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  ‘The Myers case,’ Gail continued in a husky voice. ‘It made newspaper history—the sort of scoop we all dream about. While the rest of the press were speculating about what part of the world James Myers might have disappeared to, you managed to discover that he was right here in this country all the time, posing as his sister’s boy-friend.’

  ‘The Myers case?’ Doug frowned. ‘Wasn’t he the crooked financier? The one who was reputed to have salted millions away?’

  ‘Yes. It wasn’t a very pleasant business,’ Kieron said coolly. ‘The man had been indulging in a form of legal robbery for years, but then he made a fatal slip and got found out. Everyone knew what was going on but no one could prove it, and before the police could build up a case against him it was rumoured that he’d skipped the country.’

  ‘Only you knew differently,’ Gail admired. ‘How on earth did you find out the truth? By all accounts he was quite a master of disguise, and had been coming and going quite freely for weeks, posing as his sister’s boy-friend.’

  ‘Yes. He was hoping to leave the country when things had cooled down a bit. I had a few lucky breaks.’

  ‘And a guillible informant, if all one hears is true,’ Gail laughed. ‘Didn’t you get most of the detail for the story from Myers’ sister’s flatmate?’

  ‘I never disclose my sources,’ Kieron told her, smiling to soften the words. Briony could tell that Doug was impressed by this apparent show of loyalty and she could feel Kieron’s eyes upon her across the width of the table, but she refused to look up. No matter what he might pretend to others, she knew the truth!

  ‘In that case you didn’t need to,’ Gail said frankly. ‘I wonder what on earth happened to that girl? There was some talk of her being tried as an accomplice at one stage.’

  ‘Tried? but.…’ Kieron caught himself up, but not before Briony had observed his momentary shock with bitter satisfaction.

  ‘Surely you knew?’ Gail queried.

  ‘As a newspaper editor you should know better than merely to assume the obvious,’ Kieron parried.

  Because he had no other defence against the question, Briony thought angrily.

  ‘It was a very clever piece of reporting,’ Doug observed, joining the conversation, his words jarring a nerve Briony had thought long dead.

  ‘Clever?’ she burst out before she could stop herself, her eyes burning with resentment, a loathing in her voice she did nothing to hide. ‘Is that what you all think? That it’s “clever” to destroy someone’s life, just to get a front-page story? Well, I don’t. I think it’s despicable. Hateful!’ She broke off, realising that the others were exchanging puzzled and amused glances.

  ‘Come on, love, aren’t you taking it a bit personally?’ one of the other men commented. Briony knew Kieron was waiting for her to speak, but she couldn’t. How could these cynical, worldly people understand the effect of their sophisticated moral code on others less worldly? And Kieron’s attempts to pretend that he hadn’t known.… That he had actually cared.… God, how she hated him!

  ‘Something wrong, Briony?’ Kieron asked her smoothly, giving her name faint emphasis. ‘You don’t seem to be enjoying your lunch.’

  ‘The lunch is fine,’ she retorted bleakly, ‘but if you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got work to do.’ She glanced at Matt, not wanting to embarrass him in front of the others by offering to pay for her own lunch, and then shrugged the concern away. She could settle up with him later.

  She had just walked past the table when she heard Gail say triumphantly, ‘Beth Walker—that was the girl’s name!’

  Briony froze, her eyes dilating with fear, her hands cold and clammy.

  ‘Beth Walker,’ Kieron repeated softly, and Briony knew without looking at him that he was watching her.

  She walked back to the office on legs which almost refused to support her, each breath a conscious effort. Her instinctive response was to grab her coat and leave before Doug and Kieron got back. But she could not.

  On impulse she reached for a phone book, dialling the number of a well-known employment agency. The girl on the other end was helpful but regretful. In normal circumstances, she told Briony, they wouldn’t have the slightest difficulty in placing her, but the way things were at the moment it might be months before they could find her a job which came anywhere near approaching her present highly paid one.

  She slumped in her chair, not entirely surprised, wondering what on earth she was going to do. She felt as though her life had suddenly turned into a horrendous nightmare. Beth Walker. When she had discarded that name she had discarded the past, or so she tried to persuade herself, but it hadn’t been easy. There were too many intrusive memories, too much that could not simply be forgotten. She had changed her name by deed poll after the attentions of the Press became too much to bear. It was ironic really that she should end up working for a newspaper. It had been from necessity rather than inclination. She had needed a job that paid well, and employers who were prepared to take her on without digging too deeply into her past. Doug had taken her completely on trust, and for that alone she felt she owed him a debt which could never be entirely repaid. One had to experience the contempt and loss in faith of others before one could appreciate fully the value of trust.

  She had once trusted Kieron Blake. And not just trusted him. Even now it made her feel sick to think how gullible she had once been.

  The first time she had seen him had been at the flat she shared with Susan Myers. He had come, so he told her, to interview Susan for a gossip column article, and she had not been surprised, because although she and Susan lived together, their life styles were entirely different.

