Smokescreen

by Anne Mather

  ‘But without Henry, what will you do?’

  Francis hesitated. ‘I imagine you will be appointing someone as his successor, Mrs Gantry. No doubt that someone will need a personal assistant, someone who knows the business as well as I do.’

  Olivia studied his serious face. ‘Would you consider myself a suitable candidate?’

  Francis stared at her, but before he could answer, there was a knock at the door. At Olivia’s bidding, a red-faced maid pushed a trolley into the room, and there was no time for conversation as she laid a tablecloth across the desk, and set out silver-lidded dishes from the heated cabinet in the trolley. There was the delicious aroma of grilled bacon and fresh coffee, and the desk was soon transformed with plates of bone china and monogrammed knives and forks.

  ‘Thank you, Julie.’ Olivia dismissed the maid with a polite smile, and when the door had closed behind her, she offered Francis a choice of various fruits and cereals, grilled bacon, kidneys, eggs and sausages, and several different kinds of bread.

  He refused everything but a slice of grilled bacon, and this, with her permission, he placed between two half slices of toast. ‘I’m afraid I’m not used to a formal breakfast, Mrs Gantry,’ he confessed, biting into his sandwich with evident relish nevertheless. ‘I live in a service flat, as you probably know, and I generally don’t bother with anything but coffee. And that, often out of a machine at the office.’

  Olivia buttered a slice of toast for herself, and then, after pouring them both some coffee, she said: ‘You’re not married, are you, Francis? Haven’t you ever felt tempted?’

  His fair skin darkened with colour, and Olivia noticed how much more attractive he was in these less formal surroundings. Or perhaps she found any man an improvement on Alex Gantry, she thought tautly, as Francis gauged his reply.

  ‘You don’t buy something you can get for free, Mrs Gantry,’ he said with a grimace. ‘And until recently, I’d never met a woman I would be prepared to give up my freedom for.’

  Olivia digested this. ‘But now you have?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do I know her?’

  Francis put down his sandwich. ‘Mrs Gantry, what did you want to say to me?’

  Olivia sighed, reluctant to abandon a subject that was so much more appealing than the one she had had in mind. ‘I asked whether you considered I was capable of running the corporation,’ she conceded slowly. ‘Temporarily, of course.’

  Francis frowned. ‘I couldn’t make that kind of judgment.’

  ‘Why not? You know as much about the corporation as anyone, now that Henry’s dead. And I should need your help.’

  He shook his head. ‘They’d never stand for it.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The other directors, Mrs Gantry. Your husband’s directors. I’m sure they have a candidate of their own to put to you.’

  ‘I’m sure they have, too.’ Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘But—correct me if I’m wrong—I do have the majority shareholding, don’t I?’

  ‘Well—yes, but—’ Francis lifted his shoulders. ‘Mrs Gantry, there’s no need for you to do this. You can rely—’

  ‘Perhaps I don’t want to rely on anyone,’ she retorted swiftly. ‘Except you, of course.’

  Francis shook his head. ‘You’re not serious?’

  ‘Why not?’

  He sighed. ‘Look, I know you were upset about the will. Cosgrove intimated as much. We had dinner together last night. He spoke in confidence, of course, but—’

  Olivia pulled a wry face. ‘I’m sure Adam Cosgrove is the soul of discretion.’ She moistened her lips. ‘Did he tell you he had seen Alex Gantry?’

  ‘No!’ Francis was evidently stunned. ‘When did he see him? He didn’t say anything to me. As I understood it, nobody knew where Alex was.’

  ‘Well, apparently he did.’ Olivia shrugged. ‘He must have sent for him. He said he had tried to persuade Henry to alter his will in his favour.’

  Francis looked astounded. ‘You mean—he’s here? In Chalcott?’

  ‘I mean he’s here—in this house,’ declared Olivia flatly. ‘But Alex Gantry is not under discussion right now. We—we’ll come to that later.’

  Francis made a bewildered gesture. ‘I simply can’t believe it! H.R. would never have allowed him in the house. Cosgrove knew that.’

  ‘Yes. Well—’ Olivia tried to sound philosophical, ‘he is Henry’s son, after all. I couldn’t order him out of the house?’

