'I'll leave you to think up the answer!' came the smiling reply. 'I've been told by Head Office that you're a born diplomat, so I'm sure you'll handle all contingencies admirably, Miss Kingston.'
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to call her Sharon, when she remembered Eastern protocol, and that he should be allowed to unbend in his own time. But his friendliness warmed her, and she was sure they would work well together, once she had grown used to all the different customs.
'Take it easy for the rest of the day,' Mr Bim ordered as he went to the door. 'Catch up on your sleep and start work tomorrow.'
Left alone, Sharon unpacked, then poured herself a glass of pineapple juice kept in the small refrigerator that stood in one corner, before stepping on to the balcony. What a romantic place this was. It would have been wonderful to spend a holiday here with Pete. Damn! She had promised herself not to think of him, yet here she was doing exactly that. It was about time she consigned him to limbo land and concentrated on her career.
It might not be as emotionally satisfying, but it would not let you down and it didn't have a roving eye!
CHAPTER TWO
Sharon found no difficulty in settling down. The staff were polite and friendly, and though they might have disagreements among themselves, did not show it in her presence.
Her first few days were spent learning the running of the hotel. In many respects it was similar to the London Avonmore, the main difference being that the guests here were tourists rather than business executives, and consequently more demanding about their comforts.
'It's often the little things that cause the most friction,' Mr Bim told her one morning as she sipped iced coffee in his office.
'What are the main complaints?' she asked.
'It differs with the nationalities. Americans want iced water with everything, Germans like large pillows, and Italians expect rice or pasta with every meal.'
'Well at least rice shouldn't be a problem!' she grinned. 'Which reminds me, I promised to let the chef give me a tour of the kitchens this morning.'
'Then don't keep him waiting. You know how temperamental chefs can be!'
Heeding the advice, Sharon went off to see him. Crossing the foyer, eye-catching in a cinnamon brown cotton skirt and crisp lemon blouse with frilled neckline, she came in for many admiring glances. No shortage here of dates, should she want them, for a large contingent of engineering executives—all competing for a highly lucrative highway building contract—had been semi-permanent residents for months. Pausing briefly to chat to one or two of them, she was only a few minutes late for her meeting with Mr Kei, the tubby, ebullient Chinese who ruled over the four cavern-like rooms which made up the kitchen. He had learned his English in Hong Kong and was plainly happy to show it off, for he talked non-stop on his 'Cook's Tour'!
'We do many cuisines here,' he informed her proudly, 'but Thai food is our speciality.'
A delicious smell of garlic, chillies and dried shrimps came from the simmering sauces, while huge cauldrons of rice and noodles stood alongside copper pans filled with finger-sized corn cobs, courgettes no longer than one's little finger, and lobsters from the Indian ocean.
'Twice a week we have buffet luncheons on the terrace,' he went on. 'And chefs from other hotels come to see what we're serving!'
Sharon could well believe it, and on her way back to Reception made a note to sample a buffet lunch herself. For the rest of the day she intended dealing with the guests, and what better place to start than where they checked in?
Her initiation began at once, with a Mr and Mrs Vandencart, an American couple who were displeased with their room.
'We can let you have a larger one,' Sharon placated them, 'but it will cost you more. At the moment you have the best one within your price range.'
'Well, I don't intend paying a cent extra,' Mr Vandencart, a tall, spare man in a seersucker suit, stated flatly. 'My travel agent assured me I'd be getting a suite—not an ordinary room.'
'Then your agent was lying.' Sharon tempered her bluntness with a smile. 'He knew precisely what your accommodation was, and agreed it. I'm afraid we can't be held responsible for him. As a successful business man, I'm sure you appreciate our position.'
She had no idea how successful Mr Vandencart was, but believed firmly in the power of flattery, and was delighted to see it working yet again, for the man swelled with self-importance.
'If I ran my business the way Pixley Tours do theirs, I'd lose every one of my customers!'
'Perhaps if you told Mr Pixley he'd take the hint!'
'That's precisely what I'll do.' Gripping his wife's arm he was about to move off when Sharon heard him give an exclamation.
