Body And Soul

‘You have a disconcerting streak of romanticism!’

She blushed. She always tried to hide it; it didn’t go down well in banking circles, for one thing, and, for another, it had led her into a painful love-affair and left her with a broken heart and bitter disillusion.

‘I suppose it was something along those lines, though,’ Charles shrugged. ‘My parents exchanged Christmas cards with Aunt Una but they never visited Switzerland, and Aunt Una never came back to England. This big gulf opened up between them.’

‘How sad!’ It seemed pretty childish to Martine, but the things people did to each other often were, she thought.

Charles sighed. ‘It is really, isn’t it? Sad and very stupid. When my parents died I lost contact with Aunt Una altogether, but she died a few years ago, and Bruno wrote to tell me. I happened to be going to Switzerland on that banking commission tour so I looked him up while I was there, and I liked him.’

‘Does he know you’ve made him your main beneficiary?’ Martine shrewdly asked.

Charles gave her an amused look. ‘Not yet.’

Martine’s eyes narrowed speculatively. This Bruno Falcucci might not know yet that Charles had left the Redmond share of the bank to him, but he would know that Charles was unmarried and had no other heir, and, if he was shrewd, as he probably was if he was a senior bank executive, he would probably have worked out that he had a chance of persuading Charles to leave him some money.

‘Did you invite him to come to London, or is he here off his own bat?’

‘He rang me last week to say he had to come to London on business,’ Charles informed her, still looking amused. ‘What a suspicious little mind you’ve got!’

‘I didn’t say a word!’

‘You don’t need to! I can read your thoughts—after all, I know you very well, Martine.’ He looked down into her green eyes and they exchanged an intimate, laughing look.

At that instant somebody strolled up to the table and Charles glanced round, exclaimed, stood up, holding out his hand, his drawn and tired face lighting up.

‘Ah, there you are, Bruno! I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about tonight!’

‘I’ve been looking forward to the evening all week,’ a deep, cool voice drawled.

Martine sat there transfixed, her mouth open and her nerves in shreds. It would be him, wouldn’t it?

Of all the men in the world, she had had to pick on Bruno Falcucci to take an instant dislike to! It hadn’t occurred to her for an instant that the man she had got stuck in the revolving door with might be the man she and Charles were waiting for.

Charles was smiling, gesturing to include her in the circle. ‘Bruno, I want you to meet my right hand—Martine Archer, my personal assistant for the last four years.’

Martine numbly held out her hand.

Bruno Falcucci took it, his powerful tanned fingers swallowing up her small, pale ones.

She risked a glance upwards. His black eyes coldly mocked her. He said something polite and distant. She answered with equal remoteness. He released her hand.

‘Sit down, have a drink; their whisky is very good,’ Charles told him.

‘I don’t drink spirits.’ He looked at Martine’s glass. ‘Is that mineral water? I’ll have the same, thank you.’

‘I’d forgotten you don’t drink,’ Charles said, made a face.

‘Like your assistant here, I like to keep a cool head,’ Bruno Falcucci drawled, and Martine gave him a flicking glance. Oh, very funny! she thought.

Charles ordered the drink, adding, ‘And bring the menus, Jimmy, will you? Now, Bruno, what sort of business brings you to London?’

‘Banking,’ the answer smoothly came.

Charles laughed. ‘Of course. Is it confidential? Shall we change the subject?’

‘I can’t talk in detail about it, I’m afraid. You may read about it in the financial Press some time, but not yet.’

‘Well, how long do you plan to stay? Can you tell us that?’

‘A week, maybe two. Then I might take a holiday—fly on to Greece, perhaps, or even as far as the Caribbean. I want to relax for a while, unwind, get some sun before I go back to work.’

‘You have an amazing tan already!’ said Charles. ‘Don’t you think so, Martine?’

She gave another brief glance in Bruno Falcucci’s direction; let her lids droop indifferently over her eyes again. ‘Amazing,’ she said offhandedly.

She felt Bruno looking at her closely, considering her rich auburn hair, the fine-boned face with the warm, curved mouth and fierce green eyes, before running his gaze down over her body in arrogant appraisal.

Her flush deepened and she felt the back of her neck prickle.

‘Where do you go for a holiday?’ he asked her.

She shrugged, reluctant to answer.

‘Oh, Martine doesn’t like hot countries,’ Charles answered for her. ‘Like most redheads, her wonderful skin doesn’t like too much sun. But we had a terrific time in Sweden last summer, didn’t we, Martine? And Switzerland was fun a couple of years ago.’

‘Especially the après-ski, no doubt,’ Bruno drawled.

He was making no attempt to hide what he was thinking, his gaze flicking from her to Charles and back again, glinting with cynicism.

He suspected her of having an affair with Charles, she realised. He couldn’t be serious! Charles was almost old enough to be her father!

Oh, he was still very good-looking in a weary way, but he had no energy, his hair was thinning and turning silver, his elegant, fine-cut features had a distinct look of strain. She was deeply fond of Charles, she felt sorry for him; but that was all. She resented Bruno Falcucci’s speculative stare, the cool cynicism in his eyes.

The head waiter arrived. ‘Have you chosen yet, sir?’ he asked Charles, who looked at the others.

‘I’m ready to order—how about you two?’

Martine nodded. So did Bruno.

She chose melon and sole with a salad; Bruno chose melon, too, with prosciutto, followed by a steak, also with a salad; and Charles ordered melon followed by an omelette with a salad. He ate almost nothing these days. He would probably just pick at his food.

While they waited to be told their table was ready Charles and Bruno talked about the international banking situation. Martine listened intently, absorbing with a faint dismay the fact of Bruno Falcucci’s swift, hard intelligence. Charles knew what he was talking about, but he was like a machine running on half-power lately—he kept fading, losing interest, missing vital points. She began to suspect that Bruno could run rings around him.

There was no doubt about it. The man was potentially lethal. And she had a sinking feeling that Charles wouldn’t listen if she tried to warn him, would just laugh at her.

The head waiter came back, smiling. ‘Whenever you’re ready, Mr Redmond...’

‘Shall we go in?’ suggested Charles, rising. Martine got to her feet. He put a hand under her arm in a gallant gesture, to which she submitted, smiling at him, her eyes affectionate. He was always chivalrous, an old-fashioned man in many ways; she liked that.