Sara Craven - Unguarded Moment

Of course he could say so, she thought, as she put her hand on the curve of the banister rail. He was the only one who had said anything of the sort, and it was nice to be welcomed.

She was still smiling when she turned slightly to see who was at the door. He was tall, and his shadow fell across the watery sunlight which was making a brave attempt to straggle across the hall floor.

His voice was low-pitched, resonant and cool. ‘My name’s Brant. Miss Layton is expecting me.’

As he spoke, he glanced across the hall and his eyes fell on Alix, standing transfixed on the stairs.

She looked back at him blankly, registering his lean height, the darkness of his hair, the arrogant strength of nose, mouth and chin, and the cynically amused appreciation in his eyes as he surveyed her.

Her first thought was, ‘My God, it can’t be him! He’s on the phone. He can’t be here.’ Her second was, ‘Bianca will kill me!’

And she went on up the stairs, not looking back, but aware just the same that he was still watching her, and having hell’s own job not to break into a run and take Bianca’s elegant stairs two at a time.

She flew into her bedroom, nearly falling over her holiday cases which Harris had put there. Holiday gear was the last thing she wanted now, she thought, kicking off her sandals and shrugging the too-revealing black top over her head. She grabbed the nearest dress, a neat shirtwaister in beige cotton, and pulled it on, forcing the buttons through the holes, and knotting the tie belt hastily, before sliding her feet into matching low-heeled pumps. There was not time to fix her hair properly, she decided, gathering it firmly into a swirl at the back of her head, and anchoring it with a few well-placed hairpins.

And it was no use bothering Bianca at this stage. She would go downstairs and face the wretched man and see if she could persuade him to go away until she and Seb and Leon, Bianca’s agent, had had a chance to talk to her, to reason with her.

Harris was waiting at the foot of the stairs. ‘I’ve shown the gentleman into the drawing room, Miss Alix. Shall I bring coffee? And shall I tell Miss Layton he’s here.’

‘Not for the time being.’ Alix’s heart was thumping in a most uncharacteristic way, and the headlong rush to change into an approximation of what Bianca expected of her had made her breathless. ‘I—I’ll ring if I want anything.’

She paused at the drawing room door, took a deep steadying breath, then turned the handle and went in, pinning a small cool smile to her lips.

He was standing by the fireplace, glancing through one of the magazines, usually arranged neatly on the sofa table.

He looked at Alix, and his dark brows lifted. ‘So,’ he said. ‘The little niece.’

It was desperately important not to appear thrown, but she was. There had never been the slightest hint of her real relationship to Bianca in any of the hundreds of thousands of words which had been written about her aunt, so how in the world did he know?

‘Don’t bother to deny it,’ he added, his voice drawling as it invaded her appalled silence. ‘You’re rather like her—as she was when she was younger, anyway.’

Oh no, Alix thought. He mustn’t. He really must not meet Bianca ever, if this is a fair sample of the kind of thing he says.

She lifted her chin and gave him back stare for stare. ‘How kind of you to say so, Mr Brant.’ She allowed her own voice to drawl slightly. ‘And you’ve done your homework well.’

‘I’m paid to do so, Miss Coulter—or may I call you Alix, as we seem destined to spend a considerable amount of time in each other’s company over the next few months.’

‘Over my dead body,’ Alix said silently. She said coolly, ‘Miss Layton prefers a certain measure of formality in her business dealings, Mr Brant. As a matter of fact, I’ve been trying to telephone you for the past hour.’

‘My phone’s out of order.’ He gave her a level look. ‘I hope you weren’t trying to tell me that Miss Layton would be unable to keep our appointment because she’s been laid low by some virus.’

As this was exactly the excuse Alix had been desperately formulating, she had to grind her teeth.

‘Miss Layton is perfectly well,’ she said stiffly. ‘Nevertheless, it won’t be convenient for her to see you today. That was what I was trying to tell you. I’m very sorry.’

‘Now that I doubt.’ He tossed the magazine impatiently down on to the table again, and gave her a frowning look. ‘I never saw less evidence of regret in anybody. Let’s have the truth, Miss Coulter. Your aunt has developed cold feet over the whole project, hasn’t she, and she’s delegated you to break the bad news to me.’

Anger sparked in Alix. ‘You’re very astute, Mr Brant. Under the circumstances I don’t think there’s any need to extend this interview further.’ She turned away, but incredibly he was beside her, his hand on her arm, detaining her.

‘Then think again, secretary bird. I am a professional man, and I don’t like having my time deliberately wasted.’

‘Then you’d better send us a bill,’ Alix flared. ‘Is your profession paid by the hour, or the minute?’ She gave her watch a studied look. ‘Of which I calculate you’ve wasted approximately fifteen. Unless you walked here, of course.’

His smile held no amusement whatever. ‘Your sharp tongue doesn’t match your demure exterior, secretary bird. I’ve been commissioned to write this book about Bianca Layton, and I intend to do so, with her co-operation, or without it if I have to.’

‘Did Kristen Wallace co-operate?’ Alix asked. ‘It didn’t make a great deal of difference in the end. You still did a hatchet job on her.’

‘I didn’t have to, Miss Coulter. The lady was only too ready to rush headlong on her doom. All I had to do was make a truthful record of her idiocies.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you have a great concern with the truth,’ she said scornfully.

He lifted a shoulder almost wearily. ‘I’ve never found lying to be of any great benefit. Your aunt’s attitude puzzles me, I confess. Less than a week ago she was apparently full of enthusiasm about the book. Now she’s changed her mind, and it makes me wonder why.’

‘The waning of her enthusiasm dates from her discovery that you were involved.’ Alix was suddenly aware he was still holding her arm, and angrily shook herself free. ‘She’s entitled to deny you the right to invade her privacy.’

‘Privacy?’ He looked faintly amused. ‘Since when has Bianca Layton valued that commodity? She’s lived her life well and truly in the public eye. She knows what her public expects, and she doesn’t short-change them. I’d have said her life was—an open book already, wouldn’t you. And yet suddenly she’s wary. It makes me wonder. It really makes me wonder.’

‘Makes you wonder about what?’ Alix demanded sharply.

He smiled down into her flushed indignant face. ‘Just what she has to hide? What else? Now, as it’s clear you have no intention of letting me see her today, I’ll go, but I shall be back, and it would be better if next time she was prepared to see me.’

‘Threats, Mr Brant?’ Alix felt her voice quiver slightly.

‘Call it a friendly warning,’ he said pleasantly. ‘ Au revoir , Miss Coulter. Oh, by the way—–’ his hand reached out, incredibly, and unfastened the top button on her dress, then moved down to the next, ‘in the interests of keeping our business relationship formal, perhaps you ought to take a little more care in the way you dress.’

‘How dare you!’ Her face burning, Alix stepped back. ‘There’s nothing the matter with my clothes.’

‘That’s open to debate. What I was actually trying to indicate was that somewhere along the way you’ve put a button through the wrong hole.’