Out of Control

She laughed, although she didn't think it was funny, but it helped to get the words out if she pretended it hadn't happened to her at all, but only to some other girl. 'It was like one of those scenes in a Victorian

melodrama—I didn't believe my father meant it. I hadn't understood at first, what was wrong with me, I mean, and I went to the doctor because I felt ill, and of course he told my father, he was a family friend. My father said, "Get out of my house." I didn't think anybody really said things like that, but he was a very conservative man, my father. He was a lawyer, a country solicitor. His reputation mattered to him, he said I'd ruined his life. So I went—and I caught a train to London to find my lover—I thought he'd welcome me with open arms and it would be happy ever after. Pure soap opera, isn't it?' 'Don't,' Keir said harshly, looking white and grim. There was a silence for a moment and she felt so tired, but she said wearily, 'And that was when I found out he was married, and I walked around for hours, trying to think. I didn't know what the hell to do. I had nowhere to go, no money, no friends in London. That was probably why I walked in front of the car ...'

'Car?' Keir broke out and she frowned, wishing he wouldn't keep interrupting her story. Did he think she wanted to tell him all this?

i didn't deliberately try to get killed, I was just so exhausted. Anyway, it solved my problems—I lost the baby and was in hospital for ages, which was a roof over my head, and I had food and time to think.' 'And your parents? Did they ...?' T gave a false name; in fact, Liza Thurston isn't my real name. I made it up for the police and I refused to give an address. They kept coming back, but in the end they gave up because I was obviously old enough to leave home. By the time I left hospital at last I felt about forty years old, and I probably looked it.'

There was along silence and she felt him watching her. He was pale and she was afraid he was going to touch her, try to comfort her. She didn't want that. She didn't want him near her.

'Now, please go,' she said in a low, angry voice. 'Leave me alone! I've had enough, I can't take much more.' She almost ran to the front door and heard him following more slowly. He paused before leaving and she said harshly. 'No! Don't say a word.'

He went and she shut the door and leaned on it, her eyes closed. It still hurt, but it wasn't the pain of losing the man who had wrecked her life—it was the shame and humiliation of what he had done to her. She had flung herself into his arms because she had felt such a deep attraction, such passionate feeling. They should teach you not to let emotion run away with you. You shouldn't be allowed to reach adolescence without being warned about love, and taught never to lose control of yourself. Ever since, she had been very careful. She had locked up her heart and thrown away the key. It was a paler, colder world without that urgent feeling, but it was safer, too. You couldn't get hurt if you never took any risks, now could you?

She yawned, heavy-eyed. She was very sleepy now. Emotion and fear and champagne were taking their toll, and she could hardly keep her eyes open, so she just curled up on the bed and a few moments later was fast asleep. She kept waking up all night; the dreams were agonising. Her face was wet with tears several times when she broke out of the dream, but she was so tired that she always went slowly back to sleep, although in the morning she felt as if she hadn't slept at all.

She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when the phone rang. She walked reluctantly to answer it. *Mmm?'

'Liza, can we have lunch? I have to talk to you,' Keir said.

'Sorry, I'm all tied up today,' she said remotely and before she could hang up he quickly said, 'Tomorrow, then?'

'Same, I'm afraid. In fact, I'm busy most days. I don't have time for a private life. Goodbye, Mr Gifford.'

She hung up, but she hadn't reached the bathroom again before the phone began to ring. Liza turned and lifted it and it was Keir again, as she had expected.

'Liza, sooner or later you're going to talk to me,' he said curtly.

'Mr Gifford, I'm not,' she assured him. 'I'll say it one more time so that we both know where we stand. I do not want to see you. I do not want to have an affair with you. I cannot be bought and I haven't got time for this sort of hassle, so please just accept what I say and get out of my life.' She said the last words on a rising scale; higher and higher, with more and more anger until she was shouting. She didn't give him a chance to answer her. She just slammed the phone down, then took it off the hook and left it off.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Luckily, the office was very busy over the next few days and Liza was able to keep her mind occupied with Nicky Wallis's big advertising campaign. Nicky was a trial at times, but she was grateful to him for keeping her too busy to think about Keir Gifford, and for once was always available when he rang or popped in to her agency. She didn't mind if he smirked complacently or thought that at last he was getting somewhere with her. He would soon find out how wrong he was!

She knew very well who he had in mind for the campaign. He hadn't said as much, but from the minute he'd mentioned the project both of them had known he was thinking of Liza's protegee; a girl she had been grooming and training for over three months, and was almost ready to launch on a career Liza felt certain was going to be wildly successful.

The girl was just seventeen and had the fragile mix of rich, glowing sensuality and wide-eyed innocence that made a photographer like Nicky Wallis vibrate with excitement. Liza hadn't mentioned her to Nicky, but one day she had got Pamela to walk through the outer office while she knew Nicky was waiting there. Maddie had discreetly observed his face and had told Liza later, 'You should have seen his eyes! Big as saucers!'

When he'd walked into Liza's office, though, he'd spent ten minutes trying not to mention the girl; he didn't want to seem too eager. Liza had anticipated that because she knew Nicky well, and sat smiling, keeping up a bland unawareness. She hadn't mentioned Pam-

Pam either, knowing that that would bother Nicky. He would start wondering if he had already come too late, if Pam-Pam was under contract to someone.

In the end, it was Nicky who had cracked first and asked, 'Who's the little redhead with the green eyes?' and then Liza had said, *Pam-Pam? Oh, she's going to be our top name within six months—isn't she fabulous? Ken Doyle was in here yesterday, raving about her. I think she'll be exactly what he's looking for this year.'

'Has he used her?' Nicky had asked urgently and Liza had looked vague and said no, he hadn't, not yet, but he was going to, and then Nicky had said, i want her exclusively for three months.' Liza had laughed, shaking her head, i couldn't do that. Three months? Her earnings in that time could be fantastic'

She had known then that Nicky had something very special on his mind, and the minute he came out with the news about the cosmetics contract she knew why he had wanted Pam-Pam exclusively. It would mean no other work for Pam-Pam during the lifetime of the campaign, but if the company paid the right price Liza was ready to discuss the offer.

Pam-Pam was happy, too, when Liza explained it to her. She had met Liza in a park. Pamela Jones, just left a London comprehensive school and already unemployed with no prospect of getting a job, had been chasing a barking dog, a fluffy, scruffy mongrel. She had been laughing, flushed, skimpily dressed in a low-necked cotton top and a pair of very brief black shorts. Liza had stopped, assessing her with swift, professional interest, then she had handed Pamela her business card and said, if you're interested in a possible job, come up and see me some time.'

Pamela had giggled. 'Mae West, right?' Then she looked warily at the card an

d even more warily at Liza. 'What sort of job?'

'Can't you read? Modelling,' Liza had said briskly. 'Don't take my word for it, check me out, and then call at that office and my staff will test you to see if you're as photogenic as I think you are. If they think you've got the makings of a model, then we'll put you to school and train you.'

Pamela had given her a cynical smile. 'And how much does all that cost me?'

if we accept you on our books, nothing. I'm not running a modelling school; ours is a professional agency, but occasionally we do take a new model and train her, if we think she's worth the effort.' She had looked at her watch and given Pamela a nod. 'Think about it.' Walking on, she had felt the girl staring after her, one hand on the dog's collar. Liza had known nothing about Pam-Pam that first morning, yet she had felt she knew almost everything. Something in the girl reminded her of herself at that age; dewy and eager and painfully vulnerable. It was dangerous to be that wide-open to life. She sensed that Pam-Pam hadn't yet been hurt, but it was only a matter of time because the girl was so reckless.