The penthouse

Irene wriggled in her chair, then folded her hands in her lap. ‘I would feel—I would feel uncomfortable. I would feel bought even if not for the usual reasons.’

Murad Fullbuster eyed the ceiling. ‘Give ’em all back to me, then. I’m sure I could find someone who’d appreciate them.’

‘That would be more appropriate,’ she mused, ‘but there’s something else. To be perfectly honest, I would feel a certain amount of chagrin that you don’t consider the real me good enough.’

‘It’s not that,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I just don’t want you to feel like Cinderella. OK, yes—’ he raised his hand ‘—I also need the other side to take you seriously, therefore a slightly more sophisticated aura would be a help.’

Irene chewed her lip. Part of her would like to decline, she decided. There was plenty about Murad Fullbuster that rubbed her up the wrong way—sheer arrogance, for one thing. How pleasant would it be to turn the tables on him, though? To prove to him she would not be an embarrassment to him, something he’d barely, just barely, stopped short of saying?

She looked down at herself rather ruefully at that point. She’d had no opportunity to explain why she looked rather dishevelled or why she was dressed the way she was—on a point of pride she wouldn’t deign to do so now anyway.

But it was a challenge and it could be really interesting.

And there was Simon and his company to consider, not to mention the coming baby…

‘I guess I could give it a go,’ she said, ‘although—’ she shrugged ‘—I didn’t that long ago leave my convent, for what it’s worth, Mr Fullbuster, only about a year ago.’

Something like amazement touched his eyes. ‘You were a nun?’

‘Oh, no. But my parents died when I was seventeen and a boarder at the convent, so I stayed on. The Mother Superior was related to my father—my only living relative. And I boarded with them during my time at university. She died

last year.’

‘I—see. Well, I was going to say that explains it, but what does it explain?’ he asked himself rhetorically and smiled whimsically.

‘It probably explains why I’m a bit of a plain Jane, why I’m used to a simple, useful life,’ she told him gravely. ‘It doesn’t mean to say I can be imposed upon.’

He stared at her. ‘You’re worried that I might be tempted to take advantage of you, Miss Josephine?’

‘Sexually? Not in the least,’ she returned serenely. ‘I would imagine I’m quite out of your league, there, Mr Fullbuster. Anyway, for all I know you could be married with a dozen kids.’ She paused, as for some reason not clear to her Murad Fullbuster appeared to flinch.

Then he said, ‘I’m not married.’ He frowned. ‘What, just as a matter of interest, would you imagine my “league” to be?’

‘Oh—’ Irene waved a hand ‘—glamorous, sophisticated women of the world.’

He grimaced, but didn’t deny the charge. And he said, ‘If you’re not worried about being imposed upon in that way, what are you worried about?’

‘I get the feeling you’re a master at getting your own way whatever the cost,’ Irene said candidly, and took her glasses off to polish them on her scarf. ‘I wouldn’t take kindly to that,’ she said calmly, but quite definitely, and repositioned her glasses.

But it seemed as if Murad Fullbuster suddenly had his mind on other things.

And, indeed, he had, as it occurred to him he’d never seen such remarkable eyes and was it his imagination or—was he unable to resist them?

Of course not, he reassured himself. It was her very correct, fluent Mandarin, obviously. All the same…

‘Have you ever tried contact lenses?’ he found himself asking.

Irene blinked behind her glasses at the abrupt change of topic but, not only that, at the impression she’d got that Murad Fullbuster had gone from businesslike to personal somehow—but surely that was ridiculous?

‘Yes, I do have a pair, but I prefer my glasses,’ she said slowly and with a slight frown.

‘You should persevere with your lenses,’ he told her and stood up. ‘OK, let’s get this show on the road.’ He strode over to his desk and buzzed for Diane Paxton.

Diane, when she came, didn’t see a problem in the making over of Irene Josephine; she looked relieved instead. Then she became practical.

She named a leading department store and told them they had a customer- service department that assisted in putting together wardrobes, co-ordinating cosmetics and even had their own hair salon. She would get right onto the phone to them, she said, and organize a consultation immediately.