'Well I'll be danged! Look, Betsy! There's Kane Morgan. I'd no idea he was in Bangkok.'
They hurried over to a tall, dark-haired man in his mid thirties, who had emerged from one of the elevators. His formal grey suit told Sharon he was no holidaymaker, but her speculation was cut short by an irate German complaining his hired driver was demanding a large tip before taking him out for the day.
It took a while to arrange another car for him, but when he had departed and she again glanced over to the Vandencarts, they were still talking to Kane Morgan. Even from a distance she sensed that the smile on his face was forced, and from the way he jiggled the coins in his pocket she was positive he couldn't wait to escape. Idly she watched him. He was handsome in a hawkish way, with a thin, tanned face and aquiline nose. He was too far away for her to make out the colour of his eyes beneath the thick, expressive brows, but there was no ignoring the wide, firm mouth and aggressive jawline.
She was wondering if he was American, when she heard him say goodbye, his accent clipped and decidedly British.
'I hope you're free to have a meal with us one evening?' Mrs Vandencart trilled.
'May I let you know? I'm here on business, and that gets priority I'm afraid.' With a smile he strode off, skirting the Reception Desk and giving Sharon a cursory glance.
For a split second she found herself looking into dark blue eyes of such steel-like intensity it took her breath away—though she was piqued he didn't appear to notice her at all, for there was no flicker in his face as he passed her. So what? she told herself, and from the corner of her eye watched him stop to speak to a porter, towering above him so that he had to bend his head to hear what the man said. His hair was as black as the Thai's, but more glossy, and as he lifted a hand to smooth it back, she glimpsed the flash of a narrow gold watch.
Another rush of guests brought her back to her duties, and it was nearly lunch time before she had a chance to talk to Mr Bim about the Vandencarts.
'If Pixley Tours won't help I'd still let them have another room,' he advised. 'Vandencart's a frequent visitor here on business, though this is the first time he's come on vacation. I suppose he took a package tour because he thought they'd arrange his itinerary better than he could himself.'
'There are quite a few businessmen here,' she commented. 'Who's Kane Morgan?'
'One of our best clients. Stays here at least three times a year.' Mr Bim half-turned in his chair, giving Sharon a view of the wide, continually watered lawns behind him. 'He's been here a month already, and always has one of the penthouse suites. He's head of Morgan Construction Company.'
It was a world-wide organisation and she was impressed. 'He's young for such a position.'
Mr Bim nodded. 'He's competing for the highway project, as a matter of fact, so he'll be here another month at least. Probably two. Some of the biggest firms are tendering for it, and Mr Bonlam—the Minister—is delaying his decision in the hope of forcing them to lower their prices.'
'I'd hate having to compete that way,' Sharon commented.
'So would I. But when millions of dollars are involved, a saving of even half a per cent amounts to a fortune.'
'Can Thailand afford such an ambitious building programme?'
'It cannot afford not to. Highways are essential for pr
ogress, and progress raises living standards and puts money in people's pockets. A contented country is less likely to go Communist, you know, and with the kind of neighbours we have—who are always looking for a chance to create dissension here—we have to be watchful.'
Reluctant to enter into a political discussion, Sharon politely excused herself. She had the afternoon free and wanted to explore the city.
She had not left the hotel since her arrival, and after a light lunch of salad and fruit, she climbed into a taxi, all set to enjoy herself. Slowly it moved alongside the Chao Phraya River, which as usual was bustling with a vast armada of working craft. She was intrigued by the women, in their conical straw hats, who were unloading fruit and vegetables from long, shallow boats. And what an enormous variety there was: pineapples, oranges, melons, bananas no bigger than one's thumb, mangoes, reddish-purple mangosteens, prickly durians and large green and orange pawpaws.
In the side-streets dozens of outdoor stalls were selling food, though equally as much produce was set out on the ground, under large parasols. The heat was overwhelming and there were mosquitoes everywhere. No wonder the market women carried fly-whisks!
