Sirocco

‘I'm sorry,’ she said—though if he had any perception, she thought aggressively, he would know that she was not—‘I'm afraid I can't accept your invitation. My—fiancé—wouldn't like it.'

Alexis Roche's gaze did not falter. ‘My invitation was to you, not your fiancé,’ he said, with impassive arrogance. ‘I should like to thank you, more fully than I did last night.'

His words were deliberate, Rachel was sure, and she wanted to die of embarrassment. She could just imagine how this was going to be relayed around the office, and every incriminating syllable was deepening the interest in Sophie's round blue eyes. The way he had used their encounter, they might have spent the night together for all the younger girl knew, and Rachel couldn't believe he was unaware of it.

Realising her only means of defence lay in attack, she gave up the unequal struggle to keep the facts of their meeting quiet. Turning, she gave Sophie a frosted smile before saying crisply: ‘Mr Roche and I met last evening, as I was leaving Roger's party. He—he wasn't feeling very well, and—and I offered to help him.'

‘Really?’ Sophie slid off her chair, her eyes never leaving Alexis Roche's face. ‘How exciting!’ She drew a little nearer. ‘Do you live in London, Mr Roche?'

He withdrew his gaze from Rachel with evident reluctance, and surveyed the younger girl with polite interest. ‘For the present,’ he replied, without explaining any further. Then: ‘Would you mind leaving us? I should like to speak to Miss Fleming privately.'

‘Oh, sure,’ agreed Sophie, nodding, just as Rachel burst out: ‘Don't go!'

But, after lifting her shoulders a little apologetically, Sophie hesitated only momentarily before obeying Alexis Roche's instructions, and Rachel watched with compressed lips as she edged towards the door. ‘I'll see you later,’ she murmured, pulling a rueful face, and Rachel stood there helplessly as her only protection disappeared.

Protection! The word had insinuated itself into her mind almost without her consciously seeking for it, and she clenched her fists impotently. She didn't need protection; he did. She felt so angry, she could have done him physical injury.

‘Will you please leave?’ she demanded now, walking towards the door and putting her fingers on the handle. ‘My boss will be back from lunch shortly, and he doesn't approve of us entertaining guests on the premises.'

Alexis Roche made no move to leave. Instead, he looked around the shabby office, his lips curling as he remarked: ‘I can't imagine you wanting to entertain anyone here. Is it always as dirty as this?'

Rachel caught her breath. ‘It's not dirty,’ she defended, even though she had thought the same many times. ‘It's—dusty, that's all. Law offices are like that. Solicitors often have to refer to cases from the past, and the records get old and musty sitting on the shelves. We know where things are, when we need them. That's the important thing.'

‘Haven't you heard of computers—and micro-technology?’ he enquired wryly, and Rachel expelled her breath on a gasp.

‘This is an old established firm,’ she replied shortly. ‘Our clients might not approve of their case histories being recorded on a computer. Besides,’ she added, not quite knowing why she was bothering to explain, ‘computers cost money, and——'

‘—and your clients would prefer their fees to be spent in their defence,’ he put in smoothly. ‘Very well, you've convinced me. Now will you allow me to buy you lunch?'

Rachel stared at him. ‘Mr Roche——'

‘You may call me Alex.'

‘Mr Roche, do you want me to call for assistance to have you ejected from this building? I can, you know. And I will, if you don't leave.'

Now he sighed, and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The jacket was honey-coloured and complemented his dark tan, and she couldn't help the unwilling curiosity of wondering what nationality he was. He spoke French, and yet he didn't look French, if such a thing was possible. He was too tall, for one thing, and those cool grey eyes ...

Abruptly she halted her speculation, aware that he was still watching her with that narrow-eyed catlike appraisal. She hoped he wasn't able to read her mind. Its turbulent upheaval was in complete contrast to the calm and collected façade she was endeavouring to maintain.

‘Why won't you have lunch with me?’ he asked quietly. He glanced towards her desk. ‘You've eaten, perhaps? Very well, I will buy you a drink——'

‘Mr Roche, I don't accept invitations from strange men.’ Rachel hesitated, then added stiffly: ‘Now, will you leave?'

He frowned, his well-marked brows descending over eyes that were distinctly cooler now. ‘I am not a strange man, Miss Fleming. I have told you who I am. If you wish to know a little more of my family background, I can tell you that my father is in shipping and my grandfather owns land in Bahdan——'

‘I don't wish to know your family background, Mr Roche,’ exclaimed Rachel impatiently, though his final words had intrigued her somewhat. Bahdan. That was in the Middle East. It was one of those sheikdoms that had recently come into prominence, and if his father owned land there, he must be in oil.

