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‘Not if it isn’t with Poppy,’ Cathy answered sweetly. Inside she was wondering if this guy was for real. And what the hell was French toast, anyway?
‘Lunch at one sharp, something light; you can surprise me. I’m sure with your talents for cooking you can be quite imaginative.’
Oh, she could surprise him all right, Cathy thought grimly. And with a bit of luck she could give him heart-burn into the bargain.
As she listened to him her mind veered towards the article she was expected to write. It struck her that it might take her longer than she had first anticipated to get the necessary information. It was not going to be easy to break through Tyrone’s businesslike reserve. She could hardly start asking pertinent questions when all he wanted to talk about was the daily running of the house. She needed to approach this cautiously.
She would have to get into town and phone Mike and pick up some of her belongings from the hotel. It was imperative.
She cleared her throat and cut across him. ‘What about the shopping?’ She asked the question in a wild attempt to get away from the house for a while. ‘You haven’t allowed me any time for getting ingredients for dinner and so on.’
‘Don’t worry about that. Henri will probably see to it...or we’ll have whatever you need delivered.’
Silence stretched for a moment as she searched her mind for a way to get around him and out of here. ‘Actually, I prefer to pick my own ingredients for cooking. I’m rather selective when shopping for dinner.’
‘So is Henri.’ Pearce was unmovable, his eyes firm.
‘Yes, but I have to go into town tomorrow anyway... I need to collect the rest of my luggage,’ she said as desperation started to creep in.
‘Where is your luggage?’ He leaned forward. ‘I thought you just flew in from London early this morning?’
‘Well, I... No...’ She felt her skin go red and blotchy with discomfort as she searched around for a good excuse to explain why her clothes were in Antibes. Hell, she was no good at telling lies.
‘There must be some misunderstanding, I have come straight from working for another family in Antibes... Their daughter is going away to school so they no longer need me.’
‘So why leave your belongings in their house?’ His voice was arid, his eyes watchful.
‘Well, it’s...’ She shook her head, willing herself to think quickly. ‘It’s a precaution.’ She almost gasped the words in relief as the excuse came to her in a rush. ‘I like to make sure everything is above board and suitable before I move into someone’s house...especially when that someone is a single male.’
There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in the cool blue eyes as they swept over her heated face. ‘I see. Well, you have nothing to fear from me, Ms Fielding, I can assure you of that.’
Somehow his words sounded more like an insult than reassurance. OK, so she probably wasn’t his type. Jody Sterling was exceptionally beautiful, as well as talented. But there was no need for him to sound quite so disdainful. She wasn’t ugly. Her skin burned with bright, angry colour but she forced herself to hold his gaze. ‘Well, that is a considerable relief.’ She was pleased by the way she was able to match his cool tone. ‘I wouldn’t like there to be any misunderstanding.’
‘Neither would I.’ He fixed her with a level stare. ‘I never fraternise on a personal level with my staff.’
She had to hand it to Pearce Tyrone, Cathy thought grimly. He got ten out of ten for being able to put her back up. ‘Very commendable,’ she said sugar-sweetly.
He smiled and for a moment amusement lurked in his blue eyes. What was so funny about being an insular snob? Cathy thought furiously. He wouldn’t be laughing when he read the article she was going to write about him. The thought was enough to lighten her spirits.
‘As it happens, I have to go into Antibes tomorrow so we may as well go together,’ Pearce continued smoothly.
Cathy frowned, her moment of pleasure dissolving. How would she get her clothes from the hotel and phone Mike if Pearce insisted on tagging along? To top it all he was going to expect her to go directly to somebody’s house and she didn’t know a soul in Antibes. This was getting to be too complicated by far. ‘But what about Poppy? I mean, we can hardly all—’
‘We can take Poppy with us. We shouldn’t be long.’ Pearce glanced at his watch. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Cathy gritted her teeth.
‘Perhaps you would put my supper on a tray and bring it in here for me?’
His tone was dismissive, as if he had taken all he could of inconsequential talk. She had a wild urge to say something flippant like, Yes sir, three bags full, sir. Instead, she bit her lip.
Her chance to be irreverent and glib would come later when she poured her story about the real Pearce Tyrone out onto paper. He was going to make a very interesting subject.
CHAPTER THREE
AS CATHY came out of Pearce’s study Henri was coming down the stairs with Poppy in his arms. ‘I think it is time for Poppy to be fed now, mademoiselle,’ he said as he handed the child across to her.
Talk about being left holding the baby, Cathy thought sardonically as she looked down at the child.
Poppy gave her a smile, her chubby cheeks dimpling in a cute way. She was wearing a hand-smocked dress and a pair of knitted booties, and she looked adorable. There was something about her that made Cathy’s heart contract.
‘Before I go home, mademoiselle, I must show you how to operate the security gates.’ Henri beckoned for her to follow him.
