A Lyon's Share

by Janet Dailey

  Not until they were alone did Brandt release his supporting hold on her shoulders. His fingers closed over her chin, forcibly raising it to look into his face.

  "I have no excuse, Joan," he said grimly, "except that I wanted to hurt you. I never meant to succeed that way."

  Tears were brimming her eyes, but she met his searching gaze. "From now on," she said in a tortured whisper, "save your caveman techniques for Angela. She might appreciate them."

  "If I thought beating you with a club would help, I'd do it," Brandt stated cryptically, and turned abruptly away, striding into his office as if, had he stayed, he would have tested the thought.

  By Monday of the following week, every employee of Lyon Construction was aware that Joan was leaving and that her replacement was beginning that morning to learn the office routine under Joan's supervision. Everyone was also aware of the scene witnessed by Lyle Baines. The office grapevine was blazing with rumors and speculation as to Joan's true reason for leaving. There was nowhere in the building Joan could go without her ears burning.

  Her replacement Mrs. Mason, was a small, graying woman with a ready smile. She gave the impression that with her varied experience she would catch on to the office routine quickly. Joan secretly hoped she would, thus enabling Joan to leave before the week was over.

  Mrs. Mason accompanied Joan when she went into Brandt's office the first thing on Monday morning to deal with the mail and appointments. Brandt appeared eager for Mrs. Mason to learn quickly, as he addressed all of his questions and notations to her instead of Joan. Except for an initially brusque greeting, he ignored Joan almost completely, not even glancing in her direction. It was something of a relief when everything had been handled and she and Mrs. Mason could leave.

  "Would you stay a moment, Miss Somers?" Brandt requested calmly as Joan, started to rise from her chair.

  She glanced apprehensively at the older woman, preferring the insulation of her company, but there was really no choice. "Of course, Mr. Lyon," she agreed, and resumed her seat as Mrs. Mason walked out of the office.

  His expression was remotely bland when he directed his attention towards her, blue eyes reflecting none of his thoughts. An uncomfortable silence settled in the room, unbroken until Brandt pushed himself out of his chair and walked to the window, folding his hands behind his back.

  "Have you heard the rumors circulating the office about us?" The question was tossed almost casually over his shoulder.

  Joan blinked uncertainly, stunned that Brandt could have heard them. "Yes," she breathed.

  Brandt half turned to look at her, a brow arching slightly. "So you are aware that everyone believes you and I are having an affair."

  "Some have said that," she agreed, lowering her gaze to the folded hands in her lap.

  "Have you attempted to deny it?"

  "There wasn't any point," she replied nervously. "I'll be gone at the end of this week and the stories will die naturally."

  Slowly Brandt turned around and walked back to his desk, stopping in front of her chair and half standing, half sitting against the edge of his desk.

  "Do you know what conjecture has been made about your resignation?" His gaze was disturbingly concentrated on her.

  Joan felt the heat spreading up from her neck. "That we've quarreled," she answered.

  His mouth twisted in a cynical smile. "I think that's putting it simply, Joan," he mused with a tired sigh.

  "Why do they say such terrible things?" Joan averted her head, speaking her thoughts aloud.

  "Who knows?" he answered in taut exasperation. "I suppose we gave them food for scandal when we were marooned at the office during that blizzard. It didn't help matters when I lost my temper the other day either. I'm sorry, Joan."

  "I … I don't blame you, Brandt," she said softly, rising to her feet in agitation and walking awkwardly to the window.

  Brandt followed her, stopping beside her and staring out of the window. "Will you reconsider your resignation?" he asked quietly.

  "What?" she gasped softly, glancing sharply at his profile.

  His level gaze darted to her briefly. "It's the only way I know to put an end to these rumors. After a few months they'll see for themselves that it isn't true. If you leave, they'll assume they're right."

  It was difficult to breathe. His suggestion was so logical that she hardly dared to think about it. "I … I can't." She shook her head. "I'm leaving at the end of the week."

  "What would another few months matter?"

