Man with two Faces

by Jane Corrie

  In the event the man did not ring, but several other people did, and an annoyed Rebecca was forced to answer each call in the expectation of it being Alan Sinclair. On each occasion she requested the caller to ring again that evening in the hope of catching what was turning out to be her elusive boss, and it did occur to her that perhaps his absence was a deliberate act on his part to cause her annoyance, and she' would certainly have to have a stern word with him on this point, if she ever saw him before the end of her week. It was either that, or just' let the phone ring and get on with the work she was supposed to be doing.

  The following day, Rebecca's hopes of a week free from the annoying presence of Janus Leon took a decided setback as he was waiting for her in the office as soon as she walked in, and her 'good morning,' given more in the line of protocol than an actual cheery greeting, met with a grunt that she supposed was a reciprocal reply.

  `Did Alan ring?' he asked abruptly, as Rebecca took off her coat and walked over to her desk.

  `Mr Sinclair did not ring,' she replied coolly. `There were several other calls. I presume they rang back last night,' she added firmly, 'I told them to, anyway.'

  His black winged brows shot up at her reply and indirect meaning that he could not have failed to interpret. His lips thinned as he said brusquely, 'So I found out. The wretched phone kept me busy for the better part of the evening. You are a secretarial agency, aren't you?' he shot out at her accusingly. `I should have thought that was part of your chores.'

  Rebecca gave him a cool stare. 'It depends,' she said carefully, 'which you consider more important—your novel, or the secretarial work. The amount of calls put through yesterday afternoon, that continually held me up, makes it necessary to get a ruling on this,' and giving a light shrug that showed that she had no preference in the matter whatsoever, and that it was entirely up to him, she , sat waiting for his reply.

  That she had annoyed him was patently obvious by the sudden blaze of fury in his startlingly blue eyes, before he gave her a slow and, to Rebecca's

  way of thinking, insolent appraisal, his gaze resting finally on her smooth features. 'What happened to the "service with a smile" slogan?' he queried sarcastically. 'As you're so competent, I shouldn't have thought a few phone calls would have upset you.'

  `It was more than a few calls,' Rebecca snapped back, and immediately regretted losing her temper. It was she now who was bringing personalities into it. She didn't like the man, but he was an important client of Barbara's. 'Look,' she said quietly, willing herself not to show her feelings, 'it's not that I mind what I do, but if you want me to take on the secretarial work as well, I would have to have your diary, and have some idea of your movements, wouldn't I? and as I've just said, it does hold me up on the other work.' She gave a light shrug. `Perhaps if you employed a secretary specifically for this work it might help,' she suggested calmly, as she drew the typewriter towards her in preparation for starting work.

  `Asking for the job, are you?' he queried insolently.

  Rebecca's brows raised. What an obnoxious man he was! 'Er—no, thank you!' she replied with more emphasis than was really necessary, and added quickly, `Agency work suits me,' and fed paper into the machine in an effort to prevent further discussion on this theme.

  `That's just as well,' he replied thinly, before he stamped out of the room. `I'd want a more flexible type.'

  Rebecca glared at the door he had just closed

  behind him. Well, at least she had got that straight! The phone could ring all morning for all she cared, after a remark like that he could hardly expect her to oblige!

  As if to test her resolution, the telephone rang shortly after this, but she worked stolidly on, completely ignoring it’s imperative ring. A few seconds later there was silence and she presumed that Janus Leon had answered it, and with a small nod of satisfaction she got on with her work.

  Two days later, Rebecca gazed out of the bedroom cum-office window and on to the street below. The impatient hooting of a taxi as it tried to bypass another that was just drawing up in front of the hotel went unnoticed by her. She saw only acres of-paddocks where sheep grazed, and an old homestead built of red brick, with its kitchen garden and immaculately lawned frontage that presided over the surrounding buildings housing the staff that ran the huge sheep station.

