'Tired, my dear?'
Sally looked fondly at her father and smiled. 'A little. I'm afraid Chantrelle rubs me the wrong way—I find it difficult to retain a sense of cool whenever she's around.'
He quirked a quizzical eyebrow. 'And Philip? Have you two disagreed about something? You seemed to be consciously avoiding him tonight.'
'Was it obvious?' she queried ruefully. 'It must be the heat, and Christmas being so close—perhaps I need a holiday.'
'End-of-the-year blues? I feel a little jaded myself.'
'You worry too much,' Sally scolded, looking at her father closely. There were lines around his eyes, and tiny furrows creasing his forehead that she hadn't noticed before. Come to think of it, he didn't look terribly well. His colour wasn't good, despite the tanned leathery look acquired from working out of doors exposed to the elements. There was a greyish tinge around his mouth that disturbed her.
Before her eyes, he began to crumple, sinking slowly until with an anguished cry she caught hold of him and managed to get him into a chair.
'My pills—drawer beside bed,' Joe gasped breathlessly, and she ran, her fingers fumbling in her haste to unscrew the bottle.
One, the labelled prescription instructed, and she pressed it between his lips, then raced into the kitchen for some water for him to swallow it down.
The effect was miraculous, and when he had regained most of his colour, she fixed him with a firm stare. 'Now, suppose you tell me what this is all about?'
He gave her a weak smile. 'It looks much worse than it actually is.'
'How long have you been taking these?' she persisted quietly, holding the bottle of pills aloft. At his answering silence, she said gently, 'I love you. Haven't I a right to know?'
Joe gave a resigned nod that did little to relieve her anxiety. 'Yes, I owe you that much. Months, Sally. No,' he held up a hand as she gave a cry of distress, 'I've several years ahead of me yet. I keep bottles of these pills everywhere,' he smiled in an attempt at humour. 'Home, work, in the car—I even carry them around with me.'
'Wouldn't it be better if you retired from work?' she suggested anxiously, and glimpsed his wry grimace. A tiny seed of doubt began worrying its way through her brain. It was a well-known fact that many small businesses were closing down owing to an in-sufficient liquidity flow caused by the widespread economic situation. Her father had a few assets, she knew, but if he had borrowed heavily against these, he could be in trouble. Added to which he liked to gamble —cards, and the racetrack. He need only to have had a succession of losses to be in financial straits. Worriedly, ..she ventured, 'Are things very bad?'
Joe Ballinger's eyes assumed a bleak expression and his whole frame seemed to sag. He looked at her, then said quietly, 'In a way I'm glad you've guessed. It was doubtful I could have kept it from you much longer.'
Sally felt a strange sense of foreboding. 'Are you in some kind of trouble?' she queried gently, and he nodded.
'I need money, Sally. Rather a lot of money, I'm afraid.'
'There's my savings,' she offered swifdy. 'And my car.'
'Thank you, my dear,' he acknowledged gendy, shaking his head. 'Only it wouldn't make any appreciable difference.'
'You own this apartment—there's the business. Surely one of the banks would give you a loan?'
'I'm already over-committed to them,' he revealed wearily. 'The building business is so slow that new contracts are almost negligible. I've taken a few un- calculated risks which have rebounded with a vengeance.'
'There are other lending institutions—' she began, but his silent headshake brought her to a halt.
'I've tried them all.'
She endeavoured to be sensible. 'What happens now?'
He gave a heartfelt sigh. 'The bank will foreclose, my creditors will sue, and Andretti will see me bankrupt.'
Oh dear God, it was worse than she thought. Much worse. 'Andretti?' she queried aloud. 'Who is he?'
'A high-powered business consultant and financier —extremely successful, and,' he paused fractionally— 'a more uncompromising man I have yet to meet.'
Sally's eyes clouded and became serious. 'I take it he's issued some sort of ultimatum?'
'You could say that,' Joe evinced wryly. 'I have an appointment with my solicitor tomorrow, after which it's a certainty wheels will be put into motion towards my becoming an adjudged bankrupt.' He gave a fatalistic sigh, and spread his hands in a gesture of utter weariness. 'Everything will have to go.'
