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Tiger in Darkness by Rosemary Pollock
"Then, in exchange, you can marry me." Elizabeth was startled at Philip Benton's remark. She thought it was a cruel joke. But Philip was serious. He would take the police off the case of finding Mr. Jessup,Elizabeth's beloved boss, and the painting he had stolen; she would marry Philip temporarily for some obscure but calculating reason of his own. It was to be a business arrangement, nothing more. Yet Elizabeth found it increasingly difficult to keep emotions out of the situation....
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OTHER Harlquin Romances by ROSEMARY POLLOCK1294
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THE BREADTH OF HEAVEN 1379
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A TOUCH OF STARLIGHT 1542,
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THE MOUNTAINS OFSPRING 1615_ 
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SONG ABOVE THE CLOUDS 2067
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SUMMER COMES SLOWLYMany of these titles are available at your local bookseller or through the Harlequin Reader Service.For a free catalogue listing all available Harlequin Romances, send your name and address to:HARLEQUIN READER SERVICE, M.P.O. Box 707, Niagara Falls, N.Y. 14302Canadian address: Stratford, Ontario, Canada N5A 6W2or use coupon at back of book.Original hardcover edition published in 1978 by Mills & Boon LimitedISBN 0-373-02219-0Harlequin edition published December 1978Copyright ©1978 by Rosemary PollockAll rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or inpart 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, isforbidden without the permission of the publisher.All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have norelation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspiredby any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.The Harlequin trademark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, isregistered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.
CHAPTER ONE
ELISABETH climbed the narrow, familiar staircase,and inserted her key in the lock ofMr Jessup's office door. She wasn't sure what she expected to find inside. In spite ofthe fact that she spent most of her evenings watching television, she had no real idea
 
what a room looked like when it had just been turned upside down by the police. Butshe did know that she wasn't looking forward to going in. The key jammed, and shehad to struggle with it. It had only been handed back to her that afternoon so that shecould keep her appointment with Mr Benton, and for a moment she wondered whetherit was the right one. But then the lock yielded, and a second or so later she was insidethe office.There was dust everywhere, but apart from that, and a curious feeling of damp anddesolation, nothing seemed to have changed. From the window overlooking the HighStreet a shaft of pale afternoon sunlight slanted across Mr Jessup's desk, highlightinga worn blotting-pad, a magnificent old inkstand and a battered History of Art. Furtheraway, in a corner, stood her own desk, and apart from the fact that her typewriter coverhad been removed and put back the wrong way round it seemed to be more or less asshe had left it four days earlier.It had been Friday afternoon then, and she had been working on a detailed list of theWilsden Gallery's current contents. At half past four she had finished, and Mr Jessuphad told her she could go homeearly. It seemed to her that she could still see him, sitting at his desk, glancing downthe list
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his spectacles slipping down his nose as usual. 'Good ... very good. See youon Monday, Elisabeth.'But early on Monday morning his brief and extraordinary note had come through herletter-box, and after that there had been no question of setting out for work. The note,penned in a graceful, scholarly hand, had told her that after twenty-six years asmanager of the Wilsden Gallery Mr Jessup was leaving rather suddenly. In fact, by thetime his letter reached her he would already be gone. And there was one other thinghe wanted her to know. At this point Elisabeth, who was clearing the breakfast thingsaway, had knocked the milk-jug over and sat down abruptly. Mr Jessup wished to statethat before leaving he would be 'taking possession' of the most valuable picture topass through the Gallery that year. It was a small, exquisite painting by Fragonard. Hehad no intention, it seemed, of trying to obtain money for the painting. The sale of awork of art was, to him, a desecration. 'I simply want ... to possess a Fragonard. Torevere its beauty, and to keep it safe from eyes to which it can mean nothing but fivefigures inscribed on a cheque. Of course, they'll say I'm insane..:At the same time he had written two other letters; one addressed to a local policeinspector and one to Philip Benton, the Gallery's owner. In both, it seemed, he hadstressed the complete innocence and non-involvement of his secretary, ElisabethWood, in the theft.The C.I.D. had been on her doorstep almost at once, and for over an hour she hadbeen questioned exhaustively, pressed to remember every little thing, however trivial,that she had ever noticed about her em-ployer. They wanted to know whether, during the last few weeks, he had said anythingstrange, written any unusual letters
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made any phone calls that couldn't be accountedfor. They had asked whether she could guess where he would be heading now. Didshe honestly believe he had stolen the painting for the love of looking at it, or would hemake an attempt to sell it?Elisabeth didn't know what to tell them. She was stunned, and the whole thing washorrible. None of it made any sense. She couldn't even believe it had really happened.In the end they left her alone, and almost immediately Mr Benton's telegram hadarrived. Brief, businesslike and faintly ominous, it had requested her to be in the office
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