A Class Apart (44 page)

All she had to do now was find somewhere to live, but that wasn’t an immediate problem, luckily. Jan helped out as much as she could, and every day she searched the real estate pages to see if she could find something suitable. Ashley was happy to put herself into Jan’s capable hands, as she had no idea where was acceptable for a woman in her position to live. She tried not to shudder every time Jan circled something; it was even more expensive than London. What she kept forgetting was that she now had the salary to afford it.

The end of the month soon came round, and before she knew it Conrad was back. She wanted to get their first meeting over with as quickly as possible, and had expected him to summon her almost immediately, but she was disappointed. He closeted himself with the Financial Director and President for the best part of the week, and then disappeared again.

This made Ashley even more nervous about seeing him than she already was. To have ignored her so blatantly must mean that he was still resentful of her being thrust upon him. Oh well, let him stew in it. She was here now, and he would just have to lump it. She wished her emotions matched her sentiments.

Halfway through her fifth week Conrad finally called her in. She was surprised when the call came from Candice, she hadn’t even known he was in his office. Luckily things were marginally less hectic than they had been up to now, and she felt as able to cope with it as she supposed she would ever be.

Candice was sitting at her desk speaking into the telephone when Ashley let herself into the Chairman’s suite. She looked up and waved Ashley on through, mouthing the words “he’s waiting”.

Ashley knocked on the door and waited. When he didn’t answer she pushed the door open and looked inside. He was on the telephone and glanced up as she put her head round. His eyes moved to the seat at the other side of his desk, so she went in and closed the door behind her. She walked over to the window and looked out at the tiny streets in the distance below.

Whoever Conrad was speaking to, it was not a business call, and she tried not to listen. At last he put the phone down and swung round in his chair to face her.

Immediately she felt like slapping his face. He had that aggravating half-smile on his face and his eyes were quite openly assessing her. It was already more than plain to her that they were going to get along no better now than they ever had.

“So,” he drawled, sounding more American than she had noticed before, “you’ve come to join us, Ashton.”

Her nostrils flared to capacity. “Ley,” she snapped.

“Leigh?” He looked down at a sheet of paper in front of him. “I thought your name was Mayne.”

“It is. And my other name is Ashley.”

“I apologize,” he said. “Come and sit down, I’d like to have a talk.”

At first she made to sit in the chair at the other side of his desk, but he had got to his feet, and was strolling across to the casual at the far end of his office. She followed him over and sat down facing him. Candice came in with some coffee, and as she put it down on the table she winked at Ashley.

Conrad poured the coffee. “Didn’t see you at the wedding,” he said, as he handed her a cup.

She took it, and smiled sweetly at him. “I wasn’t there,” she said, refusing to be baited.

“So, how are you settling in?”

“Very well,” she answered, relieved that he’d changed the subject. “Everyone’s been marvellous, and very helpful. I’m learning the ropes far quicker than I imagined I might.”

“Good. They’re a pretty good bunch. High turnover, of course, not like in London.”

“Most London agencies do have a high turnover.”

“Ah, but not Frazier, Nelmes.”

“No. Not Frazier, Nelmes. Julian seems to instil a sense of loyalty in his bunch, as you call them.”

“But haven’t you flown the nest?”

“I’m still with the same agency.”

“Yes, indeed you are. Incidentally, my congratulations on your speedy promotion.”

Ashley flushed, and as she couldn’t think of a suitable answer, she said nothing.

“Anyway,” Conrad went on. “Julian assures me that I have a gem in you, and so I suppose I have to believe him.”

“You’d better see how I do, before you start believing Julian.”

“Oh, I already know how you’re doing,” he said. “I might not have been here, but I’ve had a close eye on you. And, you’ll be pleased to hear, I’m impressed with what I’ve heard so far. I hope you can keep it up.”

God, this man was so infuriating; she could only hope that contact with him would be limited.

“Have you found anywhere to live yet?”