‘Thank you, Diane, that’s excellent news. By the way, am I running late again?’

‘Yes, Mr Fullbuster, you are—I’m just about to ring ahead and advise them.’ ‘Thanks. Uh—I’d really like to brief Miss Josephine. When am I going to have

time to do that?’

Diane thought for a moment. ‘I’m afraid it’s going to have to be after hours,’ she said a little helplessly. ‘Six o’clock this evening, for an hour, is about all the free time you have left.’

‘That OK with you, Miss Josephine?’ He swung back to Irene. She frowned. ‘Where?’

‘Here. I have a penthouse on the top floor. Just use the penthouse buzzer and give your name—Diane will pass it on to the staff up there.’ He held out his hand to Irene.

She didn’t offer him her hand. She said instead, ‘Brief me?’

Murad Fullbuster dropped his hand. ‘Yes, brief you on these negotiations,’ he said and added precisely, ‘that is all. And for the simple reason that it may not only be social chit-chat you’ll be translating, because many a meaningful conversation has been held outside a conference room. So I’d like you to be aware of some of the nuances behind these talks.’ He raised a satirical eyebrow at her. ‘All clear?’

Irene shrugged. ‘I only asked.’

‘Because, despite what you said to the contrary, you couldn’t help wondering if I had something else in mind?’

Irene smiled suddenly. ‘If you had known my Mother Superior, you would also know that “penthouses” and “after hours” are all things sensible girls should avoid like the plague. I guess that habit of suspicion becomes a bit engrained. I really am over it now, though—I’ll come.’ She held out her hand, quite unaware of the startled look in Diane Paxton’s eyes, then the small smile of approval that good lady allowed herself before she left.

But it was when he took her hand and shook it that Irene discovered something curiously mesmerizing about Murad Fullbuster. Was it pure animal magnetism? she wondered. A heady assault on the senses because, even if he was arrogant and incredibly high-handed, he was also good-looking and impressive with those broad shoulders and narrow hips so that he wore his beautifully tailored suit to perfection?

Was it the sneaking suspicion that, despite those blue eyes and the suit, he’d be quite capable of throwing you across the back of his horse like a disobedient squaw and cantering off with you?

Don’t be ridiculous, Irene, she chided herself immediately…

But it wasn’t only that tantalizingly dangerous appeal to him, she reflected.

There was a vitality to him that was hard to resist. There was the fact that she might despise his ways and means, but she found him an interesting, worthy opponent to cross swords with.

There was that wary little feeling she’d experienced earlier that he’d crossed some boundary into the personal with her—was that really why she’d been a bit dubious about this after-hours meeting in the penthouse?

On the other hand—and this took her by surprise and shook her a little as she reclaimed her hand—there was the curiously fascinating detail that she came up to just above his shoulder height…

AT FIVE minutes to six that evening, Irene barrelled into the foyer of Fullbuster House with her hair and scarf flying and a variety of shopping bags hanging from her arms.

She looked around breathlessly for the penthouse buzzer and was intercepted by the commissionaire. She gave him her name and told him who she needed to see. He looked doubtful for a moment but led her to the penthouse lift—he had the grace to look apologetic when her name was received in the affirmative and the lift doors opened on cue.

‘Thirty-fifth floor is what you need, ma’am. Have a good evening!’

Irene pressed thirty-five and prepared to part company with her stomach— she didn’t like lifts, but this one turned out to be painless. And on the thirty-fifth floor it opened directly into Murad Fullbuster’s penthouse.

It wasn’t Murad who greeted her, however, it was a man of about forty who said pleasantly, ‘Miss Josephine, I believe? I’m Murad’s domestic co-ordinator, Jake Frost. I’m afraid he’s running a few minutes late. Would you care to come through to the lounge and may I get you a drink? Oh—I’ll take the shopping bags.’

