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CHAPTER ONE
JUDITH walked back to her office through Central Park; she was going to be late, but she couldn't force herself to hurry. She had had a very good lunch with some delicious wine which still circulated in her veins and it was one of those days in late autumn when New York shimmers in an elegant sunlight. She watched the golden trees overhead, their leaves had suddenly begun to crisp and curl, rustling like banknotes in the counting wind which occasionally peeled one off and sent it whirling along the avenues and walks where lovers sat looking dreamily at each other and men in city suits furtively ate sandwiches from silver foil wrappers, scattering the crumbs for pigeons whose grey plumage was iridescent in the sunshine. Any day now the trees would be bare, shivering, the snow would come floating down the canyons of Manhattan and Judith would have to scurry out of the office into the subway without so much as a glance at the park. She might as well, she felt, enjoy today while she could.
As she finally reached the Schewitz and Quayle building she looked at her watch, shrugging half an hour late. Well, John wasn't likely to say too much; she was usually very punctual. She produced her security card for the uniformed porter who was already waving her past into the shadowy foyer.
'I know who you are, Miss Murry,' he said with a grin.
'I might have a bomb in my handbag,' Judith told him gravely, and he laughed.
'Oh, I can't see you blowing the old place up,' he said, looking around the foyer.
'Can't you?' Judith walked towards the lift before he could answer that. She went up to the fourth floor and stepped out of the lift, expecting the usual sepulchral hush, only to take two steps towards her office and halt in disbelief. What on earth was happening in the conference room? It sounded like someone shouting. She couldn't believe her ears. It was one of the unwritten rules in the bank that voices were never raised. If you are going bankrupt do it quietly and don't do it here, the board's attitude suggested.
She stood outside the great carved walnut doors of the conference room, feeling rather like a parlourmaid listening at a keyhole, except that she didn't have to stoop to hear the crash of someone's fist on the long, polished table inside.
'Get that and get it good. It isn't over, you can take it from me. I'll wipe the smiles off your faces!'
The door opened before Judith could get out of the way and a man came through it so fast that he almost knocked her over. He paused long enough to give her a glare from hard grey eyes and to yell over his shoulder to the men hurrying after him: 'Even the office furniture here tries to trip you up!' then he stalked off, with a huddle of men in well-tailored grey suits bleating in his wake like worried sheep. They weren't men she knew, any more than their leader was; Judith glared after them. Office furniture? Charming. Who on earth was he? She glanced through the open door of the room he had left and saw the board sitting around the table in what seemed to be a shell-shocked silence. She hadn't had time to catch more than a glimpse of the man with grey eyes who had now vanished into the lift, but she had been left with an indelible impression of height and power, so she wasn't surprised by seeing alarm in the faces of the men he had just been bellowing at.
'Where on earth have you been, Judith?' The voice made her turn, still bemused. She smiled at her boss wryly.
'Sorry, I know I'm late, but lunch dragged on and on, I couldn't get away.'
'Anything come out of it?' John asked, falling into step beside her as they moved towards Judith's office.
'The Wiener Schnitzel was delicious, and they served a very good Riesling with it.' She had been lunching with a stockbroker of impeccable manners and passable good looks. Trying to get him to see a joke, however, was like trying to borrow money when you need it—practically impossible, unless you have a gun in your hand. She had been very disappointed; his first appearance hadn't revealed his feet of clay, she had had high hopes of him for a while.
John laughed a little blankly. 'I often wonder what you're talking about.'
'Don't worry, I ask myself the same thing. John, who on earth was that who just hurtled out of the conference room? I don't like to sound alarmist, but I think he was shouting and he certainly seemed to be in a hurry. Wall Street didn't just crash again, did it?'
John looked a little nervously over his shoulder, at this blasphemy. 'That was Luke Doulton. We've been putting together a take-over bid for one of his companies and he wasn't very happy about it.' He looked disapproving. 'Rather foolish of him to get so upset. There's nothing he can do about it now; we've been successful, he might as well accept it like a gentleman.'
