chapter 2
“The flight is in three hours, Señor Saval. The driver is ready.”
Rafael nodded impatiently. “Gracias, Maria. I won’t be long.”
“Your Papá is adamant I make sure you’re ready on time. Please don’t let me down.”
“I won’t.”
The door softly closed behind her. The photograph lay on the desk, a nagging ghost from the past, not even a good image, not quite in focus, blurred because she’d been moving, but still evocative. He remembered being annoyed at the time; he’d wanted the picture to be good. She’d teased him too much, been coquettish, and turned repeatedly until he’d taken it anyway.
Damn Papá.
He glanced at his watch. Less than twenty minutes since he’d seen the sun sneak over the Sierra and already a heat haze threatened. Someone had turned on the air-conditioning; one of the staff hoping to get noticed for their efficiency probably. Perhaps he was too cynical, but even enemies behaved like friends when you held power. Sometimes he could hardly tell one from the other… Is that what Eduardo thought about him?
People called Rafael, El Fuego. The press said he destroyed without conscience because he’d closed some unproductive workshops. They called him a boy without pity; they also said he was a boy in grownup’s shoes, a man to be feared. He did nothing to dispel the image. Let them be afraid. Papá didn’t seem pleased with his reputation, but Papá was rarely pleased with anything. It didn’t matter whether it was work, nothing was ever good enough. Papá once said he despaired of him.
Damn Papá.
If Eduardo García had shown interest, he wouldn’t need to put up with Papá’s meddling. He still hadn’t given up on the idea of persuading him to join as a partner. Sometimes Eduardo just liked to prove his supremacy. Looking back, he should have talked to Eduardo’s English wife, Jenny, first. She might have influenced him. She would understand what Raphael meant.
Papá had shoved his nose in at the last minute. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it until now. He hadn’t even wanted to talk about it. Only now, when it was blatant that they turned out unusual stuff, did Papá want to be involved. Predictably, he wanted the deal carried out his way, not the way Rafael wanted.
He flicked the photograph around again.
He’d first seen her outside the campus at Keele in England. He’d been taking a break, trying to clear his head of fug. The day had been hot, unusual for England.
He’d heard her yelling; there’d been two yobs. To his youthful eyes, she’d looked like a fragile beauty, a goddess to be placed in an ivory tower; yet drunks mauled her.
With deliberation he’d made them hospital cases, no mercy shown, the embryonic El Fuego, perhaps? His nose had been broken for stopping their pleasure but been worth it.
He turned again to the window. Fingers of illumination snaked over the sierras. Above the tree-line, jagged rocks snarled like teeth in the early light. Lower, where sun had not reached, snatches of smoke curled from fires where workmen burned rubbish.
Two weeks later, after he’d shown her not all males were thugs, she’d shared her bed with him, her first time, she’d later admitted, with embarrassment.
He’d been stupid in those days, would have given her the world if she’d asked. He could conjure up those emotions, even now. She’d been a gift, had taken to sex with feral enthusiasm. He’d wanted to stake his claim on her, but had stood no chance. No one would ever possess her; she’d been as ephemeral as mist.
Rafael stared at nothing. He thought he’d got over her. Seven years should have been enough. Now he wasn’t sure.
Through the window, sun bathed the land to the horizon. He’d grown up with this landscape, always thought it ordinary, yet suddenly it was appealing; the kind of place a man may well lose himself in, instead of doing this crap.
Damn Papá! Why had he turned something simple, into something so difficult?
He straightened his shirt cuffs, knotted his tie, and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He had it styled in Valencia nowadays. She’d once said he looked like a pirate, now people said he was suave.
The door opened quietly and Rafael heard Maria place on the table what he knew would be a steaming Colombian; thick and black just as he liked. Though early, she had insisted on being present to oversee his departure.
“El café negra, Señor.” Maria cleared her throat. “Then the flight, the plane will not wait, not even for you.”
He rubbed his forehead, annoyed at the interruption. He said, “The rooms are reserved?”
“Of course, a hotel in Hanley, as you asked. The office will be in one of the commercial suites of the hotel, we thought it would be more convenient.”
“Sounds good.”
“Your secretary is preparing things. She flew in last night.”
He gave a nod.
“And I checked with the hotel. They say it will take you just over an hour from Manchester airport. You can travel either along the A34 trunk, or the M6.”
“Thank you.” He already knew; it was familiar territory.
