LITMIR.BIZ

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      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘YOU’VE got to do something!’

      Rachel jumped as Merrilyn glided up behind her and hissed urgently in her ear.

      ‘About what?’ Relaxed yet alert, Rachel thought everything was going swimmingly. A string quartet played exquisitely civilised Baroque on the terrace, the champagne was flowing, the caviare circulating, the conversation buzzing, and there had not been a hint of a problem with gatecrashers, light-fingered guests or suspiciously wandering staff.

      Merrilyn’s fingernails bit into her bare arm as she tugged her out of the way of a passing white-jacketed waiter. A slim redhead in an arresting green taffeta dress, she vibrated with nervous anxiety. ‘He’s going to ruin everything, I just know it!’ she whispered frantically. ‘I’ve spent months planning this! My first big formal dinner party and it’s going to end up a total disaster!’

      Rachel had been Merrilyn’s fitness trainer for a year, and she was well acquainted with the young woman’s propensity for worrying over trifles. The exclamation mark might have been invented with Merrilyn in mind.

      ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ she murmured soothingly, transferring her dangerously tilted champagne glass to her free hand. ‘Everyone’s having a great time.’

      ‘I’m talking about him!’

      Rachel followed her agonised gaze to the archway between the huge lounge and the sunken dining room, expecting to see some ill-bred, loutish interloper dipping his fingers into the caviare bowl.

      ‘Matthew Riordan?’ she said incredulously.

      ‘Oh, God, just look at him…’ Merrilyn moaned.

      Rachel looked, ignoring the shivery frisson that lifted the fine hair on the back of her bare neck. She always instinctively bristled when she saw Matthew Riordan, and had learned not to take any notice of the uncomfortable sensation, which was normally a harbinger of trouble.

      Viewed from the side, in formal black he looked leaner than usual, but otherwise impeccable, his knife-sharp profile tilted down as he poured champagne into the glass of a young society matron from a bottle which he had produced from under his arm. Whatever he was saying made her blush, and her middle-aged husband stiffen at her side.

      ‘You see!’ hissed Merrilyn, her nails stabbing at the nerve in Rachel’s elbow. ‘He’s at it again.’

      ‘At what?’ asked Rachel reluctantly, easing her arm out of her clutches. She had done a sterling job of avoiding Matthew Riordan so far tonight, and would prefer to keep it that way.

      ‘Saying wickedly provocative things to people.’ She sounded on the verge of tears.

      ‘Matthew Riordan?’ Rachel said again, just to check that they were indeed discussing the same person. The man who was renowned for his cool reserve and deadly civility?

      ‘Yes, Matthew Riordan,’ moaned Merrilyn, her hand fluttering up to pluck at her diamond choker. ‘Oh, God, John will never forgive me if he starts a fight—’

      ‘Matthew Riordan?’ gaped Rachel, beginning to feel like a maniacal parrot. ‘For goodness’ sake, Merrilyn, take a deep breath and calm down,’ she said astringently. ‘He’s a merchant banker, not a lager lout. I’ve met the guy—he’s intelligent and articulate, but abnormally controlled; I bet he knows exactly how far he can go.

      ‘He would no more get into a stupid fight than he would pick up the wrong fork at dinner. He’s certainly not going to insult his hostess or make a fool of himself by creating a scene. And none of your other guests are going to risk offending someone so influential—certainly not to his face.’

      ‘You haven’t heard the shocking things he’s been saying!’ Merrilyn despaired.

      ‘Come on, Merrilyn. Give the guy a break.’ Rachel couldn’t believe that she was actually defending the man who was directly responsible for Weston Security Services losing two lucrative corporate contracts within the past month, but the important thing right now was to curb her client’s hysteria. ‘Everyone lets their hair down a bit at parties. Don’t you want him to enjoy himself?’

      ‘But he’s not enjoying himself; that’s the whole point!’ Merrilyn’s exquisitely made-up face was a mask of tragedy. ‘He’s drunk!’

      Rachel almost laughed at the ludicrousness of the idea. ‘I doubt it. He hasn’t been here long enough to have had more than a couple of glasses of champagne—’

      ‘No. You don’t understand!’ Merrilyn moaned. ‘He was drunk when he arrived. And to think I was panicking because he hadn’t turned up. Now I almost wish he hadn’t…!’

      The disgusted admission was tantamount to heresy from a dedicated social climber like Merrilyn, and Rachel registered a surge of alarm.

      She reappraised him. ‘He looks quite steady on his feet to me.’

      ‘Trust me, he disguises it well, but he’s on the brink of being bombed out of his skull,’ said Merrilyn grimly. Once, on the massage table after one of their sessions in the gym, she had confided to Rachel that her brother was an alcoholic. ‘And another thing—he’s turned up solo! He was supposed be coming with Cheryl-Ann Harding. I’ve spent a fortune on the table settings—if his girlfriend’s not here it’s going to wreck the symmetry!’

      ‘His girlfriend?’ Rachel was startled. ‘I thought he was married?’ She had noticed the plain gold band he wore on his left hand.

      ‘He was…Oh, hell, what’s he going to do now?’ Merrilyn was distracted by the sight of the ruffled young matron being hustled away by her stiff-jawed escort. ‘If Cheryl-Ann isn’t here he’s going to be roaming around like a loose cannon all night,’ she muttered. ‘They’ve been going out for yonks—it’s common knowledge that Matthew’s father is putting on the pressure for him to get married again, and everyone agrees they’d make a perfect couple. If they’ve had an argument, why on earth couldn’t they have saved it until after my party?’

      She planted a hand in the small of Rachel’s back, propelling her forward. ‘Quick! Let’s get over there while he’s still by himself and see if you can keep him diverted long enough to sober him up for dinner.’

      Rachel almost stumbled over her white slingbacks. ‘Me?’

      ‘Well, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To mix and mingle and stop minor problems escalating into major embarrassments?’ declared Merrilyn. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you being here, Rachel. I’m so glad you persuaded me to go with Westons rather than some other firm. You’re right, it’s so much better having someone I know handling potentially sensitive matters like these. I’ll be sure and tell all my friends what a classy personal protection service you run!’

      Sensing she was overdoing the gushing flattery, she altered her tone to a panicky plea. ‘Look, just stick to him like glue and do what you can to cover for him, OK? And be discreet! The fewer people who realise what’s going on, the better.’

      ‘Why don’t you just politely ask him to leave?’ murmured Rachel as they approached their target.

      ‘Throw him out?’ Are you mad?’ Merrilyn’s whisper was scandalised. ‘He’s one of my most important guests. It would be social suicide!’

      She raised her voice on a fluttering laugh. ‘Matthew! Look who I’ve brought to see you! I know I don’t have to introduce you two—Rachel was just telling me she thinks you’re the most intelligent and articulate man she’s ever met!’

      He had been topping up his own glass, and now he tucked the champagne bottle under the potted plant at his elbow with a casual disregard for his surroundings which made Rachel blink.

      ‘Really? How delightfully flattering of her.’

      He held out his hand, and although Rachel mistrusted his honeyed drawl,

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