Night Heat Page 8

  Lincoln Korda swung his legs off the chair and got to his feet again before saying roughly: ‘It wasn’t difficult. Only the kind of upheaval caused by a deviation in his routine would have affected his condition, and as soon as I learned Keating had been away for the day, I guessed what must have happened.’

  She gazed at him, a feeling of outrage stirring at the calculating way he had allowed her to incriminate herself. But it wasn’t easy fuelling her abused senses in the present situation. His proximity disturbed her, the whole aggressive length of him, taut with anger and contempt, evoked completely different feelings inside her. She couldn’t remember any man ever having such a devastating effect on her before, and although she knew it was crazy, she was becoming emotionally aroused. It was resentment, she told herself fiercely, fighting her awareness of his maleness with something akin to desperation. Lincoln Korda was old enough to be her father, for heaven’s sake, and he was making no secret of the fact that he despised her. His expression said it all, and just because the circumstances of this exchange were unusual, it was no less unpleasant because of it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last, avoiding his gaze, hoping he would accept her apology—however grudgingly given—and that would be the end of it. But of course, it wasn’t.

  ‘What happened?’ he demanded. ‘What did you say to him? None of your homespun philosophy, I trust. He’s not a fool, and he’s had enough psycho-analysing to last him a lifetime!’

  Sara took a breath. ‘Why should I tell you what happened?’ she returned, stung by his attitude. ‘Can’t you guess? You seem to have anticipated everything else!’

  Lincoln Korda’s mouth compressed. ‘You want me to fire you, is that it?’ he enquired scathingly. ‘Of course; that way you can go home to brother Antony and tell him I threw you out!’

  ‘No——’ Sara spoke involuntarily, then bit her lip when she realised the impulse had cost her a possible means of escape.

  ‘No?’ Dark brows descended over eyes that mirrored a scornful incredulity. ‘You mean you want to go on? Why? Did I miss something?’

  ‘No.’ Sara shook her head, but now her eyes were caught and held by the interrogative depths of his. ‘Oh, you might as well hear it. He—I—we—we quarrelled. Jeff was rude, and I lost my temper. Now are you satisfied? Your misgivings have all been justified.’

  Lincoln Korda frowned. ‘You—lost your temper?’ he echoed, and then the glimmer of something which might have been humour, but which Sara was sure could not be, briefly softened his gaze.

  ‘Yes, I lost my temper,’ she confirmed tensely, wrapping her arms about herself, as if to ward off the effects of his disturbing appraisal. ‘I know it was wrong. I know I behaved badly. But so did he. He was—he was insulting——’

  ‘My God!’ To her astonishment, Lincoln Korda sounded almost relieved. Releasing her from his belittling inspection, he turned away to gaze somewhat ruefully across the rippling expanse of the pool, only swinging back to face her when she had had the time to recover her equilibrium. ‘I knew it,’ he said, running an impatient hand along the back of his neck and allowing it to rest there. His action caused the slipping waistband of his damp shorts to expose the arrowing of dark hair on his flat stomach, but he seemed unaware of it. ‘My instincts were right. I admit, I wasn’t enthusiastic about your coming here, but losing your temper, treating him like a normal human being, may be exactly the kind of treatment Jeff needs. You shook him out of his apathy. You proved it can be done. That hasn’t happened before.’

  She frowned. ‘But his fever …’

  ‘Probably psychosomatic. He was upset; frustrated, if you like, over something you said—or did. In his condition, any kind of stress, mental or physical, is enough to send his temperature soaring. When Grant rang and told me what had happened, I wondered if you could be involved. But when I asked you and you denied it, I guess I lost my cool. What can I say? I’m sorry.’

  Sara moistened her lips. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does.’ He moved to close the gap between them, his expression softening. ‘Look, maybe I have been a little hard on you. I’ve hurt your feelings, right? Hell, when you know me better you’ll learn that if I’m wrong, I’m the first to admit it.’