“May I advise the driver to make ready?”
Rafael didn’t answer, didn’t really want to leave his reverie.
“Señor?”
He gave a curt nod, and she left. He turned from the window and flopped into a seat.
The goddess had flitted into his life, then out again, just as easily. Dancing, giggling; a nymph with some absurd need to be mysterious even when making love. Even at special moments, she’d tantalised him with her elusiveness. The time had been wild, but too short. They’d discovered ways to excite each other, ways he hadn’t known existed; had they invented them? Sex had been inventive; nothing too daring, nothing too obscure. Nothing had been out of bounds for them. Jeez, he’d adored her. Yet, amazingly it hadn’t been mere sex between them. Their relationship had gone way beyond that.
Yet, as his emotions entered an unfathomable state, she’d told him it was over. He hadn’t known why. What had he done; what had he said? Had she been too young to cope with what was happening?
He’d mourned her passing. No one had warned it could hurt so much. It taught him to treat women with caution, not to get involved, taught him to keep his distance.
But the ghost was back; did that mean his ideas would change again?
Damn Papá! Why did they have to do it this way?
Rafael leaned his forehead onto the cool pane of glass. There had been women since, yet not one like that will-o’-the-wisp.
Her father’s factory was under scrutiny. He had to choose whether to invest. Papá would be furious if he made a botch. Papá said if it was as good as it seemed he wanted in. Rafael had to assess if they were to put in an offer. The responsibility lay with him. His job also required him to make certain if they invested in the factory, she would stay. No her, no deal! Papá was adamant! The designer must stay.
This should have been his deal, done his way, not Papá’s way.
Rafael scratched his nose. It still wasn’t too late for Eduardo to show interest, but what then? Could he wangle his way around Papá and make it alone? He would need to be uncompromising to pull off something like that.
He stared at the picture, wondered what she’d been doing. Was there a man in her life? Women had been part of his, too many, too much sex, until each blended with the other and they became the same. Most cast their nets at him because of what he was. They satisfied a primitive need so he permitted them, let them debase themselves, and allowed them to scratch his itch, nothing else.
He sighed. He would have to be objective; he could hardly put the business at risk. No matter what happened, it would not make sense to put Papá out of business. After all, what was Papá’s would one day be his.
Papá had toyed with the idea of expanding into the UK a few times, and saw this as an opportunity. Papá had become adamant, and it was Papá’s company, so they were going to expand. One day it would be his then he could do as he wished, but for now Papá had control.
Would there be a company left? Would this overstretch Papá?
Damn! This campaign might spell the end if it went wrong. He had to be ruthless. He couldn’t let sentiment get in the way, and he couldn’t take the soft choice either. If he said yes, and the deal went wrong, he would be to blame. If he said no, and a rival bought them out and made a success, Papá would absolutely kill him.
What a mess-up.
He stared into the distance. Sleepy hamlets dotted the valley, poked through the haze. Labourers would soon be hard at work before the insufferable heat drove them indoors for the afternoon.
He would have to play the game he supposed, but it would be a hard to remain impartial. The girl he’d known had been beautiful. She might make a fascinating digression, which might allow time for his people to do an investigation, but she might also make him take the wrong decision.
Damn Papá! Had it been done Rafael’s way, he’d have simply bought the company through an agent. No contact, no mess. He’d have made sure of the stuff first, of course, but no mess.
Rafael picked up the coffee then studied the photograph again. Could he really keep his distance?
A gull soared close to the window, shrieking. He watched it wheel away. She was out there even now, going about her daily tasks, not even aware of the danger she posed.
He exhaled noisily from the recess of his chest.
This time around things would be different. He’d been young, the feelings, overpowering. He was older, wiser. He would have to be on guard though. She could be a threat to brokering the best deal.
Dammit; were these thoughts crazy or what? Wasn’t he infamous for his cut and thrust? He wished to hell he knew how to handle her though. He still recalled the contour of her body, even her exciting woman smell. No one else was like her. The shape of her face; her unbelievable breasts; the way she moved; everything about her had excited him.
Rafael watched as the gull swept around again before veering away and finally disappearing.
He hated to admit, but like a siren of old, she still awakened those feelings in him
***
Katrina said, “It’s because I’ve been steam-rolled, that’s why.”
She glanced up. Francine looked dismal, which made her feel worse. Fran said, “I don’t see why you can’t wriggle out of it. This is the perfect excuse. Tell him you’ve run into a problem.”
