Bewildered Haven
Bewildered Haven
By
Helen Bianchin
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
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Original hardcover edition published in 1976
by Mills & Boon Limited
ISBN 0-373-02010-4
Harlequin edition published October 1976
Copyright ©1976 by Helen Bianchin.
For
ESSIE SUMMERS
CHAPTER 1
The sides had darkened ominously over the past ten minutes as Jenny had negotiated peak-hour traffic through the inner city to the council car-park not far from Auckland's harbour passenger terminal. Locking her car, she made her way down to street level with the fervent hope she might make it to the entrance lobby of her office building before the skies emptied their imminent deluge. Jenny stood at the corner and tapped her foot impatiently, for the computer-controlled traffic lights at the intersection were inanimately ignorant of the elements, and she cast a rueful glance upwards as huge drops of rain rapidly increased in volume.
'Just my luck,' Jenny muttered silently, viewing the wet black bitumen stretching out in front of her.
'Summer shower,' a voice beside her murmured expressively as the lights changed.
Bending her head in preparation for a brisk sprint across the street, Jenny smiled a little for herself as she dodged other pedestrians scampering helter-skelter in the opposite direction, and in the lobby of the multi-storied office building she paused to pat her face discreetly dry with a tissue extracted from the depths of her shoulder-bag and stood regarding the hemline of her long skirt with a grimace of distaste, for it was damp and decidedly mud-spattered—and as for her hair! Long tendrils clung wetly about her neck and added to the dampness of her attractively embroidered muslin blouse. With a sigh she extracted another tissue and began to dry her arms. It really was too bad, and on a Monday too! She pondered idly if it could be an omen of some sort, and jabbed the elevator button for the third time with more than a little impatience. Where was the dratted thing? Surely with four elevators one should put in an appearance soon!
Jenny suddenly became aware that someone was observing her actions, and she turned slightly to meet a pair of dark gleaming eyes surveying her quizzically. Huh! If ever a man resembled Lucifer, this one surely did! Tall, broad shoulders beneath an impeccably tailored jacket, his face raw-boned and deeply tanned, dark well-groomed hair—the man looked positively satanical, Jenny thought irritably. With cool deliberation she swept her gaze back to the elevator doors, utterly cross with herself that his image should bother her.
An electronic swish heralded the arrival of an elevator and Jenny stepped quickly inside, aware that he followed closely behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him continue to appraise her steadfastly. Childishly she felt tempted to pull a face at him, and was extremely thankful when the elevator slid to a halt at the sixth floor. Head held high, she stalked out and walked briskly to the office suite where neat gold lettering .on sparkling glass proclaimed that the legal firm of Roderick Shaw Cantreli & Ogilvie could be found within.
'Hi there,' Suzy, the receptionist, greeted her, eyes alight with excitement. 'Guess who's—' she began, and then pulled a face as the muted insistent burr of the switchboard demanded her attention.
Jenny smiled and passed through the elegantly furnished reception area and moved down the carpeted passage-way to the small annexe which served as the female staff-room, quickly drying her damp hair and effecting repairs to her make-up before going to her desk.
It wasn't until the mid-morning coffee break that she had the opportunity to catch Suzy's breathtakingly imparted news. The reaction of the other three girls' faces caused her to query curiously.
'What's so great about this—what's his name? Benedict?'
Lise, private secretary to Mr. Roderick, the firm's senior partner, raised her eyebrows at Jenny and looked faintly shocked.
' "What's-his-name Benedict", Jenny dear, is the Benedict of Benedict, Benedict & Partners, presiding on the top floor and lording it over us all, as it were,' She paused to smooth a hand carelessly over her silver-gilt hair elegantly drawn back from her face into a chignon, and her eyes became pensive as she continued, 'Not only does he head a highly successful legal firm whose clientele number largely among the cream of Auckland's elite society, but he happens to be remarkably wealthy, and a bachelor. At the age of thirty-five he's managed to elude the matrimonial net, and believe me—"love 'em and leave 'em" should be printed on to a button and pinned to the lapel of each and every one of his expensive suits!' she finished bitterly, sinking her teeth savagely into the inner softness of her lower lip.
Jenny's eyebrows rose a fraction as she lifted her coffee from the table and selected a biscuit from the plate.
'He's sort of scary,' Suzy giggled infectiously, twisting a lock of her gleaming brown hair round her fingers. 'I'd hate to be alone with him—I'd never manage to keep up the "sophisticated young lady of the world" image I can project with most everyone else,' she finished breathlessly.
'He returned to his office this morning, according to the grapevine,' Judy broke in with interest, sweeping her gaze over the other girls' faces. 'I wonder what havoc he wreaked during his trip abroad? Woman-wise, naturally! Honestly, it seems most women from sixteen to sixty switch on and become provocatively female whenever he's around! I wonder whether he'll take up where he left off with that Scandinavian girl—Ilse, I think her name is,' Judy pondered cheerfully, and her expressive grey eyes brightened with interest. 'They were quite an item before he left for that overseas trip— attended several balls and appeared together at a few society parties around town. Half her luck,' she concluded enviously.