He brought her into the kitchen. It was a large room with a farmhouse-style refectory table, oak cupboards and a gleaming terracotta tiled floor. At the far side there was a TV monitor which showed the front gates, illuminated by floodlit security lights.
‘Just switch here and here.’ Henri flicked the controls on a panel next to the screen and she saw the gates opening and closing. ‘Always ask who is out there before admitting anyone. Monsieur only lets people in who have an appointment. He is a very busy man.’
‘Yes, I understand’ She had been very lucky to get in here, she thought wryly.
‘I shall go now and perhaps you will close the gates as I drive through?’
She nodded. ‘I take it you don’t live in?’
‘No. I have a cottage a few miles away.’
Well, that was good news, Cathy thought happily. If Pearce was working in his study she could have a good look around the house later on without any interruptions.
She wondered if she dared to ring the newspaper from here.
Poppy moved fretfully in her arms. ‘I had better feed this little one,’ she said, smiling at Henri as she placed the child in a high chair by the table.
Henri turned and opened one of the kitchen cupboards. ‘I think you will find everything you need for Poppy’s meals in here,’ he said.
Relief was overwhelming as she saw the jars of baby food and the packets with clearly written instructions. ‘Thank you, Henri,’ she said, her tone perhaps a little too heartfelt.
He nodded. ‘I go now, mademoiselle. Do not forget to lock up after me.’
‘I won’t.’ He was quite a kindly type of man, she decided. It was just a pity that he didn’t seem inclined towards a bit of gossip. She decided to try again with him. ‘So, what do you do around here, Henri?’ she asked in a friendly tone.
‘I look after the garden, clean the pool.’ He shrugged. ‘Just keep the residence in good order.’
‘And do you find Monsieur Tyrone a good person to work for?’
Henri nodded. ‘My wife and I have worked for him for over twelve years.’ He paused then, a look of sadness on his face. ‘My wife, Sophie, died five months ago.’ There was a wealth of sorrow in the older man’s voice and Cathy immediately felt sad for him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she told him sincerely.
He patted her shoulder as he saw the genuine sympathy on her face. ‘We had thirty years of marriage and I have a lot of good memories. Now I have my grandchildren and my job.... Monsieur Tyrone has been very understanding.’ He paused for just a moment, before saying, ‘But, then, the Monsieur knows what it is like to love someone and lose them.’
‘Does he?’ Before Cathy could ask about this Henri cut across her, his manner suddenly agitated. ‘I am talking too much.’ He moved away towards the door. ‘Don’t forget to close the gates when I have gone.’
Cathy watched him leave with a feeling of acute disappointment. Just a few more moments and she could have learnt so much more. To whom had he been referring? Whom had Pearce loved and lost?
The sound of Poppy crying cut across her thoughts and she turned to see to the child.
By the time Cathy brought Pearce’s supper in to him on a tray she was starting to feel tired. She hadn’t had a spare moment to look around the house—her time had been completely taken up with Poppy.
Looking after a baby was very hard work, but she had surprised herself by handling it quite well. In fact, there was a part of her that had enjoyed the experience. Poppy was a lovable child.
Pearce barely looked up as she came in. He was sitting in front of the computer terminal, his hands busy on the keyboard.
Cathy put the tray on the table next to him.
‘How is Poppy?’
Without being invited, she sat down on the chair opposite him. ‘Asleep at last. She took a while to settle.’
Pearce looked up, an expression of concern on his handsome features. ‘Do you think it is because she is in unfamiliar surroundings?’
Cathy shrugged. ‘If she was a bit older I’d say she was missing her mother. Is there any news about Ms Sterling’s condition yet?’
He shook his head. ‘I rang earlier, there is no change.’
He sounded worried and Cathy’s heart went out to him. It was a dreadful situation. ‘Poor little Poppy,’ she said softly.
Pearce looked over at her and his lips slanted in a half-smile. ‘I noticed that you and Poppy were having quite a conversation in the kitchen earlier.’
She felt her skin flare with colour. While she had been spoon-feeding Poppy her dinner she had been talking to her, trying to encourage her to eat up. She recalled now that she had got quite carried away, talking in a singsong gentle way in babyish rubbish.
‘I put my head around the door, just to see how you were getting on,’ he said in answer to her questioning look.
‘I didn’t see you.’ Her skin felt as if it were on fire. He must have thought she was completely daft.
‘No, you were absorbed with Poppy, so much so that I didn’t like to disturb you.’
She had been absorbed. She had felt a deep tenderness for the little girl. The power of the feeling had taken her by surprise. She wondered if it was because she had lost her own mother when she’d been just a baby. Whether, deep down in her subconscious, this was why she felt such empathy for the child.