“I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t have to.” Kat kicked the car door angrily. The damn thing refused to start; now she’d be late. She’d have to phone for a taxi, but she’d still be late. Why today of all days? She stuck her head under the car hood again. “I’m cheesed off.”
She’d already taken a pay cut to help dad out, and her beautiful, fast convertible had gone because she could no longer afford the payments. This piece of crap was sending her crazy. She’d wiped things that looked as if they needed wiping, sprayed with anti-damp, she’d even talked nicely, but nothing helped. Kicking hadn’t made her feel better; just scuffed her shoes.
Fran was fourteen years older than Kat, an elegant international model. Three years ago, Fran had marched away from the catwalk and started her agency.
Katrina straightened. Rain relentlessly dripped from leaves, ran down the hood, dripped on her neck, tapped on the metal roof of the car. She was thoroughly wet, thoroughly miserable.
“What time is this meeting of yours supposed to start?” Francine tried her best to keep the rain off them with the umbrella but with little success. Fran lived in the grand house next to Kat. The house had a secluded, leafy drive, with pillars at the entrance. She had steadfastly remained single despite several offers, and confided to Kat that she liked a regular change of partner, liked sex and wasn't frugal with it.
Kat said, “Three o’ clock.”
“This afternoon? I thought it was in ten minutes, the way you’re panicking.”
“I need to prepare. I have to be in the right frame. I’ve a dozen things to organize, and that includes me.”
“All right, all right, I get the picture.”
Katrina took a deep breath. “Dad has found a company interested in buying Finery & Frocks. That’s what the meeting is about.”
“Selling?” Francine looked stunned. “I didn’t realise he was selling. What’s happened?”
“The usual thing, money trouble.”
“I didn’t realise, baby. No wonder you’ve been depressed, but how has this happened?”
“You tell me…. Cash flow, stuff stuck on the shelves, material to buy, you know how it is.”
“Not really, but go on.”
“The trouble is, people interested in buying, say that to push ahead with the deal, the designer, me, stays put for at least two years. They want it written into the contract.”
“I’m not surprised. I’d want the same. I’ve seen those outfits of yours floating around the clubs. They’re chic. To be honest, Kat, I’m surprised you haven’t shoved them on the big catwalks.”
“Who do you think we are, Versace? We’re a frock factory, think back-street shops not catwalks.”
“Hey baby! Don’t belittle yourself. I love your outfits to death. They’re special. I thought they’d have made you a fortune.”
“Ah, you’re talking about Italian Concept. That line costs a fortune to manufacture.” Kat screwed her nose. “And we need to run up more than one a week. We can’t churn them out fast enough to make a profit.”
“Darling, have them made out!”
“I’ve looked into it,” Katrina made a face. “It will cost a packet. Anyway, Italian Concept isn’t the mainstay of the business. It’s my little indulgence. Dad tolerates it, but as far as he’s concerned it’s a whimsy.”
“Whimsy? God, what’s wrong with the man, he hasn’t a clue.”
“He thinks money comes from quantity. He likes volume turn over. Never mind the quality, feel the width, that’s dad, and even if we geared-up, we still can’t run them up fast enough. I have to design them individually, and we simply aren’t scaled to do it. I have the rest of the stuff to look after as well.”
“It could become the mainstay. Have you talked to him about it?”
She shook her head.
“Hey, by the way, how is that fabric going? Any success?”
“Not yet, not enough hours in a day I’m afraid.” Kat shrugged. The fabric was a pipe dream. It would need a large investment before she could do anything, but banks weren’t as friendly as they made out. Anyway, Dad simply wasn’t into it.
Rain streamed down Kat’s face. This was ridiculous. She suddenly straightened and slammed the hood down. “Enough!”
Francine wrinkled her nose. “I’ll bet your father is really hacked off.”
“Dad? He’s his own worst enemy.”
“Perhaps he is, but he still won’t want to lose the business.”
His drinking and benders at the casino were the problem. If not for that, they might have scraped by.
Kat said, “It’s doing my head in. Debts are mounting but he can’t meet them. He needs money, like yesterday”
Francine mouthed a silent, “Oh!”
