Fusion

  "Thanks for a lovely evening, Mr. Rees."

  "Such polite, well-bred sentiments, Mrs. Barton." Dai gently caressed Gina's cheek. "Have you really enjoyed yourself?"

  "I really have," Gina answered nervously. Dai's touch was sending shivers through her whole body. "The meal was excellent, and the restaurant—"

  "Then your 'lovely evening' had nothing to do with you and me?" Dai cut in, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "Don't kid yourself, Gina. We're an explosion just waiting to happen. You've got a lot of catching up to do—and I'm the man you're going to do it with."

  Gina drew in her breath sharply. "And just what makes you so sure of yourself?" she demanded.

  "It's what makes the world go round" was Dai's almost matter-of-fact response. "And you're not going to miss out on your share of it, any more than I am."

  Original hardcover edition published in 1985

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  ISBN 0-373-02847-4

  Harlequin Romance first edition July 1987

  For Martin (for everything)

  Copyright © 1985 by Rowan Kirby.

  Philippine copyright 1985. Australian copyright 1985.

  All rights reserved. Except for use In any review, the reproduction or utilization

  of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical

  or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography,

  photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,

  is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises

  Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9. All the

  characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the

  author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name

  or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known

  or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  The Harlequin trademarks, consisting of the words HARLEQUIN ROMANCE and the portrayal of a Harlequin, are trademarks of Harlequin Enterprises Limited; the portrayal of a Harlequin is registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

  Printed In U.S.A

  1

  ANOTHER sultry, stuffy afternoon dragged to its dote. Gina Barton, busy at her desk, wondered why it was that London never seemed to be ready for extremes of temperature. Sweltering summers, arctic winters— residents of the great city were infallibly outraged by either.

  Pity, she thought, gazing out of her window, that the firm didn't run to air conditioning. Still, at least it was relatively cool and calm in the office. Things could be a lot worse: she could be out there among the July sales, shouldering her way through steaming, exhausted, thirsty crowds. She shuddered at such a prospect of hell on earth; a nightmare.

  Not far away, in the West End, another woman had spent her day doing exactly that. For Mrs Peggy Haines, however, the nightmare was only beginning. At that precise moment—as she stood wearily outside the department store she had just left, loaded with parcels—she was being arrested for shoplifting. Neither Gina nor Peggy was aware of it yet, but that moment was destined to and change their lives.

  It was no less mercilessly hot two days later, when Peggy and her husband Jim—a stock-supervisor in a warehouse—arrived at the shop-fronted premises of Messrs Goldman and Gillow, Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths. They waited for a few minutes in an airy outer lobby, liberally strewn with magazines (which Peggy was far too nervous to read) and brightened with cut flowers. Then they were shown into a smaller inner office.

  'Mr and Mrs Haines,' explained the friendly secretary, flashing them a reassuring grin as she ushered them through the door.

  'Thank you, Michele.' The voice was warm, pleasantly low—and very female. The person now waiting for them behind a well-organised desk matched it perfectly. She looked up as they came in; and the slight frown which had furrowed her high, smooth brow as she studied some notes disappeared into a totally sweet, natural smile, reaching right to the depths of her shining dark eyes.

  'Good morning, Mrs Haines—Mr Haines. Won't you sit down?'

  Peggy perched on the edge of one of the two chairs drawn up at the desk, clutching her handbag tensely against her. She stared at the young woman opposite. She had hardly known what to expect, but it certainly hadn't been someone like this. She found herself looking into a round intelligent face, with well-defined cheekbones, a small pointed chin, a slightly turned-up nose, a wide generous mouth—and those remarkable eyes, which were a most unusual shade of ... what was it? Peggy deliberated ... almost a sort of golden-brown. Yes, that was it—a lovely warm hazel, flecked with gold.

  The creamy olive complexion was flawless; the hair richly dark—again, thought Peggy, you couldn't just call it brown. It was a deep glossy chestnut, long and straight, falling from a centre parting to frame her face, and wound now into a thick coil at her nape, neat and efficient.