  Her lips softened into a smile at the thought that she Would know the place in the story anywhere, should she ever see it. She would even recognise the characters portrayed, for she was sure they had been drawn from real people. The thought jerked her out Of her reverie. What on earth was the matter with her? It was only a story after all, a figment of the author's imagination, she didn't suppose such a place existed, and even if it did, she would certainly never see it, yet as she took the last sheet of paper out of the typewriter, she had a sudden presentiment that one day she would see

  the homestead, and gave a quick sigh of exasperation at her foolishness. She had obviously been overworking!

  As she neatly stacked the finished sheets together, she became aware of Janus Leon standing by the door silently watching her, and she wondered how long he had been there, and whether he had witnessed her lapse of concentration as she went into her reverie. Not that it mattered much if he had, she thought musingly; she had finished the tape and the story. He could have no complaints.

  She watched his measured tread as he came towards her desk, his hard blue gaze on the sheets of typescript that she was now assembling in numerical order.

  `Was that the last chapter?' he asked with a note of incredulity in his voice, and at Rebecca's nod of confirmation he frowned, and picked up the chapter she was about to attach to the rest of the manuscript.

  Rebecca's eyes followed the lines of the long lean hand that held the typescript, and from there went to his hard 'features as he closely studied the result of her work, giving each page minute scrutiny. She was certain that although he had not bothered her during the day, but had kept his distance, he had closely studied each day's progress and would have pounced on any mistake with the ferocity of a tiger, and thoroughly enjoyed giving her a set-down. She saw the way his dark brows went up, as he reached the end of the chapter, and then looked back at her. 'Not bad,' he said grudgingly, and that, Rebecca knew, was as far as he would go in the

  praise line. She thought angrily that not only had she finished the work in half the time normally taken, but she had made a good job of it, even if she did say so herself, particularly after what she had seen of the previous chapters with their constant crossings out, and what must have been, from Janus Leon's impeccable standards, inexcusable stupid typing errors, yet all he had said was, 'Not bad'!

  `Disappointed, Mr Leon?' she drawled, her annoyance getting the better of common sense, but as his hard eyes bored into hers, she immediately regretted her words.

  `Just surprised, Miss Lindsey,' he drawled back at her with an emphasis on the 'Miss' that plainly put Rebecca in her place in case she was attempting any familiarity, and making her want to slap his arrogant face. `I'm afraid your pace is too good for me,' he went on smoothly. 'I'm only working on the bones of the next story as yet.'

  Rebecca managed to stop herself giving a sigh of relief. He hadn't any more work on hand and she was going to be told to go back to the Agency. Her lovely dark blue eyes held a look of innocent Awe that successfully masked her thoughts, but she was already packing for her stay at Pinehurst.

  `Are you still with me, Miss Lindsey?' came a gentle, if sarcastic, query from Janus Leon that brought her back from Sir Geoffrey's country seat to the confines of the office.

  `Oh, yes, absolutely!' Rebecca replied quickly. 'I quite understand,' she gave the sardonic man now closely watching her a brilliant smile. 'You've no

  more work on hand at present, so I'll just finish off the title page for you, and then I'm off,' she ended with a rush of thankfulness.

  `Got something on, have you?' he asked casually, and Rebecca stared at him. What on earth did he mean by that
? she wondered. He couldn't possibly know—she blinked as she suddenly caught his meaning. Was there some other work she had to do for the Agency? that was what he meant.

  `Oh, yes!' she said quickly, adding for Barbara's benefit, 'We're terribly busy, there'll be something lined up for me when I get back,' she lied unblushingly.

  `That's just too bad,' he drawled, without a trace of sympathy. 'I'm claiming your services. Whatever's waiting will have to wait.'

  Rebecca stared at him with her head on one side, the glorious red tints in her hair catching the light from the window behind her giving an autumn halo that framed her lovely features. 'I beg your pardon?' she replied with a puzzled air, desperately hoping that she had misread his meaning, for if he meant what she thought he meant, then she would lose more of her vacation.

