‘A considerable amount. At the expense of not just the employees’ working conditions, but the reputation of our firm.’

‘Hmmm.’

He smiled. ‘Sound like fun?’

She nodded. ‘I like to solve puzzles. Especially complicated ones like this.’

‘Good. You’ll have security. I don’t know if Dominic told you. There’s a level of criminal involvement whenever large sums of money are at stake.’

Wide-eyed, she whispered, ‘Security?’

‘It’s just a precaution. Amsterdam is a long way from Bucharest. Don’t worry.’

‘Oh crap.’

Max grinned. ‘Charge him more.’

She gave him a sideways look. ‘Will that bulletproof me?’

‘I’ll bulletproof you. Promise.’

His quiet certainty reassured her. And Amsterdam was a long way from Bucharest. ‘Thanks. I’m a small-town girl. Bodyguards aren’t in my repertoire.’

‘You won’t even notice.’

Late that night, actually in the wee hours of the morning, when everyone was sleeping in their bedrooms on the company 747, a knock on the door woke Max.

‘Phone call, sir, in the lounge,’ one of the stewards announced.

Slipping into his robe, Max entered the lounge, took a seat in a leather easy chair and picked up the call.

‘Sorry to wake you,’ Dominic said.

‘What the hell time is it back there?’

‘I’m not sure. I can’t see a clock. The reason I called is to tell you that I’ll be in Amsterdam Saturday.’

‘What for?’ The Amsterdam office was small, just a satellite, of little consequence to the company’s bottom line.

‘I’m on my way to Hong Kong. Thought I’d stop by.’

It was triple the distance going through Europe. ‘She’ll do fine,’ Max said. ‘She’ll do better if you don’t fuck with her head.’

‘I’ve been telling myself that.’

‘And you’re coming anyway. She won’t like it.’

‘You surprise me, Max. After all these years, I’d hoped you’d understand me better.’

‘She’s not the starry-eyed type.’

‘I noticed.’

‘You may not get what you want.’

‘Of course I will. I always do.’

‘She might quit. Then our problem here doesn’t get solved.’

‘I’ll see that she doesn’t quit. Now go back to sleep. I’ll see you in four days.’

Max swore as he set down the phone. Dominic could be a cold bastard. Or just reverting to type after his wife’s death. Dominic’s CFO, Roscoe Kern, had explained everything when Max had first come on board Knight Enterprises. While Dominic had become a friend in the five years they’d worked together, he was at base an emotionally detached person, largely indifferent to everything but his business. He might have tempered his obsessive need for control during his marriage, but it was back in full force now. In fact, it was even worse than before, according to Roscoe who’d been with Dominic from the beginning of his ascent to one of the wealthiest men in the world.

Heaving himself out of the chair, Max grimaced.

He’d be earning his bloody pay in Amsterdam.

It was cool with a light rain when the plane landed in Amsterdam, the wind off the ocean bracing. Not that January weather was an issue inside a luxurious Mercedes. Nor was it noticeable in the short walk between the car and the entrance to a palatial town house in the old city centre.

They were greeted by a discreetly dressed major domo: simple black suit, sleek hair, welcoming smile. Kate was to be installed in an apartment in the eighteenth-century structure that had been restored to its original magnificence by Knight Enterprises seven years ago.

After Max had conducted her on a swift tour of the richly decorated main floor reception rooms used for company functions, he escorted her to an apartment on the fourth floor and left her with a breezy, ‘I’ll send someone for you tomorrow. Take the rest of the day off.’

The door had no more than shut on him when a woman’s voice said in accented English, ‘Would you like something to eat?’

Kate spun around.

A large, heavy-set woman with short, fair hair, neatly dressed in a white blouse, blue skirt and sensible shoes, stood ten feet away. ‘I’m the housekeeper, Mrs Van Kessel. Lunch is ready, if you’d like.’

A housekeeper? Crap. Having a stranger around was going to be weird. But since she was always hungry, Kate smiled politely. ‘Thank you, lunch would be nice.’

She was shown into an exuberantly rococo room, with pink marble pilasters, gilded everything and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the canal. A small table, set for one, had been placed next to one of the windows. A vase of coral-coloured tulips provided a bright splash on the sparkling white linen cloth and no sooner had Kate seated herself on a rosewood chair, upholstered in pale yellow satin, than Mrs Van Kessel appeared with the first course.

Over lunch, Kate found herself silently exclaiming wow at the fine china, the heavy, ornate silver, the superb food that looked like a picture in a magazine, the unobtrusive service, the choice of wines. Was she in a dream or what?

She had repeated that question exactly to her grandmother on the phone after she’d locked herself in her bedroom.

‘Nana, you should see my bedroom here,’ Kate said with breathless wonder. ‘It looks like something out of that Marie Antoinette film I love.’