by Iris Danbury
After a quick snack that Caterina provided, Jacynth went to her room and took a brisk shower in the adjoining bathroom. What sort of dress to wear for an eight o’clock rendezvous at the Grand Summer Palace? That question was soon settled, for her choice lay between a long skirt of patterned voile worn with a filmy white blouse or a knee-length dress of white cotton printed with green ferns.
She settled for the short dress. If she tried to look too conscious of being taken out for the evening by her boss, he would no doubt have some sharp comments to make.
Now she twisted her fair hair into a bun and tied it with a green ribbon. Careful make-up, eye-shadow not too pronounced and mascara lightly applied, she viewed herself in the long mirror. A perfume spray of subtle delicacy which she had brought with her from London and she was ready.
When Mallory came into her office downstairs where she had elected to wait for him, she thought he gave her a glance of approval, but he said nothing except, “If you’re ready, we’ll go.”
She picked up her handbag and a lacy white shawl and followed him to the car, waiting until he indicated that she was to sit next to him in the passenger seat.
“Got your notebook and pen?” he enquired.
“Of course,” she answered levelly.
He laughed softly. “Not to be caught out this time? I doubt whether you’ll need them.”
On the short drive to the hotel, Jacynth tried to calm herself. It was not merely the thrill of being taken out for the first time by Mallory for an evening jaunt, even if it were only on business. What tormented her was his nearness, the sheer masculine aura that enveloped her like a cloud, both exhilarating and dismaying at the same time.
Jacynth had only a glimpse of the blaze of lights streaming from the hotel when she scrambled out quickly from her side of the car and waited while Mallory locked it. He escorted her across a reception hall and into a lift, finally along a corridor and into a large room filled with people standing or sitting about, white-jacketed waiters moving deftly with trays of drinks. More than half the assembly appeared to be women, so obviously this was not exactly a business conference.
Mallory was at her elbow now, introducing her to several young women, all exquisitely dressed. Jacynth acknowledged shyly, aware that she was already dismissed in their minds as a nonentity.
“And, Hermione, this is my secretary, Miss Rowan. Miss Perandopoulos.”
Jacynth found herself facing one of the most beautiful girls she had ever seen. Slightly taller than herself, but not reaching Mallory’s height, Hermione Perandopoulos seemed to have every possible lovely feminine feature rolled into one. Gleaming hair, blue-black as a raven’s wing, luminous hazel eyes, a creamy skin and the softest rose-petal mouth.
She smiled acknowledgment at Jacynth, then turned towards Mallory. “Your new secretary is quite different from your usual type. What happened to that other girl who was here a few months ago—the dark one with mischief in her eyes?”
“Ah,” sighed Mallory in mock grief, “I’m afraid she’s now married!”
Hermione’s arched eyebrows rose in surprise. “Obviously she must have found you wanting in charm—or perhaps other assets. It could hardly be wealth, unless her husband is a multimillionaire.”
“I’ve no idea who her husband is,” replied Mallory, “so I can’t tell you what he possesses that I lack.”
Hermione laughed. “It’s clear that you don’t possess the girl!” She gave an appraising glance at Jacynth, who interpreted the look as speculative. This beautiful Greek girl, evidently on extremely friendly terms with Mallory, was sizing up his new secretary.
Jacynth maintained what she hoped was an amiable expression under this deceptively casual scrutiny. If Hermione imagined that she had a new rival, Jacynth could have speedily reassured her. Mallory was hardly likely to waste his attentions on his typist when Hermione Perandopoulos was available.
Mallory at this moment stopped a passing waiter and handed drinks to Hermione and Jacynth. “Let’s sit down somewhere, shall we?” he suggested. But someone else came to claim Hermione and bore her away on his arm to a knot of people on the far side of the room.
Mallory chose two chairs placed round a vacant table. Then he said in a quiet, intense voice, “Have you a good memory, Miss Rowan?”