'He didn't look much like a gentleman,' Judith said thoughtfully, remembering those angry grey eyes. 'In fact, he looked as mad as hell.'
'Judith, please ... it upsets the chairman if he hears women swear.' John pushed open her office door and she walked past him, smiling. 'We've only just managed to persuade him that women can do more than file a letter or take shorthand. Remember how old he is .. .'
'I remember it every day,' said Judith, shedding her camelhair jacket and sitting down behind her desk. She swivelled in her black leather chair, studying John. 'Luke Doulton ... that must be Doulton-Klein.'
'Doulton-Klein International,' John corrected; he was always insistent on total accuracy. They had worked together now for six years, there wasn't much she did not know about John. Although, she thought, watching him, perhaps she was wrong about him; nobody could be as easy to read as that, John must hide something from her. Who knew what dark secrets he had? Perhaps he grew begonias in his New York apartment or had a passion for eating blueberry pie in bed, or went birdwatching on Sunday mornings in the park before New York woke up. Whenever she met someone who seemed transparent and dull she amused herself with inventing bizarre secret tastes or sinister backgrounds for them. She met a lot of very dull people; she had to pass the time somehow.
John was talking when she surfaced again. 'His father was the brains of the outfit—the son took over a going
concern.'
'If I remember their quotation of this morning they haven't exactly gone downhill since,' Judith said drily, and John laughed.
'They haven't, no! And you never forget a share price, so don't pretend you can't remember theirs. Luke Doulton is a very clever guy.'
'That was my impression. I hope we haven't bitten off more than we can chew,' said Judith. 'Mr Doulton didn't look to me like a man who lets go of anything he owns without a fight.'
John looked worried, and so, within twenty-four hours, did the members of the board as they realised that they had somehow made a mistake. Luke Doulton had defeated their take-over bid and was firmly back in control of his company, adding another legend to those which already clung around his name. The company who had retained the bank to secure the take-over retreated morosely, very displeased with the bank's handling of the affair, and Judith made an addition to her mental file of people who would bear watching. Luke Doulton was certainly one of them. He was, she discovered, almost a mythical figure in the Wall Street world; although he was still in his thirties he had never lost a boardroom battle. His father had been a giant in the world of international finance; gathering together in a very short time a vast empire made up of many different companies in many different countries. When he died everyone had leapt to the conclusion that his empire was up for grabs. Nobody had expected the son to be able to control the corporation, but they had had to admit that they were wrong before a year had passed. After a short power struggle with the ambitious, ruthless men surrounding him Luke Doulton had emerged the winner, and he had stayed firmly in control ever since.
'Very shrewd of you to guess that Doulton would beat us off,' said John with a mixture of congratulation and wariness over lunch a week later in the 21 Club. They were waiting for a client from Hong Kong who had asked if they could eat at the legendary restaurant. He was late; they were sipping very dry Martinis and watching the other guests filtering past under the watchful eye of the security guards on the door. 'But your guesswork is often inspired, I don't know how you do it. I thought we had Doulton tied hand and foot.'
'He didn't look like a man who stays tied up for long,' said Judith. 'This Martini is much too strong; one more of these and I'll be floating a few feet above the sidewalk!'
John laughed and Judith watched, suddenly alert, as she saw Luke Doulton coming towards them. The head waiter was practically sweeping the carpet in front of him. Judith glanced from Luke Doulton's hard-edged face to that of the girl with him; she was very pretty and had decided that autumn was the right season for mink. It looked good on her and she looked good on Luke Doulton's arm, which was no doubt why she was there. Judith had an idea he would always choose luxury items like this swaying, expensive redhead.
'No, no, I'll keep my coat on—I'm cold,' the girl said to a waiter who unkindly tried to dispossess her of the mink, and fluttered her lashes at the man to whose arm she clung.
'The pheasant is particularly good today, Mr Doulton, just the way you like it,' the head waiter murmured.
