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‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘To see some friends of mine. Don’t worry, you’ll be quite safe,’ he told her urbanely as he opened the door. ‘They’re a very respectably and happily married couple. Tony is an old friend, I was best man at their wedding, and Valeria will be a very adequate chaperone.’
‘Won’t they think it strange when you turn up with me?’ Storm asked nervously.
‘They’re quite accustomed to me doing strange things,’ she was assured dryly, as Jago opened the car door for her. ‘But if it puts your mind at rest there’ll be such a crowd there that one more will hardly be noticed. Tony is one of the friends I was telling you about who’s going to invest in the station.’
‘Has he invested in your London station?’ Storm asked. The dark interior of the car was creating a subtle intimacy she would have preferred to do without.
‘No, I own that outright. No, Tony and I met at Cambridge.’
Cambridge? In the darkness Storm frowned. It must have been quite an achievement for a boy with Jago’s background to win a place there.
‘Mary Simmonds told me that you were brought up in a children’s home,’ she said impulsively. ‘No wonder you want to help these children so much, it must have been dreadful…’
‘Don’t waste your pity on me,’ Jago told her in a hard voice. ‘My parents died while I was too young to remember them—a road accident—and there are worse places to grow up. Life’s what you make of it, Storm. No one gets anywhere waiting for it to come to them. I’m not one of your la
me dogs and I don’t want your pity.’
His words hurt and she wished she had not agreed to accompany him. The evening stretched interminably ahead of her. How on earth would she cope thrown into a circle of complete strangers, who would probably all wonder what on earth a man like Jago was doing with a country mouse like her? No doubt she didn’t compare at all favourably with his usual female companions—models, actresses, Society types.
Jago’s friends lived in Chelsea, and Storm’s eyes widened apprehensively as he stopped outside an elegant Regency terrace. Lights seemed to blaze from every window, elegant and expensive cars were parked outside, and Storm shivered as Jago escorted her up the stone steps and past the bay trees standing either side of the front door.
‘De rigueur in Chelsea,’ Jago told her, following her eyes.
The door opened and a diminutive blonde flung her arms round his neck and kissed him enthusiastically.
‘Jago darling! We thought you weren’t going to make it. Tony,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘Jago’s here!’
Five minutes later Storm was being taken upstairs by her hostess, who as Jago had prophesied took her appearance in her stride.
‘So you’re the Storm Jago has been telling Tony about,’ she said as she opened a bedroom door. ‘Just leave your jacket there and then I’ll take you downstairs and introduce you around. I’m afraid you’ll probably find you’ve already lost Jago,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘When he and Tony get together there’s no stopping them. I hope you aren’t the jealous type,’ she added as they went back downstairs. ‘Although I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about. Jago isn’t easily swayed once he’s made up his mind about something.’
‘I don’t think you understand,’ Storm said anxiously. ‘There’s nothing romantic between us…’
Valeria turned to stare at her, her pretty, intelligent brown eyes openly amazed.
‘My dear, you can’t be for real?’ she said breathlessly. ‘But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.’
She was in no state to argue with her kindly hostess, Storm decided. Let Jago explain the position to her, after all they were his friends.
True to her promise Valeria took her round and introduced her to several people. A young man with fair hair and blue eyes, whom Storm vaguely recognised from television, made a big thing of fetching her a drink and getting her something to eat. Storm searched discreetly for Jago and saw him standing to one side talking to a short auburn-haired man who she guessed must be their host.
Her blond companion introduced himself as Richard Kingsley, and although the name meant nothing to Storm, she sensed that it was supposed to.
Pop music blared from a stereo in one corner of the room and several couples gyrated on the floor.
So these were the ‘beautiful people’, Storm thought wryly. A tall black-haired girl walked up to Jago, putting her hand on his arm as she whispered something in his ear, and Storm wasn’t surprised to see the two of them dancing together.
When Richard suggested that they join them she shook her head, but he grabbed her arm, tugging her towards him, and rather than make a scene she gave in.
He was an expert dancer, although a little flamboyant, and she knew they were attracting attention from the others. When the music changed tempo to a slow, dreamy number, she was pleased at first, until under cover of the darkness, Richard’s hands caressed her back, his breath whisky-flavoured as he murmured softly, ‘Mm—sexy, and you’ve got lovely skin. How about we split and go off somewhere on our own, like my place?’
Storm pushed him away.
‘Thanks, but no, thanks,’ she told him coolly.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he objected, pulling her against him. ‘Relax!’
