The Threat of Love

unhappily began. 'Lady Westbrook, I have to tell you—'

Lady Westbrook didn't wait for her to get the right words out; she plunged on in the same high-pitched excitement. 'Never mind, how about tomorrow, then? That will give you time to break any other date you had. We have so many plans to make, we must start as soon as possible. Have you had any thoughts yet on the reception? Where do you think? How about holding it in a marquee on my lawns? You can cram hundreds into a large marquee.'

Caro made desperate, agitated noises, and finally said, T think you'd better talk to Gil.' Let him tell his grandmother the truth.

Lady Westbrook laughed happily. 'Oh, you don't like the idea of a marquee? Well, never mind, we'll talk tomorrow night and come up with a better one, but I'm sure Gil will like whatever you like, although it is wiser to pretend to consult your man, my dear, you're right. They like to think we want their opinion, but we don't have to do what they suggest, do we? Well, I'll look forward so much to seeing you again. And— Caroline... welcome to the family.'

Caro put the phone down, close to tears. Her father watched her, his brows low over his eyes. 'I wish I knew what was really going on here!' he said grimly. 'Are you OK, my girl? You can tell me, come on! What's wrong?'

Caro pulled herself together. 'Nothing, Dad. I'm just tired after doing that long job on the Westbrooks accounts, and then all this fuss and nonsense... and I had a sleepless night last night and...' She turned towards the door in a hurry. T think I'll go and write letters, and listen to some music. See you later.'

The telephone was ringing again but this time she ignored it and left it to their housekeeper to answer. It was a newspaper, she was told a moment later, wanting to speak to her, but Caro shook her head. 'Tell them I'm out. If anyone at all rings up, tell them I'm out.'

She was going to ground for the rest of the day. She had an uneasy suspicion that tomorrow was going to be a rough day. In the morning, she was attending the negotiations between the Westbrooks people an

d her father's lawyers and accountants. Damian Shaw would be there, but by now she felt no nervous qualm about meeting him again. It was Gil's presence she was bothered about.

When she walked into the boardroom where the meeting was taking place, the first person she saw was Gil, and her nerve-endings flickered with disturbing excitement. He was standing by the window talking to one of his grandmother's lawyers, facing the door through which she came, and he saw her at more or less the same time. Caro felt as if she had been hit by lightning when their eyes met; there was an instant flash of electricity between them.

He looked formidable and distinguished in a dark blue pin-stripe suit, his cream silk tie perfectly knotted, his shirt crisp and immaculate. He might be going to lose his store, but he meant to fight for it, and he wasn't conceding an inch of personal territory as he nodded, unsmilingly, then looked away. A stranger watching might have thought they barely knew each other, or were perhaps enemies. Perhaps they were? Caro grimly thought.

She sat down at one end of the long, polished table under the rather stolid portrait of her father, which had been presented to him by the board for his fiftieth birthday. The artist had painted her father's best suit, his gold watch-chain and tie-pin, his ruddy skin and jowled jaw, his shrewd acumen and the toughness which made him so good at business, but he hadn't dug any deeper to discover the man Caro knew. Where was Fred's earthy humour, his kindness, and the loving heart which had still not forgotten her dead mother, although so many years had gone by?

'Good morning, Caroline,' said a voice beside her and she started, looking up at Leonard Ross. Small, thin and grey, Leonard had begun working for Fred as an accountant many years ago and had progressed to a seat on the board, where he was in overall charge of the various buying departments of the stores. Leonard was an expert on the subject of costs and profits and how to lower the first and raise the second.

'Nice to see you, Leonard,' she said. 'How's Rose?'

'Oh, she's fine. She had a cold last week but she's over that.'

'And the children?'

'Children?' he said with amused derision. 'Caroline, my youngest is older than you! But they're all great, thank you for asking.' He gave her a grin. 'But what about you, then?'

'I'm great, too,' she said lightly.

'I meant how about what we've all been reading?' Leonard said cheerfully, and the room went silent; everyone seemed to turn and stare, and Caro wanted to sink through the floor. 'When we saw it in the papers, Rose and I were staggered. I had no idea you were even dating him!' He glanced round, suddenly realised how people were listening and watching them, and hurriedly concluded, 'Well, I hope you're going to be very happy, Caroline.'

Before she could answer, Gil strode to the table and dropped a pile of folders on it with a little crash. 'Shall we get started?' he said loudly, and Leonard rushed off to take his seat, as did everyone else.

Caro and Gil stared at each other along the gleaming, highly polished table, like duellists before they began to fight, a level, hostile gaze needing no words.

She had dressed carefully for this meeting, too: her smooth, tailored wool dress was black, she wore small pearl studs in her ears and a string of pearls around her neck, carried a black purse and wore fine, handmade black high-heeled shoes. She might not be pretty, but she knew she looked elegantly businesslike. She had wanted to command the respect of everyone in the room, including Gil.

Her father sat down beside her, murmuring, 'Nervous?'

She made a little face. 'Well, I don't enjoy addressing these big meetings, but I'll be fine.' A breakdown of her report, excluding anything confidential, had been circulated to them all, including Gil and his people, and she knew she was going to face rigorous questioning about it. She was sure she could hold her own, but she was bothered by the prospect of being taken apart by Gil. She knew she would either lose her temper and shout at him, or go to pieces, and she wasn't sure which she dreaded the most.

She ran her eyes over the faces around the table. Most of them men, she noted grimly, as usual. Few women seemed to get to this level. They were dominant at lower levels in the stores, but her father had packed his board with men, and most of the lawyers and accountants he employed were men, too.

That will change one day, she thought. When I'm running this business there will be a lot more women at top management level. They are allowed so far, and no further, and it's very frustrating for the most able women to keep hitting their heads against that ceiling.

Her eyes met Gil's again and quickly moved on around the table. A frown drew her brows together. One face was missing. She checked again, then murmured to her father, 'I thought Damian Shaw was going to be here?'

Her father gave her an odd look. Did he imagine she was dying to see Damian? He knew she had once been in love with him, years ago, and had been badly hurt. 'It seems he no longer works for Gil,' Fred said carefully.

Caro stiffened and shot a look down the table to where Gil was reading a thick file of papers. What had happened? Had he fired Damian? Or had Damian walked out? Her mind seethed with questions but Fred was banging on the table with a wooden gavel to get everyone's attention, and Caro heard him begin to introduce her.

'You all know my daughter, Caroline.' Fred's voice was jovial. 'And I've no doubt you've all read the latest piece of exciting fiction published by the so-called gentlemen of the Press.' Everyone laughed, except Caro and Gil, both of whom stared at the table. Fred went on, 'But we're not here to talk about that. We're here to discuss the report she has put together on Westbrooks. The final negotiations will be based on her findings, so this is a vital document, and I hope you all know it backwards.'