  "Mrs. Mason has already been hired to take my place," Joan reasoned. "We both know there isn't any truth to the stories and I won't let idle gossip change my mind."

  "The trouble is," Brandt corrected, "we both know there is some truth in what's being said, which is why the rest of it is all the more believable."

  "No!" Joan denied sharply.

  "Have it your way," he shrugged, and turned away. "I thought I should tell you what was being said. But it's obvious you don't care."

  "Of course I care," she protested.

  "Not enough to do anything to stop it."

  Joan turned her head away from the cobalt gaze. "I can't work for you any more. It's become impossible."

  "For three years you didn't find it so difficult," he reminded her.

  "But that was before —" She nearly said it was before she truly fell in love with him.

  "Before what?" he chided mockingly. "Before I tried to make love to you after you had invited me to do so? It isn't my fault that I never realized you weren't willing. I hadn't guessed you felt obliged to accept my caresses because I was your employer."

  Joan drew a sharp breath as pain stabbed at her heart. "You only used me as a stand-in for Angela," she accused.

  "If I'd wanted Angela, I wouldn't have come to you," he replied curtly.

  Amazement mixed with confusion as she stared at him, wishing she could see behind his expressionless face and read the true meaning of what he had just said.

  "Why did you come to see me New Year's Eve?" she murmured.

  "I don't want to get into another argument with you, Joan. Let's forget the post-mortems." Their discussion was closed. Joan could tell by the firm set of Brandt's jaw that they would discuss it no further. "Mrs. Mason probably has some questions. I suggest you go help her."

  "Yes," she sighed, turning towards the door, then hesitating. "I — I have an appointment for a job interview tomorrow at one. Would it be all right if I take my lunch hour then? Mrs. Mason should be able to take care of the office by herself for an hour."

  "I don't care." Brandt frowned and resumed his seat behind the desk. "Make whatever arrangements that need to be made with her."

  The interview the next day went badly. Joan kept thinking of things she should have warned Mrs. Mason about and had forgotten. Her interviewer had to repeat her questions several times. Joan didn't have to be told when she left the insurance office that she wasn't going to be considered for the position.

  Her steps lagged as she walked down the corridor to her office. Before she reached the door, she could hear Brandt's voice carrying into the corridor.

  "Haven't you found it yet, Mrs. Mason?" he demanded, heavy thread of exasperation in his voice. "The man is on the telephone long-distance. What do I tell him? That we've lost his quotation?"

  Was nothing go to go right today? Joan wondered silently as she pushed open the door, preparing herself for the worst. The frustrated expression on Mrs. Mason's face turned to one of immediate relief at the sight of Joan.

  "It's about time you came back," Brandt sighed heavily. His own frustrated glare looked accusingly in her direction. "Would you please show Mrs. Mason where the folder is for the A. B. King Company? I have the man holding on a long-distance call!"

  Fumbling through her purse, Joan removed her glasses case and slipped the tortoiseshell glasses on her nose. Her coat, she draped over a chair and walked quickly to the filing cabinet where Mrs. Mason was hovering nervously and Brandt was wai
ting impatiently.

  "I think I have the right drawer," Mrs. Mason said hesitantly. "I checked the others, but I couldn't find it."

  Joan smiled a quick reassurance. "This is the drawer the folder should be in," she said, referring to the drawer that was opened. She flipped quickly through the folders in the 'K' section with no success. Darting Brandt a sharp glance, she asked, "When did you have it last?"

  "Friday. And its not on my desk." he retorted.

  The corners of her mouth twitched in amusement as she directed her attention to the front of the drawer under the 'A'. There was the missing folder.

  "Mr. Lyon, if you would stay out of the filing cabinet." she murmured with a rueful look, "perhaps the folders wouldn't get mis-filed. A word of warning, Mrs. Mason, Mr. Lyon tends to put folders in the wrong place. Whenever possible, keep him away from the filing cabinet if you want to avoid this kind of thing."

  "Thank you, Joan." Brandt grimaced at her comment as he took the folder she handed him.