  If she had not been so aware of him and his nearness, she might have taken his apology at face value, and thus avoided any further exchange between them. But her expression revealed her uncertainty, and as if to reinforce his argument, Lincoln Korda put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. At his touch, she panicked, jerking back from him with more urgency than good sense, forcing herself to come down heavily on her injured right foot. The pain that shot through her ankle caused her to lose her balance, and she was teetering near the edge of the pool when he saved her. Using both hands this time, he hauled her back from the brink, and in the clumsy struggle that followed, Sara felt the muscled hardness of his body braced against her.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ he grated, as she pushed against him, and as he released her abruptly, his hands fell loosely to his sides.

  Sara, endeavouring to accomplish the twin tasks of tightening the belt of her wrapper and calming her scattered senses, did not answer him, and balling his fists, he added harshly: ‘Just what was that all about?’

  She forced herself to look past him. ‘I—I have a weak ankle, as you know,’ she replied hastily, realising he had been unaware of her reactions. ‘I—er—I slipped. You startled me.’

  Lincoln’s mouth compressed. ‘And this all came about because I laid a hand on you.’

  ‘You startled me,’ she insisted feebly. ‘I told you——’

  ‘I know what you’ve just said,’ he conceded bleakly. ‘But you didn’t slip. At least, not until I touched you. For pity’s sake, you didn’t think I was making a pass, did you?’

  ‘No——’ Sara was dismayed at his ability to interpret situations. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ he agreed, watching the colour deepen in her cheeks. ‘But you did think that, didn’t you? You actually believed I might find you irresistibly attractive.’

  ‘No,’ she said again, convinced now she had undone all the good she had done herself by admitting her involvement with Jeff, and as if to confirm that fact, Lincoln swore.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he demanded. ‘What do you take me for?’

  Sara shook her head. How could she tell him how it really was? How could she admit that far from wanting to reject his overture, she had been afraid of showing how she really felt? It was her own unwilling attraction to him which had precipitated that involuntary withdrawal, and she was still trying to come to terms with a situation she had never expected.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said now, struggling to retrieve her nerve. ‘Whether—whether you believe it or not, it wasn’t how you think.’ That, at least, was true.

  Lincoln’s nostrils flared. ‘Really?’ Clearly he didn’t believe her. ‘I suppose, then, there’s no need for me to point out to you that I’m a married man.’

  Sara held up her head. ‘None at all.’

  ‘Good.’

  With a gesture of impatience, he snatched up his towel and strode away towards the house. He was angry, and she knew it, and she could only hope that by behaving so foolishly she had not jeopardised her position. So much for capitalising on his approval, she reflected bitterly. Instead of using his approval of her encounter with his son to her advantage, she had probably alienated any confidence he might have had in her. And made a fool of herself into the bargain.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed the whole scene to replay, in all its embarrassing detail, behind her lids. He had only been trying to save her from falling into the pool, and it wasn’t his fault that the involuntary contact with his lean body had had such a sensual effect on her. She didn’t know what was the matter with her. It wasn’t as if she was completely ignorant of the opposite sex. She had had some experience; but she had probably convinced him she was one of those awful females who saw pro
miscuity in every innocent gesture.

  While she was showering and changing for lunch, she was plagued with the suspicion that she had probably made her position here untenable. What man in his right mind would want some raging feminist associating with his son, and if he ever suspected her real feelings, any success she might have had with Jeff would count for little. His announcement that he was a married man was no more reassuring. Unless Vicki had made a mistake, and he and his wife were still living together, it was just another way of proving he wasn’t interested.

  Choosing what to wear posed something of a problem. She usually wore tee-shirts and shorts, when she wasn’t wearing her swimsuit, and she had lost much of her self-consciousness over her lameness. But today she felt obliged to dress a little more formally, and eventually she put on a pair of loose cotton pants and a man’s navy silk shirt. She turned the cuffs back to the elbows and filled the open collar with a chunky gold necklace. Then, with thick gold rings swinging from her ears, she felt more ready to face whatever decision Lincoln Korda might have come to, and for once she hoped Grant would be there to ease the situation.

