A Grand Illusion Page 5

  Not responding to the jibe, she quietly walked away.

  The subway was fast and efficient even at this time of day with its rush-hour crowds on their way home. Somehow the noise and jostling bodies all around her put everything back into perspective. Nothing had happened really. She would forget it as quickly as possible. It meant nothing. Women were a game to men like Royce Drummond. They were there for him to pursue, to conquer, then discard. He probably saw her as a challenge. Her deliberately cool manner made him think she was immune to his charm, and he just couldn't resist finding out if it was true. Too bad, she smiled to herself; it had to be the first time he had failed, and that wouldn't put him in the best of moods for Meg tonight.

  As the stations flitted by, she stared straight ahead, oblivious to everything, her mind busily planning her evening.

  In a few more minutes she'd collect Robbie and take him to the zoo. She'd have a stand-up meal along the way and bide her time until it was safe to go back home. This is the last time, she promised herself. After tonight she'd never have to plan evenings like this again.

  Meg was determined to leave and live her own life and couldn't be talked out of it, so, not really ignoring her responsibility, Jenna made herself look at it from a positive point of view. Meg was an adult now. She'd keep an eye on her, but it was time to let her stand on her own two feet. Besides, she was removing the ever-present threat of Royce Drummond discovering Robbie's relationship to him. Now that Meg had found another place to live, Jenna would be able to breathe easier in the evenings, knowing there was no possibility of him unexpectedly calling on Meg and seeing her son.

  Watching her from the front window, Robbie gurgled contentedly in the arms of the tall smiling woman Jenna had found to babysit. Coming up the walk to the neat snug house, Jenna let her expression soften. Kate Malloy had been the answer to one of her prayers. Over tea with Mrs Gresham one evening, she had been introduced to this pretty woman who had been her neighbour before moving to the affluent suburb of Scarborough. Having no children of her own, she told Jenna she had been on a list, waiting to adopt, for the last three years. Now that she was twenty-eight, she was beginning to worry that she was too old. When Jenna mentioned that she needed someone to care for Robbie, Kate had jumped at the chance, and now they had a running, goodnatured argument as to who benefited most from this arrangement. Kate was crazy about Robbie, and Jenna was relieved to be able to leave him in such good hands.

  'I think we've finally got that bronchitis licked,' said Kate, letting her into the cosy living room where Robbie's toys were scattered all over the floor. 'Hardly a wheeze out of him all day. All that fresh air and sunshine's made a difference, don't you think?' She was talking to Jenna but grinning at Robbie, buttoning his little red jacket and tilting his hat to a rakish angle.

  'It couldn't be all that T.L.C. you give him, could it?' Jenna smiled.

  'Well, maybe I do give him a lot of tender loving care.' Kate hugged him tightly. 'These grey eyes of his are so big and beautiful. And this dimple in his chin! When he grows up, he's going to have women standing in line just waiting for a glance from him.'

  Jenna laughed. 'You're a riot! It's a good thing he doesn't understand what you're saying, or he'd be unbearably conceited.'

  'But it's true—I swear. Can't you see how gorgeous he's going to be?'

  She could see it. More and more his looks reminded her of another more forceful, darkly handsome man. She wondered if Peter Drummond looked like Royce, but she pushed that thought away at once.

  'I never knew you were such a romantic, Kate. It must be all those books you read.' Her eyes slid to the bookshelves crammed with paperbacks on a far wall.

  'Maybe so. Don't you just love the thought of an innocent girl's love taming a desert sheik or brooding matador?' She pointed to a small stack on the table beside her. 'I just got this shipment today and I can't wait to start reading!'

  Jenna shook her head. 'The women who write them ought to be shot for filling up women's heads with such nonsense.'

  Kate's face fell. 'What have you got against romance? You know love is what makes the world go round.'

  'And look at the state the world's in today,' Jenna said wryly.

  'Love isn't the cause of the mess. Don't you see? It's because people aren't loving any more that we're in trouble. There's too little romance. Nobody trusts anybody. They're afraid of the commitment it requires. They don't want to get hurt, so they won't allow themselves to love.'