  With the closing of his office door, Roberta Mason cast Joan a grateful look. "Thank goodness you came back when you did," she smiled. "I knew you were so meticulous that it never occurred to me the folder might be mis-filed. For a moment I thought Mr. Lyon was going to tell me to find another job."

  "I wouldn't worry about that." Joan walked over to hang up her coat, "The filing system is one of Mr. Lyon's pet peeves. As the old saying goes, forewarned is forearmed."

  "After today, you can be sure I'll remember that," The older woman laughed.

  "Did any other questions arise while I was gone?" Joan lightly touched the bracelet on her wrist. A wistful look crept into her face as she realized Brandt would no longer be turning to her to solve the puzzle of the files.

  "No. Everything else went very smoothly." Mrs. Mason replied, then glanced at Joan hesitantly. "May I ask you a personal question?"

  Unconsciously Joan stiffened, wondering if the various rumors had reached her replacement. "Surely."

  "I know you're looking for another job and I wondered why you're giving up this one."

  A guarded look spread over Joan's face. "I suppose you've heard some of the stories that have been circulating," she said coldly.

  "Naturally," Mrs. Mason smiled broadly, her eyes twinkling. "The gossips hope I'll give them an inside track on what's going on. I had a notion to tell them if they wanted something for their malicious tongues to wag about, that they should look in their own cupboards."

  Joan tilted her head to one side in amazed disbelief. Her hair, worn down as Brandt had decreed, shimmered over one shoulder.

  "Don't you believe what they're saying?" she asked cautiously.

  "You're a very lovely girl. If Mr. Lyon hasn't noticed that, I would think something would be wrong with him. Those nasty rumors are confined to only a few employees. No one else believes them, including myself."

  "Thank you," Joan smiled gratefully. "Sometimes I feel as if a scarlet 'A' has been branded on me where I can't see it."

  "I assure you, there is none," Mrs. Mason smiled in return. "But what made you decide to leave? Having been a secretary myself for nearly twenty years, I can tell that you're capable and efficient."

  "My reason is quite simple," Joan shrugged. "I've enjoyed working here, but I'd like a change of scene, to try something new." Which was partially true.

  "A new job is challenging," the older woman agreed, apparently satisfied with Joan's answer. "When you've worked at one place for so long, you seem to get into a rut."

  By Friday, Joan knew that there was nothing left to show Mrs. Mason. The odd problems that might occur could not be second-guessed in advance and with Mrs. Mason's experience, she would solve them without Joan's supervision. She was unnecessary superfluous. She had been for much of the previous day.

  Too much of her time had been spent gathering impressions of the office, storing up memories of the way it was. This last day was winging by too fast. Although she had been on two more job interviews, she still had not found a new position.

  Last night Kay had suggested trying one of the agencies that provided temporary help when regular secretaries were on vacation or ill. It sounded the best solution. Her life already seemed to be in limbo and a constant variety of jobs and work locations might help her through the transition period. No matter how often she reminded herself that she was doing the right thing. Joan was reluctant to work for anyone else other than Brandt permanently.

  During her lunch hour on Friday, there had been a small "going away" party given by the rest of the employees. Mrs. Mason's assertion that the rumors were believed to be true by only a few proved correct. The majority of the staff were sincerely sorry to see her leave. Brandt had arrived in the canteen just as Kay had been deputized to give her the gift that had been jointly given by everyone.

  The most difficult thing had been accepting Brandt's expressions of regret at seeing her leave and his gratitude for the fine work she had done. Joan knew that his appearance had been motivated by a sense of duty. His little speech had been expected of him by the rest of the staff. She didn't doubt the sincerity of his compliments, but she didn't believe he was sorry to see her go.

  As she walked with Kay out of the building that night for the last time, Joan pressed her lips tightly together and blinked at the tears burning her eyes. She couldn't help feeling sorry for herself.

  "So help me, Joan," Kay muttered beneath her breath. "If you start crying. I'll brain you!"

  Joan's short burst of laughter was caught back by a sob. "It's stupid, isn't it? I couldn't bear to stay and I can't stand to leave."

