Husband-To-Be. Linda Miles
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mind that.
‘I see,’ said Grant. He smiled. ‘I tried to go to a conference once. R. K. V. Hawkins was giving a paper on insect populations in the pampas. Then a crisis blew up at work and I missed him. But I refuse to believe it was just something R. K. V. threw together for the airfare.’
Before Rachel could think of a suitable reply to this the telephone rang. She looked wildly around; the sound seemed to be coming from a mound of papers in the corner.
‘I’ll get it!’ they both exclaimed, leaping from the table. This was a mistake.
The smooth soles of Rachel’s brand new shoes skidded on one of the brochures which had been tossed to the floor; Grant’s beautifully polished black loafers slipped on another. They toppled headlong to the ground.
Grant reached out a long arm and extracted the telephone from beneath the pile of papers. ‘Arrowmead Conference Centre,’ he said, as imperturbably as if he’d been sitting behind a twelve by ten black marble desk instead of entangled on the floor with a breathless secretary. ‘Oh—yes, she’s right here.
‘It’s for you,’ he said to Rachel, handing over the receiver.
Rachel held it to her ear.
‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Oh, hello, Driscoll.’
Grant had been on the point of sitting up, but he now simply propped himself on one elbow and gave her a lazy grin. ‘Tell him he’s a lucky man,’ he said. ‘Tell him if he tries to interfere with your career he’ll have me to reckon with.’
Rachel frowned. ‘No, it’s nothing, Driscoll—no, I—yes, I thought I’d give it a try—yes, I realise it’s a departure, but I—I really don’t think this is the time to discuss this.’
Driscoll ignored her. ‘Look, Rache, something big has come up. You got a letter from Bell Conglomerates—they want you to do an environmental impact study for them—plenty of scope for both of us.’
‘You opened it?’ said Rachel.
‘Of course I opened it. It could have been important. It is important. There’s not a moment to lose.’
‘But I’m not interested,’ protested Rachel.
Driscoll argued vehemently. At last, he said reluctantly, ‘Well, if you don’t want it, maybe I’ll apply on my own. Tell you what, why don’t we both go to London in person? Then you can put in a good word for me—you know, say you’re definitely not interested and that I’m the next best thing.’
Rachel hesitated. Driscoll had never been much of a one for fieldwork. Would he be able to do an independent survey if it turned out one was needed? But there was Grant’s philosophy, she reminded herself—and Driscoll certainly wanted the job badly.
‘Well, all right,’ she said at last. ‘When do you want to go?’
‘They’ve given you an appointment for Wednesday next week.’
‘I’ll see if I can make it,’ Rachel said reluctantly.
Grant was still looking at her, the brilliant blue eyes watchful. ‘Now, don’t tell me he’s talked you into quitting on your first day on the job,’ he said.
Rachel shook her head. ‘I’m afraid you won’t like it, though,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’ve got to go up to London on Wednesday next week.’
Grant shrugged. ‘As a matter of fact, so have I. I’ll give you a lift, shall I? That way I can make sure you come back.’
CHAPTER FOUR
IN THE week before her appointment Rachel brought order to the chaotic office. She managed, through sheer obstinate perseverance, to get through on the phone to the firm handling the network, and got the computers connected to the London headquarters. She set up a filing system. She made a number of recommendations about requirements for the conference centre. She also spent a surprising amount of time talking with her eccentric, easygoing employer about things that seemed to have nothing to do with business.
Though Grant had abandoned an orthodox scientific career, he still had an active, wide-ranging interest in an extraordinary variety of scientific subject. The reception area was soon piled high with periodicals he pretended to think visitors might like to consult. He seemed to be unable to visit a bookshop without bringing away five or six things that ‘looked interesting’; this was his explanation, at any rate, for the large number of books that soon cluttered his office. He encouraged Rachel to borrow anything she liked; then he argued with her about it.
This was not, of course, for the most part in office hours. Olivia had gone back to London, since the upstairs was still uninhabitable. That didn’t stop Grant from camping out there—it just meant he had his evenings free. Just as Rachel was getting ready to leave for the day, he’d come in and ask a casual question about something she’d been reading. The next thing she knew three or four hours would have gone by.
One night he might bundle her into the Jaguar and take her off to a three-star country restaurant. On another he’d remember he had a couple of tins of baked beans and a carton of eggs upstairs. Either way, Rachel realised she hadn’t had such a good time in years. Grant had a knack for spotting what was original and interesting in new work; it was wonderful talking with him! In fact, she sometimes thought guiltily, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked about new developments in any field with Driscoll. Driscoll talked about the jobs that were going, and who was likely to get them. Well, of course you had to be practical, but it was wonderfully refreshing to talk to someone who was just interested in the subject.
If she was honest, Rachel had to admit that there was more to it than the thrill of discussing the latest developments in DNA research. She’d never spent so much time in the company of such a spectacular physical specimen, and there was no point in pretending she didn’t enjoy it. A fact was a fact, and as a scientist Rachel had a great respect for facts.
There was also no point in pretending she didn’t enjoy going into the office and getting a daily expression of aesthetic appreciation from said spectacular physical specimen. It was just a joke, of course, but it cheered her up anyway. The mosquitoes had never had much time for aesthetics: they’d just gone for blood.
Since he was engaged, and she was engaged, it was a lucky thing that there was no danger of her falling in love with Grant. He didn’t always talk about science. Sometimes he talked instead about hair-raising escapes he’d had.
Rachel didn’t know whether Olivia knew what she was getting into; maybe she didn’t believe she would ever personally be in danger. Rachel knew better. She might get short of breath sometimes at a certain look in those blazing blue eyes, she might sometimes feel her pulse quicken when he stood close to her—it didn’t matter. All it took was one blood-chilling reminiscence to expose these for the trifling physical phenomena they were. This man was trouble. Rachel did not like trouble. Therefore, this man was emphatically not her type.
Still, even if she didn’t want to marry him, she couldn’t imagine a more delightful, stimulating employer. This was the job for her. By the end of the week she was even more reluctant to accept the environmental assessment assignment.
The Tuesday night before the fateful interview was another three-star restaurant night. Grant came into the front office at five-thirty, finger in the middle of a book on alternative medicine, paced up and down for two or three hours talking heatedly about various questions it raised, and suddenly remembered he was starving. Rachel had told her aunt days before that she couldn’t count on being home in time for dinner; she was now able to rush down to the Jaguar with Grant without even an apologetic phone call.
Half an hour of expert driving through the country lanes brought them to one of the most famous restaurants in the county. Another fifteen minutes and they were devouring an appetiser of roasted vegetables while they argued about genetic engineering. Rachel had been thinking all day about the interview, and then trying not to think about it Now, as she gazed across the candlelit