“I think so. I hope so,” she amended.
“We shall be joined some time during the evening by that plump man talking to three or four other people. I don’t want you to write down anything, but listen and try to remember the gist of the conversation. If there’s an opportunity and you’re comparatively alone, write down brief notes. You understand?”
“Perfectly.”
“He’s coming across here now, right on cue,” murmured Mallory with a smile. A moment later he greeted the other man, “Hallo, Carlyon,” and the two men shook hands. Mallory introduced Jacynth and the newcomer sat down on the opposite side of Mallory. For a few minutes the conversation was no more than trivial remarks about the present party and some of the people present. Then Mr. Carlyon, who had an American accent, leaned nearer to Mallory and asked, “Has he been given the go-ahead?”
“Not yet,” was Mallory’s answer.
“Then we still have time,” said the other. Jacynth shifted her position slightly so that she could hear without appearing to listen too keenly. So far, this was easy enough, but soon the exchange between the two men became more involved. At times, she failed to hear more than half a sentence, and none of what was said made sense. She cast a beseeching look at Mallory when she caught his eye, but he swerved his attention immediately back to his companion.
Then two more men joined the trio and Jacynth inwardly despaired. She had experience of taking down verbatim meetings, but to keep it all in her head was an impossible task. The other men, however, talked of yacht-racing and drew Mallory and Mr. Carlyon into that topic. With relief, Jacynth caught the slight shake of the head that Mallory gave her.
“Come along, we must circulate,” exclaimed Mr. Carlyon, “or the ladies will have our blood.”
Mallory laughed a trifle scornfully. “I doubt if any of them have even noticed our temporary absence.”
“Very self-effacing of you, Brendon,” chimed in one of the others. “When you’re at a reception or any other do and ladies are present, you’re usually surrounded by a cluster of beauties. No one else gets a look in.”
The men laughed at this sally and Mallory smiled in a good-humoured way. He put a hand on Jacynth’s elbow to guide her towards the long buffet tables at the side of the room, ignoring the waiters who hovered with trays of delicacies.
At his touch fire ran up her arm and she scarcely heard what he was saying. “Pick out a few odds and ends for yourself. And don’t worry if you can’t remember all that was said. We’ll sort it out later.”
Mechanically she helped herself to canapés and petits fours, lobster patties and Turkish delight and little chocolate mounds, not even thinking of the proper order of the food. By the time she had turned away from the tables, Mallory had vanished.
Perhaps that was just as well, she reflected. She needed time to recover from his quicksilver moods, scolding one moment, reassuring her the next. Besides, she was irritated with her own behaviour, her pulses throbbing wildly just because he had absentmindedly shepherded her across a room as he might have offered to see an old lady across a busy street.
Jacynth moved away and sought a not too crowded corner of the room. Almost immediately Mr. Carlyon, Mallory’s American business friend, approached her, found her a chair, then one for himself.
“Do you like working for Brendon?” he asked.
“Very much,” she answered quickly, even though her reply was half a lie, for there were times when she was anything but relaxed.
“He’s a brilliant man at his job,” continued Mr. Carlyon. “Any company who can count on his services is very lucky.”
A warning bell sounded in Jacynth’s mind. With Mallory absent, was his assoc
iate about to pump her for information? If so, he would be disappointed, for she had been working for Mallory for too short a period to be able to give coherent information.
She bit into a lobster patty and waited.
“Of course,” continued her companion, “he’s endowed with most of the desirable qualities, handsome looks, strong physique, but his intellect puts him on a far higher plane than anything else. He has the most uncanny knack—call it instinct, I suppose—of knowing what goes on in other people’s minds. He’s already argued out his case long before the other chap has even got around to formulating what he wants.”
Jacynth nodded intelligently as she munched a small chocolate mound. “Have you known him long?” she asked politely.
