The Trusting Game

‘Er—yes, Christa…?’

She could hear the chairman clearing his throat nervously as he acknowledged her intention to speak. Unlike her foe, he would, of course, know exactly what was coming. She had never made any secret of her views when the subject of inviting this man to speak to them had first been mooted.

And nor, she reassured herself firmly, did her intention to demolish the very smooth and polished persuasiveness he had just used to attempt to sell them his New Age theories have anything to do with her personal feelings about him as a man—nor with her potentially humiliating misreading of his body-language and the look of warm male interest she had mistakenly thought she’d seen in his eyes when she had not known his identity.

Fortunately, she had discovered who he was in time!

No matter what other people’s views might be, she was not taken in by his pseudo-psychological expertise—she knew a fake when she saw one.

What real proof had he offered them, after all, that this centre he owned and ran in the Welsh mountains really benefited the people who attended his courses?

‘What I would like to ask the Chair is what actual proof Mr Geshard can offer us that his courses, his centre do improve the profitability of the companies sending their executives to him.’

He was a good actor, Christa acknowledged grimly, as his expression betrayed neither discomfort nor surprise at her question.

‘Very little.’

His prompt ‘very little’ made Christa’s eyebrows snap together in amazement.

‘You don’t feel there is any need to keep such records, then?’ she questioned him mock sweetly. ‘Unusual, especially in an age where even the most obvious of fake wonder-cures insist on producing reality-defying “before and after” test results.’

Although she had not taken her eyes off his face, Christa was still aware of the faint ripple of disapproval that ran through the chamber. Disapproval which she knew was directed at her and not the speaker—but then she was not a man, was she, not part of the unofficial ‘club’ which ran such organisations?

‘Perhaps, but since we’ve only been open less than a year, and since none of the companies who have used our services has yet produced a full year’s accounts, we do not as yet have access to such figures. However, it seems as though I may have inadvertently given the wrong impression with my speech. Our aim is not specifically to increase our client’s profits, but rather to improve and enhance the quality of their employees’ lives, both at work and away from it.’

‘By forcing them to play games?’ Christa demanded, maintaining eye-contact with him.

‘It’s a well-known and accepted fact now that children who are deprived of the opportunity for play are far more likely to grow into maladjusted adults. What we are about is teaching people to work harmoniously together, teaching them how to combat the stresses of modern living.’

‘But you admit that you cannot back up your claims with hard facts,’ Christa persisted doggedly, refusing to be quelled by the cool grey-eyed stare he was giving her, so very different from the warm male interest with which he had regarded her earlier that day—correction: the warm male interest with which she had thought he had regarded her; just like his claims this evening, that warmth, that interest had been completely spurious.

‘Was it an admission? I rather thought I was merely correcting your—er—inaccurate interpretation of my speech.’

The male laughter which greeted his comment made Christa’s face burn, but she wasn’t going to be bullied into backing down, and she certainly wasn’t going to be stupid enough to fall for that false look of brief sympathy which had flashed in his eyes.

‘You have no real proof that what you are doing, the courses you offer, have any kind of genuine benefit, other than to your cash-flow.’

Now she had got under his skin, she realised triumphantly as she saw the way his mouth and eyes hardened.

‘Not perhaps in balance-sheet terms—either my own or anyone else’s—but I certainly believe in the benefits of what we are doing, and I can tell you this: if you were to undergo one of our courses yourself, I promise you it would completely change the way you view your life.’

His voice had dropped slightly as he spoke and for some reason Christa felt her face start to burn again, her thoughts winging back to that small, betraying moment that afternoon when he had looked at her, and yet she had been drawn towards him, the deepest feminine core of her instinctively responding to him and to the message he had seemed to be giving to her.

When her heartbeat accelerated now, though, it was with anger and not attraction, her eyes darkening as she challenged him. ‘Impossible.’

