Mistletoe Seductions: A Mistletoe Proposal / Midnight Under the Mistletoe / Wedding Date with Mr Wrong. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.
advantage of the situation to slip an arm around her waist, so that she edged away, muttering, ‘Not here!’
‘Here, there and everywhere,’ he persisted. ‘There’s nobody else around.’
He managed to get both arms around her, resisting her attempts to escape. She groaned, exasperated by the silly boy who couldn’t understand that this wasn’t the time or the place.
‘Someone’s coming,’ she said frantically. ‘Charlie, stop that.’
He was reaching up to free her hair, sending it cascading in joyous beauty around her shoulders. He’d done this before, but that time had been in the privacy of his own home, with only his family there. Now it was in front of Roscoe’s door as it opened and a man emerged.
He was thin, with a face that was so pleasant and humorous that at first she couldn’t believe this was the man she’d overheard. But his grinding voice was the same, asking, ‘Am I interrupting something?’
‘Yes,’ Charlie said defensively. ‘You certainly are.’
‘Sorry.’ Vanlen held up his hands and backed off.
His glance at Pippa was appreciative and his look said all too plainly that he was a man of the world in these matters. She had met this attitude before and dealt with it too efficiently to be offended now, but she could cheerfully have throttled Charlie. Vanlen departed just as Roscoe appeared in the doorway, his eyes frosty as he regarded his brother.
‘Is this fellow bothering you, Miss Jenson?’ he demanded. ‘If so, say the word and I’ll defenestrate him.’
‘You will not,’ Charlie said, hastily getting behind a chair.
Pippa tried not to choke with laughter, and failed.
‘It means throw you out of the window,’ she assured Charlie.
‘Oh. Are you sure that’s all?’
‘Quite sure. Stop worrying.’
He returned to her side, addressing Roscoe belligerently. ‘I was just telling Miss Jenson that it’s no use her trying to hide beneath dull clothes. She’s still gorgeous beyond belief. Or perhaps you don’t think so.’
‘I think Miss Jenson looks acceptably professional,’ Roscoe said in an indifferent voice. ‘Which is exactly what I’d expect of her.’
Cheek! she thought.
He seemed strained and she wondered how long he had dallied in Teresa’s bed, and how much had she exhausted him. But he showed her courteously into his office and enquired politely after her car.
‘It took some time for my brothers to find the spare part it needed,’ she said, ‘but they finally managed it, and I’m getting the car back tomorrow.’
She and Charlie sat facing the desk, behind which Roscoe surveyed them from a position of authority, which was how, Pippa guessed, he felt most comfortable.
He pressed a buzzer and spoke to his secretary. ‘We don’t want to be disturbed.’
‘Ah—no!’ Charlie squealed. ‘I’m waiting for a call. I’ve told my secretary to fetch me.’
‘Then we’d better hurry,’ Roscoe said ironically. ‘We mustn’t keep the betting shop waiting.’
‘I got a hot tip,’ Charlie explained. ‘If it comes in, it’ll get me out of trouble on a lot of fronts.’
‘I don’t know why I bother to teach you about stocks and shares,’ Roscoe groaned. ‘You’re only happy making ridiculous bets.’
‘But surely buying stocks and shares is a kind of betting?’ Pippa observed innocently.
Charlie gave a muffled choke of laughter. Roscoe’s glance told her that he didn’t appreciate that remark.
‘All right,’ she said hastily. ‘Let’s get on. I’ve been reviewing the matter and it seems to me—’
The discussion became serious. Pippa put forward her most professional aspect, but all the time she had a strange feeling that it was a mask. There was an uneasy tension in the air, not between herself and Charlie, but between herself and the man who’d held her at a distance last night while burning her with his eyes, a man who eyed her with suppressed hostility, who challenged her every movement.
‘I’ve told the police I wasn’t in that shop,’ Charlie complained. ‘They just say, “Come on, now. Why not just admit it?”’
‘They also keep saying things like, “We know what you lads are like,”’ Roscoe said. ‘As though they were all exactly the same. What’s the matter?’
Charlie had suddenly started coughing, but he recovered in a moment. ‘Nothing, nothing,’ he said with the sudden urgent air of someone who wanted to change the subject. ‘Now, where were we?’
He plunged back into serious discussion, talking so sensibly that Pippa’s suspicions were aroused. Only one thing could make Charlie sensible, and that was the need to divert attention. She became sunk in thought and had to be recalled by Roscoe, who was staring at her in astonishment.
‘Just let me catch up with my notes,’ she said hastily. ‘Ah, yes, here—’
She got no further. The door was flung open with a crash and a wild voice said, ‘I’ve got to talk to you.’
Turning, she saw a man of about forty with a haggard face and dishevelled hair. His eyes were bloodshot and he seemed on the verge of collapse.
‘Mr Franton, I gave orders that you were not to be admitted,’ Roscoe said in a hard voice.
‘I know. I’ve been trying to see you for days, but I can’t get in. If I could just talk to you, make you understand—’
‘But I do understand,’ Roscoe interrupted him coldly. ‘You deceived me and a lot of other people, and you very nearly involved this firm in a scandal from which it might never have recovered. I’ve always made it clear that insider trading is something I wouldn’t tolerate.’
Pippa understood. Insider trading meant making a profit by the use of privileged information. If a business was on the verge of bankruptcy but only a few people knew, those people would be sorely tempted to sell their shares while they were still worth something, saving themselves financially while others were ruined. It could even happen that the sudden surge in sales precipitated a collapse that might otherwise have been avoided.
In a stockbroking firm such inside knowledge was common and often misused. A spy could earn a handsome profit by selling it on.
Yet Franton didn’t look like an evil conspirator. He seemed ordinary, slightly pathetic, and Pippa couldn’t help a surge of unwilling sympathy for him.
‘I never meant it to happen the way it did,’ he pleaded.
‘Understand me once and for all,’ Roscoe replied in a hard voice. ‘I care nothing for what you meant. I care only for what you did. And what you did was this. You ignored my specific instructions. You lied. You spread unsubstantiated rumours and caused a false rise in prices that cost a lot of people a lot of money—’
‘Including you.’ Despite his pathos, Franton couldn’t resist a spiteful sneer.
‘Yes, including me, but it’s not the money that counts. It’s my reputation that you’ve damaged and I don’t want to see you on these premises ever again. You’re out, and that’s final.’
‘But I need a job,’ Franton screamed, collapsing again. ‘I’ve got a family to support, debts—look!’
He ran to the window, pointing out to where the snow could now clearly been seen cascading down.
‘Snow,’ he cried. ‘Christmas is coming. What do I tell my children when they don’t get any presents?’
‘Don’t