Suzy wrinkled her nose expressively and sipped her coffee pensively. 'I believe he has a fabulous home out at Half Moon Bay—large and sprawling, and designed to resemble a Spanish hacienda. He even has a housekeeper living in. Mind you, he does a fair amount of entertaining.'
Jenny cast them all a puzzled glance. 'You make him sound like some sought-after film star! With all that going for him, why hasn't he married?'
'Too wary, Jenny,' Judy enlightened her a trifle wryly, 'and too cynical. He only has to beckon and any number of girls come running. With that sort of variety, who needs marriage?'
'He sounds thoroughly objectionable. Let's hope I never have the misfortune to meet him,' Jenny declared with emphasis.
'You'll know all about it if you do,' Lose hinted darkly.
It happened much sooner than Jenny anticipated, as during the afternoon Grant Ogilvie asked if she could work late to finish a draft affidavit he particularly wanted to present to a client early next morning. The firm allowed an hour for dinner on such occasions, and at six o'clock Grant shrugged his shoulders into his suit jacket and stood patiently waiting out in the reception area while Jenny effected a few repairs to her makeup and tidied her hair.
The restaurant was tucked away in a narrow street barely a few minutes' walk from their office building. It was dimly lit and well filled with patrons, and as an anxious waiter searched for an empty table a deep voice nearby addressed Grant by name and invited them to share.
Grant turned, his manner immediately becoming slightly deferential.
'Very kind of you, Mr. Benedict. You're sure you don't mind the intrusion?'
Jenny winced momentarily at the almost reverent tone in Grant's voice, then turned to face the exalted Mr. Benedict of whom she had heard so much. Her eyes widened as they met the decidedly devilish gleam in the dark eyes of the man seated at a table barely a few feet away. So he was Mr. Benedict! She forced herself to meet his mocking gaze with a steadiness she was far from feeling.
'Not at all,' he murmured urbanely, deliberately holding her gaze until thoroughly cross with herself Jenny had to glance away.
'I don't believe I've met your secretary, Grant,' Mr. Benedict observed when they were seated. His tone was light and mockingly amused, and Jenny felt an immediate sympathy for the younger man's embarrassment. 'Do forgive me. No, of course not—how could you?' Grant offered apologetically. 'Jenny, meet Mr; Benedict of Benedict, Benedict & Partners. Jenny Meredith.' Grant watched for Jenny's reaction, having not the slightest doubt she had heard considerable grapevine gossip concerning the one and only Mr. Benedict. His reputation in the courtroom earned him respect and admiration from fellow barristers—that he should undoubtedly have a way with women was the envy of all and the despair of some.
'Welcome to the legal fraternity, Jenny Meredith,' Mr. Benedict drawled softly, allowing his eyes to rove slowly over the contours of her face to linger at her lips before sliding upwards to meet her look of slight incredulity.
Really, the man was a positive menace, Jenny thought crossly. Deliberately she refrained from speaking, offering only a slight inclination of her head in acknowledgment.
'I suggest you try the filet mignon,' Mr. Benedict intimated smoothly. 'It's the speciality here.'
'Jenny?' Grant enquired briefly, his tone clearly indicating that as the great man had spoken in favour of filet mignon there was in his mind no question of ordering otherwise.
'I'd prefer roast lamb, with mint sauce and vegetables,' Jenny said firmly, softening the blow somewhat by smiling kindly at Grant.
'Not the filet mignon?' he queried doubtfully.
'No.' Jenny could have sworn she caught a twinkle of laughter glimmering in Mr. Benedict's eyes as Grant placed their order, .and a few minutes later she was openly startled when he leaned forward and placed a stray forefinger to the wide beaten-silver ring on the third finger of her left hand.
'Your husband—he doesn't mind you working late?' As though scorched by his touch, Jenny snatched her hand away and glared at him indignantly. Just who did he think he was, that he could question her about her private life? 'I am not married, Mr. Benedict,' she said coolly, her tone plainly stating that in any case it was none of his business.
He continued to examine her face with an unwavering scrutiny. 'And have no wish to be?' he queried softly, a slight smile lifting the corners of his sensuously moulded mouth.
Jenny met his gaze defensively, anger replacing indignation as a tinge of colour spread over her cheeks. 'I have yet to be convinced any man is worth, it,' she found herself declaring with a trace of bitterness, and was not unaware of Grant Ogilvie's watching interest.
'Tell me how you measure a man's worth, Jenny Meredith?' the hateful Mr. Benedict continued with a seemingly indolent persistence, and he leant well back in his chair with every indication of pursuing his objective.
Jenny thought wildly that if the waiter didn't appear soon with their meal she would surely scream! With a look that would have quailed a lesser adversary, she assured him in a voice that was deceptively calm, 'I find it hard to believe my opinion could possibly be of interest to you, Mr. Benedict, and I would thank you to refrain from amusing yourself at my expense,' she finished repressively.
