‘You will not.’
‘But I don’t want to be a gooseberry,’ she said frantically. ‘You and she…I mean…’
‘I know exactly what you mean and kindly allow me to make my own decisions.’
‘Like you make everyone else’s?’ she snapped.
‘I won’t pretend not to understand that, but you can’t have known my brother a whole two days without realising that he’s vulnerable. I don’t want people to see him like this. Do you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Just let me say goodnight to him.’
But Charlie was dead to the world and she stood back while Harry drove off with him. Watching Roscoe get into the driving seat of his car, she realised that she’d seen him drink only tonic water, and after several hours in a nightclub he was stone cold sober and completely in control.
Which was typical of him, she thought crossly.
Teresa didn’t seem annoyed at having Pippa foisted on her when she would no doubt have preferred to be alone with Roscoe. As they sat together in the back she chatted merrily, mostly about Charlie, whose company she had enjoyed, especially as he had entertained her by running through some routines by another more talented comedian he’d recently seen perform.
‘He’s really good,’ she recalled.
‘You shouldn’t encourage him,’ Roscoe said over his shoulder. ‘He’s a sight too fond of playing whatever part he thinks people want.’
‘Which will surely be useful in a stockbroker,’ Pippa observed. ‘He must need various personalities, depending on whether he’s buying shares or selling them, manipulating the market, or manipulating people. With any luck, he’ll be almost as good at that as you.’
Teresa rocked with laughter. The back of Roscoe’s head was stiff and unrevealing.
Outside her apartment block, he got out and held open the door for her, a chivalrous gesture that also gave him the chance to fix her with a cool, appraising stare. She returned it in full measure.
‘I hope your evening was enjoyable, Miss Jenson.’
‘I hope yours was informative, Mr Havering.’
‘More than I could have imagined, thank you.’
‘Then all is well. Goodnight.’
Once in her apartment with the door safely shut behind her, Pippa tossed her bag aside, threw herself into a chair and kicked off her shoes, breathing out hard and long.
‘Phew! What an evening! Get him! More informative than he could have imagined. I’ll bet it was! Hello, Gran! Don’t mind me. I’m good ’n mad.’
She was addressing the photograph that she kept on the sideboard, showing the wedding of Grandmother Dee and Grandfather Mark. Dee had once confided to her that there had been complications about that wedding.
‘I was pregnant,’ she’d said, ‘and that was scandalous in nineteen forty-three. You had to get married to stay respectable, and I wondered if he was only marrying me because he had to.’
‘And was he?’ Pippa had wanted to know.
Dee had smiled mysteriously. ‘Let’s say he had his own reasons, but it was a while before I discovered what they were. On our wedding day I still couldn’t quite believe in his love.’
Yet the young Dee in the picture was beaming happily, and in Pippa’s present mood it all looked delightfully uncomplicated.
‘Fancy having to be married before you could make love,’ she mused.
In her mind she saw Roscoe dancing with Teresa, holding her in an embrace that spoke of passion deferred, but not for long. Right this minute they were on their way to her home, or perhaps to his, where he would sweep her into the bedroom and remove her clothes without wasting a moment.
She knew the kind of lover he would be: no-nonsense, not lingering over preliminaries, but proceeding straight to the purpose, as he did with everything. As well as pleasuring his woman efficiently, he would instruct her as to his own needs, with everything done to the highest standards. Afterwards, Teresa would know she’d received attention from an expert.
For a while Pippa’s annoyance enabled her to indulge these cynical thoughts, but another memory insisted on intruding-his care for his mother, his patience, his kindness to her. All these spoke of a different man, with a gentle heart that he showed rarely. Was that gentleness also present in the lover?
‘And why am I bothering?’ she asked aloud. ‘Honestly, Gran, I think you had it better in your day.’
Dee’s smiling face as she nestled against her new husband seemed to say that she was right.
Pippa sighed and went to bed.
The night that followed was the strangest she’d ever known. Worn out, she had expected to sleep like a log, but the world was fractured. Two men wandered through her dreams-one gentle, protective and kind, the other a harsh authoritarian who gave his orders and assumed instant obedience. Both men were Roscoe Havering.
In this other world he danced with her, holding her close, not briefly but possessively, as though claiming her for ever. Unable to resist, she yielded, resting against him with a joy that felt like coming home. But then she awoke to find her flesh singing but herself alone.
In a fury, she threw something across the room. It was time to face facts. Roscoe had appeared at The Diamond the night before in order to study her and see if she was doing her job as a hired fancy woman. Whatever gloss he tried to put on it, that was the truth. Curse him!
Unable to lie still, she rose and began to pace the room, muttering desperately. ‘All right, so I felt something. Not
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN Pippa finally awoke it was to the memory of the appointment at Roscoe’s office that morning.
‘Oh, no,’ she groaned. ‘I’m not going!’
But she knew she was. The professional Miss Jenson didn’t tamely back off. She got out of bed, showered in cold water for maximum alertness and ate a hearty breakfast, calculated to enhance energy and efficiency. The fact that she was inwardly fuming was of no interest to anyone else. Certainly not Roscoe Havering.
Now that the first hint of winter snow was in the air, she chose her attire for warmth: severe suit, long coat, flat shoes. With a face free of make-up and her hair scraped firmly back, she decided that she looked just right: a lawyer, not a fancy piece, whatever a man with no manners might think.
She put in a hard morning’s work at her office, then David looked in for a quick word.
‘Off to see Roscoe? Good. You’ve probably learned all about him by now.’
‘The odd detail,’ she said, assiduously hunting for something inside her desk.
‘Then you’ll have heard that there’s nobody in the business with a higher reputation. His speciality is discretionary dealing.’
Pippa knew that some brokers simply followed their clients’ instructions, but did not give advice. Others would give advice, but not make final decisions. Most demanding of all was discretionary dealing, where the broker ascertained the clients’ long-term objectives, and then had authority to make decisions without further consultation. Only the best and most trusted brokers could do this, and it came as no surprise to know that Roscoe Havering was one of them.
‘A lot of brokers came out of the recession looking bad,’ David told her. ‘Not him. If anything, his trade has doubled because clients have flocked to him, disillusioned with the others. Plus there are rumours of a link-up with the Vanlen Corporation that would make Havering one of the richest and most powerful men in the financial world.’
Pippa mulled this over on the journey to Threadneedle Street, in the financial heart of London. Now the snow had properly started and, as she stepped out of the taxi, she pulled her coat tight, relieved that she would get her car back tomorrow.
Roscoe’s office was located in a historic building, converted to modern day requirements. Dark deeds had
