The Millionaire's Daughter. Sophie Weston
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registered a resolve to get Gillie on her own when the boudoir crowd thinned out.
Meanwhile, Bella said. ‘Look, you won’t get near mother’s dressing table for ages. Come to my room and I’ll lend you some blusher, at least.’
Annis went. Bella cleared a space on her dressing table and provided her with a hand mirror and a palette of colours. For a few moments, she watched Annis critically, then took the little brushes out of her hands and began to dust in colour with swift skill.
Lynda put her head round the door. ‘All right? Bella, the Larsens were asking about that guide to Ecuador.’
‘It’s in the study.’ Bella put down the brushes. ‘I’ll get it.’
‘Give it to Gillie, darling. She’s gone down to the drawing room.’
Bella went. Annis picked up one of the discarded brushes and flicked shadow across her eyelid in experiment. She leaned forward to peer at her reflection. It was not impressive.
‘Why does this stuff make Bella look like a million dollars and turn me into a clown?’
‘Practice,’ said Lynda, taking the palette away from her.
She handed her a small impregnated pad and Annis wiped the colour off her eyelid carefully.
‘I could give you a session at Cosmic Works,’ Lynda said tentatively. ‘They teach you how to highlight your best features, what colours suit you best in various lights, that sort of thing.’
Annis dabbed away the last of the eye shadow. ‘No time.’
Lynda sighed but did not demur. For all her apparent fluffiness, she seldom lost focus. ‘So how did you like your dinner companion?’
Annis met her eyes in the mirror. There was a speaking silence.
‘In another age you would be tried as witch you know,’ she said at last.
Lynda smiled. ‘A white witch, darling. You know I only want the best for you.’
And the trouble was she did. As a stepmother she had only one failing. While Jamie had been around it had been easy to keep her at bay, but since they’d broken up Lynda had been more determined than ever to find her stepdaughter a suitable partner for life. Annis was torn between affection and despair.
‘If only your idea of what is best for a woman wasn’t someone tall, dark and handsome to take all the decisions and keep her warm at night!’
Lynda laughed. ‘Darling, you’re so serious. I just want you to have some fun.’
‘Well, I didn’t have a lot of fun with this evening’s candidate,’ said Annis. ‘He tried to grill me.’ She swung round on the dressing stool. ‘Why does he dislike Dad so much?’
‘Does he?’ Lynda sounded surprised.
‘Not much doubt. And another thing,’ said Annis, cheering up at the thought, ‘he doesn’t like me for the same reasons. Whatever they are.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling. You’re always thinking people don’t like you and it’s not true.’
‘No, I’m not. I just—’
‘The trouble is that you work so hard you forget how to talk to people. Your father,’ said Lynda in the tone of someone quoting the oracle, ‘is very worried about it.’
Annis gave a choke of laughter.
Lynda glared. ‘He is.’
Annis stood up. ‘If he is, it’s because you told him he had to be,’ she said fondly. ‘You know perfectly well the only thing Dad and I ever talk about is work.’
Lynda sighed and muttered. But she could not deny it.
Tony Carew might not have noticed when his only daughter stopped talking about James Gould and dropped ten pounds in a couple of weeks. But he knew the business plan of her new venture inside out and had a pretty good grasp of the partnership’s current client list.
‘No talking business tonight?’ It was somewhere between a plea and an order.
‘I’ve resisted so far,’ Annis said kindly. ‘But I thought you wanted me to network.’
‘Not with your father.’
Annis laughed. ‘OK. If Dad corners me I’ll talk about Alex de Witt’s new play. All right?’
Lynda beamed. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘you can be a lot less difficult than you like to pretend. I must go and pour coffee. Come down when you’re ready.’
But Annis had a plan to carry through first. She cornered Gillie Larsen.
‘I need a favour,’ she muttered under her breath.
Gillie was perceptive. She detached herself from her conversation and moved into the hallway where they would not be overheard.
‘What is it?’
‘A lift home. I came by taxi and I don’t want Lynda to organise someone into doing chauffeur duty.’
Gillie was not deceived, though she identified the wrong potential chauffeur. She grinned. ‘Don’t trust Alex de Witt’s driving? OK, you can catch a ride with us. But we’ll have to go soon. We’ve got a sitter.’
‘The sooner the better,’ said Annis with feeling.
‘Poor Annis. Who’d have fairy stepmothers?’ teased Gillie. ‘Grab yourself a quick coffee and we’ll go.’
Everyone had congregated in the drawing room. Lynda waved a hand towards the bookcase but Annis would have found the chair Lynda had designated for her with the ease of long experience. Far enough away from her father not to talk business. Not close enough to any of the artwork to break it, thought Annis, slipping into the low chair in the corner.
Someone gave her a tiny cup of coffee, fragile as glass.
‘Thank you,’ she said, concentrating.
Lynda had brought the cups from Japan and they were beautiful and unique.
‘I said I’d find you,’ purred a voice in her ear. It was a voice that she was coming to know.
Annis jumped so violently that the little cup hopped on its saucer. There was an ominous tinkling sound.
‘Aagh,’ she said, pardonably.
He caught an apostle spoon mid-air, one-handed. Then he took the rocking cup away from her.
‘You’re death to crockery, aren’t you?’ he said, amused.
‘Not just crockery,’ said Annis, betrayed into shameful truth by shock. ‘I’ve been known to push my chair back into an Arabian urn in my time. The insurance paid up but it was touch and go. That’s why Lynda sent me over here. Maximum shadows, minimum hazards.’
He laughed. ‘Well, I appreciate the removal of hazards but I think the shadows are a shame.’
It was his caressing voice. In spite of herself Annis felt a faint heat rising in her cheeks. She swallowed, avoiding his eyes.
The delicate saucer was awash with coffee but he did not, Annis saw with irritation, spill a drop as he put it down on the bookshelf behind her head. He passed her a handkerchief.
‘What’s this for?’
She had to look up a long way. The little dress seat was very small and Konstantin Vitale was taller than she had allowed for. It hurt her neck and her pride about equally.
He smiled. ‘You may want to blot your front. Or I’ll do it if you like.’
Annis snatched the handkerchief and dabbed at the dark patch on the breast of her jacket. He laughed.
‘Thank you,’ she said glacially.
‘My pleasure.’