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Under Maisie’s rainbow-coloured hair was a brilliant clothes designer as well as an astute businesswoman, and when Sephy confided her predicament Maisie and her assistant got to work with their patterns and sewing machines.
The first dress, made just a week after she and Conrad had come to their arrangement, made Sephy’s mouth fall open in sheer delight. ‘Maisie, it’s gorgeous,’ she said as she tried on the sky-blue silk evening dress and watched what it did to her creamy skin and hair in Maisie’s mirror. ‘But how much do I owe you?’
‘Nothing,’ Maisie said offhandedly. ‘I shall sell it in the shop when you’ve worn it. A woman in your position can’t be seen wearing the same dress twice.’ She grinned at Sephy, who smiled weakly back. ‘You’re a perfect size twelve so there won’t be a problem; just don’t spill red wine down it or something. And don’t be shy about saying where you got it if any of the precious darlings ask, okay? Jenny and I will do something different for every do you go to—exclusives. Don’t forget to mention they’re exclusives.’
‘Right.’ Sephy looked at the vibrant, confident face in front of her and said, a touch regretfully, ‘You’d be much better at all this than me, Maisie.’
‘Possibly.’ Maisie eyed her laughingly through her exotic eye make-up. ‘But I’m not the one he’s got the hots for, kiddo.’
Sephy gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘He’ll soon come to his senses,’ she said quietly.
She had told Maisie the full story at the first fitting. It had been the first time she had shared how she felt about Conrad with a living soul and the relief had been tremendous. And Maisie had been tremendous too. She had listened without interrupting until Sephy had finished and then she had given her a big hug and muttered, ‘He’s a rat. A rich, sexy, drop-dead gorgeous rat, I admit, but a rat nevertheless. And he doesn’t deserve you, sweetie.’
‘He hasn’t got me,’ Sephy had answered with a wry smile.
‘Just make sure you keep it that way!’
Part of keeping it that way was to follow through on her decision to leave Quentin Dynamics, which Sephy did at the end of February, when she joined a very elite and prestigious agency.
Conrad hadn’t liked it when she’d told him she’d decided to join a temping agency for the foreseeable future, but she hadn’t expected him to. Whilst she was still working for Mr Harper there was always the chance she would run into Conrad—in the lift, in Reception or one of the offices—and she didn’t like the thought of that, now word had got out they were an item, but it was more the issue of independence that prompted her action.
She didn’t feel comfortable in being reliant on Conrad for her bread and butter, and that was what working at Quentin Dynamics boiled down to. It didn’t sit right. Also—and she found herself skirting over this thought even as she berated herself for not facing the inevitable—working somewhere else would make things much easier when their tenuous relationship was over.
And so she worked for the agency in the day and entered a different world at night; Conrad’s world. A breathlessly exciting, fast-moving, exhilarating place where anything could—and frequently did—happen.
She found herself drawn into all aspects of his life, but during the times when she began to hope that Conrad cared for her more than he was prepared to admit she had to remind herself that her presence was still carefully controlled by that cool, analytical mind. She was aware he allowed her to get only so close, and then a remoteness, a very distinct withdrawal, would take place.
This happened more often after they had spent time together and it was just the two of them; quiet evenings at Conrad’s beautiful home, long walks when they talked and laughed together, the odd meal at a little pub somewhere far away from the glitzy glamour restaurants Conrad normally frequented. If she was honest Sephy enjoyed these simple pleasures more than anything else, and as she had never been very good at hiding her feelings she suspected Conrad knew that. But he didn’t know the underlying cause, that it was because she loved him and treasured the time alone when she had him all to herself.
Through the months leading up to the summer Conrad kept to his word. He kissed her often—he’d made it very plain in the first week of their new arrangement that he considered that perfectly permissible under the terms of their agreement—and he kissed her passionately, petting and cuddling her, but only up to a point.
He would fit her body into his when they sat watching TV at his home, his arm round her shoulders and his square chin resting on the silk of her hair so the delicious scent and warmth of him was all around her; draw her closely against him on their walks, his hard thigh nudging hers and the powerful height and breadth of him seeming to enclose her; hold her so close on the dance floor that she could feel every hard male inch of him. But always that restraint was there.
He was controlled and in command of himself at all times, coolly curbing his desire when he caressed or kissed her and checking any moments which had the potential to get out of hand.
Cool, calm and collected—the epitome of the composed, successful, imperturbable potentate. And it was driving her bananas.
How many times she’d felt an almost irresistible urge to just leap on him Sephy didn’t know, but by the beginning of June it ran into the hundreds and it was sending her mad. He was sending her mad. Her nerves were frayed and she barely knew herself any more.
He was playing with her; they both knew it. Beneath the innocent guise of friendship, or whatever else he cared to label their strange relationship in the icy confines of that freezer which passed as a mind, he was playing a strategic game of emotional chess. He was sensual and sexy in a million provoking little ways, drawing forth a response from her body, inflaming her senses, rousing her and stimulating her libido until she didn’t know what to do with herself, Sephy told herself bitterly as she sat picking at a slice of toast one morning after a terrible night’s sleep.
Conrad had taken her to the theatre the evening before for the opening night of a play which was predicted to take London by storm. They had been invited to the champagne supper afterwards where they had met the cast before dancing the night away. And Conrad had been at his most devastating.
It hadn’t just been the black dinner jacket and tie, although the formal attire suited his wicked dark looks to perfection, or the fact that he had towered head and shoulders above most of the other men present which had had her heart racing most of the night, but the way he had been with her.
Protective, proud, tender, attentive… He’d had the technique down to a fine art, as normal, she thought aggressively, jabbing marmalade on to an unfortunate piece of toast with enough force to reduce it to a pile of crumbs. No one watching them would have doubted that he was anything but madly in love with her.
She’d floated through the night, revelling in every magical second she’d spent in his arms, and then—just as they’d been thinking about leaving—another couple had come to their table to talk to them for a few moments.
The woman had been bubbly and flirtatious, with cute blonde curls and the biggest baby-blue eyes Sephy had ever seen, and her husband had been a tall, lean Richard Gere type, who’d clearly worshipped the ground his taffeta-clad wife walked on. They had made a striking couple, and had apparently only got married the month before, but from the first moment the other woman had looked at her Sephy had known the blonde had been one of Conrad’s affairs and, moreover, that she still cared about him.
The knowledge had shocked her out of the state of euphoria the evening in his arms had produced and back into the real world with a bump.
‘Who is she?’ All the time the couple had been with them Sephy had promised herself she wouldn’t ask, but the minute they were alone again the words had just popped out of their own accord.
Conrad didn’t try to prevaricate after he saw the awareness in her face, but there was a cool, cutting note to his voice when he said, ‘It was a long time ago, Sephy.’
‘She still wants you.’
