‘I only popped in to invite you out to lunch. You will come, won’t you, darling Ben?’
That endearment had the same effect on Rachel’s nerve-endings as a dentist’s drill. She clenched her teeth and bent blindly over her desk, giving a passable imitation of intense concentration.
‘Sorry, but I’ll have to take a rain-check, Sabrina. I’ve got something else on.’
‘Anyone I know?’ she enquired archly, and the Cupid’s bow mouth tightened noticeably.
‘Let me walk you out.’
‘I’ll wait for you in the office, Benedict. Perhaps Mrs French could get me some coffee?’
‘Miss French.’ She wondered with a spurt of militancy what he’d say if she pointed out that coffee-making wasn’t included in her job description.
‘Miss French.’ He inclined his leonine head slightly as he moved past her. ‘I stand corrected.’ And that didn’t happen too often, she surmised, repressing an inappropriate urge to laugh—obviously nerves. ‘Are you enjoying working for my son? Is he a considerate boss?’ he enquired casually.
‘It’s nice to have an opportunity to use my linguistic skills.’ Rachel had the distinct impression that nothing this man said was unplanned.
‘Very diplomatic. I’ve heard you’re a clever young woman.’ Rachel frowned. The way he’d said ‘clever’ sounded almost like an insult. ‘I have a friend who works in Brussels who’s always on the look-out for people with your sort of expertise in languages. You’d be in great demand over there.’
Suddenly he knew a lot about her, she thought as she smiled noncommittally back.
‘Have you ever thought about moving?’
‘I have a child, Sir Stuart.’
‘Boarding-school’s the answer; it makes them independent. Our lot thrived on it. I take my coffee black,’ he added abruptly as he stalked into Benedict’s office.
This sudden concern for her future rang alarms bells in Rachel’s head. What was behind this interest? She suddenly didn’t feel at all comfortable.
‘This is for my father, I take it?’
Rachel wondered whether he ever dropped the formal ‘father’. She nodded.
‘I’ll take it in.’ Benedict took the cup from her hand. ‘An urgent call in…’ he glanced at his watch ‘…shall we say seven minutes? Don’t look so shocked, Rachel; where do you think I learnt my tactics?’
Rachel stared as he closed the interconnecting door. Being orphaned too early to recall her parents hadn’t made her the world’s leading expert on family dynamics, but what Benedict had with his father didn’t seem like your typical father-son relationship.
Stuart Arden had seated himself behind his son’s desk. The gesture was inspired more by habit than a belief that it would help him intimidate his son; he knew his offspring too well for that. Benedict’s independence had been an infuriating characteristic even when he was a baby. He often thought he’d got all his elder brother’s share. The only time Tom had ever shown any backbone was when he’d refused to take his bar exams and follow in his father’s footsteps.
‘What can I do for you, Father?’ Benedict placed the cup down on the desk and strolled towards the window. He didn’t notice the small red light that indicated his father had switched on the intercom.
‘There’s been talk. Talk about you and that French woman.’
‘You must have been listening hard to hear any talk,’ Benedict observed sceptically.
‘Something’s been wrong with you since you got back and you left the office with her yesterday and cancelled all your afternoon appointments. It doesn’t take much imagination…’
‘Not much, just a particular type.’ Benedict spoke without any discernible inflection. Head slightly inclined to one side, eyes narrowed, he moved across the room and looked at his father thoughtfully. ‘So you pulled her file and scurried down here to check her out. Her name is Rachel.’ Benedict was too familiar with his parent’s modus operandi to sound surprised by this discovery.
‘There’s a company policy about that sort of thing.’
‘That’s a new one on me,’ Benedict observed with interest.
‘Are you sleeping with her?’
‘Is this exchange of intimacies meant to bring us closer? I hate to disappoint you but I’ve already got a best friend to share my secrets with.’
‘Huh! Share, you? That I don’t believe; you’ve never voluntarily given away any information in your life. You always were the most evasive child…’