Kat wiped her face on her sleeve. They were out of cash and no one wanted to know. Dad was hell-bent on destruction and dragging her with him. It broke her heart, but Italian Concept stood no chance. She’d thought if she developed the new fabric for the Concept range, it might save them. In her mind, she'd even seen the fabric as a toehold on the ladder to fame. Now her dream of her own fashion house had gone belly-up. She hated the idea of losing Finery & Frocks, especially Italian Concept, but James Julian Bligh urgently needed rescuing.
“How long has it been going on?”
Kat screwed her face. “I don’t know, forever. I blame her.”
“Her? Who do you mean?”
“My mother!”
Francine frowned. “I thought she left years ago. Why put the blame on her? Is she back in the scene?”
Kat shook her head, spun and headed for the house. Francine teetered behind on high heels, trying to keep the umbrella over them. Kat said, “Dad’s new saying is, he‘s ‘frangible’, whatever that means. He sits at night with his head in his hands, instead of doing something constructive.”
She fumbled the kitchen door open and they dived out of the rain. Francine shook the umbrella and folded it. Kat turned on the tap, and washed her hands. They wouldn’t come clean, and she scrubbed them angrily with a stiff brush.
“Shall I put the kettle on, baby?”
“Please. I’m desperate for a cuppa!” She examined her nails, they were still grimy and she had to pick under them. “Dad reckons Las Modas Ibéricas are the best hope we have, but I’m amazed he’s even considered them. Mum was Spanish you know, and he reckons anything Spanish is crap.”
“Has he thought about getting them interested in an investment program, instead of a total buyout?”
She shook her head. “He wants to sell. He’s adamant.” She rinsed her hands under the tap and inspected them closely. They needed a dose of TLC, a long soak in glycerine. For now, hand-cream would have to do.
“And he wants you to butter them up?”
“Something like that! But what does he expect me to do? Drop my panties?”
“He doesn’t want anything of the sorts; he just wants you to be co-operative.”
“God, I wish it was done with.” Katrina swallowed back a wave of self-pity. “Right,” she muttered. “That’s me finished.” She tossed the towel over the rail. She wouldn’t place bets on anything to do with her father. He had a loose tongue when drunk, and when she’d been younger, she’d found out things she wished she hadn’t. She said, “Apparently the production director is coming to meet me.”
“There you are then. They think enough to send a director.”
“He’s still Spanish. You know what Latin types are like with women. They think women are second class citizens.”
“God, you’re cynical.”
“Word has it he’s a firebrand. They call him El Fuego in the newspapers.”
“I wouldn’t take too much notice of that. You know what newspapers are like.”
“Whatever, Dad says it’s up to me to clinch it.”
***
Kat’s suit was delicately pinstriped, the jacket smart without being revealing, the pencil skirt not too short. She felt good but nervous.
She checked in her mirror to make sure she was intact. Her makeup looked okay, her hair, reasonable. She sucked in a long draught of air. First impressions were everything. She had to get this right. The careless elegance about Kat, wasn’t natural, it was a thing she affected; an act that had been hard to master but which had become very necessary in her business armoury. ‘Breathe deeply,’ she told herself, ‘Remain calm; he’s only a man. Men can be manipulated. Forget his reputation.’
A secretary showed her into the suite. The production director sat behind a desk, head down, scribbling notes, and the secretary directed Katrina to the chair in front of the desk then left.
She almost pulled out the chair to sit down then stopped herself at the last moment, mustn’t sit without being asked, put him at a disadvantage; make him feel apologetic about ignoring her. He remained head down. Kat flicked her gaze over him with dispassionate regard. He finally finished writing and pushed back his leather seat, raised his head and met her gaze….
“Señorita Bligh I believe?” He rose and held out his hand.
Katrina’s mouth opened involuntarily as she allowed her fingers to touch his. This was surely some bizarre hoax. He’d filled out, taller than she remembered; still absurdly attractive; angular cheekbones, penetrating eyes, strong eyebrows, mouth with a startling provocative twist. He’d always been indecently sexy and he was no different now. It fooled opponents into thinking he was a push over; they were wrong.
“Or should I say, Kat?” he said smoothly. “They warned me you’d become exquisite. They didn’t say how much.” He indicated for her to take a seat, and sat himself.
His voice had matured. In her nervous state, it affected her more than it should. She might display savoir-faire to the world but she was still insecure, still an incurable romantic. She watched as his mouth flickered with amusement. She said stupidly, “I didn’t realise you’d be here.”
“My Papá owns Las Modas Ibéricas.”
“You never said.”