  ‘You could.’ Francis warmed to his subject. ‘Mrs Gantry, Alex Gantry was nothing but trouble to his father.’

  Olivia bent her head. ‘Francis, please! I’ve said I don’t want to discuss it for the present. Can’t we return to the matter in hand? That is why I invited you for breakfast.’

  Francis relinquished his indignation with evident reluctance. ‘I just wish I’d been here when he turned up, that’s all,’ he muttered. And then: ‘Why do you really want to take over H.R.’s chair, Mrs Gantry?’

  Olivia hesitated before replying: ‘Because I intend taking an active interest in the corporation’s affairs.’

  Francis was obviously mystified. ‘I don’t think H.R. would have expected that of you, Mrs Gantry,’ he ventured, and Olivia felt a surge of mild hysteria.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose he would,’ she agreed drily. ‘But Henry’s wishes are no longer relevant.’

  Francis shook his head. ‘Why are you telling me, Mrs Gantry?’

  ‘I’ve told you—because I shall need your help. If you’re willing. I promise you won’t lose by it.’

  Francis digested this, and then said quietly: ‘But why me?’

  ‘Because you were Henry’s assistant. Because I feel I can trust you.’

  Francis was obviously gratified, but he was too experienced in boardroom diplomacy to take that at its face value. ‘I appreciate your confidence, Mrs Gantry,’ he said, ‘but I am sure there are others, more experienced than myself—’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Olivia’s smile was wry. ‘But all right. I want you working for me because you’re the only member of Henry’s staff I know well enough to confide in.’ She paused. ‘And because I think you don’t entirely disapprove of me.’

  Francis sighed. ‘It’s not my place to approve or disapprove, Mrs Gantry.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. That’s the stock answer, and you’ve made it.’

  ‘It’s not the stock answer.’ Francis gazed at her frustratedly. ‘I know these last six months haven’t been easy for you.’

  Olivia sighed. ‘Why do you think I married Henry, Francis?’ She paused, and then added: ‘Don’t bother to answer—I can see it in your face. You think it was for the money, don’t you?’

  ‘I think you’re a very beautiful woman, Mrs Gantry,’ replied Francis stiffly. ‘And I don’t blame you for using it to your advantage.’

  Olivia sucked in her breath. ‘Well, at least now you’re being honest.’ She shook her head. ‘But I suppose you still think that for six months of marriage, to a man old enough to be my grandfather, I’ve come out of it rather well.’

  Francis made a helpless gesture. ‘Now you’re putting words into my mouth, Mrs Gantry.’

  ‘All right.’ Olivia paused for a moment. ‘I’ll accept that you may have good reasons for your opinion. But, whatever you may think, I did not marry Henry for his money. If I had, we would not be having this conversation now.’

  Francis looked at her. ‘So—why did you marry him?’

  ‘Naïve as it may sound, I married him for my mother’s sake!’ Olivia retorted, picking up the handle of a chased silver spoon, and digging her nail into its delicate tracery. ‘It’s a long story, Francis, and I won’t bore you with it now. Sufficient to say that Henry Gantry destroyed my father’s business, the business his father had founded over forty years before.’

  ‘I see.’ Francis nodded slowly. ‘And your mother thought your marrying him would restore the family fortunes?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Oliv
ia was cynical. ‘It’s too late for that. As I said, it’s a long story, and I admit, my mother played her part, too. She—she became infatuated with him, you see.’

  ‘With H.R.?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, this was years ago. I was just a baby. I knew nothing about it. But, apparently, she and Henry had—an affair.’

  This part of the story was not easy for Olivia to relate, even though the participants were all dead now. Her mother had not spared herself in its telling. She said she had found her husband’s new business acquaintance fascinating, and his lean good looks and worldly air of confidence had quite overshadowed her serious-minded, hard-working husband.

  Olivia could guess how it had been, particularly after living with Henry herself for six months. He had been a charming man, when it suited him, and Sophia Powell hadn’t stood a chance. Born in the East End of London, to immigrant Italian parents, she had married Olivia’s father because her father had considered him a good catch; but her passionate nature had been stifled by the lack of gaiety and the shortage of money. Compared to Henry’s, her life had been dull and boring, and the only excitement she had known was when he had begun to pay attention to her.

