Turn Back the Dawn Read online

  Turn Back the Dawn

  Nell Kincaid

  "WHY ARE YOU HERE?" SHE DEMANDED.

  "Because I love you," he said quietly. "And I'm not giving you up."

  She laughed. "You're not? What about me? Oh, I forgot I have such poor judgment, according to you."

  "Damn it, Kate," he exploded. "When I left, I thought I was giving myself time to think—and giving you time to think as well. It wasn't the end, not then. What happened? Why the letter?"

  "You didn't even see the problem, Ben. You didn't even see that it was impossible, that it had to be over at some point. Don't you see? There's no chance for us. You've never seen that you're constantly driving me away." She sighed, her eyes filling with tears. "Maybe that's why I fell in love with you, because I knew you really didn't want me. You were like all the others — safe, unattainable, predictable. But I'm different now. I want a man who really, truly loves me. And that's not you."

  CHAPTER ONE

  Up on the eighth floor of Ivorsen and Shaw, a large spe cialty store on East Fifty-second Street, Kate Churchill picked up the phone and pushed the flashing "intercom" button. "Yes, Linda?"

  "The people from Blake-Canfield Advertising are here, . Kate."

  "Thanks. Ask them to wait, please, and I'll be with t hem in a few minutes."

  "Right," Linda said, and hung up.

  Kate replaced the receiver and swiveled her chair ar ound to face Kurt Reeves, who was standing behind her and looking out the window.

  "So your guests are here," he said sulkily, his back still turned. "And your little secret from the art department ha s to leave."

  K at e sighed. "Kurt, please. Don't start."

  H e turned to face her, looking even more boyish than his twe nty-six years. He was blond with the good looks of a surfer , and Kate liked him, but she was beginning to tire of hus childish moods. More important, she was beginning to tire of his games, not the least of which was his probable in fide li t y . She wasn't certain of it; she had heard the rumor

  only yesterday, when her best friend had told her that Kurt might be seeing another woman. And she hadn't yet said anything to him of her suspicions. For she knew it was time, other woman or not, to end it. And perhaps ending it simply, with no recriminations, would be best.

  "Are you free tonight?" he asked, in a voice that suggested he half-hoped she wasn't.

  "I don't know," she said. She hesitated, loath to say more. "We'll talk later, okay? I have people waiting out there to see me."

  His eyes sparked with interest. "Which ones are these? Gallagher Media?"

  "No, they were yesterday. Today is Blake-Canfield. They've done the ads for that new diet soda and for National Express."

  "I'm impressed. Why don't I stay for the meeting?" Kurt asked, trying to charm her with his smile.

  Kate shook her head. "Sorry. If I choose them, you'll meet them later on."

  "Kate, I am acting art director. I don't see why I haven't been in on all the meetings."

  She sighed, running her hands through her thick black hair. The heat in the building was on even though it was only October, and she was warm even in her short-sleeved silk blouse and skirt. "Kurt, come on. That's just the way it is."

  She had hardly given a thought to her words, had said them almost automatically. But when she looked up at Kurt, he was smarting, looking at her with a resentment that was shocking in its intensity. "You're perfectly happy to go out with me, Kate. When it's a secret. But you know,

  you treat me like dirt in the office. It's only outside that we have any kind of decent relationship."

  "I'm not so sure about that," she said.

  He blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  She sighed. She hadn't intended to get into a serious discussion— not now, right before a meeting.

  "What about tonight?" he suddenly demanded.

  "I don't know," she said. "We'll talk later."

  He gave her a look of annoyance. "All right," he said in a vaguely threatening voice. "I might give you a call." And he left, slamming the door behind him.

  She sighed. Sometimes she didn't know what she had ever seen in him. He was extremely attractive, of course, but she knew she wouldn't have begun seeing him if there hadn't been more to him than just his looks. Yet the relationship was definitely over now. He was so young, and though she had always—since college, anyway— tended to involve herself with men who, in the end, want ed only a superficial relationship, Kurt was trying even her limits. For although he was often petulant, even whiny, at work, he was dominating in every other respect, taking out his resentments on Kate in a thousand different ways.

