No Place For Love

Without waiting for him to answer, she took the dustpan and brush from the cupboard under the sink and, stepping briskly past him, went out to the step to sweep up the broken glass. The rain had already washed the milk away, and it was running down into the gutter in a long white stream. She was going to have to go out and get another bottle now, or there wouldn’t be enough for breakfast—thanks to that damned man.

But at least those few minutes had given her some valuable time to compose herself. When she went back inside, he was sitting at the kitchen table, and although she tried to ignore him she was conscious of those dark eyes following her as she carefully tipped the shards of glass into an empty cornflake packet so that the sharp edges wouldn’t be dangerous, before stowing them neatly in the dustbin, and putting the dustpan and brush away.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she offered, shrugging off her outdoor coat and tossing it across a chair.

He shook his head. ‘No, thank you.’

‘I could make you coffee instead?’ If he was going to be churlish, she would retaliate with an excess of good manners.

His eyes flickered with something that could almost have been amusement, and he conceded a terse nod. ‘Black, no sugar.’

She smiled sweetly, reflecting that he was fortunate she had no arsenic to put in it. She took her time about making the drinks, forcing herself to maintain that façade of cool indifference to his presence. It wasn’t easy; she was quite used to having the kitchen filled with handsome hunks of male—Hugo’s friends from the polytechnic, or the others in his all-male dance troupe. But there was something distinctly different about this man; he seemed to dominate his surroundings without any conscious effort.

The kettle boiled, and she made the drinks, bringing them over to the kitchen table, and sitting down opposite him. ‘So—what was it you wanted to talk about?’ she enquired, regarding him levelly across the table.

‘Have you spoken to any reporters from the Sunday Beacon?’ he demanded without preamble.

‘They’ve been here,’ she responded cautiously.

‘I see.’ His expression was grim. ‘And did you give them an interview?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

He eyed her with frank scepticism. ‘Did they offer you money?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact they did,’ she informed him loftily. ‘And I turned it down.’

That hard mouth curved into a faint sneer. ‘Not quite enough for you, was it?’ he taunted.

Her violet-blue eyes flashed with anger. ‘Just what do you think gives you the right to come round here insulting me?’ she exploded hotly. ‘Just because I’m not rich and powerful like you, that doesn’t mean you can treat me like a piece of dirt.’

‘You placed yourself in that position when you chose to begin an affair with my stepfather,’ he countered scathingly. ‘You can hardly expect me to treat you like a lady.’

She felt a sudden urgent desire to throw her hot tea in his face, and had to force herself to put down her cup, her hand shaking slightly. ‘Have you asked Clive about this so-called affair?’ she asked, her voice very controlled.

‘Naturally—and, like you, he denied it. Unfortunately, my stepfather’s denials tend to have a rather hollow ring after all these years. And if I had had any remaining trace of doubt,’ he added, letting his eyes drift down to the firm, round swell of her breasts and linger there with deliberate insolence, ‘it would have been very thoroughly eliminated last night.’

Lacey could feel her heart beating faster, and was uncomfortably aware that beneath her pale blue sweater her tender nipples were ripening to hard nubs, as if in some kind of instinctive response to his dominating male presence. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference what I’d done,’ she countered defensively. ‘You’d already made up your mind about me before you even came to the theatre.’

‘True,’ he conceded, a cynical twist to his mouth. ‘I’d already heard a great deal about you from Ted Gardiner’s wife—she happens to be my cousin. You really don’t care what sort of harm you do, so long as you get what you want, do you? I have to admit, you’re a very tempting baggage. But if you had any ideas of adding me to your list of conquests, I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment—the thought of touching you after Clive’s had his paws on you is rather more than I can stomach.’

‘Oh? You didn’t give that impression last night,’ she threw at him in ragged desperation.

He laughed without humour. ‘Put that down to... curiosity,’ he conceded. ‘I can assure you I had no intention of allowing it to go any further.’

‘Neither did I!’ she snapped.

‘No?’ he enquired, coolly mocking. ‘Well, we won’t debate that one. But I don’t imagine that a woman who could go to bed with a man old enough to be her grandfather can afford to possess a great deal of discrimination.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ she demanded, her temper boiling over. ‘I was not having an affair with him! I’ve met him maybe half a dozen times. He came backstage at the theatre, he took me out for coffee once or twice, and bought me flowers—that’s all. What do I have to do to convince you?’

