The Threat of Love

store, and I keep an eye on the way things are going there.' Caro visited other stores in the same way and for the same reason; Fred's ambitions were widespread.

Fred gave her an approving look. 'Good girl. I'm not giving up on Westbrooks; it is just what we need—a flagship, or do I mean a symbol? To tell the world we've arrived.'

'I think they know that, Dad!' Caro was second in command in the accounts department of their London office; she was very well aware of the firm's financial standing. 'Do we really need any symbol or flagship? We have our logo and our name. And if Lady Westbrook doesn't want to sell—and she is the major shareholder with that fifty-one per cent of the shares—what chance have you got of ever getting control of the store?'

'You never know, life's always full of surprises.' Fred started laughing again. 'Even for the high and mighty Westbrooks!'

Baffled, Caro said, 'I wish you'd share the joke, whatever it is!'

Fred laid his newspaper on the table and stabbed a (hick finger down at the photograph dominating the front page. 'That's the joke, and it isn't going to be a pleasant one for Lady Westbrook. I can imagine how the old lady is going to react to it! I'm told she hates scandal and gossip about her family, so she certainly isn't going to like this.'

Caro stared at the tough dark face in the picture, pursed her lips and whistled before reading the text beside the photograph. 'So that's Gil Martell. He must have quite a temper. I wouldn't like to meet him on a dark night!'

Or would I? she thought, taking a second look. He was just the type she hated—arrogantly sure of himself, sexy and far too aware of it, a man used to pushing others around, but... She had another look and reluctantly had to admit that there was something about him, something about his lustrous dark eyes, in the curl of his lip, the jut of his jaw... She wouldn't say she found him attractive exactly, yet she knew she would always have to give him a second look.

'Handsome fellow, isn't he?' said her father, also considering that face.

Caro shrugged. T suppose so. If you like the type.'

'You don't?' Her father watched her narrowly. 'Other women seem to like Martell. This isn't the first time he's got into trouble over a woman, after all. I don't read the gossip columns myself, but I'm told he's regularly in them; there's always talk of him and some new woman. I don't suppose his grandmother likes that much, either. He's too old for that sort of thing—he ought to get married and stop having fun.'

'Can I quote you on that, Dad?' Caro asked, laughing, then glanced at her watch and got hurriedly to her feet. 'I must go, or I'll be late for work.' She might be the chairman's daughter, but she was treated just like any other employee. She had to be at her desk by nine, and from the first day at work she had made sure of being punctual, working hard, never clock-watching. In fact, she worked harder than most people did, often staying late, working hours of unpaid overtime, merely because she had got absorbed in what she was doing, or knew that it had to be finished that evening and could not wait until the next day. She had got her promotion because she deserved it and had worked for it, not because she was next in line to run the entire company.

Fred looked at his own watch. He usually got to work early too, but today he was visiting several of his London stores and was not going to the office until later. 'See you at the finance committee meeting, this afternoon,' he said, as Caro made for the door.

'Three o'clock,' she agreed, giving him a wave as she vanished.

It was a busy morning for her. The accounts department had put together the usual monthly financial report for study by the finance committee, but there were several late additions which had to be circulated so that members of the committee could study them, and Caro hardly had time to think before noon, when she broke for lunch.

Although Caro was only the second in command she did most of the organisational and daily work. It was a vital job in the company: she monitored salaries and costs, planned the company's annual budget, examined expenditure in detail and authorised payments. The head of the department was fifty-nine years old and a mere cypher; he was working out his last year without enthusiasm. He would retire at sixty, collect a pension and move into the country, leaving Caro in charge in name as well as in fact.

Of course, some people sneered about that, and whispered behind her back or openly hinted that she was getting such power simply because of who she was, but although her progress had been swifter than normal, and probably there were others who could do her work as well as she did, Caro had no doubts about taking promotion, or about her own capacity. She knew she had brains, she could do the job and do it well, and she worked hard. If she hadn't been very good, Fred would never have promoted her. He was a ruthless realist where his precious company was concerned, and so was Caro. She would one day, she hoped, run the company, and, meanwhile, she wasn't going to apologise or feel guilty about being her father's daughter.

Amy was waiting at their table when Caro arrived at the Penthouse Restaurant on the top floor of Westbrooks. 'You're always late!' she complained as Caro dropped into the seat opposite her. 'As you're the boss's daughter I would have thought you could slip out when you liked!'

'That's just why I can't,' Caro said, picking up the menu as the waitress approached. 'Have you ordered? Good, then I'll just have melon and the bean and pasta salad.'

'Pasta? So fattening, don't do it!'

Caro laughed. 'Pasta's OK if there's no rich sauce with it. Shall we have wine? No? Oh, well, mineral water for me, too.' When the waitress had gone, she said, 'I'm sorry I was late, Amy—I got stuck in traffic. London is hell these days.'

'So is life,' Amy said mournfully.

Caro gave her an amused look. 'Is it? What's happened now?' Amy's life was full of dramas; it kept Caro constantly entertained.

'Johnny didn't go to Paris with his aunt! He took his secretary. He says it was business, but in that case why lie to me about it?'

'They always do,' said Caro drily.

'I thought Johnny was different!' Amy mourned, lip trembling.

'None of them are! They all cheat, if they can.'

'You're so cynical,' Amy accused. 'You always think the worst. You know what I think? You're still carrying a torch for Damian Shaw!'

Caro flushed angrily. 'You're out of your mind!'

Amy looked knowing. 'If I'm wrong, why have you gone red?'