Dance? Not for the world would she allow herself to be placed in a position where she would be forced to let Wyatt so much as touch her.
‘You carry on if it suits you,’ she said with a negative shake of her head. ‘I, on the other hand, am a working girl with another hard day tomorrow, so I’m afraid I’ll have to call it a night.’
And Peter, bless his heart, picked up her lead and added his own regret that they, also, would have to end the evening. Only then he followed it with a suggestion for which Justine could cheerfully have wrung his neck.
‘I don’t want either of you to forget about Sunday night,’ he said. ‘I’ve found an ideal place for all of us to go to dinner, and I’ll have no quibbles about it either. Fantastic food, from what I’ve heard, and a really good dance band. Agreed?’
The ‘No!’ that surged up in Justine’s throat was drowned by Wyatt’s quieter but verbal objection. ‘I honestly can’t promise, old mate,’ he said before Justine could speak. ‘I know Justine will be happy to join you, but I have a prior engagement that I simply can’t break, so although I’ll promise to do my best to join you before the evening’s over, I honestly can’t promise.’
Peter wasn’t to be put off ‘Well, let’s put it off until Monday, then,’ he said. ‘Surely you can get out of your junior cooking classes for one week?’
‘She can, but I can’t,’ Wyatt pronounced, again before Justine had a chance. Then he turned to her with a slow smile that was almost apologetic. ‘It’s Possum’s turn again, isn’t it?’ Justine nodded and he continued J turning back to Peter, ‘There you have it. If I miss my darling sister’s exhibition twice in a row, she’ll never forgive me in a million years. No, let’s leave it at Sunday and I’ll do the best I can to arrive on time.’
Peter didn’t look amused. ‘And what about you, Justine? Have you got a great round of excuses too?’
She did, but Peter’s hurt look instantly banished them. She really liked both him and Sue, and couldn’t bear to hurt either of them.
On the other hand, she also had promised Possum faithfully to help with a magnificent production on Monday night, and she couldn’t get out of that even knowing that Wyatt would be attending without fail.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve no excuses because you warned me about this earlier, remember? So Sunday night it is, and I warn you I’m expecting a meal that lives up to your advance billing.’
‘Oh, that’s asking a bit much,’ he said, instantly grinning his pleasure at her acceptance. ‘Even the best has to take second place to you in the cooking department, but I think this one’ll just maybe manage that.’
And so it was arranged. Peter promised faithfully to phone the next day when he had confirmed the bookings, and Justine, fortunately, was allowed to bid her farewells there at the table and escape to her room while Wyatt was seeing Peter and Sue off.
She undressed, showered and got ready for bed, one ear cocked throughout for the half-expected knock on her door. Or would Wyatt have the nerve? After this evening she didn’t really know what to expect, although she had enjoyed her small beginnings of revenge quite immensely.
She wasn’t disturbed, however, and fell asleep wondering what she could arrange to further annoy him on Sunday night. There must be something. She felt Strangely unfulfilled by her minor triumphs despite their momentary satisfactions.
On Saturday, she got a perfect opportunity. And from the most unexpected of sources — Wyatt himself!
Justine was tired after her late and emotionally exhausting night, and decided to slip upstairs for an hour’s nap between the hurried lunchtime work and her start on the evening’s preparations.
She unlocked the door to her suite, stifling a yawn as she stepped inside, already reaching for the zip on her white coverall. Then she stopped in her tracks, alerted by the scent of freshness, of new-cut flowers. She moved into the room cautiously, but she was quite alone.
Except, that was, for the largest bouquet of flowers she had ever seen. Her first reaction was a surge of real pleasure; it was a gesture typical of Peter, and she had no doubt he’d sent them in thanks for her extra efforts with the dinner for him and Sue the night before.
Then she saw the card. Then she saw red—literally! The red of roses, the flower of lovers, and the red ink in which Wyatt had written simply, ‘I’m sorry.’