His eyes abruptly narrowed. “And would it have made a difference, if I had.”
She didn’t want to rake up old times, too many memories; too many heartaches. She cleared her throat. “So how has the big world been treating you?”
“Probably better than I deserve. And you?”
“Not as good as it could, but okay I suppose. Most of us want more than we get. That’s life. ”
“Married, I presume?”
Kat walked on eggshells. She shook her head, quick uncomfortable movements. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She said uneasily, “Maybe we should get down to business.”
“Maybe we should.” He leaned back with hands clasped behind his head. “I understand Finery & Frocks has a secret weapon.”
“I never listen to rumours.”
“The outfits that drew our attention to you were avant-garde. They were unconventional.”
She shrugged.
“As you’d probably expect, we’ve studied your lines. We picked them at random from different outlets to be sure it was representative. They’re well made, well designed, and have a certain commercial appeal. But I would hardly call them unorthodox. Frankly, I’m puzzled why the original outfits were so different, and why I can’t see them in the stores. What is going on?”
“Most stuff we churn out is what I call bread-and-butter lines. The design is in-house though, not fashion-house copies; you’ll not find them elsewhere.”
“And you’re the designer?”
She nodded. “It’s just they can be produced more cheaply.”
“More cheaply?” He shook his head. “More cheaply than whom? Cheaper than Givenchy, cheaper than Balenciaga. What do you mean by more cheaply?”
“They can be produced more cheaply than Italian Concept.”
“Italian Concept? I’ve not heard the name.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps you’d like to expand.”
“It’s our top of the range line, probably the outfits you originally saw. Dad isn’t into it. He says it’s uninhibited, and doesn’t want to go down that route.”
“Italian Concept… Catchy name. Tell me more.”
She took a deep breath. “Principally, they’re limited editions; we sell through a specialist outlet in Wilmslow.”
“Wilmslow?”
“It’s on the outskirts of Manchester.”
“So this is the secret weapon?”
“I didn’t call it that.”
“I shall need access to study them.”
She shrugged. “Of course.”
He rubbed his chin. “Let’s be hypothetical and jump into the future. Let’s say we went ahead with a takeover. Knowing what we both know, could you work for Las Modas Ibéricas?”
“Of course.”
“In the true spirit of co-operation, not just grinding away. We expect senior staff to be totally committed, totally self-motivated.”
She glared abrasively. “Señor, I could work no other way.”
He stared her out. When she eventually dropped her eyes, he dug into a file and handed her a portfolio. “How about we talk through these? Our design team have provisionally offered them for next season. I asked for a statement of freshness and purity. Tell me what your impressions are.”
She took them from him.
Rafael leaned back. “I have my ideas, but I want to hear yours. I’d like to hear your comments. Let’s call it a starting point to see how we meld.”
“Meld?”
“I need to understand your thought processes.” He looked down at his copy of the portfolio. “The deal hinges on us working closely together. Do you find it a problem?”
Work together? She said coldly, “Should it be?”
What was she getting into? Kat frigidly picked up the first sketch, fingered it; hoped he wouldn’t notice her discomfort. She would hate to make a mess of it at this early stage. Something would have to be sorted later; meanwhile she had to stay calm.
“If you’re ready, perhaps you’d like to begin?”
In the past she’d been so much in awe of him she hadn’t known what to do. She surreptitiously glanced from beneath her lashes. If he were conscious of the impact he had on her, he hid it well. Katrina hoped he was unaware. Any empathy they may have shared was surely shredded long ago.
He looked up. “And if you’re worried I’ll plagiarize your ideas, don’t be. Your lawyer has made me sign too many documents. You’re well protected.”
She had to push her qualms away. She studied the design, fiddled with the samples of material attached to the page, thought about it, finally, pushed it aside. She cleared her throat. “It’s fresh I suppose, fairly original.”
“I can hear a but.”
“I think the material they’ve chosen is wrong. It needs to look pure and fresh; this stuff will make it prim.”
He leaned forward. “Their intention, I think.”
His closeness disturbed her, reminded her how much she hated the spiteful needs of her body. All her life it had been the same, her brain wanted one thing, her body another.
He studied her curiously and she realised she must have been silent for too long. She shrugged, avoided his eyes, and said, “What’s pure about prim?”
“Tell me more.”
“I’m not saying I don’t like it; it has good lines. I would probably have tackled it differently, but that’s designers for you. We all have our quirks and fancies.”
