Mission To Seduce. Sally Wentworth
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I have an apartment, for the moment.’
‘You intend to move?’
‘No, but my job here is over. I shall be going back to England shortly.’
‘Shortly?’ Allie fastened on the word, wondering if it represented an easier way to get rid of him. ‘I hope you’re not staying on here in Moscow just because of me.’
Drake didn’t answer directly, merely saying, ‘I’m due some leave.’
Turning to look at him, Allie said, ‘Good heavens, how embarrassing. I wouldn’t for the world want to keep you from going home, from being with your family. In the circumstances it was wrong of Bob to ask you to—’
‘I’m happy to do it,’ Drake interrupted rather brusquely.
He said it in a tone that was meant to stop all argument, all further protestations, but Allie tried once more, saying with a little sigh, ‘Bob really is a dear. He worries about me, and I appreciate it. But he never seems to get it into his head that I’m quite capable of looking after myself, even in a foreign country. I can just imagine the list of instructions he gave you.’ She deepened her voice into a playful imitation of her boss’s bass tone. ‘Don’t let her get too friendly with the natives. Make sure she knuckles down to work. Don’t let her go off sightseeing—this isn’t a damn holiday. And don’t let her go on the Metro in case she gets lost. And don’t let her loose in the shops or she’ll spend a fortune.’
Pulling up outside the restaurant, Drake turned to her and laughed. ‘How did you know what he said?’
‘Because I got the very same lecture before I left, of course. Whenever he sends me on an assignment he always worries himself silly in case something happens to me.’
‘I’m surprised he lets you go, then.’
Her voice becoming serious, Allie said pointedly, ‘He has to. I’m good at my job and he knows it. And when it comes down to it, it’s my expertise he wants and is paying for. Oh, he might put on the act of being paternal and worrying about my welfare, but maybe that’s to compensate for the fact that he can’t do the job himself and has to send me instead.’
Drake had turned to look at her and was studying her face, taking in the seriousness of her blue eyes, the tilt of confidence and determination to her chin. Slowly he said, ‘I can understand his concern. You give off an aura of—’ he sought for the right word ‘—of fragility. You remind me of one of those modern figurines. Dressed in the latest fashion but with a delicacy that is becoming lost in the contemporary world. You look as if you might easily break.’
Allie sighed, knowing exactly what he meant; her lack of height and her fine bone structure were the bane of her life—of her professional and working life, at least; in her social life they were definite assets. Firmly, she said, ‘That impression is entirely wrong. It’s an anachronism. I’m a professional career woman and I can handle any situation I come up against. I don’t need a nursemaid, and I certainly don’t need a chaperon—of either sex.’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘That was a very definite statement.’
‘It was meant to be.’
‘And what exactly does not needing a chaperon mean?’
Steadily, her eyes holding his, she said, ‘It means that I’m not a girl. I’m an experienced woman, and if I want to get friendly with someone, then I’ll go ahead and do it, whether—my boss likes it or not.’ She had almost said ‘whether you like it or not’, but stopped herself in time. She wanted to keep this as impersonal as possible.
But Drake had guessed and his face hardened. ‘I’m beginning to think Bob is right about you,’ he said shortly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘“The lady doth protest too much”,’ he quoted. Opening the car door, he said, ‘Come on, let’s go and eat.’
The restaurant was already quite full. It was almost impossible to tell the nationality of the customers from their dress because all looked smart; it was only as you walked by and listened to the language in which they spoke that you could tell. And everyone seemed to be talking as they ate and drank. On a small raised platform behind an equally small dance floor there was a gypsy band which was doing its best to drown out the noise of the voices.
Allie looked back over her shoulder as she turned a laughing face to Drake. ‘Is it always like this?’
He seemed to draw in his breath and gazed at her for a moment before he blinked and bent nearer to hear. She repeated her question and he nodded. ‘Wherever there are Russians you have noise.’
They sat down at a table for two at the rear of the room where an open window gave a welcome coolness. A waiter handed them menus but Drake didn’t look at his for a few minutes. His eyes were still on Allie but there was a frowning, abstracted look in them, as if he was thinking of something quite different.
‘A rouble for them,’ Allie said, her eyebrows rising.
He blinked, looked disconcerted for a moment, then said hastily, ‘What would you like to drink?’
They settled for vodka on the rocks and drank it while Drake explained the menu to her. ‘Everyone has zakuski,’ he told her. ‘That’s the same as hors d’oeuvres. And the Russians can make them last for a couple of hours. That’s mostly why westerners complain about the slow service here; they eat the zakuski and expect the main course to be served straight away, but you have to prolong the experience.’
‘Make a meal of it, you mean,’ Allie said, tongue in cheek.
Drake groaned, laughed. ‘I asked for that one, didn’t I?’
‘You didn’t take up my offer,’ Allie told him.
‘Offer?’
‘A rouble for your thoughts,’ she reminded him. ‘You were miles away just now.’
He gave a short laugh, said, ‘Was I?’ in a terse, ‘leave it’ kind of voice.
But Allie wasn’t to be put down. ‘So where were you?’ she demanded.
Picking up his glass, Drake looked down at it as he gave a small shrug. ‘It was nothing. For a second you reminded me of someone, that’s all.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘No one you’d know,’ he said dismissively. ‘Now, have you decided what you would like to eat?’
‘Well, as I’m in Russia, I’ll guess I’ll go for something really authentic and have the beef stroganoff.’
That made him grin. ‘Very adventurous!’ he mocked.
Allie smiled back at him, wondering who it was she’d reminded him of. What woman could it have been, and what must she have meant to him to drag his mind away from the present and bring such a frown of memory to his face? ‘I take it you didn’t bring your family with you to Moscow,’ she said lightly.
‘My family?’ He gave her an assessing look at the question, probably wondering if it meant she was interested in him. ‘I have no family. I’m not married,’ he said, his tone a little abrupt.
She nodded. ‘That figures. Companies tend to send single people on foreign assignments. It’s cheaper.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
He looked slightly amused for a moment but turned to give the waiter his attention. He ordered in fluent Russian that produced the hors d’oeuvres and a bottle of Russian champagne. The gypsy band was playing away with great vigour and soon people got up to dance. Allie watched the different interpretations of the music with amusement; some tried to waltz, others to do a Highland fling, while other dancers just jigged around. The dancers were more entertaining than the band, but everyone seemed to be having a good time.