'I did, of course, with the help of young Bob, when I could drag him away from chatting up the girls in the factory.' His friendly features relaxed in a broad grin. 'But since you arrived I'm almost superfluous. Your enthusiasm and talent far outstrip mine. I can remember your mother when she first worked here; she was good, but you are great. This old studio has got a new lease of life. Why, even my cartoons are looking better!' he joked.
His kindness and obvious sincerity made her eyes blur with tears, and, brushing her eyes with the back of her hand, she swallowed hard. 'Thanks, Mike. You're a nice man,' she said, trying to smile.
'No trouble at the board meeting?' he asked gently, noting her luminous green eyes. 'I've heard some unpleasant rumours, and I would hate to start looking for another job at my age.'
'The meeting was a great success. Your job is secure,' she reassured him.
'That's OK, then.' Mike breathed a sigh of relief and, patting her shoulder, he returned to his corner and his book.
In that moment Katy realised there was no turning back. Tonight she would become Jake's mistress, but with one proviso of her own. She was determined to carry on her work. She loved the place and the people and she no longer had any doubt she was good at her job. Her relationship with Jake in all probability would be fleeting, but her career in design would be a life-long comfort.
She joined Mike and a few other members of staff in a nearby pub for lunch, but the steak and kidney pie she ordered stuck in her throat. She was grateful for the easy companionship of her co-workers, but after lunch she could not face going back to the office, so instead she returned to the relative safety of her own apartment.
She threw her handbag on to a chair, and, kicking off her shoes, she collapsed on to the over-stuffed sofa. She looked* around her living-room. In a few weeks she had decorated it with an energy and determination she had never indulged before, and the net result was a pleasant blend of old and new.
Elegant cream satin drapes bordered the windows. Two large satin-covered sofas stood like sentinels each side of the Adam fireplace. A deep-pile carpet in old rose covered the floor, the colour broken by a delicately patterned Chinese rug in front of the fire. A polished mahogany coffee-table delicately inlaid with elm sported a copy of last week's Cosmopolitan, plus a delightful arrangement of fresh-cut flowers nestling in a Chinese ginger jar. A warm, comfortable nest to hide in, but not for much longer, she thought sadly.
From France she had brought her collection of pictures. Some were her own, but most she had purchased from struggling artists on the left bank in Paris. As she looked at them dotted around the walls every one revived a memory of happier times—shopping with Anna, or just strolling around on a Sunday afternoon. The vibrant colours, the humorous touches, reminded her of a happy moment, and her friend.
Katy closed her eyes as a spasm of pain contorted her beautiful face. Would she ever get over the death of Anna? She had thought yesterday was the worst day of her life, and nothing could be worse, but she had a sinking feeling tonight might beat it.
The ringing of the telephone interrupted her troubled thoughts. It was Claude, calling from Paris.
The sound of a friendly voice raised her flagging spirits a little. Anna had married Claude's son Alain straight from college. Mr and Mrs la Tour had been posted to the French embassy in Brazil, and Katy had moved in with Claude.
It had created a lot of unfavourable gossip as his wife had not been long dead, but the truth was that Claude's home was a mansion with a dozen servants, and the only relationship Katy had with him was strictly avuncular. They had all been great pals. When Anna had died Katy had drawn a lot of comfort and support from Claude, and she liked to think she had helped him.
He was calling to remind her it was his granddaughter's—her god-daughter's—birthday in a month, and could she get over to Paris for the party? Also, much to her surprise, he told her if she was absolutely sure she wanted to return to modelling of course he would hire her.
Katy gently refused his offer of employment. It was too late. But when she put the phone down she was no longer quite so depressed. Jake was not as omnipotent as he thought. He had not managed to frighten Claude off.
She walked into the kitchen, filled the kettle, and switched it on. Taking a jar of instant coffee from a cupboard, she ladled a spoonful into a beaker. Her lips quirked in a reminiscent if slightly wry smile at the inscription on the mug: ' "Lord give me chastity—but not yet." Saint Augustine, 354-430.' Anna had given her the mug as a present only months before she'd died. She could hear Anna's voice, clear in her mind as though she were in the room with her.
'I couldn't resist buying this for you, Lena, after seeing that poster you did, and knowing you live like a nun. It's not natural. Time enough to be celibate when you're old and grey; at twenty-one you should be enjoying life to the full. This will remind you even saints are human.'
Katy poured the water on to the powder and idly stirred the mixture with a spoon. She had laughed at the time, but maybe her friend had been right...
Poor Anna, her life cut short so young when she had everything to live for. She wondered what her friend would have said about Katy's becoming a mistress. She could guess. Anna of the laughing brown eyes and bubbly humour. 'My God, Lena, from saint to sinner overnight. What a way to go!'
Her eyes misted with tears. Dear heaven, she missed not having another girl to talk to, to confide in. She took a deep swallow of her coffee and fought back the threatening tears. She felt more alone than she had ever done in her life.
Just when she had reconciled with her father and recognised how much he genuinely cared for her, there was no way she could allow herself to get so close to him. Jake Granton had seen to that. She must play her part as his mistress, without her father ever finding out the true reason for her renewed friendship with Jake.
She drained her coffee-mug and replaced it on the bench. She heard a ringing in her head, and it was a few moments before she registered that it was the doorbell. With a weary sigh she walked out of the kitchen and down the short hall, and mechanically opened the door. The way she felt at the moment, even a conversation with a door-to-door salesman would be preferable to her own troubled thoughts.
'Yes, can I help... ?' The words stopped in her throat, her green eyes widening in shock at the sight of Jake framed in the doorway.
'Why the shock-horror, Katy? You didn't think I would let you get away with reneging on our deal? I'm not so philanthropic' His mouth twisted mockingly as he brushed past her and walked into the apartment.
She followed him into the living-room. 'What are you doing here?'
'I have come to help you pack.' And before she could gather her scattered wits he pressed a hard brief kiss on her open mouth before his gaze swept rapidly around the room. 'It doesn't look as if you have started.'
Blankly she looked into his face: his mouth was a hard tight line, and his eyes, half shadowed by thick lashes, were unreadable. 'Pack?' she parroted feebly, desperate to put off her ultimate capitulation. 'You mentioned tonight.' A sharp stab of desire curled her stomach, and she wanted to reach out to him, then the reality of the situation hit her, and bitterness rose in her throat.
'Look at your watch, Katy,' he prompted sarcastically.
She did—where had the day gone? It was almost six. She looked up to see Jake striding out of the room and along the tiny hall to her bedroom. Gathering her scattered senses, she dashed after him and landed slap up against his chest as he turned at the door.