Honeymoon Assignment
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Sally Carr
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10
CHAPTER ONE
JAKE was coming towards her and Sara’s heart gave a double thud. His eyes held hers as he walked across the office and she knew by the look in them that he was going to stop and talk to her. Knew, too, that she was not going to like whatever it was he was going to say.
She swallowed hard and tore her gaze away from his. So much had happened between them that she wished they could have met again anywhere but here in a newspaper office, where there was no such thing as privacy.
On the other hand, she reflected grimly, being alone with Jake these days was about as advisable as taking up lion-taming.
Sara rested the palms of her hands on the desktop and was appalled at how damp they felt. Still, after all that had happened, Jake was more likely to want to shake her by the neck than the hand.
Memories crowded into her brain and she tried desperately to shut them out. She had to keep calm. Had to.
He was getting nearer now, his long stride eating up the yards of carpet that covered the open-plan newsroom. Desperately she reached over to the fashion editor’s desk, jammed next to hers in the features department, and grabbed a bottle of nail varnish.
With shaking fingers she unscrewed it and began to apply the glossy colour, trying hard to look as though she was completely absorbed in her task, but in reality not even conscious of the unsteady brush strokes she was drawing over her nails.
‘Sara?’ He was standing at her desk now, leaning on it and looking down at her. The timbre of his voice made her heartbeat more unsteady, her fingers more clumsy with the varnish. She knew exactly the expression on his face without even having to raise her eyes to his.
Once she had hoped he had loved her, and now she knew for certain that he hated her. She only wished that she could feel the same way about him. Could exorcise completely the surging pulse rate and the almost oversensitive awareness that she had of his presence.
Silence seemed to draw out between them for several hundred years. She felt if she looked up she would find the entire office staring at them, aware of the almost tangible tension between them. But when she finally lifted her eyes to his face, she realized from the big clock above them that only thirty seconds had elapsed. And nobody but Jake was looking at her.
‘Hello,’ she said unsteadily, unable to hold his gaze. ‘Can—’ she licked dry lips ‘—can I help you?’ She had meant to sound cool, dismissive, sarcastic. But the words came out high and cracked and she knew she sounded like a junior receptionist on her first day, instead of a supposedly sophisticated showbiz journalist.
Jake gazed down at her meditatively, but she knew better than to trust the expression on his face. Hadn’t she been taken in by it so easily all those years ago?
And she was right. ‘You mean like you helped my brother?’ he said silkily. The menace in his tone all too apparent.
‘Our brother, you mean,’ corrected Sara huskily, feeling her throat closing at the memory of Jamie’s death. She swallowed. She must not, must not break down in front of Jake.
‘My father may have adopted you when you were five,’ he grated, ‘but you needn’t think you’re any part of my family. Not after what you did.’ His eyes bored into her. ‘And if I’d had my way,’ he added dismissively, ‘you would have been sacked long ago.’
Sara lifted her chin and stared at Jake as steadily as she could. ‘Just as well you’re only a photographer here, then,’ she retorted, ‘rather than taking over your father’s position as chairman of the board.’
He gave her a look she didn’t quite understand and then, almost as if they were friends instead of the bitterest of enemies, sat down on her desk and picked up the bottle of nail varnish.
‘Leave it alone,’ snarled Sara, her nerves twanging almost to breaking point.
‘Purple,’ mused Jake softly. ‘To go with your prose style, I presume.’
‘It’s none of your business,’ she screeched, grabbing for the tiny bottle. She had expected some resistance, almost as if she were a child once more and he was teasing her.
But now the long fingers gave way to hers almost as if they couldn’t bear the feel of her skin, and the bottle slid from her hand and splashed down the front of her skirt.
She stood up in horror, gazing speechlessly at the sticky purple stain widening on the delicate green silk, and then looked up furiously, straight into Jake’s dark eyes.
‘How could you?’ she gasped, grabbing at a box of tissues. ‘Look what you’ve done!’
‘I’ve done?’ he drawled. ‘I was under the impression you managed to pour that bottle over your skirt all by yourself.’
