Marriage of Convenience

Chapter Two

Leo was the last man she wanted to see, but his telephoned invitation—more of a command, really—late last night had been dark with a threat she didn't want to speculate about too deeply. Not until all the cards were down. She couldn't understand why he wanted to see her and, knowing him, she had been worrying about it all morning. They had parted far from amicably, so why was he insisting they met?

She signed the routine letters and memos Rose had left on her desk, made a couple of brief inter-office phone calls regarding the details of Black Union which were to be sent up, then took the lift to the executive dining-suite, the back of her mind ticking over the list of precise instructions for Chef, the front of it occupied with regret over the missed opportunity to have lunch with Theo.

They lunched together fairly frequently, sometimes dined at his home in Notting Hill, and she always enjoyed the occasions. He used them to put his mind in neutral, allowing it to digest some problem or other, a decision that had to be quickly and correctly reached—no margin for error. She used them to get to know him better, an exercise she found increasingly fascinating. It was essential, she told herself, to know what made one's boss tick. And during those quiet interludes, she had gained a rare and, she firmly believed, unique insight, catching glimpses of his droll sense of humor, the underlying deep humanity of the man. And she found that liking for the man himself had been added to respect for his remarkable brain.

Latterly—although there was nothing personal in it, she always assured herself—she had found herself wondering why, at the age of thirty-sue, he had never married, never come close to it as far as subtle probing's had allowed her to gather. Because, subtle as they were, the steel shutters had always come down decisively whenever he had sensed he was in any danger at all of giving away more of himself than he intended to do.

The restaurant Leo had suggested they use was pricey, exclusive and secluded, and she looked at him across the beige linen-covered table and wondered what she had ever seen in him.

At twenty-seven, three years her senior, he was superficially good-looking. His mid-brown hair was a little overlong but superbly cut, his clothes of good quality but a little on the flamboyant side. Compared with Theo Dylan he was a shadow, lacking the other man's strength and sheer presence.

Freya wondered why such a comparison should have come to her mind and unwillingly remembered how when her cousin Sam had introduced her to Leo Isaac at a party two years ago she had thought he was the cat's whiskers.

Coming to the end of her final year at the LSE she had had little time for dates. But what time she'd had been spent with Leo, his seemingly effortless charm helping her to relax.

With her Finals behind her at last and her sights fixed on joining Dylan Dexter in whatever capacity offered, she had at last begun to realize that Leo Isaac was not quite what he seemed. The image he chose to project was at variance with the man inside the skin. And with her eyes wide open at last she had discovered that she rather despised him.

Nothing was said until their order had been taken and then he told her, his hazel eyes sly, "You're looking more beautiful than ever, Freya, my love. Work agrees with you. I must try it some time".

Freya didn't reply; she was in no mood for facile flattery and she was no longer amused by the way Leo seemed able to afford the best things in life, even though he had no visible means of support. She was no longer the naive, emotionally backward student who rarely lifted her nose from her books for long enough to look around and find out what people were like.

"Why was it so important that we meet?" she demanded, echoing the words he had uttered over the phone last night, the tone he had used very different from her cool, almost disinterested one.

He leaned back in his chair, looking at her with lazy eyes.

"You haven't acquired any finesse since I saw you last—when was it? About ten months ago?"

She ignored that. She hadn't needed finesse to tell him to go and take a running jump. And yes, it would have been about ten months ago. She had been Theo's PA for just over two months, still hardly able to believe her good fortune in hearing through the grapevine that the chief executive's then personal assistant would be leaving to have the baby she and her husband had been longing for... That she had landed the job out of a formidable list of applicants had still been responsible for the warm glow of achievement that had negated the blow of discovering exactly how perfidious Leo Isaac was. Not that she had still imagined herself in love with him at that time; she had simply been annoyed by her lack of judgment.

Freya ignored that and drank a little of her dry martini, smiled as a waiter placed her order of smoked prawns in front of her, then raised an impatient eyebrow in Isaac's direction. She was in no mood for games.

"It's brass tacks time, is it?' He read her mood. 'I need money, my love. Rather a large amount of the stuff. And you are going to have to divvy up."

She might have known! His primary interest in her, she had discovered, had always been financial.

"Like hell I am! And if that's all you wanted to say to me, I'm leaving," she said softly, a distant smile hovering around her mouth because she wasn't worried, not then. She reached for her bag, not willing to waste one more second on this importuning louse.

But he caught her wrist across the table, his fingers hurting. To force him to release her would cause the type of public scene she disliked, so she subsided, fury tightening her mouth.

