'Stonor is an original,' Clare was saying. 'You must get him to do some of his imitations of politicians. He's so funny.'
'Oh, a comedian?' said Marie, her tone involuntarily touched with acid.
Stonor laughed, and Clare looked puzzled, while James Brinton stared at his daughter with anxious bewilderment.
'Sometimes I get carried away with my little jokes,' he said, the dark eyes on her face.
'That can be dangerous,' Marie snapped.
He smiled wryly. 'Very true. I gather you've just come back from a trip to my mother's country, Miss Brinton. How did you like the desert?'
She had a hard job to fight down her first reaction, which was to slap his face. With a great effort she managed to say sweetly, 'The desert was… sandy, Mr Grey.'
'And the people?' he asked still in the same courteous, detached voice.
'I met some very pleasant people. Only one person seemed at all objectionable.'
'And who was that, Miss Brinton?' he enquired suavely.
She shrugged one slender shoulder, her oval face scornful. 'Oh, no one of any importance. Just one of those silly men who think they're irresistible…'
Clare gave a soft chuckle, but James Brinton looked astonished. 'Marie? What happened? You never mentioned it to me?'
'It really didn't matter, Dad. I got away from him without any trouble. He was the sort of pest who's so consumed with vanity that he's merely laughable.'
Stonor Grey's eyes were filled with shameless laughter. She saw that, far from having offended or shocked him, she had merely amused him. Gravely he said, 'I hope you slapped his face, Miss Brinton. Men like that have to be taught a lesson. The trouble is, so many girls get taken in and swoon helplessly in their arms. I'm sure you were far too level-headed to be swept off your feet merely by a handsome face and a charming manner.'
She glared at him, silenced by sheer awe-stricken rage at his effrontery.
Her father gestured to the other two men, introducing them to her. 'These are two gentlemen who work with Mr Grey, my dear. Stephen Brent and Henry Carr. My daughter, Marie…'
She smiled and shook hands with them. Stephen Brent was the younger of the two, his hazel eyes pleasant, his smile admiring.
'As you seem to have finished your meal, may I suggest you join us and drink your coffee at our table?' suggested her father.
Clare cheerfully agreed to this, so they moved over to a table large enough to accommodate them all. The men ordered steaks and salad with a purely cursory glance at the menu.
'Are you sure we won't be in the way?' Marie discreetly asked her father as they moved. 'Aren't you here to talk business?'
James Brinton gave a little sigh. His face had the weary grey look which had worried her earlier. 'It's all over bar the shouting,' he said flatly.
She gave him a quick, anxious look. 'What do you mean?'
'Unex will take over Brintons,' he said in the same dull voice. 'Hamley tells me I can't raise the capital to match their offer, let alone outbid them. I'm overstretched as it is. He couldn't help me.'
'Oh, Dad!' She put a hand over his and squeezed his fingers helplessly. 'Not even if you used your own money?'
He shook his head. 'Even if I mortgaged or sold everything I had I couldn't pull if off, and if I did manage to do so by a superhuman effort I would handicap the firm for years to come with a massive burden of debt. The game isn't worth the candle.'
She was stricken, looking at him with miserable anxiety. She could see that this had been a terrible blow to him. His whole life had been destroyed overnight. She looked at Stonor Grey as he seated himself at the table, the lean ascetic face as hard and immovable as flint while those dark eyes were lowered, his powerful body sheathed in elegantly cut evening clothes which disguised the predatory virility of the man in a way which the Arab robes had not done.
He had done this to her father. Like some hawk of the desert he had flown down with cruel talons and ripped her father's life to pieces for a mere whim.
Suddenly the dark eyes lifted and met the bitter, accusing glare of her blue eyes. He glanced down at her hand, tightly linked with her father's, and a cool comprehension came into the intelligent face. It was, she thought, impossible to hide anything from this man. His mind was as quick as lightning, flashing into and illuminating the dark places of thought. He would always be able to read her expression. Grimly, she determined to learn to control her features so as to leave him no clues.
While the men ate their meal, Clare talked, sipping cups of black coffee. She held them all captive, yet her talk was neither sparkling nor witty. Somehow she managed to captivate without effort. Marie marvelled at her ability. Only James Brinton seemed immune tonight, eating dully without interest, his mood too grim to respond to Clare's charm.
A band began to play on a raised dais in one corner and some of the diners got up and began to dance on a tiny wooden floor just in front of the band.