The Price of a Wife

'Goodbye.'

She could feel his eyes boring into her back as she crossed the room on legs that mercifully obeyed her, nodding to the secretary in the outer room with a composure that was all feigned before hurrying to the lift in the corridor outside. It was empty, and once she had pushed the button and it had begun to move downwards she leant against the carpeted wall and closed her eyes tightly, biting on her lip painfully.

What on earth had possessed her to react like that to his girlfriend? She had been stupid, so stupid… She groaned out loud and pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. Who he saw and when was absolutely nothing to do with her. He was a free agent, as free as a bird. She'd had no right to cause such a scene.

She still couldn't believe she'd behaved like that, she thought dismally, bending down and picking up the briefcase as the lift slid to a halt, and taking a deep breath before she walked into the vast reception area of Hawkton Enterprises. Unprofessional wasn't the word…

She continued to feel wretched all that day, but as the week progressed the embarrassment and humiliation faded a little, and she was able to think of the incident without wishing the floor would open and swallow her whole—just.

Friday morning came and went, and by the evening she had acknowledged to herself that he wasn't going to ring her and that she was glad. Glad, she repeated fiercely to herself as she rode home by taxi at the sensible time of six-o'clock.

Saturday she spent cleaning the flat from top to bottom, before going out with friends in the evening to an exclusive nightclub where the cost of food and drink was astronomical and the DJ leered at her all night.

Sunday was no better. Owing to the fact that she had been unable to get to sleep until the sun had been well and truly in the sky, she slept till late afternoon, when she awoke with a sickening headache to the sound of someone banging on the door. It was only then that she remembered she had invited a friend round; she had just passed through a particularly messy divorce and had come for an evening of encouragement and commiseration.

She worked hard the next week, throwing herself into the project with a single-mindedness that earnt approval from Mike and Andy and faint awe from Penny. But as usual work proved the therapy she needed. She spoke to Luke twice by telephone over that time and the calls were formal and businesslike; nevertheless the deep, husky voice left her trembling and flushed for a good hour after they had finished.

A blazing hot June gave way to a sultry, humid July, and when, on the second of that month, exactly a month after the first fateful meeting in Mike's office, she received a late afternoon call from Luke suggesting that she fly out to his home in the South of France to familiarise herself with the house and grounds, she found she could answer with only a trace of breathlessness in her voice.

'Yes, I was going to suggest something like that myself within the next week or two. I think we're just about ready for the next stage now, and it would be good to meet the French caterers face to face and iron out every detail there.'

'Right.' Luke's voice was remote, almost expressionless

. 'I'll come with you. There are certain points I want to pick up on myself, and it might be useful if I'm there to smooth the way in the preliminaries.'

'There's really no need for that.' She had spoken too sharply and too quickly, and she forced her voice into a lower, smoother pitch as she continued. 'I know how busy you are, and things are well in hand, I promise. The fair is already booked for three days—the day preceding and following the launch as well as the launch day itself—and the ice rink will be constructed at the end of September, I don't think—'

'Be that as it may, I shall feel happier accompanying you.' This time the dark voice left no room for protest. 'If we fly out on the seventh and return a couple of days later will that suit you?'

'Yes.' Her tone said no. 'But I don't feel it's necessary for you to have to put yourself out like this. I'm sure—'

'Josie…' His voice was patient, insultingly so. 'What I like and do not like is now your problem, OK? And what I like at the moment is a trip to France on the seventh. So, we go to France on the seventh.'

She held the receiver slightly away from her ear as she staled at it, hard. So he hadn't forgotten the haughty words she had thrown at him at the first meeting weeks ago, she told herself silently. The irony of them had crossed her mind more than once since she had started working for him, but she had hoped, in her naivety, she acknowledged bitterly, that he had put them out of his mind. But she might have known… She glared at the receiver now. That computer he called a mind wouldn't forget or forgive any slight to the great Luke Hawkton, would it? And it was just like him to bring it up now.

'Josie?' The tone was cold. 'Did you hear what I said?'

'Yes, I heard you.' She took a deep breath. She could have counted to ten several times as he waited for her reply, but she still needed another few seconds to bring her voice under perfect control. 'The seventh.'

'My secretary will be in touch with the flight details,' he continued smoothly, 'and I would like you to bring all the necessary paraphernalia regarding the ice rink—we can formalise that too while we're there.'

'Right,' she said flatly, her voice short.

'And don't sulk.' There was that tinge of amusement in his voice which she had recognised more than once in his dealings with her, and which grated unbearably. 'You are a worldly-wise, forceful career woman by your own admission, and such women don't throw tantrums, Josie—or didn't you know?' he added wickedly.

'I wouldn't dream of throwing a tantrum,' she answered immediately, her voice outraged. 'And I never sulk.'

'I will take that with an enormous pinch of salt,' he returned drily. 'Goodbye for now.' He had replaced the receiver his end before she could formulate her fury into words, which was probably just as well, she reflected later, after her anger had cooled.

And that annoying trait in her character, honesty, forced her to admit that what he had said was absolutely right too.

Business women of her calibre didn't sulk—it just wasn't done in the marketplace—but somehow with this man all her cool constraint and tight discipline went flying out of the window as soon as he opened his mouth. Why did he get under her skin like this? she asked herself helplessly as she finished the last of the work on her desk and prepared to leave the office. Why, why, why?

'Hear you're taking a trip on the seventh.' Andy popped his head round her door as she clipped the lock on her briefcase shut. 'With Luke Hawkton, to look over the site,' he added meaningfully.

'So it would seem,' she answered a trifle absently as she reached for a big folder, her mind far away with the problem it had been gnawing at for the last hour or so, since Luke's phone call—namely, the man himself. 'How did you know?'

'I was informed by his esteemed secretary,' Andy said a little testily. 'That woman has got a real way with her, hasn't she?' He grimaced disapprovingly as he shook his head.