'Who wouldn't?' Lindsay retorted. 'It was dead boring, but working at Vivons isn't. I'm good at my job and I get a kick out of it.'
'The idea's ridiculous,' he said. 'You won't need a job.'
'Who says I won't? I'll decide what I need.'
'You'll decide?' he echoed slowly, staring at her, the bones in his face locked tight in grim impatience, and Lindsay outfaced him, her eyes defiant.
'That's right. It's my life and my job.' The car was slowing and she looked out of the window vaguely, her mind set on the little argument they had been having, only to jerk awake as she realised where they were. They had entered the curved drive-in of the block of Mayfair flats Where Daniel lived, and she flung him a suspicious look.
'What are we doing here?' 'We're having lunch here,' Daniel told her coolly as the limousine stopped. He got out and came round to hand her out of the car. The chauffeur stood there, his face blank, and Lindsay didn't feel like arguing with Daniel in front of him, she had no choice but to allow herself to be led into the building, and he knew she wouldn't be able to do much about it. He had kept her mind on their row while they drove here, looking back she suspected that he had deliberately trailed his coat for her to pounce on—he was a devious swine.
In the lift she turned on him, her hands curled into fists at her sides, anger flaring in her green eyes. 'You knew I thought we were going to a restaurant! You deliberately didn't tell me you were bringing me here.'
'That's right,' he agreed lazily. 'You wouldn't have come otherwise.'
'You…' Words jammed her mind as she tried to find a description vivid enough to make clear how she felt about him, she looked at him in helpless, seething fury, and he laughed.
The lift doors slid open and Daniel took her arm and half led, half thrust her towards the front door of his flat. He had two homes in London, this spacious penthouse flat where he lived himself and a house a quarter of a mile away where his mother lived but where he often stayed, usually when he was entertaining visitors, since title house had far more room. The flat only had three bedrooms, and was a short walk from Daniel's office headquarters, so that he could be immediately available night or day in a business crisis.
Halting at the door, he glanced down at her with mockery in his smile. 'Try to look pleasant for Mrs Henshaw.'
Lindsay opened her mouth to answer that and he put a hand over her lips. 'No backchat,' he warned, and she felt like biting the hand, then he took it away and rang the bell. The door was whisked open and Mrs Henshaw stood there, smiling.
'Oh, Mrs Randall, it's good to see you. How are you? You look very well.'
'I'm fine,' said Lindsay, smiling back. Mrs Henshaw was a short, thin, neat woman with a slightly harassed expression at times and pale blue eyes that dominated her otherwise unmemorable face. They were protuberant, enormous, always glazed as though she might be going to cry. 'How ire you, Mrs Henshaw?' Lindsay asked her, and the other woman shrugged cheerfully.
'Mustn't grumble.'
It was embarrassing to face her; Mrs Henshaw had been an onlooker during the months when Lindsay was left alone night after night while Daniel was supposedly working. The other woman must know far too much about Daniel's private life, Lindsay was uneasy with her, and she sensed uneasiness in Mrs Henshaw, too.
'We'll have lunch whenever you're ready, Mrs Henshaw,' said Daniel, moving away, and the housekeeper gave Lindsay an odd look, saying: 'Mr Randall, could I have a word?'
'Problems?' Daniel asked, half-smiling. 'Don't tell me you've ruined our lunch?' He was looking amused as he waited, but Mrs Henshaw's expression was agitated.
'Oh, sir, it wasn't my fault, I didn't know what to do…' Her nervous words stopped dead as a door opened and put strolled the blonde Lindsay had seen with Daniel the other night.
'I thought I heard your voice,' she purred, and linked her arms round Daniel's neck, smiling into his eyes. 'I just had to talk to you, darling.' She appeared not to notice Lindsay, she ignored Mrs Henshaw, all her attention on Daniel. She put on a good act, Lindsay thought sourly: lashes fluttering, her full pink mouth lifted as though for a kiss, the lipstick moist and glowing, her body deliberately arched against him.
'What's the matter, Carolyn?' Daniel asked coolly, his hands going up to unlock her arms and pull them down.
'I'm not happy,' the blonde told him, pouting. 'A promise is a promise—you can't say you didn't give me your word I'd get everything I want, but now Harry tells me your people are being awkward.' She came just up to his shoulder; a tiny, curved creature whose every movement shouted sex appeal, and Daniel looked at her with amused indulgence.
'Mrs Henshaw, would you give Mrs Randall a drink? I won't be a moment.' He put his arm around the girl's waist and walked her away to the room he used as a study. Lindsay watched, her teeth meeting. Somehow she hung on to her smile, she wasn't going to let Mrs Henshaw see her real feelings. She walked into the room which the blonde had emerged from, her head held high and her expression unconcerned, aware of the housekeeper scurrying at her heels.
'What can I get you, Mrs Randall? Will you have a sherry?'
'That would be nice,' said Lindsay sitting down in one of the deep, smoothly upholstered chairs. The room had been newly decorated, and recently; she had a shock as she realised that, she had expected it to look exactly the same, and finding that it didn't was disorientating. The furniture was all covered in blue suede, the material dung softly to her hands as she touched it, the feel of it sensuous. The Carpet was new, too, a deep-piled white on which were laid some Persian rugs whose colours glowed vividly; red and green and blue.
'Sweet or dry?' Mrs Henshaw asked, and Lindsay told her: 'Sweet,' smiling politely. She was feeling numb, it was stupid to feel hurt because Daniel had redecorated the home they had shared together. What had she expected? That he would keep it exactly the same? Reason told her she was being stupid, but she resented it, she felt he had betrayed her all over again by altering their home.
Mrs Henshaw handed her a delicate glass of warm, golden sherry and hovered. Didn't she like to leave Lindsay alone? Or was she trying to say something? Lindsay pretended not to notice her, she sipped her sherry, her eyes lowered.
'If you want anything…' Mrs Henshaw mumbled; and Lindsay looked up, nodded.
'Thank you,'
Mrs Henshaw went out and Lindsay looked around the room taking in everything, recognising nothing. What had he wanted to do? Erase all memory of her?