“And what would you have done instead?” he asked quietly.
“Design or material?”
“Material. We’ve already agreed the lines are okay.”
“Use silk; make it cling.”
“Wouldn’t that be opulent, a suggestion of decadence?”
“No!” She shook her head decisively. “It would give the outfit the purity it deserves. The silk would need to be translucent, and would have to be loosely layered to make it chaste. But using it would turn every movement into a relaxed flow of material. It would bring a suggestion of absolute innocence. Bingo, job done.”
“And the price?”
She raised her brow. “I wasn’t aware you were aiming for the mass market.”
He made a steeple of his fingers and studied her for a few moments. “Okay, so let’s look at the next outfit in the portfolio?”
The designer in her took over. Creativity tumbled into place, ideas sprouted and she began to be engrossed until it dawned on her how much he avoided looking her way. From his inflexible expression, it appeared he was trying as hard as she was, to avoid thinking about the past, about the yearning days.
Jeez! She was thinking about sex with him. What the hell was she doing? Kat squeezed her eyes tight shut, had to wait for her pulse to quiet. In this game there was no room for memories. If this was to work, and it had to work, then the past had to be kept at arms-length.
Rafael looked at his watch then jotted a few notes. He said, “If you’ll wait outside with my secretary, I’ll join you. Questions still need to be answered. This has taken longer than I planned and I need to reschedule a meeting. Maybe we can continue once I’ve seen to it? Ten minutes perhaps, can you give me ten minutes?”
Kat felt a sting of humiliation. He wouldn’t have sent her father away. Her status, her expertise; her years of struggling to get to this far, counted for zilch. She was dismissed as merely James Julian Bligh’s daughter. The fact that it was her, who kept the factory running, meant nothing.
She had no intention of sitting with a secretary. Instead, she made her way out onto the street. Late afternoon traffic headed out of Hanley, toward Etruria and the Festival Park, building up to rush hour. She took a deep breath. That had been one hell of a mess-up. She’d been taken so unawares that she’d fallen into silly little pieces.
She turned to the left and headed past the traffic lights, past a smart Italian restaurant, and meandered toward the town centre. There, she wandered aimlessly around the shops, tried to clear her head but couldn’t, had a coffee in the mall, afterward went out and sat on a low wall.
Meeting Rafael after all this time and under these circumstances had been too much shock and her insides were in turmoil.
Under a statue of Stanley Matthews, a busker played to people who weren’t listening; a hot-potato vendor joked with customers; in the distance a news hawk shouted that the Evening Sentinel was on sale; people hustled, people bustled, things seemed normal, but they weren’t.
“You used to come at lunchtimes when you needed to think things through. Habits die hard I guess.”
Katrina’s head jerked up at the sound of Rafael’s voice. “You…”
“Don’t behave as if you didn’t intend me to be here.”
“Of course I didn’t.”
He sat by her side on the low wall. “My instinct tells me otherwise.”
“Your instinct is wrong.” Her voice flared with embarrassment.
“I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “I’m used to carving a path through bullshit, my job you see…”
“You’re too damn direct, that’s your problem.”
“Perhaps that’s why they call me a director.”
She glared at him. “Did you just make a joke?”
“So, I suppose you thought coming out here might provoke me into taking a quick decision.”
“My being here has nothing to do with what you decide.”
“So you’re not trying to force the issue?”
Kat shook her head and her chestnut hair fell across her face. They became silent.
His involvement made this way too complicated. She brushed her hair back irately. His inquiring eyes had left her but he still didn’t speak and the silence made her clumsy. Eventually she said, “I suppose this is your idea of trying to make me grovel? It won’t work, you know. I never grovel.”
Rafael smiled. “Then I take it you wanted me to follow you for other reasons… perhaps more of my splendid company?”
“Your ego hasn’t diminished with the years.”
“But yours is definitely raised.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He thrust his hands deep into his pockets. “Fool that I am misunderstand the rules. I thought it was up to you to impress me. It seems you think it’s the other way round.”
“Perhaps the rules need changing.”
He tapped his toes on the pavement. “Perhaps they’re okay as they are. The guidelines of life are there for a purpose.”
He made it sound like an innuendo. He was referring to the past she just knew he was. She was brusque, “What are you getting at?”
He shrugged.
She said, “Look Rafael, what happened between us wasn’t your fault, but it wasn’t mine, either.”