A germ of an idea formed in her mind. It was possible—just barely possible, admittedly, but—'Can you postpone seeing your solicitor until Wednesday?' she pleaded, adding, 'An extra day won't make any difference, will it?'
The look he cast her was infinitely curious. 'What do you have in mind, Sally? I assure you I've tried every source available.'
'I'm not even sure it will work,' she had to admit. 'But it's worth a try.'
He shrugged weârily, and Sally was struck by the fatigue and desperation evident in his face. He looked a tired, broken man, older than his years.
'Now,' she hastened briskly, smiling at him, 'you must go to bed. I'll lock up and attend to the lights.' Already her mind was occupied with what she must do the following day. Philip might be able to help, but failing that she would confront Mr Andretti. Thank heavens she didn't have to report to work until midday tomorrow.
Sally slept badly, and woke cursing the strident summons of her alarm clock, set for seven to give her an early start to the day.
Her father appeared to have shared the same fate, for his eyes were faintly bloodshot and showed definite signs of a sleepless night. Despite any remonstrances she made, he left shortly before eight o'clock declaring a need to check some matters with his fore-man.
Almost as soon as the apartment door closed behind him, Sally flew to the telephone and dialled Philip's number with impatient fingers.
His delight turned to incredulity as she explained her father's predicament, and any hope she might have cherished died an instant death. Dear cautious Philip —how little she really knew him! He had, he assured her, nothing like the amount she requested. His assets were all carefully invested to provide a comfortable income, and his share of the substantial capital involved in his father's business formed part of a trust he could not touch. His reasons for not helping seemed carefully contrived, and she could almost sense his panic emanating down the wire. After several seconds she said with a calmness she was far from feeling, 'I take it you aren't able to help?'
'Sally——' his voice was an ill-concealed splutter, and she experienced a feeling of helplessness, 'it's not that I don't want to—I simply can't put my hands on so large an amount of money. My father——'
'Would never sanction it,' she interrupted hollowly. 'It's all right, Philip, I understand.'
He assumed a conciliatory tone. 'A lot of small firms are going under, Sally. There's not much you can do about it.'
'I'm going to try.' There was grim determination in her manner, and he begged anxiously,
'Don't do anything foolish. Look, we'll discuss it more fully tonight.'
The opera! She'd forgotten all about their date tonight. Aloud she said, 'If you don't mind, I'd rather not go. I have too much on my mind to be good company.'
'Nonsense. An evening out will——'
'No, Philip,' she refused gently, then firmly excused herself on the pretext of having other calls to make. She felt physically sick, and more than a little disillusioned. Now there was nothing else for it but to face the illustrious Mr Andretti, and she didn't hold out much hope there!
Once more she set the telephone dial spinning, and as soon as her employer answered she interrupted his smoothly-voiced 'Monsieur Claude' with the request for a few hours off, pleading a family crisis as the reason. Claude broke into voluble French for all of three minutes before calming sufficiently to continue in English. It took a further few minutes before he agreed, albeit reluctantly, and Sally hastened to assure him that sh
e would be at work just as soon as she could.
It was almost nine o'clock when she left the apartment, femininely attired in a cool dress of patterned voile with shirring across the bodice, the material falling in layered tiers from the waist. Twin shoe-string straps tied over each shoulder, and she teamed elegant white high-heeled sandals with a shoulder-bag in matching white. Her hair swung loose, and a touch of lipstick and eyeshadow was her only artifice.
Andretti Associates were listed in the telephone directory as occupying a suite in one of the modern high-rise buildings in the inner city, and she experienced a sense of trepidation as she walked into the impressive foyer. Idly she scanned the directory plaque for the correct floor. There it was—the tenth.
The door of one of the elevators was about to close just as she approached it, and as she reached out to press the calling button the door sprang back.
Sally stepped inside, a few polite words of gratitude on her lips, and then she froze. It wasn't possible! The sole occupant was none other than the hatefully cynical man responsible for changing her tyre the previous afternoon.
