LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER TWO

      SIR PETER thanked her for responding to his call at such short notice, which allowed Jess to apologise for her casual appearance.

      ‘You look charming, my dear,’ he declared, with a benign and patently sincere smile. ‘May I introduce Lorcan Hunter?’ he continued. ‘Lorcan is a highly esteemed and much sought-after architect, and we’re fortunate that he’s building us the most magnificent hotel village in Mauritius.’

      She held out her hand. ‘Good afternoon.’

      After a millisecond’s hesitation, when she wondered if he might refuse, her erstwhile victim shook it. His grip was firm and brief. It had occurred to her that it might also be sticky, but it was not. He, too, appeared to have diverted into a bathroom, for his dark hair was neatly combed and no tissue speckles marred the navy pinstriped splendour of his suit. In fact, the only visible evidence of the champagne fiasco was the slightly marinated appearance of his right sleeve.

      ‘You’re a bodyguard?’ he said, as if not sure whether to howl with derision or bang his head hard against the wall.

      ‘I am.’

      ‘Amazing, isn’t it? One false move and you’re mincemeat. Isn’t that right?’ enquired Gerard, and gave another loud guffaw.

      Jess’s teeth ground together. Whenever she revealed her occupation it invariably evoked a chorus of amused astonishment and puerile jokes, in particular from men. Because she was young and blonde and shapely they seemed to regard her as a comic-cuts Killer Bimbo, and she had grown tired of it.

      ‘I’m meaner than I look,’ she said crisply.

      Lorcan Hunter fixed her with piercing blue eyes. ‘That I do not doubt. You’re a whizz at the unexpected attack?’ he enquired.

      ‘I have my moments,’ she replied, silently defying him to tell his companions about their earlier meeting, which would be embarrassing and could damage her credibility.

      ‘You make grown men cower?’

      ‘From time to time.’

      ‘And put your life and limb at risk?’

      She recalled his fury in the lift. ‘It can happen, though I always emerge intact,’ she said, gazing steadily back.

      ‘How about damage control?’

      Her chin firmed. ‘I do my best.’

      As if sensing something hidden beneath their byplay and resenting it, Gerard placed his hand on her arm. ‘Let’s sit down,’ he said, drawing her with him onto a small upright sofa, while his father returned behind the desk and Lorcan Hunter sat in a wing chair.

      At the rub of the young man’s thigh against hers, Jess eased away. She did not care for his touchy-feely familiarity nor for the pungent reek of his cheroot, which smelled like a fusion of burnt treacle, drains and sweat-soaked socks.

      ‘To bring you up to speed, Miss Pallister,’ Sir Peter said, passing her a sheet of paper, ‘this arrived in the post this mourning.’

      Made up from stuck-on printed words which had been cut from a newspaper, the note read:

      So you think you can outwit me. Big mistake. Your hotel in Mauritius will never be completed. If Hunter returns to the island, he and his precious brunette are doomed to disappear.

      ‘Do you have any idea who might’ve sent this?’ Jess enquired. ‘And why?’

      Sir Peter hesitated. ‘No. The envelope bore a London postmark, but that doesn’t mean anything.’

      ‘Come on, Pa,’ Gerard protested. ‘Charles Sohan is responsible.’

      ‘You mean Charles Sohan of the Sohan hotel chain?’ she asked.

      ‘The same. He and my father are rivals.’

      Cosmopolitan and commercially shrewd, Charles Sohan owned luxury hotels all over the world. She had stayed in the New York Sohan once when she had been guarding an Arabian princess, Jess remembered, and been most impressed. Her brow crinkled. Whilst her only knowledge of the hotelier came from the media, to her it seemed unlikely that if he wished to launch an attack he would do so in such a petty, melodramatic and hackneyed way.

      ‘But sending something like this is so amateurish. It’s not Charles’s style at all,’ Sir Peter protested, echoing her thoughts.

      ‘The note is a hoax dreamed up by some airhead who wants to cause trouble,’ Lorcan Hunter declared, ‘and isn’t worth bothering about.’ Ice-cool blue eyes met hers. “The last thing I need is a couple of bodyguards lurking in the background.’

      Jess gave a narrow smile. ‘You’re mistaken, Mr Hunter,’ she said. ‘We do not lurk. We blend seamlessly and unobtrusively into a client’s habitat.’

      ‘Not into mine,’ he rapped.

      She moved her shoulders. ‘So be it.’

      She had decided that if there was a snag she would refuse the assignment and there was one crucial snag—him. Three months in his company were unlikely to be dull, yet they would be intensely trying on the nerves. Everyone else she had looked after had been grateful—a shadow crossed her face: sometimes too grateful—and she was damned if she would be an unwelcome guest.

      Gerard shone a soothing, slightly oily smile. ‘We’re only thinking of your safety,’ he told him.

      ‘I realise that, but I would’ve appreciated it if you’d consulted me before bringing Miss Pallister here today,’ the architect said, and gave a noticeably irritated tweak at his damp sleeve. ‘It would’ve saved a lot of hassle.’

      ‘No hassle. It’s been my pleasure,’ Jess said sweetly, and received a stony glare in reply. She turned to Gerard. ‘Have you notified the police?’

      He shook his head. ‘Any danger would be on Mauritius.’

      ‘Even so, if you believe the threat is genuine—’

      ‘It isn’t,’ Lorcan interjected.

      ‘It could be,’ stated Gerard. ‘Yes, Pa?’

      His father shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘I can’t decide, but whoever composed the note knows about Lorcan working on the hotel and his personal arrangements—’

      ‘And if there’s doubt it pays to be cautious, though we don’t need to bother the police at this stage,’ the young man declared‘, taking over the proceedings again. ’“Precious brunette” seems an unusual phrase. Has Sohan ever described Harriet like that?’

      ‘Yes, he has,’ Lorcan replied. ‘She went with me to his office once and now when we meet it’s how he refers to her. But we meet in public, so any number of people could’ve overheard.’

      Sir Peter frowned. ‘I can understand your not wishing to be guarded, but you wouldn’t want to take even the slightest risk of Harriet getting hurt.’

      A nerve pulsed in his temple. ‘Good grief, no,’ he said sharply.

      Presumably the ‘precious’ Harriet who was to accompany him to Mauritius was his wife, Jess mused—or perhaps a live-in lover. A man like Lorcan Hunter would have his pick of women, so the brunette was bound to be some svelte beauty who dressed in style—she glanced down at her tunic and leggings—whatever the occasion. And whose face never flushed bright red, even if she ran the marathon in the Olympics.

      ‘Harriet is—Mrs Hunter?’ she enquired, thinking that she hated the woman already.

      ‘Sorry? No. The reference

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