Why then had she been so upset on the night after Martin Beaumont had made his bid for her body in his car? Well, partly because it was exactly that: attempted rape. It wasn’t a pass in the way she had always had to deal with them, a clumsy attempt at a kiss which left the perpetrator more embarrassed than the recipient. Her boss had been claiming something like droit de seigneur. He had wanted her body and he had been pretty determined about it. Attempted rape was not an exaggeration.
No doubt Martin would say that she was being absurdly dramatic if she challenged him about it, would say that her imagination had translated an innocent bit of flirting into something more sinister. The old male lies would spring readily to his lips, she was sure. Indeed, he would have little alternative but to take a line like that: anything else would be admitting his guilt and inviting her to take whatever steps she wanted in retribution.
She realized something else as she woke from a troubled sleep on the morning after the incident. He might, indeed, deny it altogether. There were no witnesses, after all, and it was only her word against his. No doubt he would have more expensive lawyers at his command than she could ever employ. She had even heard of men bringing counter-suits for defamation of character, when the victim had had no witness to support her claims. Beaumont had an invalid wife, though no one seemed to know much about her; he would no doubt command the sympathy of a court, once some glib and experienced brief had put his case for him.
There was no use cutting off her nose to spite her face, Sarah Vaughan told herself firmly. She had a job she liked and good prospects, because everyone seemed very pleased with the start she had made at Abbey Vineyards. She was well paid for her work. A tiny voice she did not want to acknowledge told Sarah that she might in the future be even better paid as a result of Beaumont’s clumsy assault. He would surely want to keep her quiet and compensate her for her discretion.
At midnight on the night after her mauling in the Jaguar, she had been determined to storm in the next morning, to give in her notice, to make Martin Beaumont pay for what he had done. By morning, she was not so sure. She would go to work, see whether Beaumont wanted to be conciliatory, hear what he had to say for himself, and then decide on her tactics. She had surely nothing to lose by doing that.
Sarah didn’t want to acknowledge it, but she felt acutely the lack of anyone she could confide in. She was between boyfriends — had been for about six months, if she was honest about it. So there was no one to mount the white charger and challenge Sir Jasper on her behalf — she was already seeing Beaumont in that rather absurd Victorian role. Her mother was seventy now and simply wouldn’t understand the issues: it wouldn’t be fair to burden her with them. She had never really been close to her younger sister, and even less so since marriage had taken her up to Aberdeen. Her close university friend was married with two young kids in a London suburb. She would be highly indignant on Sarah’s part, would be violently in favour of hitting the villain with everything they could muster. But that wasn’t quite what her injured friend wanted to hear.
So Sarah Vaughan hugged her knowledge tight and told herself that as a modern woman she could certainly cope with this.
Beaumont had come into the shop when she was helping behind the counter on the day after the incident. They did not acknowledge that they had even seen each other, but she knew that he had been eyeing her up, wondering what, if anything, she proposed to do. And she had taken note of his every movement, in case his body language might reveal what he was feeling. The whole thing was over in ninety seconds, without a word or a look exchanged.
Sarah found that she was trembling a little after he left the shop. She also had a strange feeling she had never anticipated, a small, exhilarating feeling of power. She had always been rather in awe of Martin Beaumont, as owner and driving force behind Abbey Vineyards. Now he had revealed his weakness and she had some sort of hold over him. She felt a small but definite surge of power, which she might at some time in the future be able to exploit.
There were several similar encounters in the days which followed, where they circled each other in the safe presence of others, like wary beasts in the wild. Five days after the incident, Martin acknowledged her with a smile and a nod. Seven days after it, he spoke to her, and she responded. It was no more than one of those meaningless greetings which help to grease the wheels of daily life, but it was a further stage in the restoration of a working relationship.
It was another week later that Beaumont called her into his office to receive her monthly report on her promotional activities. She found that her heart was beating absurdly fast as she went across the courtyard to the big room where he operated. This was just the sort of response she should have long since left behind, she told herself firmly. The man wouldn’t attempt anything here, with his secretary in the outer office and numerous other people at hand. But he might be embarrassed, and if he were she would enjoy it.
Martin Beaumont gave no sign of being embarrassed. He listened to her report, asking her pertinent questions about the problems she saw and what she intended to do about them. One or two of his comments were even quite critical. She responded as sturdily as she could, though she found herself quite nettled that he seemed so little affected by what had happened between them.
Then, when she thought they were finished, he said quite suddenly, ‘Car running all right now, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
It was his smile which did it. Complacent, when the least he should have been was penitent and conciliatory. She found herself voicing the speech she had rehearsed a few times in the privacy of her flat but had thought she would never deliver. ‘I have decided to do nothing about what happened on that day. You may regard the incident as closed. I think you should consider yourself extremely fortunate, Martin, that I have resolved to take this no further.’
He looked at her steadily for a moment, his face deliberately expressionless. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I don’t think you should take that line. I could make life very unpleasant for you, if I chose.’
‘I don’t for a moment think you could, my dear. And even if you felt inclined to pursue whatever absurd fantasy has beset you, you would of course be most unwise to do so. You have a promising career here, which is still in its early stages. I should hate to see you jeopardize it. In these uncertain times, being dismissed and denied any sort of reference would hardly help your future employment prospects.’
Sarah could hardly believe it. He, and not she, was being the aggressor. All her carefully weighed judgements flew from her like frightened swallows. ‘A claim for sexual harassment, or something much worse, would hardly enhance your own reputation, Mr Beaumont.’ She noticed that she had switched to the formal address and was pleased with that. It seemed to reinforce the threat she was offering to him.
But the man did not look as if he felt threatened. Indeed, he said nothing for a moment, as if to allow the smile which flooded his features its full effect. He must have been handsome in his day, which to her mind must have been at least twenty years ago. But the features which had no doubt then been smooth and sharp were heavy now. The cheeks had the first fine red lines of veining and jowls were beginning to form on the neck above the collar. When eventually Beaumont spoke, his words were slow and deliberate, which added to their menace, ‘I think you would be well advised to drop that tone right away, my dear. It shows your ignorance of life.’