Damn the man! She’d seen him three times already that day, even spoken a polite good morning. If he wanted to apologise he could have done it then. But like this, without even a spoken word, the effort seemed forced and artificial.
Suddenly she recognised the slightly amused look she had noticed in his eyes earlier, the reason for the quick and ready smiles. Well, she’d give him something to smile about, exactly as he deserved!
It took Justine five minutes of sneaking round the building like a white-clad cat burglar before she could ascertain by some covert questioning that Wyatt was over at the market garden on some errand or another.
Perfect! It gave her sufficient time. Returning to her suite, she grabbed up the bouquet of flowers — had to use both hands to do it — and made her way sneakily down the staircase and hallway to his office.
It took more nerve than she had expected to actually reach out and open the door. She had to place the bouquet on the floor to give her a free hand, and every instinct shrieked the warning that when that door opened, Wyatt would be sitting behind his desk instead of away on his errand.
But he wasn’t, and Justine quickly grabbed up the flowers, raced into the room and dumped the entire apology upside down in Wyatt’s waste-paper basket — vase, water and all!
‘And that to you, Wyatt Burns!’ she sneered aloud, then scurried out, closing the door silently behind her and fleeing to her own quarters. She lay down to rest and gloat, but not before she had activated the heavy drawbolts on the door in case Wyatt’s temper proved as vivid as she feared.
Her hour’s rest came and went, and Justine finally had to return to her kitchen duties unrefreshed. She should have been able to sleep, but hadn’t. And it wasn’t only that she had lain there expecting some immediate reaction from Wyatt. That was only a small part of the problem.
She felt guilty! Not, of course, to Wyatt; he didn’t deserve such sentiment. But those lovely flowers surely had deserved a better fate.
But it was far too late to change her mind, even if she had managed the opportunity for a second skulking visit to Wyatt’s office. He had already got her message, and let her know it when he stalked silently through the kitchens, glowering at anyone who so much as dared smile at him. For Justine he hadn’t even a glower; he turned her own attitude back on her by simply ignoring her completely.
Her work that evening wasn’t quickened by compliments from the restaurant or invitations from its owner and his friends. It was plain hard slogging all the way, with what seemed an inordinate number of fumbles by staff and complaints or changes of mind from the customers. The only blessing was Wyatt’s total absence from the preserves of her kitchen.
Justine slept late on Sunday, but on awakening she decided it was a day worthy of a drive. Somewhere ... anywhere ... so long as it would get her away from Wyatt’s and Wyatt until she couldn’t avoid him that evening.
Slipping into jeans and a T-shirt, she quietly let herself out and descended the back staircase to the garage. The small car started immediately, a good sign, she thought. Then she put it into reverse and listened in horror as it thumped and bumped its way backward a few feet. She didn’t have to be told.
‘Oh, no!’ she moaned when she got out and inspected the flat tyre — and no choice but to change it if she was to drive in to meet Peter and Sue for dinner that evening.
Within fifteen minutes Justine had grease all over her fingers, a smudge on her forehead and another across the bridge of her nose, but thank goodness her T-shirt was spared and the tyre was changed.
Now all that remained was to get in the car, spend half the afternoon trying to find an open servi
ce station to repair the puncture, and perhaps get back in time to change for dinner. It was that, she decided, or take a taxi into the city and be left with no excuse for avoiding the return trip with Wyatt. And that she would avoid at all costs.
She was standing there, wiping futilely at her greasy fingers with a scrap of rag, when Wyatt himself stepped into the wide-open car door of the garage.
‘More car troubles?’ He asked the question casually and without bothering to preface it with any form of greeting.
‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ Justine retorted with quite unnecessary tartness. Stupid man! Did he think she walked around covered in grease all the time?
Wyatt, however, blithely ignored her sour temper.
‘Do you suppose you can spare me ten minutes when you’ve cleaned up?’ he asked. ‘I know it’s your day off, but this involves something I’d like to finish off today, if I can manage it.’
