‘He likes you then. Jackson has invited you to his house for dinner, too.’ She bit her lip. ‘That’s on a list somewhere too. I don’t mean to pry.’ She did, she was hopelessly in love with prying. ‘I just assumed you met him somewhere, maybe in the past. What a lucky guy you are, falling on your feet here.’
‘Lucky? I suppose. I don’t think Jackson depends on luck.’ He wasn’t paying attention to the photographs.
‘No, you’re right. He doesn’t. Not if Hettie’s involved.’
He was staring at the watercolour on the wall, his dark eyes focused, his mind somewhere else.
He took a call, arranging to meet somebody called Ellen. He apologised to her, this Ellen, for not knowing she was a vegetarian and suggested a fish restaurant. A new woman in his life, Julianna surmised. She hid her disappointment. It was probably for the best. Emotional attachments with work colleagues should be avoided. Still, it was an unfortunate turn of events.
A hiatus descended while Mark was dispatched on training courses and Chris hijacked Julianna for bodyguard duties. She drove the Hayneses to a midday appointment at Hettie's doctor. They spoke about a recent dinner party and Mark's name popped up. Julianna's grip on the steering wheel tightened. She avoided rear-view mirror glimpses, and focused her acute hearing on the conversation instead.
‘You invited Mark. Why?’ Hettie asked.
‘You know why,’ Jackson said, in an off-hand manner.
‘I don't. You know I don't understand these games you play with people. It's cruel. If you'd help—’
Jackson spoke softly. ‘It's for the best. He has to find out for himself. I'm just keeping an eye on things.’
The frustrating snippets of information seemed almost for Julianna's benefit, not Hettie's.
‘He thinks you're his friend. Our friend. I don't like it,’ Hettie said.
‘He's a grown man. I'm giving him opportunities, contacts. It's his choice if he uses them.’
Julianna's heart skipped a beat when he mentioned contacts. She flicked the A/C vent towards her face and hoped the icy blast masked her reaction.
Hettie made no attempt to lower her voice. ‘But now you say his sister is involved.’
‘Ellen? She's on the fringe. Chris pointed out the family is partly estranged. In any case, she's barely out of her teens.’
Julianna smothered a gasp. His sister! So she had overheard Mark arranging to meet his sister. It made a difference. A big difference. If he was free…
‘Well,’ Hettie said markedly, ‘I'm just saying all this because I like Mark. He's a good accountant. I gave him a painting when you took him off me for this new job.’
‘Good with numbers, yes. People? He needs more guidance. He needs to meet the right people.’
‘And what if he meets the wrong people? Isn’t that just as dangerous after what happened?’
Jackson made a “pfft” sound. ‘I made sure the police didn’t expose him. I need him to stay sharp, though.’
Against her wishes, the hairs on the back of Julianna’s neck stood on end.
‘Well, don’t let this get out of hand, Jackson, or I shall be very cross.’
The conversation went no further: they had arrived at the clinic. Jackson had engineered everything: Mark had contacted Julianna because he had been given her name by Chris, Jackson’s confidante and spy in the office. And, maybe, instead of Jackson telling Hettie to hush, he had allowed Julianna to eavesdrop, leaving her hungry to know more.
The whole business of the painting was nothing, a quirky detail she could now discard.
The final project meeting with Mark was prior to the fundraiser; he had complied a report for the police. He flirted with her again. Not overtly, or even consciously. She assimilated those nuances and acknowledged the appeal remained intact even after the conversation in the car. Hettie might have encouraged Julianna's curiosity, provoked a touch of rivalry, but now Julianna was independently possessive of Mark. She liked the idea she fancied a man with a mystery to solve and it made the seduction doubly thrilling. Unlike Alex, she would invest very little of herself in Mark. She had nothing to lose.
8
Mark
WINTER
Every October the Haynes foundation, Opportunitas, held its fund-raising event at the Savoy Hotel. Jackson cast aside business rivalries and invited executives, clients and dignitaries to hobnob with rent-by-the-hour celebrities. Mark didn’t fit into any of those categories. Not fitting in was becoming a feature of his life in London. The dinner party was a practice run for the charity ball, and Mark attended out of both curiosity and a need to hone his social skills to the next level.
The exclusive party was held, naturally, at Fasleigh House, the vast mansion Jackson inhabited at the weekends, and which required a train journey and a chauffeur driven car to reach. The soiree involved formal black-tie attire, yet still managed to be bizarrely pedestrian and relaxed. Much of that was down to Hettie.
The food was exquisitely delicious, each dish orchestrated to lead to the next and served by choreographed caterers who swooped along the table when the clatter of cutlery subsided, signifying the end of a course.
‘Mark,’ Hettie said softly, leaning across the polished oak. ‘Missing your favourite client?’
‘Of course. How's my replacement doing?’ Mark said, awkwardly wishing he was still her personal accountant.
A baby's cry cut through the merriment. An unashamedly resplendent Hettie announced her apologies and swept out, her golden dress and sequins glittering under the lamplight.
She brought the restless child into the dining room and Mark, unable to look away, watched her breastfeed the baby. She didn’t bother to cover her breast and the small fingers thrashed, clawing tiny nails into her mother's flesh. Hettie's lack of embarrassment clashed with everyone else's discomfort. Except Mark felt none of it. He was in awe of her confidence; the display of maternal