"Very wise." Isaac's voice was suave as he gradually released his hold on her. "Eat your nice prawns, duckie— this might take some time. You see, it concerns that pillar of respectable society, your good Uncle Charles. Though he's not so good, health-wise, I hear".

He tossed back his whiskey and soda and clicked his fingers at the hovering wine-waiter. Freya felt ill, and she was worried now, but there was no emotion in her voice as she interrupted his conversation with the waiter.

"There's no way my uncle can be any concern of yours".

"No?" He tipped his head as he finished ordering. "But I am concerned. And he will be concerned about you— about the state of your morals, in particular. Such a highly moral man, your guardian, I hear. And your Aunt Sophia is also a pious lady, very concerned with the family image, with some justification. A twenty-room mansion in Herts and a bank account that must be touching the two million mark is an image even I would try to live up to".

"Will you get to the point?" Freya snapped.

"The point? Ah—yes". He cut into his veal, smiling. "Adverse reports on your morals would not faze Aunt Sophia. Annoy her, of course, but it would be something she could handle—especially if the dirt could be swept under the Aubusson. But dear old Uncle Charles—now there's an entirely different ball game. Two massive heart-attacks already--"He shook his head in a parody of sorrow. "If he heard what I could tell him—through the gutter press—then the shock could very well finish the old boy off. Especially when we consider that the second attack followed right on the heels of that naughty little piece about his son Sam. And we wouldn't want that, would we, my love"?

She wanted to hit him. Sitting at the same table with him made her insides heave. His tactics were blackmail, her eyes darkening with disgust, "You're spouting hot air and garbage! You can have nothing to say about my morals, either way. We dated a few times--"

"Rather more than a few".The look he gave her made her skin crawl. "And I think my version of the events that led to our break-up might make more titillating hearing than yours. I'd put it about like so: a poor but honest young man—me--," falling in love with a beautiful young student. You. A touch promiscuous, but our hero overlooked that—being head over heels, you understand. And then the problems—beautiful student had such expensive tastes, having been brought up in the lap of luxury. This forces our hero to take risks with the small amount he does have—it being common knowledge that no one gets to first base with the lady without vast expenditure. But she has promised to marry him, so he believes the risks he's taking worth it. So he gets deeper into debt: gambling, loan sharks, you name it. All to keep the lady happy. He has to give her a good time because if he doesn't she will find someone who will".

Freya's eyes narrowed and she sucked in a deep breath. The man was a lunatic. "If anyone who knew me, least of all Uncle Charles, would believe that trash, they'd believe the day was night". She had listened to enough verbal slime to sever her connection with her inbred cool caution, but he quelled the imminent storm with four well-chosen words.

"The Black Knight Hotel".

"You were trying to blackmail me", she clipped, her voice-controlled. But she was shaking inside. "You make me sick!"

"Now that is sad".His voice was heavy with sarcasm and the smile that curled his lips as he refilled his wine glass made her shudder. "But I think I'm going to be able to live with that, especially as you are going to settle my debts and get a couple of rather threatening heavies off my back. Oh, and by the way", his voice was almost a purr 'I kept the hotel receipt. Mr. and Mrs. Leo Isaac, room eight, on the night of the eleventh of July last year. And in case there's any doubt, I'm sure Mrs. Heather—you remember her— the hotelier's wife who was so obliging and told us she never forgot a guest, will be able and willing to identify you as the said, Mrs. Leo Isaac. She might even be able to recall that we couldn't drag ourselves out of that room until half-eleven the following morning!

So she asked stonily, "How much?"

"Fifty thousand".

She didn't believe it at first. But she saw from his face that he was serious, deadly serious, and she laughed, without humor.

"You're mad! Where would I get that kind of money? And even if I could, do you honestly think I'd believe keeping the Black Knight incident secret worth that amount?"

Leaning forward across the table he called her bluff, 'I think you'd consider it worth it at twice the price. Can you imagine dear old Charles's face if he read a headline that might go something like: "Dexter Securities Chief's Niece Involved in Debt Scandal" With an opening paragraph that could say something like "Dexter heiress's lover threatened with kneecapping by loan shark's heavy mob. "I'm in real trouble. I only got in debt for her sake," explained Leo Isaac, Freya Dexter's former lover: ''She's used to the best and she said she loved me. But she won't lift a finger to help now I'm in this mess. I'm devastated,'' added the distraught Mr. Isaac." Or something similar.'' He stubbed his cigarette out and Freya felt the trap close more tightly around her, squeezing until she thought she would die of it.