The varnish was running in little rivulets down her delicate green silk suit, spreading out and soaking through to her legs. She tore a wedge of tissue out of the box and swabbed desperately at the stain, not even really registering what she was doing through the turmoil in her brain.
He gazed at her expressionlessly. ‘If you rub any harder, Sara,’ he observed, ‘you’ll probably set your skirt on fire.’
Her hand lifted and she stared at him. Blue-black eyes gazed back. Eyes the colour of midnight. Then, almost as if it were an irrelevance, she suddenly remembered that in five minutes she was supposed to be leaving for the most important interview of her career.
Sara swallowed. ‘My skirt’s ruined,’ she said. ‘And it’s all your fault.’
He gazed at her speculatively. ‘Well, I wouldn’t call it the end of the world,’ he replied. ‘Or do clothes really mean more to you than people?’
Sara clenched her jaw and counted to ten. ‘Of course not,’ she forced out. Truth to tell, her skirt had been almost the last thing on her mind. Jake and his brother, Jamie, were the only two subjects her mind could really focus on these days. But now Jamie was dead and she knew that Jake blamed her.
There was nothing she could do to show him how wrong he was. She had promised Jamie she would keep his secret. And now that he was dead, she would never break her word.
Silence stretched out between her and Jake once more, and she realized he was waiting for her to say something. Reply to some question. But what had he asked her? She shook her head. She simply had to get a grip on herself.
‘This interview means a lot to me,’ she said quickly, trying hard to sound brisk and business-like. ‘Naturally I wanted to look my best.’
Jake smiled grimly and she felt a sudden flash of anger. Why did he have to look so cool and self-possessed even when he was wearing jeans and a white cotton shirt? His crisp dark hair could probably do with a trim, but his body was hard and well muscled. And there was a look in his eyes that meant few people ever tried to cross him.
She bit her lip and looked away. She had dressed with supreme care for that interview with French racing driver, Jean Paul Charpentier. But now with Jake’s eyes on her, she knew that all her efforts had been to somehow impress the grim-looking man lounging on her desk.
Sleek blonde hair, carefully made-up face, beautifully cut silk suit. And all of them useless armour against Jake’s corrosive gaze.
His eyes travelled down her body and back up again, missing nothing.
She felt the blood rush to her face, flooding down her neck and up into the roots of her hair. ‘Stop looking at me like that,’ she forced out, the colour deepening in her cheeks.
‘Why?’ he drawled. ‘When it’s obvious from the way you dress that you want everyone to stare at you. A walking fashion plate, who never has a hair out of place.’ His lips twisted. ‘Or a heart in the right place.’
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she grated, desperately trying to regain control, ‘I have a job to go to. And even you would agree I can’t go like this.’
Bits of tissue were sticking to her skirt like dandruff and all of a sudden she couldn’t have cared less. She couldn’t have made a worse impression on Jake if she had planned it out a month in advance.
Why had their conversation centred on her well-known weakness for clothes, when perhaps they could have come to some sort of an understanding about Jamie?
Sara grabbed her handbag and took a step backwards. ‘This hasn’t gone awfully well, has it?’ she forced out. ‘You think all I care about is my clothes, and I think…’
He leaned forward, interested, alert, but his tone was quiet and even. ‘What, Sara? What do you think?’
It was the first time she had heard him speak gently to her for years and it was like a knife twisting in an old wound.
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘It doesn’t matter what I think.’ She felt a sudden wave of panic at his closeness and looked desperately at the clock. ‘All I know is I have exactly three minutes to persuade the fashion editor to lend me something else to wear before I leave to meet Paul Jean Parchentier.’
He stared at her reflectively, the ghost of a long-dead smile in his eyes. ‘The man’s name is Jean Paul Charpentier,’ he corrected softly. ‘I would have thought you would have got his name right even if you probably make up everything else about him.’
Sara compressed her lips. ‘Of course I know his name,’ she spat. ‘I just…’
‘Just what?’ Jake probed all too innocently.
She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Why should she play into his hands by telling him how nervous he made her; how much even his presence affected her? ‘Nothing,’ she muttered.
Jake looked at her for a long moment and then shrugged. ‘In any case, you won’t be needing another skirt for the next few weeks at least. Not where you’re going.’