A party of Italian tourists—expensive cameras slung from their necks—caught her eye as they haggled over prices. The contrast between them and the gentle- spoken Thais was striking. How easy it was for the affluent to forget the poverty around them when they returned to the luxury of their air-conditioned hotels. Did Kane Morgan ever think of this? she wondered, and couldn't imagine him giving thought to anything except business. He probably believed that by providing modern highways he was helping the Thais on their way to prosperity. But why pick on poor Mr Morgan? Was she still piqued because he had not noticed her this morning?
Surprisingly, he was almost the first person she saw later that evening as she took her place at a side table on the terrace, for dinner. He was already there, accompanied by a middle-aged Thai man. A few minutes later they were joined by two women, one in her fifties and the other considerably younger and extremely beautiful. Slim as a wand, she was unusually tall for her race, with jet black hair looped into a coil on the nape of her neck. Her dark eyes were enormous beneath well-shaped brows, and her delicate nose flared slightly at the nostrils, giving her a disdainful look echoed by the pouting, sensuous mouth. Her traditional cheomsang drew attention to the subtle curves of her body, and the diamonds twinkling in her ears and around her narrow wrist, proclaimed both money and taste. Kane Morgan seemed to like her, and they sat close together as they studied the menu.
Afraid of being caught staring at them, Sharon concentrated on her own, choosing Tom Yam Gung— a popular Thai soup—to start with. It contained prawns and chicken, and was flavoured with soy sauce, tiny red peppers and lemon juice.
'Do you know the people dining with Mr Morgan?' she asked the waiter as he wrote down her order.
'Is Mr Bonlam and family,' he said, without glancing in their direction. 'We all hope Mr Morgan get contract. He excellent guest here and staff like him.'
So does Mr Bonlam's daughter, Sharon thought, watching the way the girl made up to him during the meal. Not that she received any discouragement from the Englishman, for he didn't seem able to take his eyes off her. Was it genuine attraction or expediency? she wondered. Men of his type were probably used to women throwing themselves at him, though not all had the advantage of a father who could hand out a billion-dollar contract!
They were still at table when Sharon left the terrace and went into the American bar for coffee. Everyone around here was with someone, and not unnaturally she felt dispirited at being alone. In England it had never bothered her, for she had returned to her own home each night. But living in this luxurious holiday atmosphere, her single state made her feel like a fish out of water. It was an emotion she had to overcome; if she didn't, her stay here would be an unhappy one.
Depressed, she returned to her room and settled herself on the balcony, switching off the lights so. as not to attract insects. A full moon lit up the temple spires across the river, and briefly she wondered if Kane Morgan and the beautiful Miss Bonlam were out walking in the moonlight. What if they were? she chided herself. She should count herself lucky she was here at all, not waste time envying anyone else. A year from now she might be managing her own hotel, and that would be far more rewarding than being someone's temporary girlfriend.
On which determinedly optimistic thought she left the balcony and went to bed.
CHAPTER THREE
The next few days found Sharon still vaguely depressed, the sight of so many happy holidaymakers doing nothing to elevate her mood. Husbands and wives contented in their togetherness; lovers luxuriating in their surroundings and in each other; carefree groups enjoying the camaraderie of shared pleasure, made her realise how alone she was, and what little recompense a career was for loneliness. Yet surely it was possible to combine marriage and a worthwhile job? To find a man who would be happy to have a wife with ambition for herself as well as him? It was foolish to think all men were like Pete.
Mulling over all he had said, she knew she had been naive to think love would change him. He had been so determined to stay free, he had not allowed himself to care for her. But it was pointless harking back to the past. They had broken up and she must concentrate on her future. If these six months were successful, she would be well on her way up the promotion ladder.
Despite long hours, her job was not arduous, though it was frequently trying. Experienced travellers felt their know-how gave them the right to demand the best—regardless of whether they had booked it—and inexperienced ones fell prey to crooked shopkeepers, cheating taxi drivers, and tummy bugs—and blamed the hotel for them all!