  "I'd be handing in my notice, too, if it wasn't for the fact that I wouldn't be able to have paid vacation time when John and I go on our honeymoon. But I won't stay working here very long once we're married," her room-mate declared.

  "That reminds me," Joan determinedly swallowed the tight lump in her throat. "Brandt gave me my vacation pay, so I have two weeks' grace to get another job."

  "If he hadn't given it to you, you should have demanded it. After all, you were entitled to it." Kay tossed her head, bridling automatically at the mention of Brandt's name.

  Joan had never been able to make Kay understand that the fault for what had happened didn't rest with Brandt alone. She had contributed to their problems. She had worked with Brandt too long not to know he would never have attempted to make love to her if she hadn't indicated that she wanted him. But then friends were friends because they stood beside you no matter what.

  "We're going to celebrate this weekend," Kay announced, refusing to let Joan's morose silence dominate them. "The first thing we're going to do tonight is stop at the grocery store and buy some steaks. Tomorrow we'll go shopping and buy some outlandishly ridiculous clothes. Doesn't that sound like a great idea?"

  "I thought buying hats was the way to forget your problems," Joan teased to hide her lack of enthusiasm.

  "Who wears hats except at Easter?" Kay shrugged as their bus pulled up to the curb. "Besides, I stopped at this crazy little second-hand store last week and they have some terrific clothes."

  As long as Kay was around, Joan knew she would never be allowed time to he miserable. It was frightening to think what it would be like when Kay was married and gone six months from now. Suddenly she wondered if she herself would ever get married. Without trying to make herself out as a martyr, she somehow doubted it. Before she had ever met Brandt, she had spent most of her weekends alone or in the company of other girls. After knowing Brandt and loving him, she didn't think she could settle for second-best.

  "Joan!" Kay waved her hand in front of her face. "I asked you twice what you wanted to eat with your steak."

  "I'm sorry. I was thinking." Joan apologized, shaking her mind free of Brandt's image.

  "And I know what about. Really, Joan, you have to forget him. Men like him aren't worth crying about," her room-mate answered impatiently. "Shall we have baked potatoes stuffed with Roquefort dressing and cheese? Or —
"

  But Joan had already let her thoughts drift back to the weekend when she and Brandt had shared legs appetizing meals together with a cold north wind raging outside and snow mounding the earth.

  | Go to Table of Contents |

  Chapter Ten

  "YES, you are going to put it on now!" Kay declared, tearing open the sack and shaking out the floor-length robe of Oriental silk. "What did you buy a lounging robe for if it wasn't to wear around the apartment?"

  "I already have one that Mom and Dad gave me for Christmas." Joan laughed. "I don't know how I let you talk me into buying another."

  "You bought it just so I would shut up and you know it!" Kay wrinkled her nose with a mischievous smile. "And you looked absolutely scrumptious in it. Besides, it was a steal at the price you paid."

  "It is beautiful," Joan agreed as the sleek material slipped luxuriously through her fingers.

  The brilliant gold's and reds and blues had seemed to give her hair a richer shade when she had tried it on at the second-hand store where Kay had taken her. Wearing it, Joan had felt like some exotic flower. She secretly wished Brandt had seen her. But now, back in their unsophisticatedly furnished apartment, the robe didn't seem right for her.

  "Go and try it on," Kay ordered impatiently. She pushed the robe into Joan's hand and turned her towards the bedroom. "And I'll get the tea made while you're changing."

  Kay was trying too hard to keep her in good spirits for Joan not to agree. The robe seemed to lose some of its magic as she slipped it over her head and stood in front of the dresser mirror. Or maybe it was just that some of the delight had gone out of her eyes when she wished Brandt had seen her. She tried smiling at her reflection, but the effect was a brittle movement of her mouth. Quickly she ran a brush over her-golden hair, determined not to reveal her inner depression to Kay.

  "So sorry don't have honorable fortune cookies," the sing-song voice of her room-mate said as she bowed low when Joan walked into the room, drawing a more genuine smile. "It will have to be vanilla wafers."