“A year or two. Most of my business is in the States and I’m not over in Europe very often, but when we meet, Brendon and I, it’s always a pleasure, even if we happen to be rivals on some project or other. You know that whatever the outcome, he can be relied upon to be fair and honest, and that’s a pretty difficult proposition in business matters these days.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is,” Jacynth murmured, realising that whatever she said was only by way of punctuation in Mr. Carlyon’s monologue.
“I’m surprised that he hasn’t married before now,” he went on.
Jacynth gave him her attention, for this was a topic shrouded in ignorance so far. Naturally, she told herself, she was curious to know something of her employer’s matrimonial status.
“Perhaps he hasn’t found the right girl,” she hazarded.
“And perhaps, at last, he has—although he’s known her sometime. The Perandopoulos heiress is quite a prize. You know that her father is the shipping magnate, owns tankers, liners, docks and the rest.”
“I’ve heard the name.”
“Might be quite a good match,” Mr. Carlyon warmed to his matchmaking subject. “She’s half Greek, half Italian, and he had an English father but a Greek mother. So the combination could be quite interesting.”
Jacynth had gone cold, although there was no reason why she should merely because Mallory’s name was being linked with that of Hermione Perandopoulos.
“Brendon would make an excellent son-in-law for the father’s enormous interests. He’d rule that empire very efficiently.”
“Of course.” Her thoughts wandered away. Certainly the business and commercial aspect of such a marriage would no doubt be impeccable, but was that all? Did Mallory demand nothing else but a beautiful hostess at the head of his table and for himself the power of holding the reins of a successful organisation? No love? Not on either side?
Mr. Carlyon’s voice interrupted her musings. “Here they come!”
Jacynth looked up to see Mallory approaching with Hermione at his side, her bare arm linked through his, the—white skin contrasting with the black sleeve of his dinner jacket.
Almost immediately the pair were surrounded by other people, both men and women, as though they were magnetically drawn to perhaps the most handsome and virile man in the room and certainly the most exquisite girl.
Hermione moved away, circled by her admirers, and Mallory remained standing and watching her progress.
“So Carlyon was talking to you?” he said now to Jacynth. “He’s a terrible old gossip.”
A glance around her told her that Mr. Carlyon had moved away.
“I expect he’s been telling you all the scandal of the island,” continued Mallory.
Jacynth laughed lightly. “Some of it, but I didn’t really take a lot of notice.”
“Just as well. He’s a good chap, but like so many Americans, incurably romantic, endlessly arranging imaginary marriages between the most unlikely people. You’d think he was a one-man marriage bureau.”
Jacynth’s spirits lifted. So it was unnecessary to take the idea of an engagement between Mallory and Hermione too seriously. The item was just one of a number invented by an “incurably romantic” American.
The reception went on endlessly, it seemed to her, yet at no time did she want it to end too soon. Mallory circulated among his friends and acquaintances and sometimes left her to chat with people in small groups. On one of these occasions, three quite lovely girls gathered around Jacynth, asking eager questions in Greek. Only one of them spoke English and at one point, she cut in sharply, “The English girl will be trained not to reply to foolish questions.”
Jacynth would dearly have liked to comprehend those foolish questions, but the same girl whispered, “Miss Perandopoulos is looking this way and her glances towards you are not kind.”
With a smile and a friendly wave of the hand, the girl crossed the room towards the buffet.
In a way, Jacynth was not too displeased when Mallory decided to go home. She was still trying to retain the gist of that whispered, disjointed conversation between Mallory and Mr. Carlyon. One more glass of wine and she’d be too dizzy to remember anything.
In the car going home, Mallory said, “Just tell me briefly the points you heard. That talk with Carlyon, I mean.”