She looked down at the ruined fabric and then back up at him, not really registering what he had said. ‘Of course I’m going to need a skirt,’ she said crossly. ‘I’ve got to wear something.’
There was a look in his eyes that she couldn’t read at all. But it sent a shiver down her spine all the same. She had been a fool to think that perhaps Jake had changed. It was obvious that raking over the past was not going to do either of them any good. So why couldn’t he just leave her alone?
‘I don’t know why you’re wasting your time even bothering to insult me,’ she said tartly. ‘You’ve made it perfectly plain you can’t stand the sight of me. Ever since Jamie—’
‘Ever since Jamie’s death,’ he cut in. ‘And long before that, as you well know, I’ve thought of you as something pretty low in the scale of evolution, I must admit.’ He leaned across her desk. ‘But don’t worry, sweetheart, I can always revise my opinion—downwards.’
Sara shivered. She had never really known why everything had seemed to go so horribly wrong between her and Jake. In the end, the best idea had seemed simply for her to avoid him over those long, long years. But now he was back, standing in front of her, gazing at her with those oh so deceptively soft eyes.
She glared at him. ‘You know nothing about what happened between Jamie and me,’ she said furiously. ‘You weren’t there and you just believe what you want to believe. And damn any evidence to the contrary.’ She took another step backwards and stood as if poised to run. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr Armstrong, I have to go and speak sweetly to the fashion editor so I can keep my appointment with…’ She paused and then carefully enunciated, ‘Monsieur Charpentier.’
He sat on the corner of her desk and doodled on the back of a press release. ‘Someone else is going to see your racing driver,’ he said.
‘What?’ she gasped.
He put down the pen and looked up. ‘’Fraid so. And the features editor wants to see you,’ he said mildly. ‘Now.’
She clenched her jaw. ‘You may be the son of the man who owns this newspaper,’ she said coldly, ‘but that doesn’t mean you can play God with other people’s lives.’
He gazed at her, the lazy arrogance in his eyes now all too obvious. ‘Who says?’
She thought of five different suitably crushing retorts, but as he smiled down into her face, she pursed her lips instead and stalked off to the feature editor’s office.
‘Have you heard of a place called Bandhul?’ Emma, Sara’s boss, was sitting at her desk, looking as cool and immaculate as ever, and reading some agency copy.
Sara shook her head bewilderedly. ‘Somewhere in India?’
‘Near enough,’ Emma sighed. ‘It’s up in the Himalayas, run by a few generals ever since a military coup twenty years ago. Now the people there are pushing for elections and there have been arrests and riots. I want a big colour piece, interviews, atmosphere, you know the sort of thing. Got your passport?’
Sara shut her mouth with a snap and tried to regain some of her self-control. She was horribly conscious of her ruined skirt and the look of disdainful amusement in Emma’s eyes. ‘Of course I haven’t got my passport,’ she bit out sarcastically, more rudely than she had meant. ‘I was only going to the republic of South Kensington today.’
Emma glanced up at her. But her gaze was now as cold as the grey waters of the Thames outside her big office window. ‘Well, you better get it,’ she ordered. ‘And then get round as quickly as possible to the Bandhul Embassy to collect your visas. The travel department has fixed it all up. Your plane leaves tonight.’
Sara sat down limply. ‘Visas?’ she repeated.
Emma stared at her impatiently. ‘Well, you’ll need two. One for you and one for Jake.’
The name was enough to jerk Sara suddenly back into life. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, standing up. ‘Jake Armstrong? Now I know you’re joking. Me go anywhere with him? You must be out of your mind.’
Her boss stared at her inquiringly. ‘What’s the matter with him? He’s the best photographer in Fleet Street and he knows the country.’
‘Yes,’ snapped Sara. ‘Maybe, but the last thing I need is Jake to hold my hand.’
‘I doubt he’ll be doing that,’ remarked Emma coolly. ‘This trip is strictly business, and from what I hear about the way you treated Jake’s brother, I expect it to stay that way.’
Sara’s jaw dropped. ‘What exactly are you getting at?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing,’ replied Emma. ‘Except that you could say Jake and I have an…understanding. I’m not happy about this trip, especially from what I hear about the way you conduct your private life, but it seems I have no choice.’
