Secret Obsession. CHARLOTTE LAMBЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘I‘LL be back on Friday week,’ Ben said, his back to her but his reflection visible in the dressing-table mirror as his long fingers carefully knotted a blue silk tie, adjusted the set of his collar. Every movement was calm, unhurried, assured—as though he had all day to get ready.

      It was Nerissa who was on edge, her blue eyes constantly glancing at the clock and away again quickly, before Ben noticed. He was too quick to pick up signals; he might start wondering why she was on tenterhooks to get him out of the house; he might ask questions and then she might panic and give away too much. That was what happened to a lot of people when Ben was interrogating them; she had watched it happen in court often enough—heard witnesses start stammering, go pale, flush, betray themselves.

      From this angle she could see the razor-edge of his profile—intimidating, forceful, his mouth level, his grey eyes narrowed and intent. He smoothed down his tight-fitting waistcoat, checked the time by his watch.

      Oh, God, why was he taking so long?

      She took a deep breath to steady her voice, then said, ‘Your taxi’s waiting!’ It had arrived early; the meter must be ticking away.

      ‘I ordered it for eight o’clock and it is only just that now. He can wait,’ he said in that deep, curt voice which made her tension worse.

      If he didn’t leave soon she was going to miss her train. In an agony of impatience she moved to the window, looked out through the lace curtain, saw the London street bathed in autumn sunlight, the horse-chestnut trees in the gardens opposite shedding their russet leaves in a brisk wind, having already shed the spiky orbs which split as they hit the ground, making it easier for the local boys to hunt among the leaves for the shiny brown nuts.

      ‘It’s going to be a beautiful day,’ she said in melancholic irony. Wasn’t that always the way? Weather always mocked you at times like this; it was never in the right mood.

      It should be grey, elegiac, rain seeping down from dark clouds; the wind should howl across the city, or lightning strike the horse-chestnuts and set them blazing.

      Instead, it was glorious out there—rich and glowing colours, a brilliant blue sky radiant with sunlight.

      Ben clicked down the locks on his suitcase and lifted it to the floor. She hadn’t even packed yet—she hadn’t dared; it would have been too risky. She would throw a few things into a case while she waited for a taxi to come and collect her. She hadn’t dared call one, of course. Nothing must alert Ben to the possibility that she was going away too.

      ‘I’ll ring you tonight, from The Hague,’ he said.

      She had her excuse ready, but her voice was slightly breathless, all the same. ‘I may have to work late; Gregory wants me to go out to Worcester to see a client. We don’t yet know the size of the job and it could take all day to assess. I don’t know what time I’ll get back.’

      That much was true—Gregory had given her instructions for the job yesterday and she hadn’t told him that she wouldn’t be doing it. She would ring him later, before she left.

      Ben’s arms slid round her waist and he rested his chin on top of her head, on the cloudy dark mass of hair she hadn’t yet brushed into order. She trembled as she felt his body touching her, his hands below her breasts, resting there lightly, the warmth of his blood reaching her through her jersey wool dress.

      ‘Are you going alone? Or with Gregory? I don’t trust Gregory an inch—I hope you don’t let him flirt with you!’ Ben was smiling as he said it, though. Her boss was a happily married man who had never shown the slightest interest in her. If Ben had even suspected that Gregory might fancy her his tone, his look would have been very different—and they both knew it.

      ‘As if I would!’ she said, trying to sound amused too, but so strung up that she couldn’t quite manage it. He made her so tense.