Jacynth flushed red in the darkness. “I had no chance of escaping anywhere and jotting anything down, but this is what I gathered.” She told him her version of what had been said. “It doesn’t seem to make sense,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”
To her astonishment he laughed and impulsively, apparently, put out his right hand and patted her left as it lay in her lap. “You did well, Jacynth. Very well. You know some of the details of my work and the projects I’m engaged on, yet you couldn’t string the phrases together to mean anything. So Carlyon and I are pretty sure that if anyone else overheard us, they wouldn’t be able to do any better.”
His words poured over her without her taking them in. His hand had only momentarily touched-hers, yet she was still tingling from that contact. Only later, when she was alighting from the car, did she remember that for the first time he had called her by her Christian name.
“Thank you for taking me,” she said, when he was locking and bolting the front door. “But I thought it was a business conference only, so I’m afraid I wasn’t dressed properly for the occasion.”
“On the contrary, you looked quite charming.” Was it mock gallantry that she detected in his voice?
She was standing at the foot of the staircase under a large lantern that shed only a dim light and she was unaware that her corn-coloured hair was burnished to a glow or that the shadows and highlights on her face made her look vulnerable.
Mallory’s face was entirely in shadow, yet she knew that he was regarding her with that fierce scrutiny that played havoc with her emotions.
“At least I could have put on a long skirt,” she managed to say at last. “I was the only girl there in a short dress.”
His head moved and she knew his glance had switched down towards her feet.
“But you have very pretty legs.”
This was too much for Jacynth, who murmured a hasty “Good-night” and fled up the stairs as fast as those “pretty legs” could carry her.
In her room she flung off the lacy shawl she had draped over her shoulders and sat down in front of the dressing table, pulling out the hairpins from her coiled hair, and letting it flow loose. She rested her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. Oh, why must he tease her with these insincere remarks? She knew perfectly well now why he had taken her to this so-called conference. That idiotic conversation between him and the man Carlyon had been only a trivial blind. Mallory’s real purpose was to demonstrate to her that he was very much sought after by any number of girls and women, even middle-aged ones who lured him on to settees and engaged him in playful teasing.
Most of all, he had been at pains to show her the girl who was probably destined to be the future Mrs. Mallory Brendon, the lovely Hermione. It looked to Jacynth that Hermione would be very willing indeed to occupy that position.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jacynth wondered as she worked during the following morning whether Mallory woul
d remember his promise to let her have the afternoon and evening off. It any urgent matter came up, her own private arrangements would be speedily cancelled, she was quite sure.
About midday, however, he came into her office and glanced through the work she had completed. He gave several grunts, but whether of satisfaction or displeasure she could not be entirely sure.
“What time are you meeting your boy-friend? Was it seven?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“In that case you don’t need to dally your time in Rhodes. I can fill the intervening hours with more important matters.”
She stared at him with a mutinous expression in her blue eyes. “But, Mr. Brendon, you said last night—”
“Oh, last night!” He waved away any such previous obligations. “I didn’t know then that I might have to make demands on your time.”
She rose and stood in front of her table. “Mr. Brendon,” she began coolly, “I’m willing to work twelve hours a day, seven days a week—if that’s what you want. But when I’m granted a few hours of free time, I expect it to be honoured. Otherwise, it’s quite useless for me to make any plans at all.”
He grinned at her in the most disarming way. “You’re testy this morning, Miss Rowan. May I ask how you intended to spend your afternoon before meeting your companion? Or shall I get my head bitten off for my curiosity?”
“I wanted to explore the walled city particularly. I’ve only had a mere glimpse of it yet.”
The sardonic gleam in his eyes gave place to something more like approval. “Yes, that’s always worth while. If I had the time to spare, I’d offer to come with you and guide you, but no doubt that would make me very unpopular both with you and your boy-friend.”
Jacynth was amazed at this sudden shift of mood. She was also aware of how much she would have welcomed his offer as escort around the old town. He did not mean it, of course; the suggestion was thrown out idly on the spur of the moment. She realised that she was gripping the edge of the table in front of her, for her legs needed support. He had no right to look at her like that and send her into a world of delight with his insincere suggestions.