  Her whole bearing was neat and efficient, but strikingly feminine. Only her top half was visible, of course, behind the desk; but you could see enough of that to know the young woman was decidedly well-rounded—her soft curves certainly not disguised by her dove-grey silk blouse, its short sleeves revealing plump tanned arms as satin-smooth as the material itself. Two delicate gold bracelets encircled one trim wrist; and there was a single gold band, Peggy noticed (as women usually do notice) on the ring finger of her left hand.

  Jim Haines cleared his throat. Despite her tension, his wife almost smiled. Jim was never immune to the charms of a young lady—especially one as charming as this. 'Morning, Miss,' he returned her polite greeting as he took a seat.

  The heartwarming smile appeared again as she became aware of them both studying her. 'What can we do for you?' She glanced at her notes. 'Ah yes— you phoned, didn't you?' It seemed to Peggy that she exuded an air of tranquillity. The atmosphere round her was like a peaceful oasis in a frantic world. She began to relax, just a little, under its influence.

  'Are you—er—Goldman or Gillow?' Jim was enquiring bluntly. Peggy frowned at him in mute reproof; but the young woman simply laughed, showing small white teeth, her eyes sharing in the amusement.

  'Neither. I'm their junior partner. My name's Gina Barton. How d'you do?'

  She stood up and walked around the desk to shake them by the hand, each in turn. She was of medium height, and the grey blouse was tucked neatly into the waistband of a wide black skirt in crisp cotton, foiling over rounded hips. Without looking at him, Peggy knew that Jim would be appreciating those shapely bare brown calves, tapering to slim ankles and plain grey leather wedge-heeled sandals.

  'Pleased to meet you, Miss Barton.' Jim, who had also risen, now sat down again.

  'How do you do, Mrs Barton,' added Peggy pointedly.

  'Now,' Gina Barton invited in her low, sweet tones, 'how about telling me all about it? I gather you've been the victim of a ... misunderstanding? Accused of shoplifting—is that right, Mrs Haines?'

  'That's right,' confirmed Jim. 'A misunderstanding. She was..'

  The gentle smile turned full on to him; the softly spoken interruption concealed an unmistakable command. 'Shall we let your wife speak for herself, Mr Haines? I always like to hear a story straight from the horse's mouth—if you'll pardon the expression.' There was nothing strident in the suggestion—merely the most low-key of requests.

  Jim subsided, glancing at his wife. 'Sure, of course,' he muttered. He had only been trying to protect her— something he was used to doing from way, way back.

  'Now then, Mrs Haines.' Her expression indicated that she was all ears.

  'Well, it was like this,' Peggy faltered, returning Jim's glance
. 'I was shopping in Oxford Street. I'd been there all day and I'd nearly finished...' It was painful at first, reconstructing the events of that dreadful afternoon. The rigidly impassive face of the store detective; the interview with the harassed manager; the arrival of the brash young police officer who had warned her that 'anything she said might be taken down and used in evidence', just like in plays on television; the ride in the Black Maria; the undignified 'processing' at the police station—fingerprints, photographs, statements, handbag and body searches...

  But Gina Barton made it as easy as she could- listening intently to every syllable, prompting here, asking a pertinent question there—always keeping up, even a step ahead. When Peggy reached the most difficult bits she nodded sympathetically, pursing up her curved lips.

  '... I'd collected some underwear for Jim and Gary. Then I saw this little vest—pink, it was, with lace round the neck. Julie loves pretty clothes, but it was quite expensive so I thought about it a bit. Then I decided to have it, so I put it with the other things. Or I thought I did.' Her voice trembled. 'I walked to the checkout and paid. I was ever so tired, Mrs Barton. It was such a hot day. I showed them the ticket but all they kept saying was, even though I'd paid for everything else, I'd stolen the vest. It was horrible. They wouldn't believe me, whatever 1 said...'

  She scrabbled for a handkerchief, and Gina leaned over the desk, her eyes now brimming with kindly concern. 'Take your time, Mrs Haines. There's no rush.'

