Millionaire's Woman

‘So I can count on you to give the impression we’re the perfect couple?’

‘Utterly,’ she said with biting sarcasm.

‘Love’s young dream even?’ he drawled lazily.

The quirk to his eyebrows and complete refusal to be affronted by her bad humour brought a reluctant smile to Cory’s face. Impossible man!

‘That’s better.’ He grinned at her and it did something powerful to the ruthlessly handsome face that made her heart race. ‘Now, let me give you a quick who’s who of who’ll be there tonight, OK? They’re a nice bunch on the whole but one or two are still a bit tender after the takeover. Understandable, but not conducive to good working relations. Hence this evening.’

Cory nodded. His tone had suddenly become very businesslike and that suited her down to the ground.

By the time the Mercedes drew up outside the chrome and glass building that was Templegate she’d absorbed most of the background information Nick had given her. She knew that five of the couples were married, including the big chief, Martin Breedon, and that Martin and his wife had recently been presented with their first grandchild. ‘Good talking point,’ Nick said cold-bloodedly. ‘Folk are always gaga over their grandchildren.’ The remaining four consisted of a couple who both worked at the company and who were seeing each other, and a David Blackwell who was bringing a date.

The chauffeur opened the car door but it was Nick who assisted her out of the vehicle before saying, ‘Bring the car at three, OK, unless I ring before that,’ whereupon he took her arm and led her into the building.

Three o’clock? This was going to be one long night. And then Cory’s mind was washed clear of everything but her immediate surroundings. The place was as expensively luxurious as she had expected and huge, but as Nick ushered her into the cocktail bar, which was fairly buzzing, she spotted at least three celebrities without even trying.

Closing her mouth, which she knew had fallen open, and trying to appear as if she was completely au fait with the milieu, Cory took the seat Nick had pulled out for her at a table which overlooked the vast nightclub below. After glancing at the cocktail menu, she tried to look for the least alcoholic drink. She needed to keep all her wits about her tonight and doubtless it would be one where the drinks were flowing.

‘If you’re not sure, how about a champagne cocktail?’ Nick suggested quietly. ‘I’ve ordered champagne for the table.’

‘Lovely.’ She smiled brightly. Once he had walked across to the massive circular bar which ran round three-quarters of the room and behind which a number of waiters were busy shaking mixers and juggling bottles with amazing dexterity, Cory studied the ingredients. Brandy, a couple of dashes of angostura bitters, dry champagne and a white sugar cube. That didn’t sound too lethal, certainly not compared to the Negroni, which was comprised of Campari, sweet vermouth and gin, or a Margarita, which looked pure dynamite. And she’d make the one last.

When Nick returned she took the champagne flute with a smile of thanks, lifting it in a salutation as she said, ‘To a successful evening.’

‘To a successful evening and my beautiful companion.’

She smiled again before taking a sip of the sparkling drink. It was delicious. She could well understand why the cocktail had been a favourite of stars of the silver screen in the forties; it epitomised the elegance and sophistication of that wonderful era beautifully.

‘Well, this is very civilised.’

It could have been a pleasant social comment but she’d seen the wicked glitter in his eyes and knew he was making a point after her antagonism in the car. She decided to ignore it and take the words at face value. ‘Isn’t it,’ she agreed lightly. ‘And what a place this is. Like a film set.’

‘The owner’s always been a sucker for the sort of lavish decadence of the Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers age. He set out to appeal only to the rich and famous, and he succeeded. There are more film stars, models and footballers here per square yard than anywhere else in the world.’

There was something, just the merest inflexion in the deep voice, which suggested he didn’t altogether approve. Cory stared at him curiously. ‘You’re here,’ she pointed out quietly, ‘so you must enjoy all that too.’

‘Must I?’ It was laconic. And then as she continued to keep her eyes on him, he said, ‘It’s amusing to drop in now and again and undeniably useful for tonight’s sort of occasion.’

‘But you don’t like it?’ she persisted.

‘I didn’t say that.’ The blue eyes surveyed her under brows which suddenly had a moody tilt. ‘It’s just that I’ve found that wealth and fame don’t always equate to good manners and acceptable behaviour. The desire to be a sensation and feêted and adored can be ugly when it becomes an obsession. Alex has made a fortune with Templegate and knows just how to keep the latest celebrity purring, whilst being able to take any tantrums and smooth ruffled plumage. I couldn’t do that.’

She didn’t doubt that for a minute. ‘Alex?’ she asked interestedly. ‘Do you know the owner then?’

‘We were at university together.’ He paused, finishing his cocktail in one swallow before he said lazily, ‘Care for another?’

‘I’m fine.’ She’d barely touched her own drink.

This time he raised a hand and immediately a waiter was at his side. After he’d given his order, Nick pointed out a well-known politician who had just entered the bar with a glamorous female on his arm who was easily young enough to be his daughter, if not his granddaughter, and then went on to mention other well-known faces he’d seen at Templegate. It wasn’t until much later that Cory realised he’d turned the conversation away from himself most adeptly.

When the others arrived the atmosphere was a little tense at first, but Cory’s misgivings about Nick’s guests being standoffish were soon put to rest. With the exception of perhaps David Blackwell, the man who had brought along a date in the form of a tall willowy blonde who smiled a lot but who said little, she immediately felt at ease with them.

After cocktails, they were led to their table in the main section of the nightclub and Cory wasn’t surprised it was in a prime position at the edge of the dance floor. The food was excellent, the floor show which entertained them while they ate equally so, and with the armour of the extravagant dress in place Cory felt as good as any of the other women in their designer evening wear.

The circular shape of the table prompted dialogue in which everyone could share, and she soon realised Nick had set himself out to be both charming and amusing. He was winning them all over, she mused, finishing the last of her pudding—a creamy orange charlotte—which had tasted heavenly, with real regret. Not that she would have eaten another morsel, she admitted to herself reluctan

tly, but each spoonful of the light, tangy dessert had been the stuff dreams were made of.