Judith was enjoying the passing show when it halted in front of her and John; who almost spilled his Martini in his haste to rise.
'Don't get up, I wouldn't want to disturb you,' Luke Doulton said, but the advice was given too late; John already looked disturbed. He sank back, though, clutching his glass and forcing a worried smile.
'And how are all my friends at Schewitz and Quayle?' Luke Doulton asked pleasantly.
'Oh, fine, sir, thank you,' John stammered, looking even more unhappy over this kind question.
'That's good,' said Luke Doulton. 'I always remember my friends.' And never forget my enemies, his grey eyes added silently, then they moved from their study of John to glance over Judith, less with interest than with what she suspected to be curiosity about John's taste in women. She knew she wasn't going to be any competition for his lady friend; she didn't have a mink and her cream dress was very simple and businesslike—but then she was here to work, not decorate the view. Luke Doulton's gaze eventually reached her face after a thoughtful tour of the rest of her and she stared back at him coolly. John misunderstood his inspection and began to stammer an introduction: 'Mr Doulton, this is . . .'
He never finished the sentence. Luke Doulton had given him a nod and walked off before he could get Judith's name out.
John's voice tailed away, he drank some more of his Martini, very flushed. 'That was terrible—I didn't know what to say to him. He's a very alarming man.'
'I hope the pheasant is over-ripe!' Judith muttered with ferocity, and John stared at her blankly.
'The pheasant? Judith, what are you talking about?'
'Get your smile back—here comes the client,' she said under her breath as she recognised the man coming down the stairs.
They ate half an hour later in the dark oak-panelled room hung with sporting prints; there were very few women there. Judith could hear the soft giggling of the girl with Luke Doulton, she could almost swear she picked up her perfume, although they were several tables away. John was doing most of the talking, only bringing Judith in when the subject touched on her own expertise with the international market; for minutes at a time she could let her attention wander without danger, and she found herself watching Luke Doulton and his companion, wondering what they were talking about. Not the stock market, that was for sure, she decided; the redhead didn't look as if she knew a bull market from a bear. If figures were under discussion they would not be company accounts. She saw Luke Doulton touch his champagne glass to that of the girl, who slipped a red rose from the vase on the table and kissed it before trailing it across his mouth. Oh, very pretty, Judith thought, if this is how they go on at lunchtime I wonder where they've got to by dinner? Will he go back to his office afterwards, or is this a prelude to more private business?
As she and John left an hour later she heard some woman in the foyer say: 'Did you see who was there today? Luke Doulton ... I must say, he's a very charming man.'
'And so good-looking,' her friend agreed.
'Excuse me,' Judith said coldly. She did not think Luke Doulton was charming; he had turned his back and walked away when John began to introduce her, that was no indication of charm. He was a very wealthy man; no doubt he didn't feel he had any need to be polite, especially as she was neither particularly pretty nor very chic. He had probably assessed her clothes and done so accurately; from the stories she had heard about him he was accustomed to paying for haute couture clothes for his lady friends, so he could probably price your every garment at a glance. He was very attractive himself and his companion had obviously thought he was a walking dream, but Judith had decided she did not like him.
She went back to the bank with John and buried herself in a study of the latest movements on the Hong Kong exchange. By the time she went back to her apartment that evening she had forgotten all about Luke Doulton and his bad manners, and he did not crop up again over the following weeks as winter tightened its grip on the city and her life narrowed down to a long day at the bank followed by a gruelling trip home and quiet evening. She was very busy that winter; she had no time to go to the theatre very often and her love life was rather dull. She was dating a computer expert with a passion for taping odd noises like the whine of a kettle or the sound of a jet over the city, then mixing them with classical music or jazz. He was rather good-looking and could be lively at a party or when they were out at dinner, but once he was back in his own apartment he lost all interest in everything but his hobby. After several months of this Judith gave up the unequal struggle. She could not go on taking second place to a whistling kettle.