From time to time Sharon saw Kane Morgan striding through the lobby. He was always accompanied by men: solemn Thais, portly Europeans or lanky Americans. She never saw him smile and wondered how the negotiations were going. Mr Bonlam had still not made a decision, and she heard rumours that the contract wouldn't be finalised until more foreign aid was forthcoming.
Some two weeks after she had settled in, she decided to take an early morning dip in the pool. On the one occasion she had ventured in during the afternoon, so many guests had taken the opportunity to air their grievances to her, she had felt she was back at her desk in Reception! But at seven in the morning it was deserted, and she padded across the grass and dropped her wrap and towel on a white wood lounging chair.
It was only as she straightened that she heard splashing, and she moved quickly behind a cluster of spiky green bushes. From this vantage point all she could see was the deep end, but as she watched, a man swam into view and climbed out. Raking his hand through his wet hair, he stretched his frame upon the grass. He was a superb example of muscular strength and fitness: broad chest, slim hips and strong, sinewy arms and legs. There was something familiar about his movements, but it was only when he turned his head that she saw it was Kane Morgan.
Unaccountably embarrassed, she decided to give up her swim. He looked so relaxed he might regard her presence as an intrusion on his privacy—or else think she had come here deliberately to scrape acquaintance with him! Stealthily creeping out from behind the bushes, she tiptoed over to collect her wrap and towel.
'I hope I'm not frightening you away?'
A deep male voice made Sharon spin round, the towel dropping to the ground as she saw Kane Morgan, half-sitting-up watching her. The man must have eyes in the back of his head!
'No, you're not,' she lied. 'I—er—it's later than I thought.' 'It always is,' came the dry answer, and he sat up fully and surveyed her.
Instantly Sharon was aware of her scant attire, and felt the colour run up under her skin. It was one thing to wear a bikini on the beach, surrounded by others dressed in similar vein, but quite different to be the sole object of a pair of steel blue eyes. Yet she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had embarrassed her, and she slowly picked up her towel from the floor and held it in
her hand.
'Are you holidaying here?' he asked unexpectedly.
Piqued that he did not recognise her—after all he had passed her several times when she had been serving at Reception, and she was also the only European there—an imp of mischief decided her to string him along.
'My whole life's a holiday,' she said lightly. 'What about you?'
'I'm one of the world's workers. But then I don't have your advantages.'
'Advantages?'
'Of being a stunning natural blonde.'
'Thanks for the compliment. But how do you know it isn't from a bottle?'
'Because your outfit doesn't leave much to the imagination!' His eyes dropped to her ringless hands. 'How long have you been here?'
'Ages,' she said with deliberate vagueness.
'With a boyfriend?'
What a nerve he had! Did he think good-looking women incapable of existing without a man?
'Certainly not,' she flashed. 'I'm here alone.'
'Indeed.'
There was a wealth of meaning in the word, as in the raising of one dark eyebrow, and Sharon longed to kick him where it would hurt most. Unaware of her thoughts, Kane Morgan rose to his feet in one lithe movement and came towards her.
'I'm alone too,' he smiled, 'so how about joining me for breakfast?'
'You don't let the grass grow under your feet, do you?'
'No. If I see something I want, I try to get it. You can't sit back and wait for something to happen.'
He was now so close to her she could smell the warmth of him; a musky, vibrant scent that made her startlingly aware of his masculinity. She stepped back from him, and though she was a tall girl, she had to tilt her head to look into his face. Close to, he was even better looking, his eyes sparkling with health and vigour, his hair shiny as satin. But it in no way lessened her dislike of his behaviour.
'I'm afraid I never eat breakfast,' she drawled. 'So I'll have to turn down your invitation.'
'Dinner then?'
Sharon hid her surprise. From what she had gleaned about him, she had expected him to spend all his free time with Tassy Bonlam. Which showed how naive she still was! After all, she had been, in the hotel business long enough to know that Kane Morgan's behaviour was typical of so many jet-setting business men who lived for their work and regarded the female of the species as expendable sex objects to be picked up and discarded at will.
Roberta Leigh - No Time For Marriage Page 2