  Her predilection for men who were distant emotionally or in other ways was a form of self-protection she had developed early on, and though it always led her into frustrating, no-win situations, she found herself unable to c hange. Whenever there was a man who seemed "wrong"

  whether because he was too wild or too good looking or too inaccessible—she was attracted to him as powerfully as if he were the most perfect man in the world. And natur ally, because he was "wrong" in some way, the rela tionship would inevitably end sooner than Kate wanted it to; and it often ended very unpleasantly as well.

  Kate had often tried to analyze why she was so unsuccessful in this area of her life while in most others she had done so well. But she was too close to the problem to be able to see its causes. She knew that she hadn't had a particularly good example of relationships when she was growing up: her father had left their home in New York City when Kate was five, and her mother had since been married twice and gone out with a series of inappropriate, often married, men. But Kate knew that could hardly be the only reason for her behavior.

  And she didn't, in fact, even think her skepticism about relationships was all that misguided. After all, with so many marriages crumbling into divorce these days, what was the point of making marriage a serious goal? She certainly wasn't going to fall into that trap. She wouldn't close herself off completely from the idea, of course; if she met the right man, and if she wanted to, and if he wanted to, they would get married. But it sounded like an awful lot of if's to her.

  In the meantime she had other more important things to worry about, one of them being the new ad campaign designed to put Ivorsen and Shaw back on the map. The store's once-glowing image had tarnished over the past fifteen years, growing old along with its customers. Once the city's leading specialty store, it now had almost no image: private-school kids thought of it as the kind of place they would be forced to go to for school clothes if they didn't fight for Bloomingdale's instead; mothers thought of it as proper but perhaps a bit staid and certainly too expensive; and old women loved it, but didn't have the money to do much more than walk through the store and stop for lunch at the restaurant on the seventh floor.

  But the store was in the last stages of a major renovation and redesign, and Kate had great hopes for its future. With its new look and the new campaign it had a good chance of recapturing its former place in the city's pantheon of luxury stores.

  Kate felt as strongly about Ivorsen and Shaw as if the store were her own. In a sense she felt it was. She had grown up with the store, learning all she knew about her field in her rise from secretary to director of advertising and promotion. Now she would have a chance to give back some of what the store had given her; she would put into practice all the ideas, tricks, and plans that could help put Ivorsen and Shaw back in the spotlight. The store's revenues were the lowest they had been in years, and if Kate didn't help turn the situation around, she would be out of her job as quickly as her predecessor; he had lasted exactly six months.

  Kate stood up and glanced in the mirror on the wall. She had been working hard, and it showed;
her dark brown eyes had dark gray circles underneath, and her pale skin looked almost translucent. But her hair—straight, jet black, shoulder-length with wisps of bangs—looked good. And with the new clothes she was wearing—a short- sleeved lavender silk blouse and skirt—she knew she looked presentable.

  She turned and walked back to her desk and asked Linda to send the people from Blake-Canfield in, then walked across the soft carpeting to the door so she could greet her guests as they came in.

  The first — young, red-haired, looking no more than a boy—introduced himself as Tommy Sullivan, assistant art director. He looked a bit wild-eyed and cocky, as if he were keeping a very pleasant secret, and Kate wondered whether his excitement was over the layouts he had under his arm. She certainly hoped so—she had great expectations for Blake-Canfield's presentation. And if Blake-Can- field's work didn't look promising, there was only one agency to go to before starting the bids all over again.

  But Kate's worries and speculations disappeared as she took the hand of the man who stepped in after Tommy Sullivan.