'Good morning.'
Sally acknowledged his greeting with a slight nod, and wished she could control the faint tinge of pink that coloured her cheeks. The panel with designated buttons for each respective floor was on his side of the elevator, and she gave a cool monosyllabic directive in response to his mockingly raised eyebrow.
The elevator's ascent was rapid, but even in those few seconds she was aware of his slow appreciative appraisal. She deliberately refrained from looking anywhere near him, and when the elevator came to an electronically-precise halt she moved through the open doors with her head held high.
Whoever he was, he succeeded in ruffling her composure, she reflected crossly. He was taller than she remembered, an inch or two over six foot, and his hair appeared darker out of the sunlight. She had a vivid recollection of dark brown eyes in a face that was arresting, its bone structure broad and well-defined.
Oh, for heaven's sake—this was ridiculous! She'd probably never see him again, and what's more, she didn't want to.
Stepping briskly along the corridor, she paused outside opaque-glass doors whose lettering proclaimed that Andretti Associates could be found within, and with some misgivings she entered the carpeted foyer and gave her name to the receptionist.
'I'm sorry, Miss Ballinger, but Mr Andretti is not available at the moment.'
'Then I shall wait until he is,' Sally responded calmly, and received a dubious glance.
'I doubt Mr Andretti can see you this morning,' the other girl informed. 'Would you care to make an appointment—perhaps tomorrow?'
Sally shook her head, her heart sinking. 'It has to be today,' she said purposefully. 'I'll wait.'
The telephone buzzed, and the receptionist took the call, transferred it, then returned her attention to Sally.
'If you'll wait until Mr Andretti's secretary is free, I'll check if there's any possibility of him seeing you today.'
Sally nodded, then moved towards an assortment of comfortable chairs, selected one and sat down, at the same time letting her eyes wander over the expensive appointments evident. Andretti Associates obviously didn't balk at providing comfort to the point of luxury for their clients and staff, she determined. There was an adequate supply of magazines available, from Time to Punch, numerous financial bulletins, and a selection of fashion magazines.
'Miss Ballinger, it appears Mr Andretti can fit you in this morning,' the receptionist informed her, and Sally detected a note of surprise in the girl's voice. 'If you'll follow me, I'll take you through, and Mr Andretti's secretary will call you from there.'
Well, this was a turn-up for the book, Sally decided as she was led through to an ante-room that was sumptuously furnished. How long she would have to wait wasn't divulged, but it was enough that she was able to see the exalted Mr Andretti at all.
Thirty minutes dragged by, followed by another thirty, and Sally picked up yet another magazine and leafed through its contents. At precisely midday, when she thought they had forgotten about her, the door opened and a mature, efficient-looking woman informed that Mr Andretti would see her now.
At last! Sally stood to her feet and followed in the secretary's wake, coining to a halt as she paused beside an open door.
'Miss Ballinger, Mr Andretti.'
Sally stepped inside as the secretary withdrew, hearing the firm click of the door as it shut behind her, and with determined resolve she lifted her gaze towards the tall figure outlined against the window on the far side of the room. There was something about him that was vaguely familiar, and as he turned slowly round to face her she gave a startled gasp of recognition.
CHAPTER TWO
'You!' Sally Cried in shocked disbelief as soon as she found her voice. Dear God, this had to be a bad dream! The man in the elevator and the head of Andretti Associates were one and the same.
'At the risk of sounding facetious—yes.' He regarded her with an unwavering stare that seemed to hold her transfixed for an interminable length of time then he moved round to the front of the desk and leaned against it, bidding her silkily, 'Do sit down, Miss Ballinger.'
Her head lift a fraction. 'I'd prefer to stand.'
'As you wish.' He gave a negligent shrug, and she met his gaze defiantly, hating the slow analytical appraisal he subjected her to in an obvious attempt to disconcert, making her feel hopelessly angry, and on the mission on hand forced her to affect a measure of politeness.
'So,' he drawled, 'you have been despatched as an emissary.'
