Escape Me Never

‘Why did he want to know that?’ Cass frowned slightly. ‘Both he and Handson thought she was perfect.’

Roger sighed. ‘Orders from above,’ he said laconically. ‘Apparently the big boss wants Serena Vance to do the launch.’

‘And does he know we haven’t an icicle’s chance in hell of getting Serena Vance?’ Cass asked crisply.

Roger shrugged. ‘He thinks we have. Apparently he and Miss Vance—know each other very well, and she will be happy to star in the Eve commercial as a favour to him.’ He leered. ‘Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, just what he did for her?’

Cass said with distaste, ‘I’d prefer not to.’ She managed a little laugh. ‘So—we’re stuck with the Randy Sid syndrome all over again.’

‘Well, hardly,’ Roger objected. ‘At least Serena Vance can act. But we’ll have to re-jig her script. The words that would have been acceptable from someone who looked as dewily innocent as Tracey would be ludicrous spoken by Miss Vance.’

Cass fiddled with her pen. ‘Of course, we don’t really know if she’ll do it,’ she pointed out. ‘Perhaps Rohan Grant is just—shooting a line.’

‘Perhaps, but I don’t think so,’ Roger said drily. ‘What would be the point? No, I bet when shooting starts, the camera will be lingering over Miss Vance’s deservedly famous attributes, instead of Tracey’s innocent charms.’ He sighed enviously. ‘What a thing it is to have power, as well as good looks and charisma. I wish Serena Vance owed me a favour,’ he added disconsolately.

When she got home that night, Cass went through a pile of old colour supplements which she had put out for collection by the dustmen, until she found the one, dated a few months earlier, which she wanted. Serena Vance’s challenging beauty stared up from the cover beneath the legend—‘Serena Vance—sex symbol or serious actress?’ Cass couldn’t remember what, if any, conclusion the article inside had come to, but she did recall the other full page photograph which had accompanied it, showing the actress naked except for a few discreetly placed folds of an opulent wild mink cloak. A present, the caption had stated, from an admirer.

‘I wonder who that was!’ Cass muttered to herself, thrusting the magazine back into the pile.

It had come, she told herself, as no great surprise to learn that Rohan Grant had been the lover of someone like the voluptuous Serena. Nevertheless it made his subsequent behaviour towards herself all the more baffling and ridiculous. Unless, of course, he was just amusing himself at her expense—tormenting her to see how she would react. A young widow with a reputation as a loner would seem easy game for a man used to finding his pleasures with sophisticated beauties.

It was a train of thought which should have made her angry, but instead she found herself getting more and more depressed, although she reminded herself that was probably the aftermath of the ’flu.

She cooked supper, had a game of draughts with Jodie before putting her to bed, then settled down with notepad and pen to watch some television. There were several important contracts coming up for renewal at the agency, and she wanted to do a critical breakdown on some of the commercials already running, to show how the campaigns could be improved and up-dated.

But it was difficult, she found, keeping her mind on her work for once. It kept straying, almost obsessively, back to her various encounters with Rohan Grant, analysing them, trying to discover why she’d reacted to him as she had. Remembering particularly that last confrontation when he had told her openly that he intended to seduce her. Remembering his touch—that brief kiss with painful, disturbing clarity.

She thrust the pad and pen away from her with hands that shook. Fool, she castigated herself. He didn’t mean it—any of it. He was just having a little game at your expense, because you annoyed him by turning him down. He decided he’d give you something to think about, and by sitting brooding like this over his nonsense, you’re playing right into his hands.

She looked round the living room and sighed. The flat wasn’t large, but it was enough for her needs and Jodie’s and she’d become casually fond of the place. Now, the walls seemed to be closing in on her, making her feel trapped—restless.

She bit her lip. Maybe she should take Mrs Barrett up on her eager offers to babysit. She had the theatre next week to look forward to, but there were other things too. The cinema, for one instance, and Roger and his wife for another. They were always inviting her for meals, and she’d usually refused, terrified that they might try to matchmake by inviting some spare man of their acquaintance. And yet what had she to fear from such casual meetings?

Staying in alone was no safeguard, and nor was wearing deliberately dowdy clothes. Her real security was Brett’s memory, and the knowledge that, after him, there could never be another man for her.

The past. Her secret armour against the world—and against a man like Rohan Grant in particular.

She bought a new dress for the theatre trip, a silky turquoise thing with a loosely bloused top. Oh, Barney, what did you start, she thought, as she stared back at the attractive stranger she saw in the fitting room mirror.

It got Jodie’s unqualified approval too.

‘You look like a fairy princess,’ she said ecstatically. ‘Are you going with that man?’

Cass smiled at her. ‘I’m going with a man, darling, but not that one. A very nice man, too,’ she added as Jodie’s face visibly drooped.

Lloyd was proving to be extremely pleasant company. He didn’t try to monopolise her at work, but they’d had lunch a couple of times together. She’d almost invited him to call for her at the flat, instead of meeting in the foyer, but decided to stick to the prior arrangement. It wouldn’t be fair, she thought, to arouse hopes in Lloyd which she had no intention of fulfilling.