  Jenna looked at her and sighed. I was that way not too long ago, she thought, ready to defend love and romance. 'It's simply a grand illusion,' she said bitterly. 'Fine for dreams and novels, but not for real life.'

  'You sound so bitter,' she frowned, handing Robbie to her. 'Yet you must have loved somebody once—' She stopped. 'I'm sorry, Jenna, I sound like I'm prying. Forget what I said.'

  'It's all right, Kate. I'm not bitter. I know love's out there somewhere waiting for me. I just won't let myself be blinded by it. Love tends to do that to people, you know.'

  'Sometimes that's not a bad thing. There are times when it helps to be blind.'

  Like when I see what a rat my boss is, Jenna thought with a cold twisted smile, suddenly feeling an intense rush of dislike for him welling up. All the women who loved him couldn't see past his good looks and charming manner and easy smiles. But she knew that underneath he never really returned their love. In the two months she'd worked for him, she felt she knew him inside out. Perhaps she knew him better than he knew himself. His was a fatal fascination.

  When Royce Drummond came into his office the next morning, Jenna was already deep into the pile of correspondence on her desk, her feelings hidden under ice. She looked up with her polite secretary's smile when the door opened, and by some miracle, kept it glued to her face.

  He looked as if he'd been up all night. The strong line of his jaw was dark with a day's growth of beard. His rich black hair stood on end. His tie was untied, hanging loose about his neck, the top few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, his collar sticking out haphazardly over the lapel of his creased jacket.

  His bloodshot eyes held hers for a long disturbing moment in the thick silence. 'You didn't come home last night,' he croaked. 'Where were you?'

  Jenna's jaw started to drop, but she sank her teeth into her bottom lip, ignoring the loaded question. She turned back to her typewriter and began to hit the keys, but he reached out and stopped her.

  'Please!'

  'Do you have a headache, Mr Drummond?' It was a sarcastic jibe she couldn't resist. His hectic lifestyle was finally catching up with him. She wondered what Meg looked like.

  'Where were you last night?' he demanded. 'I waited until three.'

  She pretended not to hear. 'Would you like me to get you some aspirin? Or a cup of black coffee?'

  The silver sheen of his eyes suddenly flared as they slid over her. 'Answer me!' He grabbed his head with both hands. 'What the hell did you have in that decanter?'

  'Decanter?' She stiffened in shock and her eyes widened. 'The cut glass one in my kitchen?'

  He tried to nod, but the movement obviously hurt his already aching head.

  'Oh no!' Her face turned white as she stared at him. 'You didn't drink it!'

  'What was it?' he groaned.

  She put a clenched hand to her mouth and bit it hard. 'Last summer Meg and I bought a kit and tried to make some wine. Something went wrong with the fermentation process. It didn't turn out right, but I thought it was a pretty colour, so I kept it in the decanter. Nobody was supposed to drink it! You've probably been poisoned! Why didn't Meg stop you?'

  'Meg wasn't there.' He shuddered and went to his own office, where he sagged on to a low leather sofa, groaning miserably.

  Jenna followed him, wondering what she should do. 'Couldn't you tell just by smelling it that it was no good?'

  'At first I thought it was some kind of liqueur. The first glass didn't taste too bad. So I made myself at home waiting for you.'


  'The first glass? How much did you drink?'

  'Three-quarters of what was there.'

  She closed her eyes. 'I think you'd better get to a hospital.'

  'No.' Royce leaned his head back and rubbed his hands over his face. 'Maybe if I just stay quiet for a while, I'll be all right. I have my paragon… to… take care…'

  'I'd feel better if you'd—' She stopped. He was already asleep.

  Or was he unconscious? She took his wrist and felt for his pulse. It was weak but steady. Biting her lip, she put his arm down and rummaged through a small closet concealed in the panelled wall to find a blanket to cover him. His face was deathly white and there were blue circles under his eyes. Maybe he could sleep it off and be all right after he had rested. She removed his shoes and eased him out of his jacket before closing the curtains and quietly going back to her own office full of trepidation.

