Matter of Trust

‘As I said at the time, my relationship with Eric is purely a business one,’ she told him huskily.

‘Yes. I’m sorry. It’s just that a rather unfortunate situation developed in our London office, culminating in the wife of one of our clients storming in and accusing the member of staff involved of trying to steal her husband and even threatening to sue. I don’t know how, but one of the tabloids got hold of the story and, while there was no real truth in what they printed, it did put the firm in a very embarrassing position.

‘It was that that made me over-react this afternoon. I realise that the comments I overheard were simply made to tease. In fact, Margaux informs me that you of all people are the last person who would become personally involved with a client.’

He had discussed her with Margaux. Her distaste must have shown in her eyes, because he added quietly, ‘I told her that I was taking over the account. She asked me why. When I explained my concern she immediately told me that I was worrying unnecessarily.’

‘I told you that I wasn’t involved with Eric,’ Debra couldn’t resist pointing out.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But you didn’t say that he was equally uninvolved with you. In my experience a man does not send a woman red roses simply to show her that he can grow them.’ Debra bit her lip.

‘I have been a bit concerned that he might...that he could be thinking... I’d already made it clear to him though that I couldn’t.. .that I wasn’t...’

‘That what? That you didn’t want him?’

He was, Debra realised, standing much closer to her. She could hear car doors slam and engines start as the others left. She could feel the cool evening breeze stirring her hair; she could feel the silence and the tension. She could feel her own overwhelming need to take that one step forward which would bring her so intimately close to him that her body would actually be touching Marsh’s. Out of the comer of her eye she saw his hand lift. A quiver of sharp sensation pierced through her as she remembered how she had felt to have his hand touching her face, his palm warm against her skin, his fingers stroking into her hair, the pads firm against her scalp, his thumb touching the corner of her mouth, his breath warm against her lips before he touched them with his tongue.

Somewhere further down the road a car backfired. Debra shuddered quickly, stepping back from him, thankful that it was dark and that he couldn’t see how flushed she was, how aroused her body. Thank goodness for the thickness of her sweat-shirt, disguising the tautness of her nipples as they pushed against her clothes.

Quickly she turned towards her own car, distancing herself from Marsh and the danger he represented. She heard him take a step as though he meant to follow her and then stop.

His goodnight was brief, curt almost.

Shakily Debra let herself into her car.

It had been the most extraordinary evening, and the most extraordinary part of all had been Marsh’s apologising to her. That was something she had not expected. Would he have done so, though, if Margaux hadn’t unwittingly substantiated her own statement that she was not personally involved with Eric Smethurst?

‘You haven’t forgotten that it’s Don’s birthday this weekend, have you?’

Debra smiled into the receiver. ‘No, Mum, I haven’t forgotten.’

Don’s card was in front of her on her desk. She had put it there this morning to remind her to write and post it.

She was due to visit Karen this evening. She still felt she wasn’t making any progress. Karen was still withdrawn from her. Was Marsh right? Was Karen testing her?

Marsh!

It was now two days since he had apologised to her, and since then his whole attitude to her had been different.. .warmer, gentler, more open.

She must not read something into that which did not exist, she warned herself. She had heard on the grapevine that he wasn’t involved with anyone and that his last serious relationship had ended while he was working in the States.

So there was no other woman in his life. That did not mean that...

That what? That there was a place for her? She knew that... of course she did. And besides, she would have to be an idiot to think that just because he had apologised to her, just because he was being pleasant to her, it meant anything more than that he was simply being pleasant to a colleague.

Even so... Rather like a child opening a forbidden drawer, she closed her eyes, remembering how she had felt when he kissed her, savouring each second of that memory, sharply aware of the frissons of sensation that it set off within her body.

That he had initially kissed her in anger, she chose not to allow into her memories. It was that other later kiss she recalled. Her eyes still closed, she leaned back in the chair, her body responding to the sensual messages of her thoughts. She squirmed voluptuously as she conjured up the physical sensation of Marsh’s body against her own.

‘Debra, are you all right?’

She shot upright, her eyes opening, her face hot, to find Marsh himself standing on the other side of her desk, watching her, a thoughtful expression in his eyes.

He couldn’t possibly know what she had been thinking, she assured herself, feeling thoroughly flustered and guilty as she fibbed that she had just been thinking about one of her cases.

Marsh was frowning, she discovered when she ventured a brief look at him. His head was turned away from her and he was looking down at her desk, at the birthday card she had bought Don.

‘It’s for my stepfather,’ she told him, half gabbling the words. ‘It’s his birthday this weekend. I put it there so I wouldn’t forget to post it.’