  At last it was all out. Peggy sat back in her chair, a new relief surging through her. Gina put both elbows on the desk top and linked her small fingers together under her chin as she gazed across at them both. 'I see,' she said slowly. 'So—you pleaded Not Guilty before the Magistrates yesterday, and your case comes up again in about a month?'

  'That's right,' Peggy agreed miserably.

  Jim, who had held his peace dutifully throughout his wife's long tale, couldn't restrain an anxious interruption. 'She did the right thing, didn't she, not to plead Guilty? They tried to tell her she should—said she'd never get away with it. But I told her she should only say she was guilty if she knew she was.'

  'You were absolutely right, Mr Haines.' The dark head nodded vehemently. 'You should do as your conscience dictates. If you feel innocent, then on no account'—she emphasised these last three words in her careful, modulated tone—'should you allow yourself to be persuaded otherwise. Remember, you're innocent until the law proves you guilty. Even if it takes far longer, you must fight for what you know to be the truth. It's a good thing you were there to advise her,' she added with a wide smile.

  'That's what I told her.' Jim basked in the light from Gina Barton's approval. She had a way of approving, though she was barely aware of it herself, which could make strong men glow in its reflection.

  'A conviction for shoplifting,' she went on now, 'is a conviction under the Theft Act. If you are found Guilty of this, you will have a record for theft, as surely as if you'd broken into a house and stolen private property. There are some people who think that's unfair, and it ought to be changed—but at the moment, that's how it is.' She shrugged. 'One day perhaps it'll be different.'

  'But plenty of real thieves must steal from shops,' Peggy suggested hesitantly. 'I mean—like, on purpose. I suppose they have to be ... I mean ... punished?'

  'Sure they do. And they are; the law deals with them firmly, when they're caught. No one's denying they deserve all they get.'

  'When they're caught,' echoed Jim, with a touch of cynicism.

  'Oh, they often are,' Gina assured him. 'All the same, it's people like you I'm sorry for, Mrs Haines—caught in the trap. Everyone knows how easy it is to slip up in these big shops, especially at busy times. I've come near enough doing it myself; who hasn't?'

  Peggy was warming to this direct young woman more every minute. It seemed to her they had struck lucky when they selected this firm of solicitors, almost at random, from the local Yellow Pages. 'I just couldn't believe what was going on.' Her confidence restored itself, under the influence of those shining eyes. 'It didn't seem to be really happening—not to me, if you know what I mean. The vest was there, I admit, in my bag, but I never ... I mean, I never would.. '

  'She never would,' Jim endorsed firmly. 'She may have her off-days, Miss ... Mrs Barton—don't we all have our absent-minded moments? But she'd never steal nothing from no one. I know my Peg.'

  He was treated to the full impact of the melting smile for this loyal testimonial. Then Gina became brisk. 'Well—now that I've got all the details, we must take action. Of course we shall represent you. You've come to the right place—my senior partners and I are most concerned about such cases. We have more of them passing through our hands every month. We'll do all we can—but I have to warn you, it's not easy, convincing the Court that you've made a genuine error. I'm afraid they're getting harder and harder—not giving many people the benefit of the doubt.'

  Peggy's face fell. 'You mean, I probably won't get off?'

  'I didn't say that, Mrs Haines. There's—shall we say—a fifty/fifty chance? But we'll do absolutely everything we can. Would you like to be represented by Counsel?'

  They looked at each other. 'Counsel?' echoed Jim, attempting not to sound baffled.

  'A barrister,' Gina explained. 'There's all the more chance of getting off—of having your case put forward in the best possible way—if it's presented by an advocate who's trained to speak for people in Court.'

  'Would I have to speak for myself, otherwise?' Peggy was aghast at the prospect.

  'Good heavens, no. I can represent you myself, at a Magistrates' Court.'

  'Does it cost much more?' Jim was not one to beat about the bush.

