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'I always do,' Caro assured him, and he showed her his teeth in an angry smile. 'I believe you.'
The air bristled, their eyes quarrelled, then Gil turned away and strode over to his own desk. He sat down, opened a locked drawer, and began skimming through the pile of documents he extracted. Caro forced herself to look down at her own work, tried to concentrate on ii, but she was nervously conscious of him, on the other side of the room. She kept remembering what had happened between them in that fitting-room—his hands on her body, his lips moving softly on her bare skin. Each time the image flashed through her mind she felt heat Mare up inside her. She fought to control her breathing, afraid that he might hear her, guess what she was thinking about.
The phone rang and she jumped, then automatically stretched out her hand to answer it. 'Yes?'
Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Gil's hand on the phone on his own desk and realised he had been going to take the call, too.
'Reception desk,' said the voice in her ear. 'The ( ountess of Jurby is here and would like to see Mr Martell. Shall I send her up?'
'Hold on,' Caro said, lowered the receiver and looked briefly at Gil. 'It's for you.'
He picked up his own phone; Caro hung up and pretended to be engrossed in her work, but out of the corner Of her eye she watched him.
'Yes? What?' He frowned, his fingers tapping his desk, then said, 'Yes, put her on.' There was a pause, then he said in a low voice, 'What on earth are you doing here? You know Colin will go crazy if he finds out!'
Caro couldn't help listening, knowing that he was talking to that woman, the one who had caused the fight in the nightclub, and because of that had made Gil's grandmother deci
de to sell Westbrooks. Was Gil the Countess's lover? Was she planning to divorce her husband to marry Gil? Caro's computer made a shrill sound and she bit her lip crossly, realising she had made a stupid mistake, mis-keyed a whole line of figures.
She wasn't concentrating. Concentrate! she ordered herself. Stop eavesdropping on conversations which aren't your business!
'You're leaving him?' Gil's voice rose, then he took a deep breath. 'Wait down there, I'll join you in two minutes.'
He slammed the phone down and stood up. Caro kept her eyes riveted on her computer. So the Countess was leaving her husband? Was Gil running to her eagerly, or in panic? Did he want her to be free, or was he appalled by the idea? He had had so many other women; was this one different?
He came past her desk and halted. She felt his eyes like lasers and warily looked up.
'You won't repeat any private conversations you hear in this office,' he warned, his lips barely parting to let the words out, his face harsh with menace.
She smiled coolly, and didn't bother to answer, hoping to infuriate him. She did.
'Do you hear me?' he snarled, voice rising.
'I should think everyone in the store can!' Caro snapped back.
'Working in my office, you're in a privileged
position-- ' he began and she interrupted, impatiently.
'It was you who insisted that I work in here! It wasn't my idea!'
'You probably put it into my head,' he muttered, scowling.
'Oh, don't be so ridiculous!'
He had a brooding look on his face. 'Women are good at doing that. They plant ideas in a man's subconscious and then let him imagine he thought of them all by himself! Look at Adam and Eve. Adam would never have thought of eating that apple if Eve hadn't whispered in his ear.'
'I didn't whisper in your ear; I didn't want to share this office with you! In fact, I'd be very happy to move out right now, if it's bothering you to have me here!'
'I didn't say it bothered me!' He turned those deep dark eyes on her and Caro began to feel oddly dizzy. 'If you ever start to bother me you'll soon know it, don't worry,' Gil drawled.
Caro had to look away, break the spell of that hypnotic stare before the room spun round in front of her eyes.
There was a long pause, then he said, 'At the moment, all I want is to be sure you won't mention, to your father, or anyone else, anything you overhear while you're in this office.'
'I resent the suggestion that I might,' she burst out, her head coming up again and her grey eyes flashing. 'I learnt discretion at a very early age. My father's business dealings are always secret; if so much as a whisper got nut, it could be disastrous and could cost us a great deal of money. I soon understood that I mustn't repeat anything I heard, and I assure you I never gossip, Mr Martell.'
'Then you're a very unusual woman,' he said with dry cynicism, turned away and walked to the door.
