Betrayed(7)

He waited for a response. What was going through his mind? She had to find what he was thinking and sidestep him. She’d spent too much of her life seeking her father’s approval; she didn’t see why she should seek Rafael’s. Why should she have to vindicate herself to him? By necessity she had become her own judge, and her own jury. Nowadays she justified her merits to no one but herself.

Unexpectedly, he held his hand in her direction. “Shall we dance?”

She didn’t want to, but nodded and followed him to the dance floor. His warm hand cupped the small of her back. The music changed, became slow and romantic. Damn! She had to be careful, had to keep her distance.

She swayed to the rhythm. The friction of the silk dress against her nipples made them stiffen; made her feel as if the bones were leaving her legs. The shield she’d built over the years felt about to crumble.

Rafael pulled her close.

Damn. Was he going to abuse his position? What would she do if he pushed things too far? The music was unhurried and she carefully moved to it. Memories willed themselves insanely back to life. Kat deliberately uncoupled her arms and made a space between them. “I think I’d like to sit this one out.”

“I think you’re probably right.”

They threaded their way back to the table. She hadn’t expected him to agree so readily. Had she been wrong?

At the end of the evening, he drove her home and as she took out the key, he leaned against the doorway. “I had a pleasant evening,” he murmured. “I hope it wasn’t too bad for you.”

She was still terrified he might make a move, and expect her to respond. Every nerve in her body jangled. The halcyon days were long gone. She couldn’t allow a relationship to develop. This was a different man. This time he wouldn’t broker a cold rejection if things became intense.

Kat fumbled to insert the key, and swore when it wouldn’t go in. He said, “Here, let me.”

Kat panicked as his fingers fastened over hers. ‘He’s preparing me,’ she thought wildly. ‘He’s making ready to pull me into his body. He’s going to kiss me; he’s going to crush me against him.’

He undid the lock. “There,” he said. “That wasn’t so difficult.” He gave an absurd grin. The door swung open and he dangled the key between his thumb and forefinger for her to take.

Kat tilted her chin defiantly. He touched the ends of her fingers very briefly. “Thanks for the evening, Katrina Bligh. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed seeing you again.”

Kat let the air out of her lungs as he strode away. Now she felt stupid. What a dither she was getting herself into. She was a woman, not a girl and there was no room for sentimentality. The unpretentious adolescent she’d once been was long gone. Hadn’t she become an expert at manipulating her feelings?

Kat squeezed her eyes tight shut. ‘I’m just tired,’ she thought, ‘that’s why I’m thinking silly things. I’m dead beat and there’s nothing left in me.’

She started to secure the door but stopped. Damn! They’d made no arrangements for another meeting.





Chapter 3



A microphone assaulted him. The media could be allies or enemies. Rafael used them at times, at others, they used him. He thought he recognized the man behind the mike, recalled the face from university days. A jack-the-lad, never part of his circle, couldn’t think of the name.

“Señor Saval, the cat-walk season will soon be on us again. Do you feel you are shaping up?”

Rafael Saval looked at his watch. “I’m looking forward to the scrimmage.”

“You seem to be making noises about corruption. Are you making an issue?”

“I’ve never liked the idea of people abusing their status. I’ve always fought against injustice. If I suspected you of corruption,” he said pointedly, “I’d fight the crap out of you.”

He had the name now, Jose Benavente; a nasty person, once so drunk he soiled his pants, always on the edge of trouble, always shifting blame onto others; called himself Jose Rica now, doubtless wanted to forget his roots.

Benavente said, “Won’t this make you a target?”

“Why should it? Las Modas Ibéricas has never been involved in corruption.”

“What do you think about the opposition claiming they don’t consider Las Modas Ibéricas a serious contender, that your company is a spent force?”

Rafael shrugged. “I need to get to a meeting. This isn’t the time.”

“To have Las Modas dismissed before you even start must be galling.”

Rafael put on a smile for the benefit of the camera; glad he looked smarter than Benavente. As he remembered, he’d been a jumped up prick at university, the type who hated students having the pedigree he craved. He was probably power-crazy now he had this job. The knob-head certainly knew how to grind a finger into a sore spot. Couldn’t let him know, though. He cleared his throat. “I hope it’s correct.”

“Why do you say a thing like that?”

“If they don’t take us seriously, it’ll make our job easier.”

“In what way”

Rafael glanced at his watch again. Benavente smirked. The prick enjoyed this, mustn’t let him get at him. Rafael made his voice confident. “I’ve never been one to underestimate rivals, but perhaps the opposition are different.”

“What about the ‘playboy’ image we hear about? Do you think the public will be turned off by your character?”

Rafael assessed Benavente carefully. “Malicious gossip and you know.”

“But does it bother you?”

“I believe the common sense of the public always prevails.”

“But do they believe in you?”

Rafael shrugged. “I think they show more wisdom than you give them credit for.”

“And what credit do you give them?”

“I give them credit for thinking for themselves. You believe it’s within your power to sway public opinion. I say not. It can happen, there’ll always be gullible people, but I don’t believe that to be the case in general. People know what they like, and know what they want.”

Benavente smiled deceitfully. “Is that what you really believe, Señor Saval?”

“I believe I need to get to the meeting.” Rafael took a breath. “But I also believe today’s people have been brought up in a culture of awareness. People nowadays think for themselves, they don’t need telling what to do. They don’t need prejudiced opinions, just balanced facts.”

“It’s said you prefer woman and wine to business.” The reporter tapped his clipboard to make the point. “You’ve gained a reputation of being the archetypal playboy. How true would you say this is?”

Rafael bit back his fury; kept his voice quiet. “I think you’ll agree its unsubstantiated garbage.”

The interviewer opened a file displaying several pictures of Rafael with women. “And these? Would you say these women are unsubstantiated?”

“This is ridiculous. I have friends. Is that so dreadful?”

“There seems a lot.”

He shrugged, angry. “I’ve had acquaintances over the years; some were women. It has nothing to do with how we run the company.”

“But you’re in the public eye, Señor. Don’t celebrities have a duty to be honourable?”

“Like, reporters you mean...” Rafael glared. “I recall you had plenty of women before you married, maybe you have them still?”

For a moment Benavente averted his eyes, a mistake, showed he was shaken. Rafael went for the jugular.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten we were at university together. Perhaps you thought changing your name would confuse me. I remember what you were like, Jose Benavente. I remember your women, your drunken orgies, and your wild ways.” Rafael flicked through the pictures. “You’re being ridiculous. Most of these women are business associates. This is my mother’s lawyer, and this is my cousin.”

***

It was another of Francine’s parties. Francine liked nothing better than rooms heaving with people. Several of their old friends had been invited. Fran said regard it as a reunion. A lot were married now, and although Katrina ought to have been glad to see them, she could have done without. She flopped onto her haunches in a niche beneath the stairs, and reached for a toy car that had been left there. A little boy came to shyly claim it and pushed it back and forth. She wondered for a moment whose son he was. Did she know the mother, an old friend perhaps? The manoeuvring of the car was obviously a serious task to be conducted in an appropriate manner, and she was coerced into playing with it for a while.

Kat didn’t feel like partying. Normally she did, she’d be in middle; dancing, flinging herself around the room, but not now. She was more exhausted than she could remember, felt like the biggest party-pooper born, which was why she was tucked under the stairs.