Ordinary Girl, Society Groom. NATASHA OAKLEY
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risk speaking to Jem Norland again. Why did he think her mother had lied? How dared he think that? She brushed away an angry tear.
The door at the end of the powder room clicked open. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’ one of ladies who’d passed earlier asked.
Eloise spun round. ‘I’m fine. Sorry,’ she answered briskly. ‘I’m fine. Really.’ She made a show of checking her make-up in the lighted mirrors and adjusted the narrow straps of her evening gown before leaving the ladies’ room.
The babble of conversation immediately hit her as a wall of sound. The heat was stifling and the air was full of heavy perfume. Eloise pulled a tired hand across her forehead, easing out the tension, and crossed the room towards her employer.
‘You look dreadful,’ Cassie remarked as soon as she joined her.
Eloise let her breath out in a gentle, single stream. They were friends to a point, but Cassie wasn’t the kind of woman you could confide in.
In fact, since her mother’s death she’d discovered she really didn’t have any friends she trusted in that way. Not for the things that were truly important, the things that touched your soul and defined your personality.
‘It’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure,’ she lied. ‘I think I’ll go home, though.’
Cassie’s mouth thinned. She didn’t like it. Eloise knew the signs of irritation well. Her employer ate and slept her job and expected everyone else to do the same. Nothing in Cassie’s life was allowed to impinge on the really important business of running a magazine.
‘Now?’
‘I’ve got plenty of material.’ Eloise glanced down at her watch and added, ‘Which is more than can be said for Bernadette Ryland.’
Cassie’s painted mouth relaxed into a half smile and she spun round to take another view of the actress’s skimpy gown. ‘True. But there are one or two people I’d still like to speak to, if I can.’
Failure wasn’t in Cassie’s vocabulary. She would speak to everyone she intended to—and stay until it was done. It was why she was as successful as she was.
Eloise followed Cassie’s eyes as they searched out Monica Bennington, whose affair with a disgraced Member of Parliament had been headline news for the past week. A salacious story and Cassie wouldn’t leave without some take on it.
‘If you give me half an hour I’ll come with you. We’re all a bit jittery after Naomi’s mugging.’
Naomi’s recent attack had traumatised the entire office—but even that couldn’t persuade Eloise to wait. Cassie’s half an hour would become an hour, then maybe two. She had to leave now. Her temples had started to thud and she felt as if needles were being pushed into her eye sockets.
And she wanted to cry. Tough, sassy woman about town that she was—she wanted to cry like a baby. ‘I don’t want to rush you. I’ll call a cab.’
Cassie’s eyes flicked back to Monica. Eloise could see that she was torn as to what she should do. ‘Alone? You’re sure?’
‘Positive. I’ll be fine. It’s not very late. I could even catch the tube but I’d look a bit daft dressed like this. Probably not the best idea for a fashion guru.’
Cassie laughed, as Eloise had intended she should. Her hard face softened slightly and she rested her hand lightly on Eloise’s bare arm. ‘Get them to call you a taxi from Reception. Bring the receipt in tomorrow. Keep safe.’
Eloise smiled her thanks and turned away. Thank God. Escape. Her eyes fixed on the double doors with the determination of a drowning man trying to reach shore. She’d never left an evening like this so early before. Had never felt such an overwhelming urge to run away.
But then she’d never met Jem Norland before.
The sudden cold blast of air was a relief. Eloise had never fainted in her life but she’d felt perilously close to it back in the ballroom. She took in a couple of steadying breaths, grateful for the comparative quiet.
Her fingers struggled with the stiff clasp on her evening bag before she managed to retrieve the small white ticket she needed to reclaim her wrap. With a nervous glance over her shoulder, she hurried down the wide-stepped staircase.
‘Miss Lawton?’
She didn’t need to turn round to recognise the voice of Jem Norland. Her fingers hesitated on the smooth mahogany banister rail and she stopped. ‘Go away,’ she managed. ‘I don’t want to speak to you.’
She carried on down the stairs, gathering up the fine silk of her skirt to keep it out of the way of her heels.
The marble-floored entrance hall was full of people and she had no choice but to take her place in a queue. He came to stand beside her. Tall and intimidating. ‘I’m sorry.’
Eloise kept looking staunchly ahead. ‘For what?’
‘I’ve upset you.’
Bizarrely, he sounded genuine. Eloise couldn’t quite understand that. He’d made a point of coming to speak to her when he’d known perfectly well who she was. He’d made it perfectly plain that he didn’t believe her story. What exactly did he expect her to feel?
‘I’m angry. Okay?’ She turned to look at him. ‘Not upset, angry. Very, very angry.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He kept his voice level and calm.
Eloise felt hot tears prick behind her eyes. ‘Oh, go away.’ Then, with a small break in her voice, ‘Please, Leave me alone. Just go away.’
The queue moved forward and Eloise resolutely concentrated on handing over her ticket and reclaiming her wrap. She draped the soft folds about her shoulders, aware that Jem Norland had moved to stand near the reception desk.
Eloise looked back up the staircase to the oppressive portraits above. The sound of laughter and the general hum of conversation wafted down. She’d have been better off waiting for Cassie. If only he’d leave her alone.
She looked at the queue, which was five deep, all waiting patiently for the receptionist, and with sudden decisiveness she turned towards the exit.
Jem stopped her. ‘We ought to talk.’
‘About?’ She pulled her wrap tightly about her shoulders. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you and I’m not interested in anything you’ve got to say to me. My mum was right when she decided to have nothing to do with my father.’
As exits went, it was pretty good. Head held high, she stepped out on the stone steps.
But it was dark.
And she’d meant to wait for a taxi. It was stupid to be walking about London at night, alone, in sandals with three-inch heels and wearing an expensive evening dress. She knew it.
But she couldn’t go back. Stifling the panic she always felt about being alone at night, Eloise headed towards the main road. The street was deserted. Naomi had been unlucky. There was nothing to worry about, she told herself. This was a well-lit road in a good area and it would be easy to hail a taxi at Hyde Park Corner.
The wind whipped between the buildings and she pulled her deep purple wrap more closely about her shoulders as though it would offer protection. A shield against people who would do her wrong.
She pulled a wry smile. It wasn’t even doing a particularly good job at keeping her warm. What was really needed on a night like this was thermal underwear and a duffel coat. Oh, and a pair of comfortable shoes. She’d kill for a pair of loafers right now.
A quick glance over her shoulder reassured her. There was no one. Not even Jem Norland. It was eerily quiet and, after the bright lights of Alburgh House, unpleasantly dark. It was strange how night made such a difference and made familiar places uncomfortable.
A sensible woman would have called for a cab from