  They had been brought up in the same small village. Susan was the spoiled and petted daughter of the local ‘lord of the manor’, Sir Arthur Myers, and his wife, and Briony had got to know her through her father who was their doctor. They had gone to school together, although never particularly intimate—Susan moved in a different, faster crowd, and it was only the death of Briony’s parents within six months of one another—her father from a heart attack and her mother from a broken heart—that brought them together.

  Briony’s father was not a wealthy man. There were some investments and the house, which on her solicitor’s recommendation Briony had sold. She had been contemplating going on to university after school, but fearing to use up her slender financial resources had decided instead to invest in a good secretarial course. It was then that Susan Myers, chaffing under the parental yoke, suggested that they ‘flat’ together. Not that Susan was contemplating a secretarial career. Her ambitions were nowhere near as modest. Her long-suffering parents paid for her to undergo an expensive modelling course from which she emerged sleek and soignée; the occasional modelling job and her father’s allowance giving her a far different life style from Briony’s steady nine-to-five routine. In fact long before her secretarial course was over Briony was regretting her decision to share with Susan. All-night parties; casual sexual morals; these had no place in her life, but she was unable to afford the expense of the flat without Susan and had perforce to endure her presence.

  Susan’s brother she knew only by hearsay. Ten years separated them, Susan being the child of Sir Arthur’s second marriage, and although Susan was fond of boasting about her successful half-brother, Briony had never met him. Nor had she wanted to, disliking what she read about him in the Press, but when the story had broken, no one had believed her innocence, and the one person who could have substantiated it was missing.

  Her mouth twisted bitterly. Kieron must have thanked his lucky stars that Susan was so conveniently missing that evening. She had told him when the other girl would be in, but he had shown a flattering disinclination to leave. They had talked—she couldn’t remember what about—only that for the first time since her parents had died she didn’t feel completely alone. When he asked her out, she hadn’t even hesitated, and had never once suspected that his questions were based on anything other than an interest in h
er own background. Later, of course, when the truth came out, she had realised that it was James Myers’ background he had been seeking, not hers.

  He had taken her out to dinner the evening they came back and found Susan and her new ‘boy-friend’ in the flat. Briony had put Susan’s awkwardness down to the fact that she was merely playing one of her silly secretive games. Susan had a vivid imagination and liked to pretend her life was full of drama and suspense, but with hindsight she suspected that Kieron had known the truth right from the start.

  It had said in the papers that James Myers was a master of disguise, and certainly it had never crossed Briony’s mind that he was Susan’s brother. He visited the flat quite often, and the two of them would retire to Susan’s room, talking together in muted whispers. Whenever Kieron had asked about Susan and her ‘boy-friend’ Briony had innocently supplied the answers. She had even been the one to tell him that Susan was due to go abroad on a modelling trip, never dreaming that it was just a cover to smuggle James Myers out of the country on the false passport and documents he had had prepared.

  Kieron had been particularly passionate that night. They had driven out of town and stopped at a small Thamesside pub for a drink. It had been a long hot summer and she remembered she had been wearing a thin camisole top and a pretty cotton skirt. Kieron had traced the neckline of her top with one lazy finger, the casual caress sending her pulses racing with frightened excitement. How could anyone so attractive be interested in her? When he announced abruptly that they were leaving she had gone willingly. In the car he had pulled her to him, moulding her body against his own with a new intimacy that thrilled her. There had never been a second when she doubted his feelings. When he parted her lips in a passionate kiss she had responded without check, trusting him completely.

  They had driven back to the flat in a silence which on her part was filled with tense excitement. Tonight was to be the climax to which their relationship had been slowly building. Her body felt curiously weightless, open adoration in her eyes as she turned them to her companion. She had remembered later how Kieron had stopped the car then, even though they hadn’t reached the flat, his voice rough as he said unsteadily, ‘Don’t look at me like that.…’

  And she, little fool that she was, had thought he meant that if she did he wouldn’t be able to control himself! If only she had known! There hadn’t been a single occasion during their association when he hadn’t known exactly what he was doing, hadn’t been completely and absolutely in control of everything, including her. Manipulating her like a jointed doll, and she had let him.

  It was dark when they got back, and the flat was empty. Susan had gone home for the weekend. Her father hadn’t been feeling well, and she had been furious when her mother phoned to beg her to return. She hated the country and seemed to have no feelings for her parents whatsoever.

  The flat had been unpleasantly cool after the warmth of the car, and Briony had shivered slightly. Kieron had removed his jacket, draping it round her slender shoulders, and laughing gently because it drowned her. Then the laughter had died and he had taken her in his arms, kissing her with a new demanding force that overwhelmed her. She remembered that she had protested slightly and said something about making them some coffee, but Kieron had laughed, and said no, he had other things in mind.

  Somehow his hand had slipped beneath the flimsy camisole and was caressing her breast, the sudden passionate surge of her own flesh taking her off guard. She had gasped slightly, her eyes wide and wondering, wonder giving way to a totally different emotion when Kieron slid the thin strap down from her shoulder, placing his lips to the burgeoning flesh his hand had just vacated.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he had told her slowly, his hands removing her clothes and his eyes doing incredible things to her emotions. She told herself that what she was doing was wrong, only her arguments were somehow less than convincing. How could the way she felt about Kieron ever be wrong? It was deliciously and passionately right.