“So the eye isn’t that close then?”

He lifted a heavy eyebrow, but didn’t answer.

“No,” she said, feeling herself beginning to blush. “No, I haven’t found anywhere yet. Jan is helping me look.”

“Where are you staying?”

“In a hotel.”

He nodded, and with the niceties over, went on to tell her more about the agency and the monthly progress meetings that he held in the boardroom. Ashley listened, and found herself more than once caught by his penetrating eyes. And every time she did, she felt the colour rush to her cheeks. By the time Candice knocked on the door, half an hour later, Ashley was so relieved she let go an audible sigh and knocked her cup over in the saucer. Luckily it was empty. Conrad glanced at her, and she saw that he was amused.

Candice said that Gavin Berkley, the Financial Director, was outside. “Shall I ask him to wait?”

“No,” Conrad answered, getting to his feet. “I’ve finished here. Ask him to come in.”

Ashley stood up. Apparently she was dismissed.

“I’m sure we’ll run into one another again soon,” he said, walking with her to the door, “but I just wanted to say hello, welcome you to New York.”

“Thank you,” she said, surprised. He sounded as though he meant it.

He reached out for the door handle. “How about your social life?” he asked. “Are you getting about much?”

“Enough, thank you.”

The door opened and Gavin Berkley came in, followed by Candice.

The four of them stood in a cluster at the door. Conrad pulled it wider so that Ashley could get through.

“I’ll have Candice draw you up a list of good swimming pools,” he said, looking at her with a perfectly straight face. “From what I seem to remember, you have something of a liking for water sports.”

Ashley gasped, and felt her face flood with colour. She was aware of Candice and Gavin watching her curiously, but as there was nothing she could say, she attempted a quick smile and swept out of the office.

Without turning on the lights, Ellamarie stomped up the stairs to her flat and threw open the door. She slammed it behind her, then walked into the kitchen and dumped the flowers she was carrying into the sink. Then she went to pour herself a very large brandy. She was furious. Absolutely hopping mad.

Tonight had been the last night of
Twelfth Night
and everyone was going out for dinner. Everyone, that was, except her and Bob. And where he was now she had no idea, which was probably just as well for him, given the rage she was in.

He had promised that he would be back in time to pick her up after the show. He had had to be at the Colisseum tonight, and then he was meeting Adrian Cowley about the
Queen of Cornwall
, though he hadn’t told her where, and she hadn’t thought it necessary to ask. He had never let her down before. Maureen Woodley, with a nasty little smirk on her face, said that she’d seen him directly after the performance was over, but where he was now, she was sorry, but she really had no idea. Ellamarie then checked with Bob’s secretary, but she confirmed that Bob hadn’t any other meetings planned for later that night. If Ellamarie had been less angry she might have noticed the secretary’s discomfort.

But if he went back to the theatre as Maureen had said, then where was he now? And why hadn’t he waited for her? It wasn’t as if they’d had a fight earlier, in fact it had been quite to the contrary. They had spent the best part of the afternoon in bed together.

She had waited by the Stage Door for over half an hour, until Nick, who waited with her, said that he really must go. He had to go and pick up Kate, who was staying the night at her flat in South Kensington.

Ellamarie hadn’t minded him going. She was delighted that Kate had agreed to a night out at long last; it would do her the power of good. But that in itself made her more angry. She had wanted to see Kate. But when Bob really didn’t look like he was going to show, Ellamarie knew that the evening was ruined for her, so she had jumped into a cab, and come straight home.

She picked up the phone and rang his mews house. There was no reply, not that she had really expected one, so she slammed the receiver down again. There was no point in going to bed, she wouldn’t be able to sleep. And there was no point in watching TV, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. And she wouldn’t be able to read either. So she poured herself another drink.

For almost two hours she sat there, getting more and more drunk and, as her anger began to subside, more and more upset. He could at least call, let her know that he was all right, but he didn’t even bother to do that. Finally she gave up and went to bed.