  Janus Leon gave a grin that she could only describe as wolfish. 'I'm the first in the queue,' he said. 'Priority claim to your services, in other words,' and before the indignant Rebecca could come up with some excuse as why she had to get back to the Agency, he shot out at her, 'Have you read the manuscript right through?'

  Rebecca blinked. Drat the man! Did he want to hear her enthusing about it? There was no denying

  that he was an excellent writer, but she was certainly not going to add fuel to his overrated ego by saying so! 'Er—no,' she replied slowly, her eyes wary as she waited for the next question.

  He bent down to the desk and thrust the manuscript towards her. 'Read it!' he commanded. `You'll no doubt see what a mess the earlier typists made of it. I want you to retype the worst bits. Any questions?' he barked out at her as, speechless, she tried to calculate how long this would take her, for it meant practically re-doing the first half of the novel. Her lips clamped together in annoyance as the thought occurred to her that he had only himself to blame for bullying the girls; if he'd left them to get on with the work he would have had no complaints. There was nothing like having a Big Brother hovering in the background ready to pounce on any little error and making a girl nervous, it not only destroyed confidence, but almost certainly guaranteed further mistakes.

  Her eyes left his narrowed gaze and rested on the manuscript, but her brain was working overtime searching for a way out of this latest setback to her holiday plans. 'I'm afraid I shall have to see Miss Basnett about that,' she said carefully, keeping her eyes on the desk. 'You see, that's straightforward typing, and I'm a stenographer. We have several excellent copy typists in the Agency, but we're rather short of stenographers. Besides,' she added brightly, 'copy typists' rates are lower.

  I have a word with Miss Basnett at lunch time for you,' she said helpfully, congratulating herself on her quick thinking.

  `If the first three idiots Miss Basnett sent me are anything to go by, I'm not risking it,' Janus Leon replied grimly. 'I don't remember complaining about the rates,' he added furiously. 'That's my business. By the time you've got that lot straightened out,' he gave a curt nod towards the manuscript, 'I'll have the first two chapters of the next novel ready for you. Your work is satisfactory, and that's all I'm concerned about.'

  Rebecca's eyes grew round in consternation. Next novel! She didn't like the sound of that at all. Why on earth had she to make such a good job of the last few chapters? Why hadn't she made a mess of them? She sighed inwardly. Because she took a pride in her work, that was why, and because she hadn't allowed this autocratic male to bully her! And lastly but not least, she hadn't wanted to let Barbara down.

  `I didn't argue,' she told Barbara later that day. `It wouldn't have done any good if I had. He claimed what he called "priority rights" on me,' and at Barbara's amused chuckle, she added waspishly, 'Well, I only hope your friend Margaret comes up to scratch, because I'm off to Berkshire on Sunday, no matter what!'

  `Of course you are, dear,' Barbara replied soothingly. 'I said a week, and that's all I wanted from you, and I'm very grateful, especially as you've finished the novel. Just keep him happy for a couple more days and then Margaret can take over. I'll say you're off sick if he cuts up rough, although once 'he sees Margaret's work We'll have nothing to worry about.'

  CHAPTER THREE

  REBECCA breathed in a sigh of pure contentment. She had certainly done the right thing in accepting John's invitation. Not that she wanted to spend all her time being waited on and listening to Laura's humorous, if slightly querulous, complaints about her father's choice of house, guest during what he termed his 'open house season'.

  She moved the shoulder-strap of her sundress a little farther along in order to get a smooth tan along her shoulders. She could see Laura's point of view, of course, for apart from herself and John, Laura's brother, the rest of the assembly were, as Laura had caustically put it, 'in their dotage', and although this was not strictly true, they were certainly on the wrong side of forty.

