The Ninety Days of Genevieve by Lucinda Carrington

feeling he might ask Jade Chalfont to join them. Ts that an order?' she asked coolly.
    'No. A civilised request. Orders come next week.'
    'I have to get home/ she said. 'I've got some work to finish.'
    'Housework? Can't it wait?'
    'Business/ she lied.
    His expression changed. 'That's all that matters to you, isn't it?'
    'It's the basis of our relationship/ she replied.
    He grinned crookedly. 'If you say so, Miss Loften. See you next Saturday.'
    Despite her apparent cool Genevieve had spent the rest of that Saturday wondering if Sinclair had taken Jade Chalfont for a drink, and then back home, or to a restaurant or even for a pillion ride on his motorcycle. Somehow she could not imagine the super-cool, sword-wielding sensei wearing a mink skirt and no knickers just to please a man.
    But then, she had to admit, she would never have thought she would agree to play that role either. Not that she did it to please Sinclair, she told herself. It was part of the agreement. If she enjoyed it too, that was a bonus. And yet here she was trying to work out how to please him again. What did you wear to an antiques fair hosted by a millionaire Arab - providing that really was where they were going.
    She decided that as Arabs were supposed to like their women demure and ladylike (at least in public), she would dress as conventionally as possible. She pleated her hair into a knot, just loose enough to look neat without being too severe. She chose a pale-grey suit with a jacket that was feminine without over emphasising her figure, and a straight skirt that skimmed her knees. Worn over a plain silk blouse she felt it gave the right impression of chaste femininity.
    Since the Arab was not going to see her underwear -and Sinclair probably was - she wore a white lace basque with a detachable bra top and briefs, a narrow garter belt and pale stockings that sheened her legs discreetly in silky grey. She had already chosen a pair of matching court shoes but when she came to put them on she hesitated. She felt she needed something to imply that she was not entirely demure. After a moment's thought she discarded the court shoes and picked out a pair of higher, much sexier grey stiletto heels. They had been an impulse buy in a sale and she had only worn them a few times, not because she did not like them but because they rarely seemed suitable for the few social events she attended.
    Now, combined with her ultra-respectable suit, and coupled with her lacy underwear, she felt suitably dressed for a meeting with a presumably conventional, Eton-educated Arab millionaire with impeccable taste, and for any later activities with the decidedly unconventional and educated goodness-knows-where James Sinclair.
    He arrived promptly, sounded his horn and waited for her at the kerbside. He was wearing a beautifully tailored dark suit and a silk tie. She saw him give her a swift visual inspection and treated him to a frosty smile as he opened the passenger door for her.
    'Do I get a Grade A, or do you want me to go back and change?'
    'You look fine,' he said. And surprised her by adding, 'As always.'
    'You don't think my shoes will shock your Arab friend?'
    He laughed. 'Nothing shocks Zaid. He'll love them.'
    She settled in the passenger seat and fastened her safety belt. Sinclair sat beside ^her. The car moved smoothly away from the kerb.
    'Want some music?' She nodded. He pressed a button and a drawer full of tapes slid open. 'You've got a choice.'
    She chose a selection of film music and the sounds of the Hugo Montenegro orchestra filled the car. Sinclair let her enjoy it, occasionally commenting on the various tracks and the films they had accompanied. They soon left the suburbs and headed for the the M25 where the Mercedes eased into the fast lane and stayed there until Sinclair turned off at Junction 8 and headed south.
    After that Genevieve lost track of their direction. Sinclair drove confidently. The main roads became country roads. They passed through