Her own tone had sharpened, as if she suspected a possible flaw in her carefully laid plans.
‘Yes, I’m coming,’ Georgia hastened to reassure her. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
She hoped she sounded convincing. There was nothing her mother liked less than the suspicion that all was not right in her rather restricted world. But certainly Anna’s concern seemed to have eased.
‘And you’re bringing someone?’
With her own feelings still see-sawing up and down on that particular topic, Georgia could only manage an inarticulate murmur that might have been agreement in reply.
‘Someone special?’
‘Could be—’
It was an effort to keep her voice light. Her parentsher mother in particular-would definitely regard Lucas Mallory as ‘someone special’. The problem was, could she bring herself to ask him to act as her escort now? And even if she did, would he even consider going to the party with her?
The plan that had appeared so attractive and simple at the outset now seemed to be as fraught with difficulties as a trip to the moon, and on the attraction scale it ranked somewhere well below a mouldy apple riddled with maggots.
‘Anyway, we’ll meet him next week, won’t we, darling?’
Next week. Georgia dragged herself back to the present with a swift mental shake. The party was barely ten days away. So if she wanted Lucas to act as her escort—and after all that was why she’d laid out so much money at the auction—she had better stop vacillating and make up her mind pronto.
If. But did she have any alternative? There wasn’t exactly a long queue of handsome, wealthy, successful men lining up at her door, all panting for the honour of escorting her to her father’s damned birthday party!
There was only one thing for it, she told herself, and, not pausing long enough to allow for the possibility of second thoughts, she moved purposefully towards the phone, pressing the numbers that were etched into her memory with stiff, jerky movements that echoed the state of her feelings.
‘Mallory.’
‘Ohe—’
If she acknowledged the truth, she hadn’t expected any answer, at least, not from the man himself. She had deliberately chosen his work number, reasoning that at this time of the evening he was unlikely actually to be in his office so that she could leave a message on the answering machine, or possibly with a late-working secretary, either of which she would have found much easier than having to respond to that clipped, curt greeting.
‘Hello?’
His voice, not warm at the start, had taken on a distinctly icy edge, one that was too uncomfortably reminiscent of bis last words to her for comfort.
‘Look, is this some sort of nuisance—?’
‘No!’
At last the paralysis that had held her tongue frozen seemed to ease, so that she was able to break in on him hastily. She couldn’t bear to think that he might slam the phone down on her, cutting her off so that it would all have to be done again.
‘I was expecting a receptionist or…’
‘Everyone’s gone home but me. I’m not such a slavedriver that I keep my staff working at this time of night, even if I have to. But if you don’t want to speak to me—’
‘No, wait—please, Mr Mallory!’
The silence that greeted her stumbling words was distinctly unnerving. For a long, fraught moment she had the uneasy feeling that, knowing who she was, he might still cut her off, but then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
‘My dear Georgia—’