  He took her hand warmly and firmly in his, and when she looked into his hazel eyes, she thought they were the warmest, most compelling eyes she had ever seen. "I'm Ben Austin," he said, in a rich, warm voice that fit his handshake and his eyes. "It's nice to meet you and connect a real person to the voice Tve spoken to on the phone."

  She smiled. "Yes. Finally. Well, please sit down." She looked at Ben Austin as he walked to the far end of the oval-shaped conference table. He definitely fit the voice she had liked so much over the past few weeks. He looked to be in his early forties, with the same surprisingly easy manner she had noticed in her conversations with him. There was nothing studied about the man: from the dark, gray-templed hair that went straight back in no particular style, to his clothes, he looked like a man who did what he wanted as he wanted. He was dressed much more casually than other account executives she had met recently, in a brown Harris tweed jacket, a heathery-hued plaid shirt, and black corduroy pants. And, aside from his attractiveness, there was something relaxing in the approach: with other account executives Kate always felt as if they desperately wanted something from her—which, naturally, they did. But the feeling that she was their last dying hope always made her uncomfortable and unreceptive. Ben Austin, on the other hand, looked as if he had all he wanted; arid if he wanted something from you, you'd be only too glad to help.

  He smiled at her gaze of appraisal. "We didn't get where we are by playing games, Miss Churchill—either of us. You were, I'm sure, expecting the usual presentation, with an account executive—yours truly—promising you the world and assuring you you'll be our most prized client. You and I both also know that the worst thing an agency can do is come in and give the impression it needs the account." He smiled—a winning, friendly smile. "Acting desperate has never helped get anyone hired." He paused, his eyes shining as he leaned back and pulled a pipe out of the pocket of his jacket. He raised a brow. "Mind?" he asked softly.

  "Please go ahead," she said. She loved the smell of good pipe tobacco—rich, sweet, woodsy—and she instinctively knew that anything owned or used by Ben Austin would be the best there was.

  Kale watched as he tamped the tobacco into his pipe. His hands were tan and strong-looking, and there was something easy and very appealing in the way he moved: he was obviously comfortable with his attractiveness, aware of it but not obsessed with it. Perhaps one reason for this, Kate speculated, was that he wasn't classically all that perfe c t-looking: his nose was slightly off-center and looked as if it had once been broken, and he had a somewhat weathered look, with smile lines at the sides of his eyes and mouth. But he was one of the most attractive men Kate had ever met.

  When Ben began to speak again, Kate once again felt the appeal of his voice—low, rich, smooth. It took hold of her gently, brought her close, until she felt she was a breath away. "Generally," he observed, "the more you try to convince a person of something, the more he or she resists. After all"—he again raised his eyebrow—"there must be some reason you're using the hard sell." He smiled. "Needless to say, I hope I'm right in assuming we can break through all that nonsense. Quite simply, Miss Churchill, you know that every agency can use another account. With all the awards we've gotten this year, we're hardly hurting, but naturally we'd like to handle more. However." His eyes penetrated hers. "I don't consider this just another account. The revitalization of Ivorsen and Shaw is one of the most exciting concepts we've worked on since the formation of the agency—and one of the most challenging I've worked on in my entire career. For both of us, I think, this could be a very exciting campaign. One I don't want to miss." He paused, and as Kate was drawn into the depths of his hazel gaze, she felt as if she were alone in the room with Ben Austin, as if he were beckoning her to the warmth of his strong arms.

  Suddenly, she was aware that she and Austin had been looking into each other's eyes for a long, long moment. And Tommy Sullivan was probably waiting for one of them to speak.

  "Well," Austin said, as if he, too, had to pull himself up out of a haze. "As we see it, your store essentially has no market at the moment—no one group of buyers that can be broken down meaningfully in terms of age, economic status, or anything else. But after having spoken to Stew art Carey — your man who's organizing the new buying strategies — I think the problem is challenging but work able. Carey is gearing the entire store—from lingerie to the new one-of-a-kind furniture department — back to what it used to be known for — mid- to high-priced items, all of exceptional quality that you would find at few, if any, other stores in the area.