  'Yes,' replied Gina honestly. 'But you might qualify for Legal Aid if it's difficult. We'll fill in all the forms in a minute. Now—what do you think?'

  Her clients exchanged another glance. 'Do you have a ... Counsel to recommend?' Jim enquired cautiously.

  'Certainly—we work closely with several barristers. There's one who's particularly interested in this sort of case—he's taken quite a few for us.'

  Peggy turned to Jim. 'Why not? We might as well have the best...'

  He nodded. 'Okay. Ask him. Please,' he added quickly, catching Gina's eye.

  She smiled. 'I'll give John Slade a ring as soon as I can,' she promised. 'Fix up a briefing with him.'

  'Whatever you think best.' Peggy felt suddenly bemused by it all again.

  'Briefing?' cut in Jim sharply.

  'As a solicitor, I have to "brief" Counsel who is to appear for you; that's my job. It just means telling them all about the case—preparing the ground so that they can go about it in the most constructive way. Once they have all the facts from me, it's up to them to use their persuasive powers, and our combined knowledge of the Law, to act on your behalf at the hearing. That's their job.- She grinned disarmingly. 'It's supposed to be teamwork, but sometimes I think we get landed with the donkeywork while they get the honour and glory. Still, I wouldn't want to be a barrister so I suppose I shouldn't complain. It's a very dramatic trade—winning's a personal achievement, but losing must be even worse than it is for us.'

  'Well—if you say he's a good man ...' began Jim.

  'He is; and so are all his partners in Chambers— sharing his offices. Any of them would rise to a challenge like yours; I only hope one of them can take it on at rather short notice. I'll get on to them straight away. First, let's write down some of these boring details.' She opened out a daunting set of lengthy forms, took up a pen and embarked on filling the first one in. 'Full name?'

  Two hours later, Gina walked across the central lobby and knocked on the door of another inner office.

  'Come!' called a preoccupied voice from within. 'Ah, Gina,' it went on as she obeyed the succinct instruction. 'Lunchtime already? Come to invite me to lunch?' Button eyes twinkled at her from behind a mountain of paperwork.

  'No, Sam. I'm quite sure you'll be wining and dining some hi
gh-powered client. You won't want me cluttering up the place.'

  Sam Goldman—rotund, dumpy, bursting with energy and enthusiasm—was an excellent solicitor, well-known in the community for his liberal views, his championship of underdogs, and his willingness to take on difficult cases. A devoted family man himself, he inspired devotion in his staff—including Gina. 'You, my dear Gina,' he told her now, 'could never "clutter up" any place. However, now you mention it, I did say I'd meet old whatsisname—Renshaw, the Chamber of Commerce fellow—at the Bistro today. One or two small matters to discuss. Anything I can do for you before I go?'

  'Yes, there is. Another Oxford Street shoplifting case arrived this morning. An unfortunate woman picked up a garment and walked out with it in her own shopping bag.'

  He drew in a sharp breath. 'Sounds dodgy. Any mitigating circumstances?'

  'Well, she did pay for a whole basketful of other clothes, all above-board. This one item—not particularly expensive—seems to have ended up in the wrong container—the usual thing. They wouldn't accept her story—full police prosecution. Remanded for a few weeks. She came in with her husband—he's being supportive but she's in a bit of a state.'

  'Any previous form?'

  'Oh no. An upright citizen, if ever I met one. I believe her implicitly, as it happens. It's so unfair, Sam!' Her voice rose several notes above its customary calm level. 'Lumping these people in with hardened criminals, and their mistakes with premeditated thefts. Everyone knows how easy it is to do ... the way the shops are laid out almost invites it...'

  'I know, I know. Now then, Mrs Barton,' he soothed, 'keep your legendary cool. We can help them best, don't forget, by holding on to our rags when all about us are losing theirs. So,' he went on, leaning back in his chair, folding shirtsleeved arms across his tubby frame, 'what would you have me do?'

  'They should qualify for Aid. I think they should have Counsel. Can I ask John Slade? He was really good over that Johnson case.'