A Mistletoe Proposal by Lucy Gordon Page B

hastily getting behind a chair.
    Pippa tried not to choke with laughter, and failed.
    â€˜It means throw you out of the window,’ she assured Charlie.
    â€˜Oh. Are you sure that’s all?’
    â€˜Quite sure. Stop worrying.’
    He returned to her side, addressing Roscoe belligerently. ‘I was just telling Miss Jenson that it’s no use her trying to hide beneath dull clothes. She’s still gorgeous beyond belief. Or perhaps you don’t think so.’
    â€˜I think Miss Jenson looks acceptably professional,’ Roscoe said in an indifferent voice. ‘Which is exactly what I’d expect of her.’
    Cheek! she thought.
    He seemed strained and she wondered how long he had dallied in Teresa’s bed, and how much had she exhausted him. But he showed her courteously into his office and enquired politely after her car.
    â€˜It took some time for my brothers to find the spare part it needed,’ she said, ‘but they finally managed it, and I’m getting the car back tomorrow.’
    She and Charlie sat facing the desk, behind which Roscoe surveyed them from a position of authority, which was how, Pippa guessed, he felt most comfortable.
    He pressed a buzzer and spoke to his secretary. ‘We don’t want to be disturbed.’
    â€˜Ah—no!’ Charlie squealed. ‘I’m waiting for a call. I’ve told my secretary to fetch me.’
    â€˜Then we’d better hurry,’ Roscoe said ironically. ‘We mustn’t keep the betting shop waiting.’
    â€˜I got a hot tip,’ Charlie explained. ‘If it comes in, it’ll get me out of trouble on a lot of fronts.’
    â€˜I don’t know why I bother to teach you about stocks and shares,’ Roscoe groaned. ‘You’re only happy making ridiculous bets.’
    â€˜But surely buying stocks and shares is a kind of betting?’ Pippa observed innocently.
    Charlie gave a muffled choke of laughter. Roscoe’s glance told her that he didn’t appreciate that remark.
    â€˜All right,’ she said hastily. ‘Let’s get on. I’ve been reviewing the matter and it seems to me—’
    The discussion became serious. Pippa put forward her most professional aspect, but all the time she had a strange feeling that it was a mask. There was an uneasy tension in the air, not between herself and Charlie, but between herself and the man who’d held her at a distance last night while burning her with his eyes, a man who eyed her with suppressed hostility, who challenged her every movement.
    â€˜I’ve told the police I wasn’t in that shop,’ Charlie complained. ‘They just say, “Come on, now. Why not just admit it?”’
    â€˜They also keep saying things like, “We know what you lads are like,”’ Roscoe said. ‘As though they were all exactly the same. What’s the matter?’
    Charlie had suddenly started coughing, but he recovered in a moment. ‘Nothing, nothing,’ he said with the sudden urgent air of someone who wanted to change the subject. ‘Now, where were we?’
    He plunged back into serious discussion, talking so sensibly that Pippa’s suspicions were aroused. Only one thing could make Charlie sensible, and that was the need to divert attention. She became sunk in thought and had to be recalled by Roscoe, who was staring at her in astonishment.
    â€˜Just let me catch up with my notes,’ she said hastily. ‘Ah, yes, here—’
    She got no further. The door was flung open with a crash and a wild voice said, ‘I’ve got to talk to you.’
    Turning, she saw a man of about forty with a haggard face and dishevelled hair. His eyes were bloodshot and he seemed on the verge of collapse.
    â€˜Mr Franton, I gave orders that you were not to be admitted,’ Roscoe said in a hard voice.
    â€˜I know. I’ve been trying to see you for days, but I can’t get in. If I