‘On the contrary, I can categorically promise you and everyone else here that after, say, a month at the centre, your views on life, the focus of your life will have changed—and I’ll go even further. I’ll add that you yourself will be happy to admit to those changes, to acknowledge them and want to share them with others…’

‘Never!’ Christa denied.

‘Let me prove it to you.’

Christa opened her mouth to vehemently refuse his challenge and then realised abruptly that she had backed herself into a very imprisoning corner.

‘I think that’s a very generous offer, and an excellent idea,’ the chairman was saying warmly to the audience, taking advantage of Christa’s momentary silence. ‘We shall all be most interested to see the results of Christa’s visit to your centre…’

‘No, I can’t,’ Christa started to protest breathlessly. ‘My business doesn’t generate the kind of profits for—’

‘There won’t be any charge.’

Christa gulped in air. What had she done? If she refused now, she would not only make herself look a complete idiot, she would also be allowing him to gain the advantage. To win. She could see already how impressed the others were by his confidence, his belief in himself.

‘You can’t back out now, Christa,’ the chairman was warning her jovially, but Christa could see his resentment of her in his eyes. ‘Otherwise we’ll begin to think that you’re the one who doesn’t have the courage of her convictions.’

‘I had no intention of backing out,’ Christa denied stiffly. ‘I shall need a week to organise my business affairs,’ she told her opponent without looking directly at him.

‘Yes, of course…’

How smooth he was…how assured…how confident of victory; but the war wasn’t over yet, and it would take more than charm and confidence to change her mind. Much, much more…In fact, Christa decided, recovering slightly from the shock of the way he had turned the tables on her, he was the one who would ultimately lose out, not her, because there was nothing, nothing that he could say or do that would convince her.

* * *

‘Our speaker outmanoeuvred you very neatly tonight, didn’t he?’

Christa frowned, increasing her speed as the man addressing her fell into step beside her. She had never particularly liked Paul Thompson. He had an unctuous, almost oily manner which did nothing to hide the blatant sexual curiosity Christa had seen in his eyes whenever he looked at a woman. She had had to rebuff the heavyhanded attempts at flirting with her on more than one occasion, and, although she had no doubt that he would be quite happy to go to bed with her, she knew that he also resented her, and she suspected that he was one of those men who secretly did not really like women at all.

She felt very sorry for his wife, and avoided him as much as she could.

‘You’ll have to be careful,’ he warned her, mock solicitously. ‘Our speaker is going to pull out all the stops now to make sure he gets you to back down. He can’t afford to do anything else. Not having gone so public, so to speak.’

‘I’m not the kind of person who is easily persuaded to change her mind once she’s made it up,’ Christa told him shortly. ‘You should know that, Paul.’

‘You’re a woman, though,’ he retorted, plainly nettled by her comment, ‘and by the looks of him he’s t

he kind of man who…’

‘Who what?’ Christa demanded acidly.

‘The kind of man who thinks he can persuade and seduce a woman into changing her mind…her principles.’

‘Well, if that’s the case, he’ll be wasting his time with me—I’m not so easily persuadable and certainly not seducible!’ Perhaps, a small inner voice warned her, but if she had not realised in time just who he was…But she had realised, she reassured herself firmly, and having done so—well, if Daniel Geshard was thinking for one moment along the lines that Paul was so mockingly suggesting, he was going to be in for one hell of a big surprise, she told herself with grim pleasure. Let him just dare to try it—let him just dare.

CHAPTER TWO

CHRISTA frowned as she heard her front doorbell ring. From her attic workroom it was three flights down to the front door of the large Victorian semi which had been her home ever since she had come to live here with her aunt, after her parents’ death.

Whoever was ringing her doorbell had no right to be doing so anyway; everyone knew that her working hours were sacrosanct and that she was not to be interrupted.

Her aunt had preferred to work in the small office attached to the warehouse where they stored their cloth, but Christa, with her training as a designer, loved the large north-lit attic-room, where she could work in peace without any interruptions.

Where she could normally work in peace without any interruptions, she corrected herself, as the doorbell continued to ring.