Sara stared at her boss. Beautiful, calculating, ambitious—and by the angry look in her eyes, obviously obeying Jake’s orders.
‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, and I don’t care,’ spat Sara. ‘Because it’s obviously all lies. But as far as Jake and I are concerned, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. In the first place, everyone knows I grew up with him as his stepsister, and I know him far too well to have any illusions of romance about him.’
Her boss opened her mouth, but Sara hadn’t finished. ‘And knowing you both as well as I do,’ she said sweetly, ‘I think you’re extremely well suited.’
‘Our relationship is none of your business,’ Emma said coldly.
‘It is when he uses it to force me into going to some rotten country in the middle of nowhere,’ retorted Sara. ‘Why don’t you go with him, since you two have such a wonderful “understanding”?’
Emma stood up. ‘My private life is not up for discussion,’ she snapped. ‘Especially not with you.’
Sara put a hand on her arm, her anger leaving as suddenly as it came. She had no right to take out her feelings on Emma. ‘I don’t know anything about your relationship,’ she told her boss softly. ‘But I do know lots about Jake. You know the best thing to do if you have a tiger by the tail?’
‘What?’ Emma asked involuntarily.
‘Let go,’ Sara replied simply.
The door swung open and both women looked up as Jake strolled in. It was odd how he suddenly made the room seem so much smaller, thought Sara, finding herself unable to stop staring at those eyes that were so dark they were almost black.
‘Well, Sara,’ he drawled, leaning on the desk and folding his arms, ‘all ready to rough it?’
Emma looked from one to the other of them, uncertain of her ground, determined to be cheerful. ‘Why don’t you both have the same names?’ she asked at last.
‘I wanted to be independent,’ replied Sara, turning with an effort back to Emma. ‘To make my own way.’
‘You always were the most pigheaded, stubborn woman I knew,’ observed Jake.
‘Our first meeting in how many years and already I’m smothering in compliments,’ Sara said as sweetly as she could.
Jake’s eyes flickered. ‘Make the most of it,’ he drawled. ‘This is as nice as I get.’
Emma looked as though she had stepped into a minefield. But she carried on bravely, as if impervious to the tension surging around her. ‘Will I be seeing you later?’ she asked Jake.
He shrugged, still staring at Sara. ‘There’s a lot to organize.’ Then his voice gentled as he turned to Emma and added, ‘I’ll call you.’
She nodded and closed her handbag with a snap. Sara knew that Emma wanted her to leave her alone with Jake, but she stood her ground. She didn’t feel any particular dislike for Emma, but she didn’t see why she should make things any easier for Jake.
‘I’ll go, then,’ remarked Emma at last, rather uncertainly. ‘Seeing as I’m now at least ten minutes late for lunch with Jean Paul Charpentier.’
Sara bit her lip and glanced down at her ruined skirt. If only she had just got up and walked away when she saw Jake heading for her, then she would already be on her way to lunch with the so-called fabulous Frenchman. ‘Have a nice time,’ she muttered glumly.
Emma looked at her watch and smiled at Jake. ‘Good luck.’ And then glancing at Sara’s ruined skirt, she added practically, ‘You’ll need it.’
The door closed behind her and Sara glared at Jake. ‘You have no right to do this. Absolutely no right at all,’ she forced out.
He sat down in Emma’s chair and put his feet on the table. ‘And what exactly have I done?’ he inquired.
She lifted her hands and counted off on her fingers, ‘Simply stopped me from getting the best interview I’ve had in months, and one I had to work like hell to set up. Using your influence to get me posted to this fly-blown job, where the best I can hope for is a bout of food poisoning. And making my life on this paper absolute misery.’
He shrugged. ‘You can always leave.’
She stepped towards him, her hands clenched into fists. ‘That’s what you’d really like me to do, isn’t it?’ she snarled. ‘You’re blaming me for Jamie’s death and now you want your pound of flesh.’
‘I don’t give a damn about you,’ he said coldly. ‘You treated my brother abominably, and now he’s dead all you can think about is swanning around painting your nails and having lunch.’