Justine seethed, then shrugged. What was ten minutes anyway? She’d spend more than that getting her tyre fixed. ‘All right. I’ll be in your office in about fifteen minutes,’ she replied, and turned to walk away without giving him a chance to reply.
When Justine arrived, he was seated behind his desk looking grimmer than usual, and he hardly looked up as she walked into the room and seated herself without being asked.
‘First things first,’ he said. ‘I’ve ordered a cab for you to be here at seven. I’d think it appropriate that you be ready.’
‘I don’t think I understand,’ Justine replied, although she thought she understood only too well.
Wyatt looked up smartly, his eyes cold, and she was surprised to notice the dark circles beneath them, suggestive of either late nights or poor sleeping.
‘I should think it’s pretty damned clear,’ he said. ‘There will be a taxi here at seven to take you to our dinner engagement.’
‘And how do I get home—walk?’ she sneered. ‘No, thank you; I’ll take my own car.’
‘That bucket of bolts isn’t fit to be driven anywhere,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t want you stranded in the middle of the highway like you were last weekend.’
‘It’s a perfectly good car,’ Justine replied. ‘And what’s more, I don’t think it’s any of your business how I travel.’
‘It is very definitely my business,’ he replied. ‘It’s my understanding that you’re to be my companion this evening, and that means I’ll be bringing you back myself.’
‘Well, it’s not my understanding,’ Justine snorted. ‘We happen to be dining together, with the same people and at the same time. That does not make me your companion and I’ll provide my own transportation, thank you.’
‘By God, but you’re a stubborn woman, Justine,’ he sighed. ‘But all right ... please yourself.’
The capitulation was too quick, too easy. It left Justine off balance. So did the way he sat there, silent, and stared at her as if she had two heads.
‘Is that all?’ she asked at last. She intended to say more, but halted at the shake of his head.
Wyatt thrust a handful of papers across the desk, quickly pulling back his hand as if to remain un- contaminated by her touch as she reached out to take the invoices.
‘I presume you can explain all these, since your signature’s on them,’ he growled.
‘I should certainly hope so,’ she snapped. Then she looked at the invoices. And looked again. All of them involved large butcher’s orders, from the original Wyatt’s butcher—the one she had tried to dismiss. And while all of them held her signature, or what appeared to be her signature, none of the quantities involved made any sense at all.
Mystified, she flicked quickly through the invoices, then went through them more slowly. The quantities and prices were astounding. Worse, they were things she would never have approved in a million years.
It took a moment to sink in, but when she looked at the dates, realisation struck her like a thunderclap. Gloria! All the invoices were for the three-week period of Wyatt’s American trip, when sheer pressure of work had forced Justine to relinquish the accounting almost entirely to Gloria.
‘I’m waiting.’ Wyatt’s voice was a soft, threatening whisper.
What could she say? To blatantly accuse Gloria without any sort of proof was folly. But to meekly accept the responsibility for ... this was a worse folly in the long run.
‘I ... I don’t know what to say,’ Justine faltered. ‘I’ll have to do some checking.’
‘By that I presume you recognise the wrongness of the situation?’ he asked, and his voice was grim, horribly grim.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I do. But I can’t explain it now, because I don’t know how this happened.’
‘But it is your signature on these invoices?’
‘It certainly looks like it, but I’m ... not sure,’ she replied hesitantly. Was it? Had she somehow been tricked into signing the invoices for payment. Was Gloria that good a forger? Ridiculous, but could it be possible?
Wyatt sighed heavily and his eyes, when he looked at Justine, were sullen with suspicion. How could they be else? she thought. On the face of it, she was next best thing to a thief.
‘Right! Leave it for now and go off and get your car fixed up,’ he said. ‘And you’ll kindly leave this to me to sort out ... all right?’
‘Oh ... but ...’ She got no further.
‘I said you’ll leave it to me!’ he roared. ‘Now kindly get out of here before I lose my temper entirely!’