  In fact, it was Grant, and only Grant, who awaited her in the primrose dining room. The long windows were open to the terrace outside, and he turned from his surveillance of the sun-drenched patio when he heard her nervous footsteps. Immediately, his expression changed to take in her efforts at sophistication, and his lips twisted in wry approval.

  ‘Very nice,’ he applauded, leaving the window to come and meet her. ‘But not for my benefit, unless I’m very much mistaken.’

  Sara controlled her colour with an effort. ‘Well,’ she defended herself swiftly, ‘Mr Korda is my employer. Um—where is he? Isn’t he joining us?’

  ‘No,’ Grant said bluntly. ‘As a matter of fact, Link’s taking lunch with Jeff. Or at least, in his apartments. You can never anticipate Jeff’s mood.’

  ‘I see.’ Sara didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved.

  ‘I guess you’re pretty peeved, eh?’ commented Grant, pulling out her chair and assisting her into it. ‘You’ve not met the great man yet, have you? Who told you he’d arrived?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did meet him earlier,’ she admitted, realising it would be foolish to prevaricate. ‘I—er—I was sunbathing by the pool when he—joined me. It was quite a shock. I never imagined he’d appear so—unexpectedly.’

  ‘Nor did I,’ averred Grant shortly, taking the chair at right angles to hers. ‘It’s not like Link to neglect his empire in favour of his family. So—what did you think of him?’

  She looked down at the colourful slices of melon, pineapple and grapefruit on her plate, choosing her words with care. ‘He—he seems very nice,’ she murmured, picking up her fork. ‘Hmm, this fruit is chilled. How delicious!’

  ‘But what did he say to you?’ exclaimed Grant, not prepared to be sidetracked. ‘Didn’t he ask about Jeff? Did you tell him you hadn’t seen him yet?’

  ‘We discussed Jeff, of course.’ Sara had no wish to get into an argument over her conversation with Lincoln Korda. ‘I—er—perhaps that’s why he’s having lunch with his son. Maybe he’s trying to persuade Mr Keating to be a little more—co-operative.’

  ‘Link doesn’t persuade; he tells,’ averred Grant drily. ‘Besides, he and Keating have a special kind of relationship. They’ve known each other a lot of years. In any case, Jeff’s unlikely to go along with any suggestion his father might make.’

  Sara put down her fork. ‘So why doesn’t Mrs Korda take a hand? I’ve been here almost two weeks, and she hasn’t even telephoned to ask how Jeff is, has she?’

  He shrugged. ‘Michelle’s no good with sick people. Besides, I doubt if Link knows where she is. She took off for Tahiti about ten weeks ago, and nobody’s heard from her since. Nobody here, that is.’

  Sara stared at him. ‘You mean—she didn’t even tell her husband where she was going?’

  ‘Link?’ Grant gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Didn’t his brother tell you? Link and Michelle don’t live together. They’ve been separated for—oh, I don’t know exactly—ten, maybe twelve, years.’

  ‘They have?’ Her stomach contracted. So Lincoln had been lying after all. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Grant was expansive. ‘That’s why Jeff’s such an objectionable little bastard! Michelle brought him up. He lived with her until he had the crash. Then, of course, she couldn’t wait to be rid of him. Michelle doesn’t like responsibilities of that kind. Who knows?’ He grimaced. ‘Maybe I’d be pretty messed up if I’d had Jeff’s kind of upbringing.’

  Sara hesitated. ‘But didn’t Mr Korda—I mean, well, surely he must have seen his son during that time; spent some time with him? Even if the boy was living with his mother, that’s no reason why his father——’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me. All I know is, Link kept out of the way while Jeff was growing up. I guess that’s why Jeff hates him.’

  ‘Jeff hates his father?’ She was appalled.

  ‘Yeah. Cosy little household, isn’t it?’ remarked Grant sardonically, and Sara was glad of Rosa’s intervention with their next course to give herself time to absorb this latest development.