He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes regarding her levelly across the table, and she found it impossible to read their expression. What was he thinking? Under that cool scrutiny she felt her cheeks flushing a hot pink, and had to look away from him. Why should she care whether he believed her anyway? He meant nothing to her; so far as she was concerned, she would be heartily glad if she never saw him again.

‘Actually, it really doesn’t matter whether I believe you or not,’ he pointed out with cool indifference. ‘My only concern is what the newspapers will be able to make of it. Once the Beacon breaks the story, the rest’ll be swarming all over this place, offering you the sort of money that’ll make the Beacon’s opening bid look like chicken-feed.’

‘Then I shall tell them exactly what I told the Beacon,’ she countered tautly. ‘That I have no intention of speaking to any of them.’

His hard mouth twisted into a cynical smile. ‘Oh, they can be pretty persuasive with their cheque , books—especially when they think they’ve caught a whiff of scandal in high places. I could really hardly blame you for being tempted. That’s why I don’t want you here where they can work on you—you’re going to have to disappear for a few weeks, until the heat dies down.’

She shook her head, her thoughts flying instantly to Tom and Maria, and the other young people at the day centre. ‘I can’t do that—I’m involved in a play.’

He waved her objection aside with a dismissive gesture. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to pull out of it—I doubt if they’ll have much trouble finding a replacement.’

She glared at him, infuriated by his high-handed arrogance. And of course he had believed she was talking about her magnificent role in that paltry comedy. Well, she wasn’t going to enlighten him—she was too angry with him, and she didn’t want to give him the chance to mock at something that was so important to her.

‘I don’t care,’ she asserted forcefully. ‘I’m not going. I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of, and I’m not running away.’

Those dark eyes glinted in sharp annoyance; clearly he wasn’t accustomed to having his commands disobeyed. ‘I thought I had made myself clear, Miss Tyrell. I don’t want you talking to the press—’

‘And I thought I had made myself clear, Mr, Parrish,’ she retorted, refusing to be intimidated by his high-handed manner. ‘I’m not budging from this flat, and there’s nothing you can do about it—unless you’re planning to have me... What’s the term they use in the security services? Taken out?’

He conceded a flicker of sardonic amusement. ‘I’m not connected with the security services, Miss Tyrell—nor was I proposing to use violence. If you insist on staying, I cannot prevent you. Although you could find yourself regretting your decision come Sunday,’ he cautioned drily. ‘You’re likely to find the gentlemen of the Press less than gentle in their attentions.’

She tilted up her chin in haughty defiance. ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,’ she declared, with a confidence she didn’t quite feel.

‘I don’t think I need to remind you of my warning,’ he remarked, his voice quite cordial but unmistakably laced with steel. ‘If I find that you’ve been playing games with me, I shall make sure you regret it for the rest of your life.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of trying to play games with you, Mr Parrish,’ she responded in saccharine tones. ‘To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel that this sort of cheap publicity would be of any use to my career.’

He seemed to weigh up her words, his dark eyes regarding her in narrowed calculation, but apparently she had at least partially convinced him. ‘Very well,’ he conceded, finishing his coffee and rising easily to his feet. ‘If you should change your mind about my suggestion—’

‘I won’t.’

He took a small white business card from his pocket, and dropped it casually on to the table. ‘If you should change your mind,’ he reiterated with restrained impatience, ‘call me.’

She glanced at the card with studied lack of interest. ‘Even if I do decide to go away, I won’t come to you for help.’

That hard mouth curved into a taut smile. ‘Believe me, Miss Tyrell, your distaste for our brief acquaintance can hardly be stronger than my own; nothing would please me more than the assurance that we would never have to meet again. Unfortunately, however, I fear that things aren’t going to prove quite that simple.’

‘So far as I’m concerned they are,’ she returned with a snap. ‘I wish I’d never met you—or your stepfather.’

‘It’s a little late for regrets now.’

‘I never expected all this trouble to come out of it,’ she maintained crossly. ‘I just felt sorry for him—he seemed so lonely.’

‘No doubt he told you that his wife didn’t understand him?’

‘He told me she wasn’t interested in politics, and didn’t like living in London,’ she returned with dignity.