'You're totally ruthless, aren't you?' Caro didn't know whether to laugh or be shocked. If her father could hear Amy now! His image of her as a sweetly feminine creature would be blown to smithereens.
Amy laughed, quite flattered by the comment. 'We'll call for you at eight next Saturday,' she said. 'Antony's new flat is only on the other side of the park from your
house, Rob says.'
'Rob? That's the newest heart-throb, is it?' asked Caro, but Amy just giggled and rang off. Caro hung up, too, her eyes thoughtful. Perhaps, this time, Amy was serious about someone? She wasn't usually so secretive about her men; she usually talked about them non-stop. Caro was curious about the unknown Rob.
Well, a party would make a change, and might even cheer her up, she ruefully decided, and went off to look through her wardrobe and choose something special to wear.
By the end of the following week, all the work on the Westbrooks accounts was finished, and her team had completed their detailed analysis, with the usual set of graphs suggesting future growth and areas of change, and corresponding graphs making clear the necessity to clear away dead wood and stop wastage. Caro saw to it that just enough copies were printed out for her father and the rest of his board, and then removed the master tape.
She did not want any copies falling into the wrong hands. Anyone who saw that report and could understand its significance could make a killing on the stock market before the Westbrooks sale went ahead.
Gil had been in and out of his office over the last few days, and he, for one, would love to see that report. If she had not removed the master tape and taken it away with her each night, she was sure he would have come in early one morning and managed to break into her computer to check over the material. Of course, all the originating accounts were his; but it was her conclusions Gil wanted to read. He knew everything there was to know about the way Westbrooks was running—what he was dying to know was, what did Caro think of the store's financial condition? And what were her plans for the future, should her company take over the store?
Her father read her report that Friday evening, after dinner, and sat up until the small hours with it in his study while Caro went to bed early. When she got up next morning, she found him at the breakfast table, heavy-lidded and yawning over his boiled eggs and toast.
'Late night?' she asked, pouring herself coffee.
He grunted, pushing his own cup towards her. 'I was up reading that tome of yours! I must say, you did the job thoroughly.'
'Thank you,' she said, smiling. It was always nice to be praised for work well done.
'I just had a few queries,' Fred said, pushing a pile of notes towards her.
She viewed them with wary amusement. 'A few?'
'One or two points that needed clarifying,' he amended as she picked up the sheaf of paper and glanced through it, groaning.
'Dad, this means going back to Westbrooks and putting in at least two or three hours' work! I thought I'd finished with the place.' And with Gil Martell, she thought grimly.
'I'm sorry, love, but it's essential that we have the answers to those points before the board meeting on Monday. Could you pop in there this morning? I'm sure it won't take you long. You're so efficient.'
She gave him a grimacing smile. 'Very flattering, Dad—if I didn't know you were just saying it to get me to do what you want!'
'Nay, love,' he said in his broadest North Country accent, grinning at her. 'As if I'd lie to you! Nay, you're smarter than a whip, and I'm that proud of you!'
She had to laugh at that, and to shrug in resignation. 'OK, I'll go! That's my Saturday at the club gone!' She had intended to do a number of things that morning, and play squash, with friends, at the local sports club on the edge of the park. She knew quite a few of the members; Saturday was the day most of them spent there. After squash they would swim for a while before having a light salad lunch in the poolside bar, and then have their hair styled by the club hairdresser. Caro enjoyed her Saturday mornings at the club. Some members visited it every day; it was the perfect place to meet clients and friends in a relaxed, social atmosphere. She was sorry not to be able to go, after all. Oh, well, she thought. She would just have to ring the club and make her excuses. She wasn't going to be popular with the friends she had been going to meet, but they were all busy working women, they would understand she had had no alternative but to let them down.
By nine-thirty she was back at the desk in Gil's office, working intently, when he strode into the room, black-browed and vibrating with rage.
'They told me you were here! I thought you had finished with our accounts? We showed you everything you asked to see, heaven knows! We didn't hide anything, so why are you back here again?'
Caro fought to hide the confusion she felt at the sight of him; he was dressed more casually than usually, in an old sheepskin, a red sweater and cord trousers. He looked as if he had just been about to go for a walk with his dog, or practise golf shots informally. Had he been at home when the accounts department rang to say she had asked to see the books again? It couldn't have been his secretary because she wasn't around this morning; obviously she had Saturdays off. Where had Gil been? At home? Didn't he work on Saturdays either? Caro would have loved to ask him, but she couldn't risk it. He would probably bite her head off.
'My father read my report last night- ' she began
instead, and Gil interrupted furiously.
'And that's another thing—I allowed you to study all our account books, we were totally open with you, but you didn't let me have a copy of this wonderful report! Every member of your board will see it, but not me!'
'It's confidential,' she stammered nervously, and he snarled at her, dark eyes glittering.
'I'm sure it is! You don't want me to know exactly what value you put on my store. If I guessed that, I might warn my grandmother to ask for a much higher price than your shark of a father intends to offer her!'
She found it nerve-racking to have him looming over her, so she pushed back her chair and got to her feet, confronting him, her chin up. 'My father isn't a shark! He is offering her a very fair price.'
'Well, you would say that, wouldn't you? After all, he trained you—you're just like him, as predatory, in your own way, as he is!'