  ‘Hmm, pita salad—my favourite!’ added Grant, exchanging his usual banter with the dark-skinned serving girl as she produced two bowls, lined with shells of pita bread and filled with shredded lettuce and cheese. He broke off a square of of the crisp shell and munched enthusiastically. ‘You must have read my mind.’

  ‘It’s just as well I can’t,’ retorted Rosa, setting dishes of various sauces on the table. ‘Now, if there’s anything else you want, you’re gonna have to call.’

  He grinned. ‘What would we do without you?’ he teased, loosening the tie of her apron, and Rosa tossed her head as she sauntered out of the room.

  The salad nestling in its edible casing looked very appetising, but Sara’s thoughts were not occupied with food. She was still thinking about Lincoln Korda, and his wife, and wondering why a man who was concerned enough about his son to abandon his business affairs and fly down here to see him just because his temperature had taken a rise should have neglected the boy for the better part of his life.

  ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Grant asked now, realising she was just staring at the food. ‘Don’t worry, Link will work it out. He knows what Jeff’s like. He doesn’t expect miracles.’

  ‘Doesn’t he?’ Sara turned her attention to the salad with some determination. It was no wonder Tony’s story had been so vague. No matter what he had said, nothing could have prepared her for this strange household, or the disturbing personality of her employer.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SOMETIMES, in the early evening, Sara took a dip in the ocean. The water was warmer at that time of day than at any other, and it was extremely pleasant to feel the faintly abrasive movement of salt water against her limbs. In addition to which, after a day of applying screening creams to her skin, it provided an excellent way of removing oil from her body, and a shower afterwards left her feeling distinctly cleaner and fresher.

  So far as she knew, no one was aware of her nightly exertions. It was at this time that Grant usually telephoned his employer in New York, and Keating and the other members of the staff were employed about their own duties. In consequence, it was a period Sara guarded gratefully, a brief spell in the day when she could be completely herself.

  This particular day was no exception. Indeed, after an afternoon spent waiting for Lincoln Korda’s summons—which incidentally never came—she was all the more eager to shed her problems and immerse her overheated flesh in the cool water. She had kept out of the sun all day since his arrival, but the pants and shirt she had been wearing had become unbearably hot. She was glad to leave them, with her towel, on the beach.

  The pull of the tide was strong this evening, the undertow almost sweeping her off her feet as she waded into the water. She could imagine how rough it must be out in mid-Atlantic, and she marve
lled at the comparatively gentle swell that surged about her thighs.

  She dipped down once to wet her shoulders, and then dived fearlessly into the waves. The sudden chill almost took her breath away, but it was marvellously invigorating, and as the tension eased from her body she realised that since Lincoln Korda’s arrival, she hadn’t been able to relax.

  She was a strong swimmer, due in no small part to her professional training. She had always had slim, yet strong, legs, and in the water the weakness in her ankle didn’t matter. Glad to expunge the frustration that had been with her all afternoon, she swam purposefully out from the shore, turning on to her back to rest only when she was satisfied she was unlikely to be observed.

  What a day it had been! she reflected broodingly, wondering what was going to happen now. Grant had little confidence in her, Jeff didn’t like her, and Lincoln Korda didn’t trust her—so what point was there in staying? And why, when since she came here she had felt such a fraud, did the prospect of returning to England no longer have such appeal?

  She sighed, refusing to associate her sudden restlessness with Lincoln Korda’s appearance. He was a disruptive influence, it was true, but she must not allow him to upset her. She had already made a fool of herself at least twice in his presence, and if she truly wanted to help Jeff, she had to forget all about his father.

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t help thinking about what Grant had said about Michelle Korda. What kind of woman was she, to abandon her son just when he needed her most? No wonder Jeff was so bitter, if he had been left with his father, just because there was no one else willing to care for him.

  Noticing that the sea around her was getting choppy, she abandoned her cogitations, and started back for the shore. She could drown out here without anyone being the wiser, she mused a little self-pityingly, ignoring the fact that she had only herself to blame if she did get into difficulties. But, if the worst happened and she had to be rescued, how much smaller could she be made to feel?