'My father doesn't know I'm here,' she declared with a calm she was far from feeling. 'The idea to see you was entirely my own.'
'With what object in mind?'
"That's all right, I can read it."
He was deliberately playing with her—and deriving a certain enjoyment from doing so, she perceived. That knowledge lent an edge to her voice.
'You know why I'm here. Must I grovel on my knees?'
His eyes darkened momentarily. 'As yet, you have not answered my question.'
Sally endeavoured to retain a sense of calm—difficult, when she longed to slap his arrogant face! 'My father suffers from a heart complain,' she explained carefully. 'Nothing imminently serious, but stress and worry must be avoided if he's to enjoy a reasonable health.'
With a calculated movement he turned slightly, extracting a thin cheroot between his lips. A lighter flared, and he took several deep inhalations before he considered the cheroot to be drawing to his satisfaction.
'You are fully aware,' he began slowly, 'of your father's financial position?'
‘I know he faces bankruptcy—yes.’
'And you think I can prevent that?'
'You could give him more time,' she cried out, severely tried. If you don’t press for payment, he may be able to come to some arrangement whereby such a drastic step as bankruptcy can be avoided.'
‘I have already been lenient regarding his outstanding arrears,’ he informed her bluntly. 'And yet you ask that I cast aside a stringent code of business ethics.'
Sally was stung into retorting, 'I had hoped you might be human enough to show a little sympathy, that would be asking too much, wouldn't it?'
'Contrary to your cherished hopes, Sally Ballinger,' he drawled, 'I am not a benevolent charity organisation.'
'Then why did you allow me to see you?' she cried angrily. ‘With the protective screening system you employ, I would never have made it past your secretary unless you sanctioned it.’
He looked at her coolly, letting his gaze rove indolently over her expressive features, lingering on her mouth until she moved uncomfortably as resentment, embarrassment, and worse—awareness tingled tantalisingly along her nerve-ends.
'Yesterday you managed to intrigue me. Today when you stepped into the elevator requesting the same floor as the one containing my offices—' he paused fractionally to stub out the remains of his cheroot, 'it was simple enough t
o put through a call from the next floor to my secretary and determine whether a silvery- blonde, blue-eyed girl by the name of Sally Ballinger was waiting in my reception lounge.'
'You knew who I was all along?' she queried in scandalised tones, and saw him lift an eyebrow in quizzical amusement
'I took note of your car registration number, and had it traced.'
'Of all the—' She was lost for words. 'Why?'
'As I said, you succeeded in arousing my interest.'
'It was quite unintentional, I assure you!'
His eyes gleamed with unconcealed mockery, and he gave a deep, throaty laugh. ‘How long is it since you left the schoolroom, piccina—two, three years?’
‘I turned twenty-three several months ago,’ she asserted scornfully.
‘Ah—so old,’ he mocked. ‘The mind boggles to understand why you are still single.’
Sally had a desire to shock the sardonic cynicism from those dark eyes. Mustering every ounce of calm, she ventured sweetly, ‘Perhaps I’m frigid. I’d much rather tie myself to an inanimate stove than become one man’s intimate slave!’
‘One can only conclude you to be an untutored innocent,’ he alluded cynically, ‘or venture that your tutors to date have been amateurs.
A tiny shiver slid slowly down the length of her spine. That he was no amateur was obvious!
'Shocked into silence?'
'Of course not,' she denied crossly. 'I didn't exactly come down with the last shower of rain!'
Almost as if she hadn't spoken, he commanded softly, 'I would like you to dine with me this evening.'
It gave her immense pleasure to meet his dark sardonic gaze, and shake her head in refusal. No doubt he had any number of women eager for his invitation and more than willing to succumb to his slightest whim. Well, she wasn't one of them! 'I shan't waste any more of your valuable time, Mr Andretti,' she declared deliberately, standing to her feet. 'I'm already late for work.'
'You decline?'
'As much as it must surprise you—yes. I wouldn't accept an invitation from you if—if I were dying of hunger.’
Stormy Possession Page 2