Nevertheless, it was nothing to do with her, and drawing a deep breath, she pulled the door wide. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Roche,’ she said pointedly, evidently waiting for him to leave, and with another brooding frown, he finally accepted his dismissal.

But he paused in the doorway, close enough for her to smell the faint scent of some shaving lotion that hung about him, and to feel the heat of his body. ‘Until we meet again,’ he murmured, the fresh odour of his breath stirring the hair on her forehead and making her overwhelmingly aware of his alien attraction.

She didn't answer him, but with the door closed and her shoulders pressed against it she gave way to a sudden fit of shivering. It was the draught from the corridor, she told herself. The cold from outside came straight up the stairs. Yet she had never noticed it before, and although the door was closed, she was still shaking.

Sophie didn't appear again that afternoon, and Rachel was relieved. She supposed that sooner or later she would have to give a more detailed explanation, but the longer that was put off, the easier it would be.

Mr Black arrived back soon after four as he had predicted, and the rest of the day was spent in typing up the reports of the hearings he had attended. With her hands flying busily over the keyboard and her brain engrossed with other people's problems, Rachel had little time to worry about her own, and it was not until she was leaving the building that she felt a certain sense of apprehension. But no one was waiting for her. She made her way to the bus stop without incident, and on the journey home she occupied herself with wondering whether Roger had called in her absence.

Jane had a cup of tea waiting for her when she entered the flat. Rachel had rung her friend earlier to explain that she was working late, and now Jane regarded her sympathetically as she kicked off her boots and flopped on to the couch in the living room.

‘Rough day?’ she asked, automatically picking up the boots and putting them away. ‘You look tired. Did Roger ring?'

‘I gather from that he hasn't rung here,’ commented Rachel, bending to rub her aching instep. ‘No, he didn't ring. I suppose if he doesn't turn up, I'll have to ring him. Steve and Laura are expecting us this evening.'

‘He'll turn up,’ said Jane carelessly. ‘Particularly as Steve and Laura are his friends, not yours. He won't want them to think there's anything wrong.'

‘You could be right,’ Rachel grimaced. ‘Er—there haven't been any other calls for me, have there?'

‘Who? Your father?’ Jane shook her head. ‘No.'

‘I wasn't thinking of my father, actually,’ said Rachel, deciding to confess. ‘I—er—I had a visitor at the office today. A man I met late last night. I just wondered how he'd found out where I worked.'

‘A man? What man?’ Jane was, intrigued. ‘Someone you met at Roger's party? Hey, that's not why he's mad at you, is it? Because you went off with someone else?'

‘No.’ Rachel sighed. ‘It was after I left the party I met him.’ Briefly, she explained what had happened, omitting to mention her own disturbing reactions to Alexis Roche. ‘He—he turned up at lunchtime. I thought perhaps he might have rung here first.'

‘Not that I know of.’ Jane pulled a wry face. ‘So who is he? What's he like? You say he's French?'

‘I said he spoke French at first,’ said Rachel, not wanting to go into details. She had thought quite enough about Alexis Roche as it was. ‘I don't know anything about him.'

‘But why did he go to the office?'

Rachel bent her head. ‘To ask me to have lunch with him.'

‘He did?’ Jane whistled. ‘And did you?'

‘Of course not.’ Rachel looked up at her friend half indignantly. ‘How can you ask?'

Jane shrugged. ‘Well, he's obviously made an effort to find out all about you.’ She paused. ‘Is he good-looking?'

‘I really couldn't say.’ Rachel got to her feet abruptly and deposited her empty cup and saucer on the nearest table. ‘I'm going to have a bath. If Roger rings, let me know, will you?'

Jane's eyes twinkled. ‘All right. And what if anyone else rings?'

‘I'm out,’ said Rachel brusquely, walking towards the door. ‘And stop looking like that! It wasn't at all funny, believe me. Sophie Tennant was in the office when he turned up, and you know what she's like! It'll be all round the office tomorrow.'

Jane's expression softened. ‘So what? You've done nothing wrong, have you? Oh, go and get your bath. I don't want to have to entertain Roger because you're not ready.'

Soaking in the bath, Rachel managed to get things into perspective. She was overreacting, she knew it. It was perfectly reasonable that Alexis Roche should come to thank her for what she had done, even if he had been less than grateful the night before. No doubt he had regretted his behaviour and wanted to make amends. And as for asking her out to lunch—well, men had asked her out to lunch before without arousing such a strong sense of indignation. It was her awareness of his physical attraction that had made her behave as she had, and he could not be held responsible for that.