  What if he died? She'd always feel it was her fault. Why didn't I throw that wine away? she berated herself. But how was I to know anybody would drink it? Maybe I should call a doctor and have him come here and examine him? She thought of the speculation and gossip that would spread through the building if she did and decided against it. I'll just have to take care of him myself, she thought. Her face was white and she groaned with self-reproach.

  Somehow appointments were cancelled and meetings re-scheduled. All through the day, between watching over Royce to make sure he was still breathing, Jenna fielded harassed queries from various department heads and dealt with the parade of beautiful women who just happened to drop in on the off chance that he'd be free.

  A million glib excuses popped into her head and by going-home time she felt she had used them all. A day of such brisk efficiency left her drained.

  All the offices were empty and dark when she looked in on him again. Flicking on a small lamp, she saw he was still on the sofa, but he had shifted his position and now his neck was oddly bent against the arm to an uncomfortable angle. She knew when he woke up he would not only have a headache but also a stiff neck.

  It was long past leaving time and even though Kate had told her not to worry about being late to pick up Robbie, she began to panic. She couldn't leave Royce here like this all night, but she couldn't stay too much longer either. She was tired and irritable and wanted to get home. She and Robbie hadn't spent the most restful night last night in the motel after the taxi had driven by her house at midnight and found Royce's car still parked outside.

  Ever so gently, she tried to shift his bulky body to ease the strain on his neck, but when she put her arms around his chest to lift him, he began to turn over and she was pulled down and trapped underneath him.

  He opened one bleary eye and looked straight into her face. His arms were right around her, holding her close. 'You're real, my paragon,' he murmured thickly. 'I've dreamt of you so often.' His heavy hands roamed over her body in the simple dress she wore, quivering along the slender curve of her hip.

  Jenna dragged in a sharp quick breath. 'Wake up, Mr Drummond!'

  He watched her lips move, fascinated. 'My name is Royce. Let me hear you say it.'

  She gave a groan of dismay. This couldn't be happening to her. Now he was confusing her with one of his women.

  'Say it!'

  'Let me go, Royce,' she said coldly.

  He blinked and shook his head in a daze. Time seemed to stop as they looked at each other in silence. Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly she couldn't tell what it was. The vulnerable curve of his mouth softened.

  He levered himself up on one arm. looking around blankly, letting her go before he struggled to a sitting position. 'What happened?' he muttered.

  Relief ran through her with a rush. He hadn't been awake. What he said had been from some leftover dream. 'You've been asleep most of the day. How do you feel now?'

  'Oh, I remember now. You tried to poison me.'

  A guilty red ran into her face. 'I suppose in a way it was my fault. But nobody asked you to make yourself at home in my house and drink what was there.'

  'I was waiting for you.' He dragged his hand through his hair. 'It was the only thing I could find in your cupboards.'

  'Why were you waiting? Why didn't you just go home?'

  He looked slightly taken aback, as if no woman had ever asked him that before. 'I wanted to apologise for what happened yesterday,' he muttered.

  Jenna gritted her teeth. 'I've already forgotten it, Mr Drummond. It was an unfortunate lapse that I'm sure won't happen again.'

  He stared at her. 'But it almost did happen again. Or did I dream it?' He shook his head and scrubbed his hands over his face before looking up at her. 'You felt so good in my arms, so right somehow, as if you belonged…'

  A strangled gasp struck in her throat.

  'Where were you anyway?'

  'We went all through that before. Are you feeling better now?'

  'I feel like I've been run over by a truck. What time is it?' He tried to focus on his watch, but couldn't see it.

  'It's seven-thirty. If you're all right, I'll be going.' She started for the door, but he reached out and caught the hem of her dress.

  'You haven't answered my question.'

  'I told you it was seven-thirty.'

  'I mean the question before that.' He swore softly. 'The question you're trying to ignore. Where were you last night? What time did you finally get home? Or didn't you get home at all?' His bleary eyes narrowed accusingly.