It was past two o’clock in the morning when a knock on the door finally penetrated her dreams. She reached out to wake Bob. As her hand brushed over the empty pillow she opened her eyes. With a wave of annoyance she dragged herself from the bed and threw on a wrap. She turned on the light and looked at the clock. There was another knock on the door, more impatient this time, and she called out that she was coming.

She didn’t bother to turn the light on in the hall, she could see well enough from the light in her room.

There was another knock.

“All right, all right,” she grumbled. “I’m coming.”

She pulled open the door. “I was asl . . .” She barely glimpsed the figure in the doorway before she was thrown violently against the wall. She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand was clasped firmly over it. Then she heard the door slam, and she was being pushed back towards her room, prodded and poked viciously from behind. With a violent shove she was thrown across the bed. She managed to turn herself round, and look at whoever it was who had forced their way in. Her eyes began to bulge with terror.

He closed the door silently behind him, and she felt that behind his woollen mask he was smiling. She knew from the way he was holding himself what was about to happen.

As he started towards her she recoiled back against the bed. “Wh-what do you want?”

“Hello, Ellamarie.”

Oh God, how did he know her name?

He was still walking towards her, very slowly, and suddenly she felt some strength seep back into her body. She twisted herself from the bed, and onto the floor at the other side. He seemed unperturbed, and continued towards her, smooth, milk-white hands dangling at his sides. He reached out to touch her hair. She flinched before he had even touched her and drew away. “No, please. Who are you? What do you want?”

“I want you, Ellamarie.” His voice was like silk. “I thought you would know that.”

“How do you know my name?”

He was standing over her, the toes of his trainer shoes only inches from her knees. She pressed her back against the wall and tried to pull herself up from the floor. He laughed quietly and pushed her back down again. She looked up and her hand flew to her throat as an overwhelming surge of fear almost choked her. He looked grotesque peering down from the shadowed height, the lamp beneath his face. The lamp! Her eyes flew to the dressing table beside her, and without thinking she grabbed at the lamp. But he was too quick for her, and chopped his hand viciously against her arm.

“That wasn’t very nice, was it?” he said.

She barely heard him, the pounding of her heart was drowning all other sound. She drew back again, pressing herself into the corner and watching, mesmerised, as his knees moved closer to her face. As she lashed out he caught her by the wrist and twisted her arm painfully.

“Get up,” he said.

She lifted her eyes, her whole face quivering with terror. Slowly she shook her head.

“I said, get up.” The tone of his voice told her that she would be wise to do as he said. She struggled to her feet, never taking her eyes from the terrible mask. She held onto the dressing table.

“There,” he said softly, pointing to the bed.

She sobbed and clutched at the neck of her robe. “No.”

She followed his hand as it sank into his pocket. When he brought it out again he was holding a knife. She tried to scream, but nothing would come. She fell back against the wall, knocking everything from her dressing table and sending it crashing to the floor.

She began to cry. “Please! Please!” she begged. “Don’t hurt me. Please don’t touch me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, sounding surprised that she could even think such a thing. “Just get onto the bed.”

She stayed where she was, too terrified to move. He pressed a button at the side of the knife and the blade flicked towards her. He held the cold steel against her throat. “I said, onto the bed.”

She edged round him and towards the bed. Maybe if she just did as he said, he wouldn’t hurt her. But oh God, would he kill her afterwards? Would he just kill her anyway?

She perched on the edge of the bed. Still holding the knife over her, he pushed her back onto the pillows. He leaned forward and ran his hand across her face and down over her neck. She turned her head away, and immediately realised her mistake. It made him angry. He pushed the knife up against her throat again, and she screwed up her eyes. She could feel the cold blade against her skin, and she waited, paralysed by terror, for him to plunge it into her neck. And then it was gone. She felt him move closer to her, and winced as his foul breath penetrated through the mask. She felt her wrap fall loose; he had cut the belt with his knife.