“Ah! It was just one of those things, then.”
“I hope it’s not going to affect how we conduct business. We’re different people now, these are different times.”
They became silent again. Rafael was the first to speak; his voice, somehow changed. “You do realise that at the time, I thought we were desperate for each other. At one point I even thought I was in love… How corny does that sound?”
Katrina didn’t look at him. It wasn’t corny at all. It was why it had ended. He didn’t realise what a lucky escape he’d had. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “You were wrong. I’m sorry for that, but I can’t help it.”
“Don’t worry. In the end it meant nothing.”
She glanced up sharply.
Rafael laughed. “It meant nothing. We were both too young. Youth can make you ridiculous don’t you think.”
His eyes were hooded. Kat felt intimidated, racked with guilt. She realised that if the time ever came to cross him he wouldn’t be a nice person. He probably made competitors very nervous.
She rose. “My legal-eagle is waiting. I came out here to find him. He must be around the corner. I’d better go.”
Rafael raised his brow. “I’ve just been talking to him on my cell-phone. He said he wouldn’t be seeing you until tomorrow. Maybe you’ve forgotten?”
Blood rushed to her cheeks.
He grinned at her embarrassment.
She said, “You shit!”
“I suppose I should apologise for not going with your little deception. You must have your reasons and I shouldn’t have brought it to your attention.”
“Sod off!”
Rafael’s lips curled attractively. “Perhaps I can offer to take you out for a meal tonight as an act of contrition.”
Kat felt a startled squeeze in her chest. “I hardly think so.”
“Well I think it’s a good idea.”
“A meal? I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.”
“I’m completely housetrained. I won’t show you up by using the wrong knife at the wrong time.”
She stared at him. “You never did.”
“But perhaps more to the point, it’ll give you an opportunity to explain more about what you do.”
“I thought I already had?”
“I want to understand what you’re doing with Italian Concept. If we find we’re satisfied, we can perhaps arrange for the next stage.”
Put like that, how could she refuse? The bastard knew how to stick the knife in and twist it as well.
Her instinct was to walk away, but Dad would be incensed if the deal broke down just because she couldn’t bring herself to be sociable. This was no time for silly undergraduate emotions. She had to keep Las Modas Ibéricas interested, and if that meant keeping Rafael interested then so be it. Behaving adolescently was not a choice. She stuck her chin out proudly. “I’ll come.”
He looked to his watch. “I’ll pick you up later for the meal.”
She shook her head. “I’ll take a taxi.”
“Nonsense. I’ll see you around nine.”
“You don’t know where I live.”
“If you think that’s a problem,” he threw her a blunt look, “You don’t know me.” He stood and brushed off his clothes. “See you later.”
Kat watched him go. Dread washed over her. She felt like an empty bag of skin; a nervous shaky idiot who hardly had the strength to move. What the hell had she let herself in for?
***
He picked her up a couple of minutes after nine and they turned toward Wetley Rocks, passed through Cheddleton, headed for Leek, didn’t enter the town centre, went down Compton, straight on through the traffic lights, up St Edwards Street.
“Where are we going?”
“Wait and see.” He turned left at the top, by the church, and headed toward Macclesfield.
The restaurant, when they got there, was Italian, had cosy lights, a low ceiling, tables arranged around the small dance floor, alcoves where diners could hide. Under a different circumstance, she supposed it could have made for an agreeable evening.
Rafael ordered the meals and they sat in a secluded corner of the small bar until the table was ready. He said, “I’m glad you decided to join me.”
“I wasn’t aware there was a choice.”
“I do so hate eating by myself, and when I’m on business there’s precious little left but eat, sleep and work.”
Katrina shrugged. “The necessities of life, you might find it’s difficult without them.” A waiter poured a glass of wine and she nodded her thanks.
“You did well this afternoon. I was impressed by your professionalism.”
Her tone was caustic. “Is that so?”
Rafael took a small handful of nuts from a bowl. “Your comments might be useful someday.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You did mention legal protection. I hope that won’t happen until money has changed hands.”
“Of course not. Would I do any other?”
The Maître d’ arrived to say their table was ready. He picked up their drinks and they rose and followed him. The restaurant was already busy, most tables filled. She looked at the other diners as they threaded their way to the table, at couples enjoying an evening out, celebrations, anniversaries, wondered for a moment how others might perceive them. Would they look like just any other couple taking pleasure in each other?