‘Thank you, thank you.’ She also divested herself of her jacket and scarf. ‘And just a soft drink would be nice—shopping can be exhausting and thirst- making.’

‘It would appear you’ve done quite a bit of it,’ Jake remarked as he relieved her of the carrier bags.

‘It’s not for me,’ Irene assured him. ‘I mean, it is, but I’ll be giving it all back. It’s not as if I’m ruinously spendthrift or anything like that.’ Her eyes twinkled suddenly behind her glasses. ‘Oh, dear. Does it really matter what

people think of me?’

Jake Frost took a moment to take a more personal, less professional look at the new interpreter. He’d been told about her and not thought much one way or the other about it. Now he decided she was charming even if she was not at all the kind of woman Murad Fullbuster usually…

But what am I thinking? he wondered. This is business.

All the same it was with a genuine smile that he said, ‘I think it would be a shame not to enjoy it just a little bit, even if you are giving them all back.’

A few minutes later, Irene had a tall, frosted glass in her hand as she admired the view from Murad Fullbuster’s penthouse. It was a beautiful view over the river and the city in the last of the daylight as lights started to twinkle on and she identified some of the landmarks.

The lounge behind her was spacious and absolutely eye-catching. The carpet was sea green, the couches were covered in apricot cut velvet with poppy-red cushions and the occasional tables were enamelled black.

A magnificent Chinese cabinet in black-and-gold lacquer dominated one wall and on another a marvellous, almost full-length abstract painting took pride of place and brought a bouquet of beautiful, swirling colours to the room.

‘Hello, Irene,’ a voice said behind her, and she turned to see Murad Fullbuster stroll into the lounge.

He’d obviously just showered, his hair was still damp, and he was now wearing jeans and a sweater. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink.

‘Do sit down,’ he invited.

Jake came in as she took a seat. ‘I’ve rung ahead to say you might be a little late, Murad. I’ve put the wine in a cooler bag for you—’ he indicated the bag on the bar ‘—and here are the flowers.’ He picked up a bunch and laid them back again. ‘So I’ll get going, if you don’t mind.’

‘Sure. Cheers!’ Murad Fullbuster saluted his domestic co-ordinator and sat down opposite Irene. ‘Well, how did you get on this afternoon?’

‘Fine,’ Irene said. ‘I think. But look, Mr Fullbuster, if you’re running late again maybe we could find some other time for this?’

‘No, it doesn’t matter if I’m a bit late, there is no other time, and I’m determined to enjoy this drink.’

Irene shrugged. ‘I just wouldn’t like to make you late for your date.’

He looked amused. ‘My date, as you put it with a certain amount of disapproval, Miss Josephine, is with my grandmother. She’s in a nursing home at the moment so the wine and the flowers are to cheer her up.’

‘Oh.’ Irene took her glasses off and polished them. Had she sounded disapproving and if so why? Had the subconscious impression been growing in her that Murad Fullbuster was something of a playboy? Helped along no doubt by the wine and the flowers, those good looks and that impressive physique and the fact that he wasn’t married. Along with, of course, that unexplained little trill of wariness she’d experienced at the interview this morning.

But assuming she’d misread that, wasn’t all the rest of it akin to judging a book by its cover?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said and smiled suddenly at him, ‘if I sounded disapproving.

I, well, it seems one of my impressions of you is that you could be a bit of a playboy but I don’t really have any concrete evidence so I shall discard it.’

For a long moment he was speechless.

Irene glanced at her watch. ‘Should we begin the briefing?’ she suggested, her eyes a serious hazel behind her repositioned glasses, but with her lips still quirking.

Murad Fullbuster recovered himself. ‘Thank you,’ he said gravely, ‘for being prepared to revise your opinions. Naturally, I don’t see myself as a playboy, although our definitions could vary—’ he grimaced ‘—but perhaps it’s not a good idea to go into that. And—’ a lightning look of wicked amusement flew Irene’s way ‘—to be honest, disapproval of any kind doesn’t often come my way

so I’ll look upon it as a salutary experience. OK, on to the briefing.’