  "The problem — as he sees it and as we see it — is that somewhere along the way, the image was lost. People just saw Ivorsen and Shaw as a dusty old expensive store with dusty old expensive things no one could really afford. The key, Miss Churchill, is that people have to know what to expect. No one walks out of Cartier and says, 'I had no idea the prices would be so high.' It's a luxury store, and you go when you want that sort of thing. And remember

  you may not go into Cartier every day of the week to buy earrings for yourself, but when you have to give a dear friend something special, chances are you'd go there rath er than to a discount store or even something in between. T here's a place in many, many people's lives for a store like Ivorsen and Shaw. So. The plan is essentially one of ima g e building, and saturation. And I think we've come up with something you'll like." He smiled, his warm hazel ryes smiling, too. "We'd like to establish the Ivorsen and Shaw couple— young, attractive, moving up in the world. In T V spots, radio spots, print ads, and in person, this young man and woman will buy, argue, plan, even wish for certain items they can't quite afford. And you'll have your linage right there — something people can either ac cept or reject, but they'll know what they're getting."

  Kate smiled. She liked the idea. And as Austin went on with the concept and the campaign plans, she liked it more. Austin introduced Tommy Sullivan again and went through some sample magazine layouts they had put together, and then summarized the campaign once more. He finished up by saying they were prepared — obviously —to work up more ideas, but that what they had done so far was the campaign they would recommend over all others.

  Kate smiled. "Well, thank you very much. I like it a lot — I must say that. But I have other agencies to see. So — I'll let you know by next Friday at the latest. Naturally I'll be meeting with some other store people, too. But in any case it will be next Friday that you'll know." She looked into Ben Austin's eyes. "And I must say it does look promising." The moment she saw his eyes shine with pleasure, she regretted her words. The decision, after all, wouldn't be entirely hers, and while it would have been pointless and silly to pretend to be neutral, she had just given them all the encouragement possible, short of actually saying yes. Now, if the Ivorsen and Shaw corporate brass decided they wanted to see other campaigns from Blake-Canfield, Kate would have to come back to the agency as someone whose judgment had obviously been ov
erruled.

  "I'm glad you're pleased," Austin said, interrupting her thoughts. "But I won't allow myself any real pleasure until I've heard from you again." His voice was like a caress, stroking her outside and in, and the way he had said ''pleasure" as he looked into her eyes made her feel as if his real pleasure at that moment would be to brush his lips against hers.

  '' Yes, you don't want to be premature," she said vague- ly, then snapped herself out of the prison his eyes were holding her in. "But as I said," she added crisply, "Friday at the latest."

  Austin smiled. "I'll look forward to it." He turned to Tommy Sullivan. "I'd like a few words alone with Miss Churchill, Tommy." He looked at his watch. "And then I'm off to lunch. So I'll see you back at the office."

  A spark of surprise flashed in Tommy Sullivan's eyes, and he stood up. "Sure," he said. "See you later." He gathered up his portfolio, said good-bye to Kate, then turned and said a quick good-bye to Austin.

  After he had left, conspicuously shutting the door be hind him, Kate looked questioningly at Austin. "What was that all about?" she asked. "Why did he look so upset?"

  B en shrugged. "You know agencies and how insecure a lot of people are. He was let go from his last place, and who k nows? He might have thought I wanted to be alone with you so I could tell you we'd be bringing in another ar t person next week. Those stories about coming back from lunch and finding your desk in the mail room are true , you know."

  Kate shook her head. "That's awful. Is it really so cu tthroat at Blake-Canfield?"

  "Well, yes and no. We're growing now, thank God, so th e c hanc e s of layoffs are low at the moment. But I can underst and a kid like that. His job means a lot to him, and the I vorsen and Shaw campaign is his first one with Blake- Ca n fi eld, so naturally he's nervous."