Justine shivered at the violence in his voice and stance. And she went, exactly as he’d ordered.
Once she was out of the room, however, Wyatt’s orders about leaving things to him were tossed off like so much bad advice.
Fine for him to talk, but it was on Justine’s shoulders that the blame for the situation had obviously fallen. And since she alone knew who was really to blame, it was quite obviously up to her to ascertain the facts.
Easier said than done, however, since Gloria was nowhere to be found. Justine tried Gloria’s quarters, then prowled the restaurant and surrounding grounds, but without success.
Finally she had to give up the attempt and drove into the city in search of a tyre repair. She would find Gloria and confront her at the earliest opportunity, but at this precise point in time, ensuring her own independence was of marginally greater significance.
What with one thing and another, it was nearly five o’clock when Justine got back to Wyatt’s, and her first move after garaging the car was to resume her search for Gloria. This time she had slightly better success. Armand, whom she found lounging in the last of the evening sunshine, said he had seen Gloria drive away at about two o’clock, but he had also seen her return only half an hour before.
‘She must be here somewhere,’ he said, ‘at least if her car is an indication.’ And indeed, Gloria’s small sports car was now parked in the staff lot. Justine couldn’t remember if it had been there when she herself had left, but it didn’t matter now, provided she could find Gloria.
She couldn’t be with Wyatt; his luxury car had been taken from the garage and Justine could only assume he was already on his way to his earlier meeting.
The kitchens? It didn’t seem logical, but since Gloria wasn’t in her quarters or the office she usually used, it was at least a place to start looking.
And a good place, since the first person she encountered as she approached her own little office nook was Gloria herself. The surprise was the warm welcome she received from the dark-haired woman.
‘Justine! Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. I thought we might have to wait until tomorrow to straighten up this horrible misunderstanding about the butcher,’ she said brightly. ‘I just left Wyatt a few minutes ago ... well, perhaps it was more like half an hour ... and he was not amused, let me tell you.’
‘So I gathered,’ Justine began, only to be cut off as Gloria continued.
‘But once I’d explained it all to him, there was no problem at all, of course. I’ve just now been making
sure the records are as they should be.’
For the first time, Justine noticed that Gloria was actively engaged in going through Justine’s own records, and her first reaction was one of vivid suspicion.
‘Now that you’ve pacified Wyatt, perhaps you wouldn’t mind explaining it all to me as well,’ she suggested. And although she hid her concern, it was there. The whole story sounded much too smooth for her liking.
Gloria’s eyes narrowed in thought, but when she spoke up it was in most agreeable tones.
‘Oh, but of course,’ she said. ‘Better than that, I’ll show you, provided you’ve got five minutes to spare.’ And then, taking Justine’s nod as acceptance, she said, ‘Right then, let’s go along to the cool room.’
Justine followed, wondering as they went just what the cool room could have to do with meat orders from nearly a month ago.
She was about to ask when they reached the cool room, but Gloria already had the huge, heavy door open and the light turned on inside.
‘It’s in that far left comer, I think,’ she said, waving at Justine to precede her inside the chilly interior of the enormous walk-in refrigerator.
Justine walked to the spot where Gloria was pointing, but saw nothing that explained anything at all to her. Indeed, there was nothing there at all but some layers of cheesecloth taken from some of the large cheeses in which the restaurant specialised.
Justine turned to ask Gloria what she was talking about, but her eyes met only the inside sheathing of the door as it closed.
‘Gloria?’ she said tentatively. ‘Gloria? What are you doing, for God’s sake?’
Her only answer was sudden, Stygian blackness as the lights were turned off from outside.
CHAPTER NINE
Justine’s first reaction, surprising even to herself, was not panic. The thought of panic, perhaps, but not the panic itself.
Confusion, definitely, however. And a tinge of fear as well, since it was like being plunged into an icy pool of ink. She was blind and virtually deaf as well, even her own tentative movements smothered by the even hum of the refrigerating motors.
Dinner at Wyatt's Page 16