The Maître d’ pulled out her chair and she sat. He shook out a large embroidered blue-linen napkin and carefully spread it over her lap.
“Your dress,” Rafael leaned to her, “Very striking. You always did show impeccable taste.”
“Thank you.”
The Maître d’ spread a similar napkin over Rafael’s lap.
Kat had chosen the outfit deliberately, was conscious of the elegance of the simple lines, the cling of the material, the way it glided over her skin. The dress was long-sleeved, had a high-buttoned neck, and she wore nothing beneath. Bra-straps or panty-lines would have been ugly.
She said, “The dress is part of Italian Concept.”
Beyond the tables, a fat man played a piano and a handful of dancers moved around the floor. She watched them and deliberately avoided looking Rafael’s way; hoped he’d been impressed, hoped he wouldn’t be able to contain himself and would throw money their way.
“Is everything okay?” he said. “You seem a million miles away.”
“I’m sorry.” She turned to face him as if she’d forgotten that he was there. “I was watching the dancers. You were after entertainment but I’m afraid I’m rather boring.”
“Rubbish. I feel comfortable. I just want you to be the same.” He stretched his legs. “To be at ease with this deal we need to be at ease with you; you do realise, don’t you. We need to understand the real you. We don’t want to underwrite someone who might make a hash of our investment.”
“I thought it was about design and manufacture, the exclusive lines we create? Customer loyalty? Reputations?”
“Of course. But the trouble is if anything happens to you, the whole investment is kaput. I really need to get to know you.”
Get to know her? Kat had a moment of alarm. What did that entail?
He said, “We already realise that in essence, Finery & Frocks is all about you. And because of that, we need to understand what we’re letting ourselves in for. More important, we need to be sure you’re comfortable working with us.”
He waited for a response. What was going through his mind? She had to find what he was thinking and sidestep him. She’d spent too much of her life seeking her father’s approval; she didn’t see why she should seek Rafael’s. Why should she have to vindicate herself to him? By necessity she had become her own judge, and her own jury. Nowadays she justified her merits to no one but herself.
Unexpectedly, he held his hand in her direction. “Shall we dance?”
She didn’t want to, but nodded and followed him to the dance floor. His warm hand cupped the small of her back. The music changed, became slow and romantic. Damn! She had to be careful, had to keep her distance.
She swayed to the rhythm. The friction of the silk dress against her nipples made them stiffen; made her feel as if the bones were leaving her legs. The shield she’d built over the years felt about to crumble.
Rafael pulled her close.
Damn. Was he going to abuse his position? What would she do if he pushed things too far? The music was unhurried and she carefully moved to it. Memories willed themselves insanely back to life. Kat deliberately uncoupled her arms and made a space between them. “I think I’d like to sit this one out.”
“I think you’re probably right.”
They threaded their way back to the table. She hadn’t expected him to agree so readily. Had she been wrong?
At the end of the evening, he drove her home and as she took out the key, he leaned against the doorway. “I had a pleasant evening,” he murmured. “I hope it wasn’t too bad for you.”
She was still terrified he might make a move, and expect her to respond. Every nerve in her body jangled. The halcyon days were long gone. She couldn’t allow a relationship to develop. This was a different man. This time he wouldn’t broker a cold rejection if things became intense.
Kat fumbled to insert the key, and swore when it wouldn’t go in. He said, “Here, let me.”
Kat panicked as his fingers fastened over hers. ‘He’s preparing me,’ she thought wildly. ‘He’s making ready to pull me into his body. He’s going to kiss me; he’s going to crush me against him.’
He undid the lock. “There,” he said. “That wasn’t so difficult.” He gave an absurd grin. The door swung open and he dangled the key between his thumb and forefinger for her to take.
Kat tilted her chin defiantly. He touched the ends of her fingers very briefly. “Thanks for the evening, Katrina Bligh. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed seeing you again.”
Kat let the air out of her lungs as he strode away. Now she felt stupid. What a dither she was getting herself into. She was a woman, not a girl and there was no room for sentimentality. The unpretentious adolescent she’d once been was long gone. Hadn’t she become an expert at manipulating her feelings?
Kat squeezed her eyes tight shut. ‘I’m just tired,’ she thought, ‘that’s why I’m thinking silly things. I’m dead beat and there’s nothing left in me.’
She started to secure the door but stopped. Damn! They’d made no arrangements for another meeting.