  It had all been over too quickly. Olivia’s father had learned Henry Gantry’s intentions were not to put money into his small chemical company to make it rich, but so he had the power to close it down; and that, combined with the discovery of his wife’s infidelity, had left him a broken man. Oh, Sophia had abandoned her affair with Henry at once and spurned his protestations of affection. For once in his life, Henry Gantry had been thwarted. But the hatred their association had inspired had fermented over the years, and when Mr Powell died of a heart attack only eighteen months later, the seeds of revenge had been sown in Sophia’s mind.

  Even then nothing might have come of it, had it not been for Henry himself. Olivia was just twenty-two, straight out of university, and teaching at a comprehensive school in Croydon, when the arbiter of their fate came back into their lives. She had not recognised him, of course. He had just been a rather distinguished-looking man who came to the flat one evening looking for Mrs Powell. He had introduced himself as an old friend of her mother’s, and as Mrs Powell had been in hospital at that time, recovering from one of her periodic bouts of depression, Olivia had not made the connection. She had actually enjoyed talking to him, and it wasn’t until she went to the hospital and told her mother that she realised she had not got his name.

  Her mother had been more astute. The description Olivia had been able to give, the Rolls-Royce with Forsyth at the wheel; they had been unmistakable clues to his identity; but when Olivia immediately exclaimed that she would tell him exactly what she thought of him next time he came around pretending to be a friend of her mother’s, Sophia had become quite agitated. ‘Let him come,’ she had said, ‘find out what he wants.’ And when Henry had made his intentions known to Olivia, her mother had urged her to do as he asked.

  He had come looking for Sophia, so he said, because he wanted a wife, because he knew he was dying, and because he wanted to make amends. When he discovered Sophia was ill, incurably ill, he had not hesitated in asking Olivia to marry him, and her mother had beseeched her to do it, naïvely thinking that when Henry was dead, everything would be hers.

  Olivia had fought against it, but it had been an unequal battle. Mrs Powell might well have been sick, but her will was indomitable, and the chance to get even with Henry Gantry was one she could not bear to be denied. Besides, there was so much he could do for her mother: better hospitals, better treatment, better doctors. Mrs Powell had survived only four weeks of seeing her daughter as Henry Gantry’s wife. Then she, too, had abandoned her hold on living, secure in the knowledge that justice had been served.

  ‘So—your mother saw you as her revenge?’ Francis was asking now, and realising she had been staring into space for the past five minutes, Olivia gathered her composure.

  ‘Something like that,’ she agreed. ‘And I suppose Henry saw her likeness in me. Either way, he married me. But I believe his real intention was to prevent Alex from inheriting.’

  Francis frowned. ‘Your husband was a connoisseur of beautiful women, Mrs Gantry. If all he had wanted was a beautiful wife, he could have taken his pick.’

  Olivia half smiled. ‘You’re very good at your job, aren’t you, Francis? Now I know why Henry thought so highly of you.’

  Francis flushed. ‘I mean it. Honestly, Mrs Gantry, I really think he cared about you. Perhaps he did love your mother. Perhaps she was wrong.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ But Olivia was sceptical. She had lived too long with her mother’s memories to give that theory any credibility. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I just wanted you to understand why I can’t just sit back and live on his money.’

  Francis stared at her. ‘What do you hope to do? What do you hope to gain by it? You said—you wanted to take Henry’s place, but only temporarily. Do you have another candidate in mind?’

  Olivia hesitated. Then, with reluctant determination, she said: ‘I’m considering appointing Alex Gantry as chairman.’

  ‘What!’ Francis could not have looked more astounded. ‘Mrs Gantry, you can’t mean it!’

  Olivia shrugged, shivering a little in spite of herself. ‘I said I was considering it,’ she reminded him. ‘That’s why I shall need your advice.’

  Francis thrust back his chair and got to his feet. ‘I couldn’t work with Alex Gantry. I’m sorry, Mrs Gantry, you’ll have to find someone else.’

