Page 20 of A Secure Marriage

'I'm sorry, Cleo, your husband is tied up in a meeting all afternoon.' Dawn Goodall sounded perky. 'Your husband! You could have knocked me down with the proverbial when I heard you and Mr Mescal were married! I suppose congratulations are in order!'

'Thanks.' Cleo injected warmth into her voice although she felt like howling with frustration. 'How are you coping?'

'Fine,' Dawn laughed lightly. 'I couldn't believe it at first, but he's actually smiled at me a time or two. Marriage has turned him into a human being.'

'I told you you only needed time to get used to him,' Cleo reminded, hating to have to waste time on chit-chat when all she wanted to do was find out from Jude if there was any truth in the takeover rumour.

But the smile slipped from her face as Dawn told her, 'As a matter of fact I was about to phone you. Mr Mescal asked me to let you know he'd be late home this evening. Something suddenly cropped up and he's got a working dinner with some of the consortium who are handling the bid for a chain of American hotels. Just preliminary discussion, you know the sort of thing.'

Cleo did, and if she'd been in the office, functioning in her normal capacity, it would have been she who had arranged the dinner, sat near him, taking it all in, every word, ready to chew over with him later. She would have been the recipient of his innermost cogitations... Instead, she was to dine alone, biting her nails and waiting for him to come home. She didn't know how she managed to end the phone conversation with any civility at all, but she must have done because Dawn sounded unruffled as she said her goodbyes and hung up.

She couldn't believe that Jude would have told her nothing had Mescal Slade been seriously considering a takeover bid for Slade Securities. And why he had to pick this night, of all nights, to be late coming home, she didn't know!

It was enough to drive

her distracted.

She had kicked her shoes off the moment she'd walked through the front door this afternoon, and now her silk- clad toes curled into the soft pile of the Persian carpet that partially covered the polished oak boards of the study floor as she stared at the phone. She resisted the temptation to call Takeovers and Mergers to fish for the information she needed; she had to speak to Jude about it first.

And there was no question of warning Uncle John. The rumour might be completely unfounded and there was no point in worrying him unnecessarily. Equally, there was no point in speaking to Luke, not until she had the facts. She didn't particularly want to speak to Luke about anything, not after the way he had been this morning, but he was in charge of the company. Her hand hovered over the phone and she bit her lips in indecision before getting up and leaving the room. She would wait for Jude, see what he had to say before alerting any of the family...

She had fallen asleep in front of the drawing-room fire but she snapped to immediate wakefulness when she heard the snick of the door as Jude walked in. He didn't notice her at first, and watching him loosen his tie and run his fingers through his crisp dark hair she thought he looked tired, but when she said, 'Hi—had a good evening?' and uncurled her long legs, standing up, his face lightened, a slow, warm smile curving his long, masculine mouth.

'You shouldn't have waited up.' He came over to her, reaching for her, pulling her close so that their bodies were touching, breast to thigh, the sharp burn of wanting sparking to quick life between them. He bent his dark head, dark hair mingling with soft silver gilt, and he murmured, his mouth finding the taut, slender column of her throat, 'God, you smell good, taste good.'

In a moment, Cleo knew, there would be no question of her mentioning the rumour of the takeover bid. ' Already the deep need his nearness invoked was claiming her, turning her blood to flame, her mind to mush. So, her hands against the strong wall of his chest, she pushed him away. 'Can I fix you a drink? You look tired.' Her breath was sucked in through her nostrils, making them flare with the sheer effort of clearing her mind, of holding him at bay when all her instincts dictated that she become mindless, melting, a creature created for his pleasure, for the pleasure only he could give her.

'I don't want a drink.' His voice was thick. 'I want you.' He reached for her again but she was too quick for him, her voice rapid and high as she told him,

'I must ask you something.' The smile she slanted in his direction was shaky, because this wasn't what she wanted, not really. She, too, wanted only the wonderful magic that could only be found in his arms, in the depth and delight of their lovemaking.

'Go ahead.'

He slumped in the chair opposite the one she had sunk into and she noticed the tiredness was back in his face, the marks of a man who drove himself too hard. But she owed it to Uncle John, to herself, to find out, so she asked him,

'Is it true that Mescal Slade are considering a takeover of Slade Securities? I heard a rumour.'

'Ah. I think I will have that drink.' He moved over to the drinks tray and Cleo, her eyes on the long male elegance of his back, knew the rumour had solid foundation. And that hurt, more than she had thought possible. Why hadn't he told her? But his features had assumed the poker player's mask that he always used tohide his true feelings when he turned to face her again, and he went to stand in front of the fire, straddle-legged, his glass held in one loosely curved hand.

'So you've heard about the possible takeover bid. It's the good old Chinese Wall syndrome again!' He smiled thinly, rocking back on his heels, his eyes stony.'The old fiction that each department keeps itself to itself with no gratuitous overlapping of information is a pretty theory, but it hardly ever works.'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

With an effort she kept her voice level, light; she had too much pride to allow him to see her as a whining child, and a cold smile flickered over his mouth as he told her, 'We don't work like that. You, of all people, should know that. You're an interested party.'

'Of course.' Her expression was carefully blank, but she was hurting inside.

How could he have kept such a thing from her? She loved him, she was his wife! But, a cold spiteful voice inside her reminded, he didn't love her. As far as he was concerned theirs was an expedient marriage, nothing more.

Beyond the bedroom door she was no more to him than she had ever been—one individual among the many employed by Mescal Slade, slightly closer to him than most because of her position as his PA, but that was all.

All at once she needed a drink, too, and she got up stiffly, her body feeling uncoordinated as she moved across-the room. When John Slade found out about this it would finish him. He would see all his work, the decision he'd made with her father to break free of Mescal Slade all those years ago, count for nothing.

Her back to Jude, she poured herself a vodka and tonic, trying to control the tremor of her hand, and Jude said quietly, 'There's something else. I think it's time you knew—I'm going to have to find another PA.'

Quite suddenly, the ticking of the pretty grandmother clock seemed louder, the crackle of the logs on the hearth almost deafening. Or maybe it was the silence, the stillness that flooded her brain as she waited for him to explain, that brought everything into sharper focus. So they'd all been right—Polly, Dawn, Sheila Bates—when they'd picked up undercurrents. Jude wanted her out.

She loved her job, didn't want to lose it. Working with Jude made her feel fully alive, it had done since that very first day. And surely he wasn't one of those ghastly old-fashioned men who, clinging to archaic concepts, believed a woman's place was in the home, preferably in chains!

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