The Threat of Love

'When is he going to let you grow up and take responsibility for yourself?' Gil drawled and moved towards her.

Caro leapt back, her whole body tense with panic. 'Don't touch me!'

Gil froze, and a silence settled over the room. Caro felt like crying. 'I 'm sorry,' she said, miserably. 'But I can't stand any more. I'm too tired, it has been a long night. Could you get dressed?'

He walked away without another word, and, although she didn't look at him, she felt his physical presence with an intensity that frightened her. Her desire for him had not been sated by their lovemaking—it seemed to have been fed by it. She wanted him again—now.

'I'll take you home, when I'm dressed,' he said remotely, picking up his shirt and beginning to put it on.

'I can get a taxi home!' She swung towards the door, desperate to get away from him, but Gil snapped at her.

'I'll drive you. I brought you here, and I owe you a favour.' He paused, then added in a deep, sarcastic voice, 'Two favours.'

She winced at that, knowing all too well what he meant.

'And it is four in the morning, and I insist on seeing you safely home,' he said. 'Why don't you freshen up? The bathroom is two doors down.'

She was glad of an excuse to leave him alone to finish dressing. The bathroom was very masculine, elegantly functional, white, Victorian-style fittings in dark mahogany with blue and white wallpaper and curtains. Caro washed her hot face, patted it dry with one of the crisp white towels, looked with distaste at herself in the square, mahogany-framed mirror and tried to do something with her untidy hair. Her beautiful flame-red dress was crumpled, and there were faint red marks on her throat and shoulders, physical reminders of Gil's passion. She rearranged her dress to hide them, biting her lip. What if her father saw them?

She didn't go back to the room where Gil was dressing; she waited in the hall. When he came out he said curtly, 'I must go to the bathroom now; excuse me a moment, I won't keep you long.'

He spoke as if they were strangers, and she flinched, as if he had stabbed her. Gil vanished and she shut her eyes on a deep, painful sigh. He was angry with her; he probably regretted ever touching her. He had made love to her because he was unhappy over Miranda; it had been a crazy impulse, one he wished he hadn't given in to, and he blamed her.

Gil came back, his black hair freshly brushed, his face damp, but still unshaven so that his jaw showed a dark stubble. He paused to check that he had the keys to the Rolls, then opened the front door, gesturing to her to walk out first. It was half-past four now; dawn was breaking, a grey dawn which made London a city etched by half-light, the shapes of buildings looming out of the night here and there but the amber street lights still lit.

Gil pulled the front door shut behind them. Caro took her first breath of morning air, looking up at the sky to test the weather, and at that instant somebody darted towards them, apparently from nowhere. Caro gave a gasp, thinking at first that it was a mugger; they were being attacked.

Then there was a flash and she realised her mistake. Oh, they were under attack, all right, but not by thieves. This was a photographer, snatching shots of them. She gave a horrified wail and Gil leapt to her side, putting an arm round her, pushing her head into his chest and covering her face with his hand.

There was another flash, and then another, she heard Gil swearing and was aghast at the violence of the language. He let go of her to rush at the photographer who froze for a second, taking more rapid pictures, before running, with Gil in hot pursuit. Caro stood, shivering in the cold morning air, staring. A car engine started and a vehicle moved towards them; it slowed, a door flapping open at the passenger side, the photographer leapt in and then the car shot away. Gil chased it briefly but of course he had no chance of catching it. He came running back, face dark red, lungs panting, unlocked the Rolls and climbed behind the wheel.

'Get in!' he shouted at Caro, and she clambered in beside him. Before she could even slam the door, the

Rolls was moving. 'I want to follow the swine back to his lair,' Gil snarled. 'I bet he's the same fellow who snapped me fighting with Colin. Hasn't he got anything better to do than follow me around?'

Caro didn't need to answer that. They turned the corner but there was no longer any sign of the other vehicle. Gil swore again, and accelerated to the next street, but it was empty. They drove on for another few minutes before he admitted defeat; he had lost the other car.

He drew up, banging his long, powerful hands on the wheel, grinding his teeth in fury. 'Oh, if I ever get my hands on that guy. How does he always turn up at the wrong moment? Has he got second sight?' He scowled, his mouth a white line, stared at nothing for a moment, then turned slowly to stare at Caro. 'Somebody tipped him off,' he said, eyes narrowing. 'Somebody told him you were at my flat. Now why would somebody do that?'

Caro was puzzled. 'Do you think Miranda...?'

Gil went on staring fixedly at her. His face was hard and unsmiling; it frightened Caro, the way he was staring at her. What was he thinking?

'No, not Miranda,' he said. 'Her ego wouldn't want the rest of the world to know there was another woman in my flat.'

He was right, Caro saw that immediately. Miranda wouldn't spread this story, especially as she could only do so by explaining that she was at the flat herself and had been thrown out.

'Maybe the Press had been tipped off that Miranda was here?' she suggested.

'Then the photographer must have seen her leaving, and got his picture—why would he stay on after that?'

Caro shook her head, baffled. T don't know.' And why was he looking at her as if she were a caterpillar in his lettuce? Was she being blamed for this, too?

'Oh, of course you don't,' Gil said bitingly. 'Your father rings my flat to check you're with me and you insist on leaving right away, at four in the morning— and lo and behold! There's a photographer lurking outside.' He laughed shortly. 'Well, what an odd coincidence. But why didn't you have them waiting outside the window? What a picture they could have got earlier! That would have made a sensation!'

Caro got the point then. She turned scarlet, then paled. 'What on earth do I have to gain by getting myself photographed with you?' she asked him angrily.

'You tell me!' Gil said, and then he drove on very fast without another word. She sat beside him, burning with indignation. How could he suspect her of doing such a thing? What possible reason could she have?