  She couldn’t remember how they got into the bedroom, but she could remember, with vivid clarity, the hard warmth of Kieron’s body against hers; the strangeness of his male flesh, and the aching sensation of intense need that seemed to start somewhere in the pit of her stomach and spread languorously all through her body.

  Once, as his lips roved possessively over her skin, she protested, the small sound silenced as he cupped her face and kissed her lingeringly until there was no thought in her head but him.

  He was beautiful, she had thought achingly, staring wonderingly at his body. He was like a Greek statue come to life, and she wanted to touch him and go on touching him for ever. As though he sensed what she was feeling he had guided her hands to his skin, murmuring soft encouragements whenever shyness made her hesitate.

  The thought of his possession brought her no fear. His slow, expert lovemaking had expunged that, but what she had not expected was her own sudden passionate need, kindled by his touch and expertise, and pushing aside the barriers of innocence and inexperience.

  When she arched against him, her fingers tensing into his back, he soothed her softly, driving her almost into a mindless frenzy of intolerable aching need, before finally parting her thighs with his full weight.

  In confirmation of his greater experience he was ready for her sudden tremulous fear and clenching muscles, his hands steadying her and soothing her tension, as he kissed her softly, murmuring to her to relax. The pain was sharp and intense, and she cried out to him to stop, but her cry had been ignored and for a moment hurt and pain combined with outraged resentment to make her fight against his domination. But as though he had expected it, the rebellion was quelled, his body taking her through pain to pleasure—a pleasure such as she had never dreamed of, her cries of pain turning to soft moans of desire and those to hoarse, throbbing pleas for fulfilment.

  She fell asleep in his arms, convinced that life could hold no greater happiness, her limbs tangled sleepily and trustingly with his. She felt no shame for what had happened. It had been natural and beautiful and she was filled with gratitude for his patience and skill. Her last conscious thought was that she could not imagine what she had ever done in her life to deserve him.

  In the morning she felt exactly the same thing, but in a totally different context. While she slept, wrapped in pleasurable dreams, Kieron had searched the flat, and found, as he expected, the evidence of James Myers’ duplicity. He had managed to get the paper to hold the front page for him, but Briony did not see it until she got to work.

  The article caught her eye while she was taking off her coat, and recognising the Myers name she had started to read it, work forgotten as numb, appalled realisation swept over her. The article bore Kieron’s name—as though he was proud of what he had done, she had thought bitterly. She had looked so ill that her boss had sent her straight home. When she reached the flat it was to find it besieged with reporters and police, and none of them had been gentle with her. ‘Kieron Blake’s informant,’ was how one paper described her. Others were less kind. Susan had returned from the country with her parents. Sir Arthur had been deliberately cruel and remorseless, and at the end of the week her boss suggested that because of the notoriety, it might be as well if she found another job. She worked in a solicitors’ office, and as he explained in great embarrassment, clients might not feel they could trust a firm which employed a girl known to have betrayed a friend’s trust.

  She had wanted to scream that it hadn’t been like that, but pride held her silent. Her only crime was that she had believed herself loved; stupidly, criminally, foolish of her perhaps, but she had not and never would have breathed a word of anything that might have deliberately been construed as breaking a trust.

  The police had questioned her for hours, and when Sir Arthur died from a heart attack just before the case came to court she had received an avalanche of poison pen letters. That was when she had decided to change her name.

  For three months she had endured absolute hell, and n
ot once in all that time had she heard a word from Kieron—neither of compassion, nor regret, not even of acknowledgement of what he had done. She had not tried to contact him. Pride alone had sustained her through the horror of it all, but her trust, her faith, and her innocence were smashed beyond repair.

  The office door swung open, banishing the past. She looked up quickly, her eyes freezingly disdainful. Kieron had always been tall, but now he was broader than she remembered, filling the small space, his eyes deeply and darkly contemptuous as they looked at the open telephone directory. One lean finger ran smoothly down the page, stopping unerringly against the number of the employment agency.

  ‘No luck?’ he drawled sardonically. ‘Too bad.’

  Briony forced herself not to respond, her eyes carefully blank as she removed the directory and put a piece of paper in her typewriter.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Blake.’

  ‘Mr Blake?’ he sneered coldly. ‘Oh, come on, surely we needn’t be so formal—Beth!’

  The last word was said softly, almost a taunt, and Briony swung round, her eyes blazing with anger and contempt.

  ‘Don’t call me that!’ she snapped.

  ‘Why not? It’s your name.’

  ‘Not any longer,’ Briony told him crisply. How dared he deliberately remind her of the past! ‘I left it behind me.’

  ‘How convenient.’ Kieron had his back to her, his dark head bent over some papers, ‘Tell me, Briony, did you bring anything of Beth with you, when you decided to trade personalities?’

  ‘Not a thing,’ Briony assured him shortly. Why was he plaguing her with these questions, resurrecting memories she would rather had remained forgotten?

  ‘That’s a pity. At least she was a warm, living, breathing woman.’