  ‘Wait.’ Olivia tried to sound composed, when in fact she was anything but. ‘You can choose whether or not you work with him. You haven’t heard my proposition.’

  ‘You’ll never be able to do it.’ Francis’ lips twisted. ‘Your husband’s fellow directors would resign first.’

  ‘Would they?’ Olivia considered this. ‘Or perhaps, given time—and my influence—they might change their minds.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Francis was suspicious.

  ‘Well—’ Olivia chose her words carefully, ‘I’ve done quite a lot of reading since last night. The library’s full of heavy tomes, dealing with every aspect of shares and share capital. I’ve read about stocks and dividend payments, and changes in capital structure. I even know the difference between voting and non-voting shares.’

  ‘Mrs Gantry, what has this—’

  ‘—to do with Alex Gantry?’ Olivia cut in smoothly. ‘Only to illustrate the fact that I know a little more now than I did. And as far as I can see, as the major shareholder, I can block every move the board intends to make!’

  Francis made a choked sound. ‘Why would you do that?’

  Olivia shrugged. ‘I’m a spoiled woman. I want my own way.’

  Francis flung himself away from the table. ‘I know that’s not true,’ he exclaimed. And then: ‘Mrs Gantry—you know H.R. deliberately cut Alex out of his will.’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘And this is your way of having your revenge?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Francis expelled his breath disbelievingly. ‘I think this whole affair has been too much for you, Mrs Gantry. Your husband’s illness, the funeral—it’s all been a strain. I think you need a break—a holiday. Yes, that’s it, a holiday. Somewhere far away from here, somewhere warm and relaxing, and completely free of responsibilities—’

  ‘Like a sanatorium?’ suggested Olivia drily, getting to her feet. ‘Are you suggesting Henry’s death has unbalanced me, Francis?’

  ‘I’m suggesting you should think again, Mrs Gantry.’

  ‘Why?’

  Francis spread his hands. ‘Alex Gantry is a loser, Mrs Gantry. He always was, and he always will be. For God’s sake, why give him something he doesn’t deserve? If you do what you say you’re going to do, you can run the corporation into the ground without his help!’

  Olivia’s lips parted. ‘Run the corporation into the ground?’ she echoed, and Francis looked discomfited.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he
muttered unwillingly, and she smiled.

  ‘Poor Francis,’ she said. ‘You have been indiscreet. But are you really prepared to take your chances with the other directors, when I’m prepared to offer you a quarter of a million pounds for your block of shares.’

  ‘A quarter of a million!’

  Francis’ mouth dropped open, but his hushed echo of her words was abruptly superseded by the opening of the study door. They both stood, almost guiltily, staring at the intruder, but Alex Gantry’s face showed nothing but narrow-eyed amusement as he advanced into the room.

  ‘Well, well,’ he remarked lazily. ‘What have we here?’ His dark eyes flickered mockingly over Olivia’s face before they turned to examine the covered dishes still standing on the desk. ‘Bangers and bacon, as I live and breathe,’ he added, lifting one of the silver lids and helping himself to a sausage. ‘Hmm, you don’t know how much I’ve looked forward to a proper English breakfast!’

  Francis exchanged a charged look with Olivia, and realising she should take the initiative, she forced herself to make the introduction: ‘You know Henry’s son, don’t you, Francis?’ she asked, unable to keep the annoying tremor out of her voice as Alex turned to look at her. ‘Alex—you remember Francis Kennedy, I’m sure. Your father’s personal assistant?’

  The two men shook hands, Alex hastily depositing the remains of the sausage in his mouth, and borrowing Olivia’s napkin to wipe his hands before making the salutation. He was looking more civilised this morning, she noticed with some misgivings. He had shaved, for one thing, and brushed the smooth lick of hair, that still persisted in straying over his forehead. His navy corded jeans were tight-fitting, but reputable, and his cream silk shirt looked as expensive as one of Henry’s. But there was still that air of arrogant masculinity about him, that acted like an abrasive on Olivia’s raw senses, and in spite of what Francis had said, she did not think he looked like a loser.

  ‘You’re an early riser, Kennedy.’ He addressed the other man casually, unperturbed by Francis’ taut expression. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I just came to wish my stepmama good morning.’