The blood drained from her face. Did he really think that about her? ‘That’s simply not true,’ she forced out. ‘I work hard for this newspaper and I turn in good interviews with celebrities that other people couldn’t get.
‘But then,’ she said sweetly, mimicking his tone, ‘you spend so much time swanning off to take a few pictures here and there in whatever exotic place takes your fancy, that I don’t really expect you to notice anything that goes on in this office.’
She could see a muscle jerking in his cheek now and she knew that she had been unfair. Jake was one of the best war photographers the Street had ever had, and the last place he had “swanned off” to was Bosnia. But then, when had Jake ever been fair to her?
He stared at her consideringly and then said softly, ‘Oh, I notice what goes on here, Sara. And perhaps if we went through your expenses forms a little more carefully, you would end up paying us for the privilege of working here, however many so-called celebrities you manage to corner.’
‘You can sneer,’ she snapped. ‘My job may not be a series of tough macho assignments like yours, but it does have one distinct advantage. It means I can keep out of your way.’
‘You’ve been running for a long time,’ remarked Jake. ‘Don’t you think it’s time to stop?’
Sara swung away to the window and gazed out unseeingly at the sweeping view. ‘I wasn’t the one who ran out in the first place,’ she said softly.
‘A teenage indiscretion,’ Jake replied coldly. ‘I acted badly once towards you, and you’ve been punishing all of us ever since. Is that what this is all about?’
‘A teenage indiscretion,’ repeated Sara softly. She remembered that soft velvet night with sudden startling clarity and turned to face Jake. Is that what he had thought? ‘Does it matter now?’ she said wearily. ‘Does any of it matter after all these years?’
His eyes hardened. ‘Just the little matter of Jamie’s death,’ he said brutally. ‘That’s all that concerns me now.’
Colour flooded into her face. For one moment, she had forgotten about Jamie. Forgotten about the horror of those last few months. Jake must think she was completely heartless.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Jake was too quick for her. ‘You’re coming to Bandhul with me whether you like it or not,’ he told her softly. ‘And you’ll tell me all I want to know. You’ll also discover what hard work is like, for the first time probably. But if you fall down on the job there, you won’t need to quit. I’ll simply fire you.’
‘I’ve never fallen down on any assignment,’ spat Sara. ‘But if you try anything, I’ll—’
‘Run to my father?’ supplied Jake, his calm tones belying the dangerous light in his eyes. He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t advise it. You may not know or care, but he’s been quite ill recently. And his health wasn’t improved by your antics with Jamie. He’s stepping down next month, and I’m taking over the company.’ He waited a few seconds for the news to sink in and then added silkily, ‘If you have any complaints, I would advise you to follow the official procedure.’
‘Official procedure,’ Sara said feelingly. ‘That’s rich, coming from you. When did you ever follow official procedure?’
He stared gravely at her. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that I follow any procedure,’ he said softly. ‘But I’d like to see you try to come to grips with it. Petty of me, I know, but right now I’d welcome practically anything that would make your life more difficult.’
Sara swallowed. ‘I tell you, I won’t go on this trip. I’ll save you the trouble and resign now.’
He gazed at her silently, and she was reminded of a top-class poker player deciding his next move. ‘No, Sara, I don’t think you will resign now. You can’t afford to, for one thing. I mean—’ he shrugged ‘—think of all the money you lavish on clothes…and nail varnish.’
She thought about her last letter from the bank and then looked him straight in the eyes. ‘I’ll easily get a job on another paper.’
‘Will you?’ he replied. ‘Jobs are a bit limited on all papers these days, especially for people who could get the reputation for being “difficult”.’
Sara’s mouth dropped open. ‘Even you wouldn’t spread lies about me,’ she whispered.
‘Try me,’ he said simply.
‘Look,’ she began. ‘This is silly. I’m a features writer and I specialize in showbiz stuff. I’m simply not cut out for anything else. There must be hundreds of news reporters who’d give their right arms to do this job.’
‘So Emma said,’ he remarked. ‘But we haven’t got hundreds of reporters and the ones we have are all busy using their right arms to do their jobs properly.