‘Don’t look so embarrassed,’ Pearce said. ‘You don’t know what a relief it was to see you acting so naturally with Poppy, so gently. She is going to need a lot of extra love and attention to help her through this period.’
His sensitivity and concern for Poppy touched her. So much so that she found herself saying nothing, just staring at him and taking in everything about him—the way his dark hair gleamed like midnight under the overhead light, the chiselled strength of his features.
He returned her gaze. For just the briefest interlude there was a silence, tinged with some kind of emotion that Cathy couldn’t quite define.
She was the first to look away. She was supposed to be asking him questions, concentrating on her story. She shook her bead, trying to dispel the warm fog that had invaded her brain like cotton wool.
‘I’m sure you are right.’ Her voice became brisk, businesslike. ‘So, tell me, are you working on a new book?’ Abruptly she switched the subject to something less emotive.
His expression altered, became harder. ‘Yes.’
From the bluntness of the reply she took it that now they were no longer discussing Poppy Pearce was now waiting for her to leave him in peace. She could sense the sudden tension in him, feel his impatience. But despite this. or maybe because of this, she deliberately lingered. Her eyes moved around the room and lighted on a shelf that was filled with his books.
‘You’ve been very prolific, haven’t you?’ She got to her feet and wandered over to have a closer look. She noticed his latest book, Theory of Murder, and took it out. ‘I haven’t read this,’ she murmured, her eyes scanning the blurb on the back. ‘They’ve turned it into a film, haven’t they?’
He nodded. ‘Take it, if you want,’ he offered casually, perhaps in an endeavour to be rid of her quickly.
‘Thanks.’ She smiled at him, but made no attempt to leave. ‘I have a confession to make—I have only read a few of your books.’
‘Murder stories and political thrillers aren’t everyone’s idea of an entertaining read.’
‘Oh, I did enjoy them,’ Cathy told him sincerely. ‘It’s just that I don’t get much time for reading, so I tend to choose light novels.’
‘Let me guess...romance?’
She shrugged. ‘Yes, I like romantic fiction. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favourite books.’ She fixed him with a direct look. ‘You don’t seem to put much romance in your stories... Why is that?’
It was a question she would have asked had she been interviewing him and she waited, feeling pleased that she had managed to inject it in so easily.
‘Love is a powerful emotion. I do use it occasionally. Clarissa, for instance, in, Hell Hath no Fury was driven by desire. It blinded her; it changed her from an ordinary woman into a cold-blooded killer.’
‘Yes, I read that book.’ She shivered as she remembered it. ‘I found it quite terrifying. Your hero, there was no love interest for him—’
‘He had a few flings.’ For just a moment Pearce looked amused.
‘Yes, I know there is sex in the book.’ Cathy felt herself colouring up, for some reason feeling suddenly embarrassed. ‘But that’s hardly the same thing, is it?’
‘Isn’t it?’ There was definite amusement in his blue eyes now and she felt her composure slipping.
‘Well, he doesn’t fall in love with anyone...there’s no happy ending for him.’
The brief moment of amusement faded. ‘No, but that is life sometimes.’
Cathy remembered how Henri had told her that Pearce had loved and lost somebody. ‘That’s rather a sad statement,’ she said gently.
One eyebrow lifted. ‘Is it? I think it is a realistic statement.’
‘Basically what you are saying is that you are not a romantic?’
‘I’m a writer, Ms Fielding, and I enjoy my work... when I’m allowed to get on with it.’
She knew that he wanted her to leave but she was loath to go. She batted wide beautiful eyes. ‘Am I disturbing you?’ Something made her lower her voice to a soft husky tone. Why she spoke like that she didn’t know; it was some kind of feminine instinct that just seemed to take over.
For a moment his eyes moved downwards to the soft curves of her body. The movement caused a quiver of awareness to steal over her from absolutely nowhere. ‘In a word...yes.’
The sound of the telephone cut the sudden tense silence that fell between them.
Pearce snatched up the receiver immediately, a frown etched very clearly on his handsome features.
Cathy stood where she was, unashamedly watching him. Obviously it wasn’t the hospital because he relaxed immediately on hearing whoever was at the other end of the line.
‘No, John, there is no news yet. I rang the hospital a little while ago and her condition is unchanged.’ He raked a hand in a distracted way through his hair. ‘I know ... it’s terrible, and to add to everything we’ve got a damn air strike. I had planned to fly up every day to see Jody...now I don’t know what to do. It’s a long drive and I’ve got Poppy to consider...’
Pearce flicked a glance up at Cathy, then covered the mouthpiece. ‘Haven’t you got work to do?’ he asked her curtly.
‘Yes, of course.’ She moved towards the door very slowly so that she could hear as much of his conversation as possible.
‘Poppy is fine. I’ve got—’ He covered the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand for just a moment and his voice boomed over towards her. ‘Ms Fielding, please pick up your feet and leave.’