Mr. Benedict regarded her thoughtfully, his eyes frankly appreciating the nicely rounded curves beneath her pale cream muslin blouse. Her hair was a vibrant golden-brown with the merest hint of auburn glowing in its depths and lay loose almost to her shoulder-blades. Hazel eyes with golden flecks and a wonderfully generous mouth, and on the left cheek a tantalising dimple presented itself whenever she smiled. A nice clear skin too, and delicate bone structure.
'You jump to conclusions, Jenny Meredith,' he drawled enigmatically. 'Your opinions would fascinate me.'
Jenny met his gaze steadily, intensely aware of his analytical appraisal, and was unable to still the feeling of antagonism this arrogant man seemed to cause. Why should she explain to this—this dynamic stranger the reason she chose to cover the tell-tale patch of white where until four weeks ago an engagement ring had nestled for more than a year? The hurt welled up inside her to think that Max had baulked at the last minute— that only three days before the wedding he had chosen to post a crucially short letter at the airport less than an hour before he boarded a plane bound for Sydney. She still shuddered at the awkward embarrassing telephone calls both she and her widowed mother had had to make, the returned wedding gifts, the sympathetic pitying looks cast in her direction. The need to get away, right away from the host of lifetime friends, acquaintances— people who knew—was essential, and with contrived cheerfulness Jenny had done just that by packing her entire trousseau into the new set of matching leather suitcases and transferring nearly all of her savings.
Auckland, New Zealand's largest city in the North Island, and more than a hundred miles further north from her hometown of Tauranga, seemed an ideal place in which to make a new beginning, and with partly formed plans to travel overseas in a year or less, Jenny had begun to feel the first stirrings of relief. Her mother had wrung her hands with anxiety when Jenny had flatly refused to stay with a distant relative on Auckland's suburban North Shore, choosing rather to rent a flat of her own. Anyone would think her years numbered sixteen instead of twenty-four, Jenny grimaced wryly. Thoroughly independent, she had booked into a motel on arriving in Auckland, and within two days had found a wonderful flat in the fashionable eastern suburb of Bucklands Beach. There had been no shortage of secretarial positions available, and at first she had been in favour of a complete change from legal typing, but the secretarial agency persuaded her to continue with the legal profession by pointing out the extremely attractive salary that one of their client firms was offering. Upon, hearing that the office suite was situated in an ultramodern high-rise building not far from the harbour Jenny had hesitated no further.
Aware that Mr. Benedict was regarding her intently, Jenny assumed an air of extreme indifference and allowed her voice to become ice-cold.
'Indeed?' She raised an eyebrow and saw his eyes narrow fractionally. 'I very much doubt the fascination would last, Mr. Benedict. In any case,' she continued with false sweetness, 'don't you find this conversation rather pointless?'
His eyes seemed to darken—almost in anger, Jenny realised uncomfortably, and began to wish she had chosen to ignore his provoking comments. She was aware of Grant's evident relief as the Waiter approached their table and set down two steaming plates of attractively served food.
'Saved—for the moment, Miss Meredith,' Mr. Benedict asserted blandly, signing the bill prese
nted to him by the waiter. 'If you will excuse me?' He rose to his feet, inclined his head towards Grant and performed a slight mocking bow in Jenny's direction, .then moved swiftly towards the doorway.
'I would say,' Grant began, his expression one of genuine amusement, 'that you haven't heard the last of that little episode.'
Jenny tightened her lips, and picking up her table napkin unfolded it across her lap. 'Well, really! Just who does he think he is, anyway?' she demanded crossly. 'Oh, for heaven's sake, let's change the subject! I'm sure that if I hear the name Benedict again today, I'll scream!'
Grant cast her a speculative look as he began to cut into his steak. 'As bad as that?'
Jenny nodded vehemently, transferring her attention to the meal in front of her, aware that her animosity of the hateful Mr. Benedict was becoming way out of proportion.
Shortly after nine that evening she let herself into the fiat and had just closed the door when the insistent zing of the telephone summoned her through to the hallway, and wondering who could be ringing at this hour she hurriedly answered it, her heart sinking as the voice of her cousin, Dianne, suggested Jenny make up a party of eight for dinner in town the following evening.
Botheration! Jenny exclaimed silently. Well-meaning relatives were all very well, but she hated the idea of blind-dating. It was very probable they would dislike each other on sight, find they had nothing in common and make inane conversation in an attempt to hide a mutual boredom. Jenny pleaded tiredness, explaining that she had worked late at the office, but Dianne was adamant, insinuating that Jenny could hardly refuse for the third time of asking. Jenny found herself giving in, albeit gracefully.
The following evening Jenny crossed over to the carpark building at the close of a very tiresome afternoon spent monotonously copy-typing lengthy articles and memoranda of association involving innumerable clauses liberally smattered with the numerous herewiths, notwithstanding hereofs employed in legal documentation. Her head ached persistently, and she would have given anything not to be going out tonight. The car responded as she switched on the ignition, and cautiously she began to back it out from its resting place between an opulently gleaming XJ6 Jaguar and a rather battered Vauxhall. Thoughts of what she would wear to dinner occupied her mind—whether the long skirt with matching silk blouse in black dressed up with a waist-length looped chain necklace in gold would be too dressy, or perhaps the soft flowing lines of the jade crepe frock would be more suitable.