  As the high-pitched, slightly girlish voice of Mrs Carmichael floated across the pleasantly warm afternoon towards Rebecca, she gave a grin, envisaging that lady's reaction towards that last thought of hers. You could do a lot with beauty aids these days, but you couldn't eradicate time. Laura's scornful, 'I was at school with her daughter,' soon put paid to any pretensions on those lines, and had also put paid to Mrs Carmichael's hopes of becoming Laura's stepmother by out-rightly declaring to her father that she couldn't stand the woman, and advising him to take a good

  hard look at her before committing himself in any way. He had taken Laura's advice'. She might be outspoken, but she had an uncanny habit of hitting-the nail on the head with unswerving accuracy.

  From what Rebecca had seen of Mrs Carmichael, she was of the opinion that Laura's caustic comments had been perfectly justified, and that she had saved her father from making a ghastly mistake. Mrs Carmichael was an odious woman, and her fluffy, little woman act that dispersed into resentment in a younger, attractive woman's presence the minute the men were out of earshot gave one no illusions as to her true character.

  It had not taken Mrs Carmichael long to size up the situation as one after another of her well-laid schemes went sadly astray; and she knew at whose door she could lay the blame of her misfortune, and adopted a very hostile attitude towards Laura whenever their paths crossed. Up until now, Laura had managed to find some good excuse for her absence during her father's country gatherings which inevitably included Caroline Carmichael, for Sir George and her late husband had been close friends for years, and being a kindly man Sir George had not had the heart to exclude her from these gatherings, even though her presence was now more of an embarrassment than a pleasure, particularly as he had taken the cure. With the rose-tinted spectacles off, he continually blessed his good fortune in escaping the clutches of a thoroughly tiresome woman.

  Rebecca's thoughts roamed on as she heard the

  low murmur of voices in the background of her reverie. From what she could hear, Sir George was escorting several of his guests on a tour of the gardens, and from her recumbent position she caught sight of John dutifully following the small party and escorting Mrs Layman, a prominent member of the Cabinet, on the tour.

  Her gaze turned to one of amusement as she watched him stoop to retrieve the lady's hat that had been dislodged from its precarious position on top of an enormous bun of hair by a sudden breeze, and her smile widened to ,a grin as she saw the hat take off again only a few yards further down the garden path, and was again retrieved by John.

  Dear John, she thought, as the strolling figures passed out of sight. Why couldn't she accept his love and devotion? It would be so safe and sensible to fall in love with him, in spite of what Laura had said about the family smothering her, and how her life would be moulded around the political scene, but Rebecca had the inward assurance a woman has when she is certain of the extent of her husband's love for her, and that she would be the first consideration where John was concerned.

  His behaviour towards her during her stay had proved that he was a man of his word, and he had made no outward onslaught on her, but contented himself with sending h
er intensive looks that spoke of his undying affection for her. She drew in her breath sharply. It was no use pretending that she could ever feel anything more for him than friendship. That she would ever feel anything for any man, come to that, she thought shrewdly, and

  frowned at the thought. Perhaps something had been left out of her make-up. She had never suffered the pangs of first love, and indeed never wanted to. Love, as she saw it, was something she could do without, but friendship was different. She had lots of friends, but she was still free, and that was how she intended to keep things.

  She was not alone in this outlook. There was Barbara, who was a few years older than Rebecca, although in Barbara's case she had been in love, and was still in love as far as Rebecca 'knew, but had been unfortunate enough to settle her affections on a charming rogue who had sponged on her good nature financially until he had snared a richer prize and promptly married a wealthy widow.

  To Rebecca's way of thinking, Barbara should have considered herself well rid of such a man, but she knew with certainty that given the opportunity Barbara would have welcomed him back with open arms. She shook her head sadly. Such was the idiocy of love.

  Rebecca's mind went over the men she had met, and that she had only to give some encouragement to, to receive a proposal of marriage from. She was not stupid enough not to realise that her looks had attracted more than the usual attention from the male fraternity. Nature had been most generous in regard to her physical features, and this had proved a handicap in her career.

  She was not expected to have a career, that was plain enough, and it had taken a long time for the message to get through to even the most studious