  'What are you? Some irate father? I don't have to answer to you.' She was getting into deep water, and if she wasn't careful, she'd find herself floundering.

  'I knew it! You didn't go home.'

  She lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his steadily. She couldn't do anything about the wild red colour sweeping into her face, but she could stop the questioning right now. 'Do you think you're the only one who has a wild private life? What I do or where I go or with whom I sleep has nothing to do with you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late.'

  His breath bubbled up harshly in his throat and he dragged his hands back over his face. 'Why do you do it, Paragon? You deliberately project an air of mystery.'

  Jenna forced a wintry smile to her face. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt her. 'Goodnight, Mr Drummond.'

  He looked better the next morning, more like himself again, but something indefinable had changed. When she sat waiting for him to begin his morning dictation, instead of starting as usual, he simply looked at her. She couldn't imagine what he was thinking, but her chest tightened so painfully it hurt to breathe. His silvery eyes slowly wandered over her and when he finally did begin, she hoped he wouldn't notice the way her pencil shook.

  His voice was lilting and seductive and she had to keep telling herself to concentrate. This was a business letter. But her traitorous mind had a will of its own. She kept imagining that sensuous voice murmuring I've dreamt of you so often . . .

  'Jennifer,' he murmured softly, holding a folder out to her.

  It was a full minute before she realised he had stopped dictating and had been trying to get her attention. Her face flamed and she nervously jumped to her feet. When she took the folder from him, his fingers touched hers inadvertently and she drew back as if his touch would leave marks on her skin.

  'That's all for this morning,' he said, his lips tightening. 'You may go.'

  Trembling, Jenna made her way to her own office, calling herself all kinds of a fool.

  Just as she sat down behind her desk, her office door opened and a teenaged, freckle-faced boy came in with a long florist's box tied with red ribbon.

  'Flowers for Miss Jennifer Caldwell,' he said brightly, a wide smile playing about his generous mouth.

  She looked at him and all at once became livid. 'Get them out of here!' she muttered through her teeth.

  The smile was wiped right off his face. 'Do you mean you're refusing them?'

  'That's exactly what I mean.' She stood behind her desk, her hands clenched at her
sides, her face white with sudden rage.

  'But—but I've never had this happen before. Please, miss, you've got to take them. What will I do with them?'

  If he didn't get them out of here, she'd ram them down Royce Drummond's throat and probably lose her job. How dared he treat her as if she was one of his women!

  'Take them home and give them to your mother—or your girl-friend—or dump them in the trash. I don't really care,' she said stiffly. 'I will not accept them.'

  'But, miss—' he pushed back his cap and scratched his head, 'I've never had this happen before!'

  She quickly signed his delivery book and then pushed the box at him. 'Take them home with you,' she grated. 'You won't be in any trouble. I'm giving them to you.'

  'But don't you even want to see them first? They're beautiful. They're—'

  'No! Just go!' She got a grip on herself and struggled to keep it. She wasn't interested in knowing what colour roses he might have chosen for her. He had a nerve, thinking she'd accept them. 'Please, just go!'

  When the boy had left, muttering to himself, Jenna dragged her hands across her face and slumped into her swivel chair, turning to the windows. She needed the calming influence of the Toronto skyline more than ever now. Her stricken eyes sought the thin spiral of the C.N. Tower in the distance, soaring proudly above all the other buildings. It was the tallest freestanding structure in the world and she drew comfort just from looking at it.

  I'll be like that tower, she thought, struggling to crush her churning emotions, all alone in the middle of a crowd. I've never wanted to lean on anybody before and I'm not going to let Royce Drummond near enough to try to wreck that independence now. How dare he!

  When she turned back to her desk, she stiffened. Her employer stood in his doorway, tall and silent, a black scowl on his handsome face.

  'Don't you ever do that to me again, Mr Drummond,' she said calmly, feeling a strange flicker of satisfaction curl in her stomach. 'I'm not one of your women, to be wooed with roses.'

  'How do you know I sent them?' he asked grimly, his lips white. 'And how do you know they were roses? And who the hell is wooing you?'