‘This story was my idea, I must admit. The whole situation in Bandhul could blow up, but it may turn out to be nothing. The news desk was reluctant in the extreme to send anyone of theirs who might end up out there for more than a few days. You, unfortunately, seem to be the only one available.’
‘But it’s ridiculous!’ she exploded. ‘I’m going to complain to the editor. I bet you never even consulted him at all.’
‘Sam is on holiday,’ said Jake, ‘so you can’t go crying to him. If I had my way, he’d be away permanently. He’s the one who’s supposed to run the whole editorial side of this newspaper and the only thing he ever does efficiently is collect his salary.’
Sara stared at him, anger and disbelief building up in her like a pressure cooker. ‘But I’ve never been on a job like this in my life. I don’t even really know where this place, Banjo, is,’ she blazed.
‘Bandhul,’ he corrected, lifting his feet off the desk and standing up. ‘And for the moment, you don’t need to know. I’m sure the pilot of the aeroplane can find the way.’
She watched him head for the doorway, his tall, lean form filling up the door-frame. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she blurted out. ‘What do you want from me?’ He turned to face her and she rattled on desperately, ‘I know you’ve used your influence to have me put on this job. Why? Emma’s obviously less than happy about it.’ She lifted her chin and looked at him defiantly. ‘Why don’t you take her instead and cement this wonderful “relationship” she told me about?’
He stepped towards her, his face grim, and she suddenly found herself clasping her hands nervously.
‘Because I want to know exactly what happened to my brother, Sara. I don’t want the lies that you’ve been feeding our family for the past six months while I’ve been away. Apparently, every time they’ve tried to talk to you about it, you’ve given them nothing but halftruths and evasions.’ He reached out and tipped up her chin. ‘This trip seemed the perfect opportunity to get the truth from you. And believe me, I will have it before we return. All of it.’
She tried to struggle away, the effect of his stare like a torch in her face. ‘I’m not going to tell you any more than I’ve already told your father,’ she forced out. ‘I can’t.’
‘Can’t?’ he said quietly. ‘Or won’t?’
She thought of Jamie and blinked back sudden tears. ‘Your brother was ten times nicer than you,’ she spat.
‘Oh, I don’t doubt it,’ he replied gently. ‘But then I’ve always been the black sheep of the family.’
She clenched her jaw and said nothing.
‘However,’ he continued, ‘there is one heavy advantage in being the prodigal son. Having broken every rule in the book, no one notices after a while when you break a few more.’
‘Like organizing this trip,’ she muttered.
‘Exactly,’ he agreed.
She grasped his fingers and pulled them away from her face. ‘I will speak to your father,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t want me to be put through this.’
His eyes hardened. ‘My father needs complete rest and quiet if he is to recover from his heart attack. So if you go anywhere near him or try to contact him in any way, I’ll make sure you get sent somewhere that will make Bandhul look like an afternoon’s shopping in Knightsbridge.’
Sara closed her eyes and breathed in as deeply as she could. She was not going to be riled by this man. She opened her eyes to find him still staring at her. ‘For somebody who became a war photographer because he couldn’t face becoming an arrogant old tycoon like his father, you’re certainly following in his footsteps with a vengeance,’ she said coldly.
His lips twisted. ‘It’s amazing what you can learn when you have to.’
‘What stage are you at now?’ she demanded. ‘Intermediate bullying?’
He stepped towards her. ‘Oh, I passed that stage long ago,’ he said softly, trailing a lazy finger down her cheek. ‘Now, I’m just catching up on demanding with menaces.’ His finger stopped at her jawline and he looked right down into her eyes. ‘It’s amazing that one so beautiful as you can conceal such a rotten core,’ he said softly.
She wanted to break away, to slap him in the face and just walk out. But something in his face stopped her. For reasons she didn’t want to admit even to herself, she wanted this man to think well of her. To realize that she was not the heartless liar that he thought her.
‘One day,’ she whispered, ‘you’ll apologize to me for all this.’
His hand dropped from her face. ‘I doubt it.’
‘I tell you, I don’t know anything!’ she burst out.
He reached for the door handle and turned back to stare coldly at her. ‘You know more than you’re telling, Sara Thornton. And I mean to know every last bit of it.’