Pearce Tyrone certainly didn’t waste time trying to be polite, she thought wryly. She cringed as she remembered the flirtatious way she had spoken to him a moment ago.
She shook her head, wondering what on earth she had been thinking of. Trying to flirt with Tyrone was like trying to play with a panther. She must never ever do that again, she told herself crossly.
She closed the door behind her and went upstairs.
She was no sooner in the nursery door than Poppy started to cry.
‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ Cathy leaned over the cot. The child looked hot, her cheeks were flushed and she cried fretfully. Cathy put a soothing hand to her forehead and was relieved to find she didn’t have a temperature. Gently, she reached in and picked her up.
‘Let’s change you into something a little cooler and check your nappy,’ she murmured as she put the baby down on a changing mat on the floor.
Poppy stopped crying as soon as Cathy took off her nappy. It didn’t need changing but she decided to put on a fresh one anyway.
Poppy seemed to like the cool freedom of being without it because she kicked her legs in vigorous delight.
Poor little mite, Cathy thought as she watched her. She hoped and prayed that Jody Sterling would make a complete recovery. She stroked a stray curl from the little girl’s face. At least Poppy had a caring father. She had very little doubt that Pearce was Poppy’s father. Why else would the child be here?
‘You like being without that nappy, don’t you?’ Cathy said in a gentle voice. ‘Yes, you do.’
What was it about babies that made you talk in that ridiculous tone? Cathy wondered with a wry smile as she lifted the child and gently patted her dry with a towel before reaching for some cream and some talc. Even so, it was quite fun—like going back to a second childhood, she told herself as she hummed a little song to Poppy. Not the same kind of fun as lying in the sun with a gin and tonic ... but it was engagingly rewarding.
You didn’t feel self-conscious, acting silly with a baby—it was like letting all your inhibitions down and just being yourself.
She turned the talc container upside down to lightly dust the child’s skin. Unfortunately she didn’t realise how fast the talc would come out and white powder flew everywhere.
‘Oh, wonderful,’ Cathy remarked drily as she surveyed the chalk-white little legs. ‘Just wonderful.’
Poppy gurgled happily, as if sharing the joke. ‘Well might you laugh at me—’
‘Everything all right, Ms Fielding? Pearce Tyrone’s curt tone interrupted the proceedings abruptly.
Cathy looked around, dismayed to be caught in such a mess. She was sitting in the middle of the floor, Poppy’s things spread around her like a bring-and-buy sale and talc everywhere. A man like Pearce Tyrone would not be amused.
‘Yes, fine, thank you.’
‘I though I heard Poppy crying.’
‘She was a little hot, that’s all. I’m just going to put her in a cool cotton vest.’ As she spoke she dusted the child down lightly with a towel and then reached for a new nappy. She had hoped that Pearce would go. She felt nervous with him watching her. However, instead of leaving he came further into the room to stand over her.
She pulled open the sticky tapes on the disposable nappy and pressed them down into place but infuriatingly they sprang open again.
Poppy kicked her dimpled, chubby legs in delight as once more she felt herself free.
Acutely aware of Pearce watching her, Cathy tried again but still the nappy wouldn’t fasten.
‘You’ve got cream on the sticky tape,’ Pearce remarked calmly. The next moment he was kneeling beside her.
‘Come here, little honey.’ He pulled the changing mat closer to him and took another fresh nappy from the pack.
Cathy watched with a mixture of annoyance and admiration as the nappy went on perfectly for him.
‘There, nothing to it.’ He sat back on his heels and grinned at Cathy.
‘I was managing perfectly until you came along,’ she told him primly.
‘Yes ... so I noticed.’ He smiled at her, his eyes moving over her features with a kind of absorbed fascination. The way he was looking at her made her heart beat crazily against her ribs.
He was sitting very close to her, she realised suddenly, and there was a warmth in his eyes that really threw her.
‘You’ve got talc on your nose,’ he said, a humorous note in his voice.
‘Oh!’ Embarrassment swept through her. She had thought that he was looking at her admiringly and instead of that he had probably been thinking that she looked an utter mess.
Before she could lift up a hand to rub the offending talc away he reached out and did it for her. The touch of his hand against her skin sent a shooting sensation through her.
‘There, that’s better. You’ve got a very pretty nose.’ The dark blue eyes swept over her again, then seemed to linger on the soft curves of her tips.
She felt a dizziness inside her that she had never felt before.
‘A pretty face, too,’ he murmured, and for just a moment all hint of humour was missing from his expression and he was studying her very seriously.
For a second she thought he was going to say something else...something deeper.
Cathy moistened her lips. She didn’t understand the tension that had suddenly sprung up between them. It was thrilling... It was ludicrous... She was here to get a story, she told herself staunchly; she couldn’t feel any kind of attraction for him...it wasn’t right.
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