Her plan didn't -have a chance of succeeding. When she and Terry got to the table she found that Keir had arranged the seating this time and she was sitting next to him with Terry on her other side. Keir drew out her chair and she reluctantly sat down, a shiver running down her spine as his hands brushed her shoulders. He didn't hurry, his fingertips moved lingeringly over the smooth crepe of her designer-styled dress. Liza had chosen it deliberately because they were eating in a very good restaurant; it was one of her favourite dresses, a vivid violet-blue with a deep V-neck and a flowing, slim skirt. She knew she looked good in it; her figure graceful, slender, her neck bare below the immaculate chignon. Keir had almost touched her skin and she sensed that he had refrained from doing so solely to make her tense, to put her on edge, expecting it any minute.
'Melba toast?' he asked, offering her the basket of very thin slices of crisp, dry toast, and she took one and nibbled it while Terry talked about what the agency planned. Keir seemed interested; he had his first course in front of him by now—smoked salmon and prawns— which he ate slowly as he listened. Liza ate her melon and contributed nothing to the discussion. Her table napkin kept sliding down off her lap; the material of her dress was slippery. Keir observed this with a sideways glance.
'Having trouble?' he murmured while Terry was laughing noisily at some joke Keir had made a second earlier.
'None I can't handle!' she said and her eyes met his, making it plain that she wasn't just referring to her slippery napkin.
'Sure about that?' he drawled softly, mocking her.
'Just watch me,' Liza muttered, feeling like throwing her wine at him.
'I mean to,' he promised, and she felt her pulses beat a flurried tattoo.
'As I was saying,' Terry broke in on their brief exchange, and Keir turned a cool smile on him, all attention again. Liza watched the waiter removing the plates, filling their glasses. She was on tenterhooks now; wishing that this lunch would come to an end because she was finding it very hard to sit next to Keir, feel his long, lean body so close to her, his legs stretching next to hers, his shoulder almost touching her now and then, his brown-skinned hand on the table, crumbling a bread roll on a small plate absently as he listened—all the physical intimacies of everyday life which she knew she would never have noticed if he had been any other man. She wasn't aware of Terry Lexington's gestures and movements. Terry simply wasn't impinging on her, but Keir had all her attention, even when she tried to look in the other direction.
Nicky was talking now and they were all listening. He was a very good photographer and his face lit up with excitement as he explained his ideas for the side of the campaign he would be handling. Liza slowly ate her chefs salad, her eyes lowered. She reached for her wine glass and, as she stretched, her napkin slid down again. She reached for it but Keir had moved faster. He retrieved it before it fell, but his fingers had brushed her knee first; a cool, light contact which made her furious because she knew it was all part of his needling campaign against her. He was taking every opportunity to touch her, and the wicked glint of his eyes told her he didn't care if she knew it; he meant her to know it, in fact. That was part of the strategy.
She was going to have to out-think this man if he wasn't to drive her completely crazy. She had been sure that after hearing why she didn't want to get involved with any other man he would leave her well alone, but she had underestimated his tenacity. He hadn't given up or gone away, or written her off as a bad risk. He had bought his way into her life in secret, and was pleased with himself for taking her by surprise today.
She couldn't think of a way of blocking him. She couldn't break the contract; she and Pam-Pam had signed with the advertising agency, and for the girl's sake Liza had to go through with the deal. This was Pamela's big break, she couldn't wreck it for her.
'We need somewhere really special to shoot the first series of ads,' Nicky said, looking at Terry. 'I've been thinking . . . how about famous beauty spots? Outdoor locations—the Lake District, the Yorkshire fells, that sort of thing—still on the natural kick, you get it?'
'We'll shoot them at Hartwell,' Keir said and the other men looked round, totally startled by that.
'Hartwell?' Nicky's jaw had dropped. The house was a tourist dream, but people usually only saw the gardens; the house wasn't open to the public except on special days for charity.
'Hartwell?' Terry murmured, in a different voice, flushed with excitement at the thought of using such a prestigious background for one of his campaigns, and even Pam had sat up, huge-eyed, open-mouthed. She had heard of Hartwell, it seemed, she couldn't believe she was going down there to be photographe
d.
i suggest you all come down next weekend to decide exactly where to take these pictures,' Keir said and his lashes flicked sideways; Liza felt the deep blue glitter of his glance for a second, saw the ironic, mocking curl of his mouth, i'm not having any other house guests this week so I'd be glad if you could all stay for the whole weekend, Friday to Monday.'
Nicky and Terry eagerly said they'd love to, naturally, they would look forward to it, and Pam beamed, nodding. Keir turned his head to survey Liza, waiting for what he knew would be coming.
She smiled coldly. 'Thank you for the invitation, and I'd have loved to come, but I'm afraid I have a prior engagement. Pam will be there, though, and I'll send one of my senior staff to chaperon her, if I may.'
'I don't deal with anyone but the boss,' Keir said brusquely. 'Either you come or the deal's off. I can't have some stranger running around my home. This isn't just business, you know. This is where I live, it's my own home. I didn't invite one of your senior staff, I invited you personally.'
His face was icy, hauteur in every line. The relaxed and friendly atmosphere had frozen over and Terry and Nicky threw Liza horrified, pleading glances across the table. What was she doing, rocking the boat like this? their agitated eyes said. Didn't she know what a big compliment this was, being asked to stay at Hartwell, the home of the wealthy Giffords? You didn't normally get past the high iron gates unless you were somebody important, a VIP with the same sort of life-style as the master of the house. They had been astonished when he had appeared at this lunch, but they were staggered at the invitation to stay at his country house. They couldn't believe their ears when Liza tried to turn it down. Was she crazy ? they silently demanded. Any minute now Keir
Gifford was going to cancel the invitation, maybe even the whole deal. He was angry; they looked at him nervously, sweating. When a man as important as Keir Gifford got angry, everyone around him got tense and Liza saw that she had a difficult situation ahead of her whatever she decided to do.
If she didn't go to Hartwell for the weekend Keir might pull out of the whole project and then she would have to explain why she had done it to Terry and Nicky and Pam.
If she did go to Hartwell, she would have to cope with Keir Gifford at much closer quarters and she had butterflies at the very idea of that.
'Of course Liza will come! She can break her other date,' Nicky said hastily.
it isn't every day you get an invitation to Hartwell, after all,' Terry chimed in, and both men glared at Liza, begging and demanding in one stare, while Pam sat in stunned, incredulous anguish, unable to speak.
Liza sighed and met Keir's ironic, watchful eyes. She had no choice at all, did she?
CHAPTER NINE
Liza heard the girls in the outer office talking before she even set foot out of the lift. Their voices were excited and they were all apparently talking at once, but the name Hartwell rose out of the general uproar. Liza stopped in mid-step, scowling. Now how on earth had they heard about that so soon? She had only told Maddie the previous afternoon and had sworn her to secrecy—had Maddie leaked it?
As she pushed through the swing doors the voices stopped dead; the girls moved like greased lightning in all directions, one to a computer terminal, another to a filing cabinet, and Joan dived for the machine room where Liza could hear the chuntering of the photocopier. Maddie was at her desk looking as cheerful as someone who had just seen her doom prophesied. Liza walked briskly across the room, bending a peremptory finger in Maddie's direction as she went.