The Man in Possession

by Hilda Pressley

  Another thing she would have done, her thoughts went on as she tried to decide whether or not a sheet would stand another season without some holiday-maker putting his foot through it, was gradually to replace these white cotton sheets with fitted nylon. Pillow cases, too. What a saving on laundry bills, and even her present task would be unnecessary.

  ‘Hello there. Deep in thought?’

  She swung round to see Max. ‘Oh, hello—I didn’t hear you come in.’

  He sat on a pile of mattresses and grinned up at her. ‘That was obvious. I suppose you weren’t by any possible, improbable chance thinking about me?’

  She shook her head. ‘Sony. Something much more—mundane. About replacing these outdated things with nylon.’

  He screwed up his face. ‘My dear girl, you must be mad! Think of the initial cost. They’d have to be specially made to fit the bunks. And you couldn’t just order one pair at a time, or any of that lark. You’d have to replace the whole lot at once. Most impractical.’

  ‘Never heard of bulk buying?’ But she sighed. ‘The new man would no doubt agree with you.’ There was a pause. ‘Did he—buy the house?’

  ‘He did—and at a give-away price. So what he lost on the roundabouts, he gained on the swings, so to speak.’

  ‘He intends living here, then,’ she said gloomily.

  ‘Looks like it. Were you hoping he’d leave you to it?’

  ‘To manage the business? I’m not sure what I was hoping. I suppose it was in the back of my mind that he might possibly get a manager or something. I don’t suppose for a moment he’d let me run it, even if he didn’t want to manage the business himself. But what’s the good of talking? It looks as though he intends living here, and where I shall come in or what I shall do I simply don’t know. By the way, I wonder what his name is?’

  ‘Leighton,’ Max said promptly. ‘R. Leighton. I found out that much from the clerk. In fact, I’ve been finding out quite a few things about friend Leighton.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ she asked, wondering vaguely what the initial stood for. Robert? Ralph—or Richard, perhaps?

  ‘Well, one thing’s for sure,’ said Max. ‘He can’t be short of money. In fact, I should think he’s pretty well loaded.’

  ‘That was the impression I got. But what makes you say so, apart from the price he paid for Wingcraft?’

  Max sprawled out full length on the mattresses, his hands behind his head.

  ‘Because, my love, he’s the only son of the managing director of the Melloid oil company, no less. Moreover, he was a director of the company himself—and those fellows get fabulous salaries, not to mention perks.’

  Julia frowned. ‘Yes, I suppose they do. But if he has a job like that what on earth does he want with a boat-hire business?’

  ‘As I see it, there are two possible—and probable—theories. One, he’s had a row with his father and has packed it in. Fathers can be regular cusses to work for, as I know only too well. Two, buying this business is just a whim—the kind that the rich do sometimes get. He’ll maybe hire a manager—people like him are more used to having women in the role of private secretaries than managers, and in any case, you couldn’t manage things without help. He’ll maybe hire a manager, keep you on for the office work, and just come down here for week-ends and holidays. How would that be?’

  Julia pulled a face and switched on the light against the gathering gloom of the place. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be ‘kept on for the office work’.

  ‘You could be right,’ she told Max. ‘On the other hand, you could be entirely wrong. The only thing to do is wait and see. I don’t really know what I shall do yet. Probably go back home. Father can always use help in the orchards.’

  Max sat up. ‘Go back home—to Kent?’ he echoed in consternation. ‘You can’t do that. It’s unthinkable. Oh, Julia, you wouldn’t be so cruel!’

  She reached to a top shelf for the last pile of pillow cases. ‘You’ll survive,’ she told him mildly.

  ‘I shan’t, you know.’

  Max stretched out his hand and pulled her towards him so suddenly, she lost her balance and sat down heavily beside him on the mattress, scattering the pillow cases in all directions.

  ‘Max, what on earth—’

  ‘I’ll show you whether I’ll survive or not,’ he said, putting his arms about her and trying to kiss her.

  She pushed against him and they toppled over backwards on to the mattresses. He held her fast and his lips found hers. She tried to free her arms, then suddenly the door opened. Max let her go and she sat up breathless, angry, and dishevelled, to see the new owner of Wingcraft standing there.

  He stared at them in astonishment. ‘May I ask who you are—and why you are using my property for your own private—use?’

  Julia was on her feet, her face taut with anger and mingled humiliation. Max ran his fingers through his hair, and there was a smile of amusement on his face.

  ‘I just came to see Julia, that’s all, and we—er—got carried away. Who wouldn’t? But I’ll be off. Be seeing you, Julia,’ and with a mocking salute he walked out.

  Julia took a deep breath. ‘I’m—sorry about that, Mr.—’

  ‘My name’s Leighton. Didn’t I see you in the auction room this morning? Your boy-friend too?’

  ‘He’s not my boy-friend,’ she retorted emphatically.

  ‘No? That makes your conduct even worse,’

  ‘He’s a friend, Mr. Leighton,’ she said evenly. ‘A far different thing from what I imagine you have in mind.’

  ‘Really?’ he said coldly. His glance flicked to the pillow cases scattered on the floor. ‘Do I take it you work here?’

  ‘Yes. I was going through the last few items of linen.’ She bent to retrieve the pillow cases.

  He waited until she straightened up again, then asked:

  ‘As a matter of interest, why did you push up the bidding this morning?’

  ‘I was bidding because I wanted to buy the business,’ she told him brusquely.

  ‘You wanted to buy it?’ he asked incredulously. ‘But why?’

  ‘Why not?’ she countered.

  He gave her a puzzled look. ‘It’s hardly a woman’s line of business, surely? Though I suppose there are things a woman can do. Office work, attending to the linen. I take it there’s a manager?’

  ‘There is not. Mr. Hargreaves only died a few weeks ago. I’ve been looking after things.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ he said slowly as though he thought that explained quite a lot.

  ‘We have a maintenance and boatyard foreman, of course,’ she told him. ‘Would you like me to take you to see him or shall I find him for you and—’

  ‘No, I can go and find him myself and see what the workmen are doing. How much more of this linen have you to do?’

  ‘I’ve nearly finished, actually. Just these few,’ she said, indicating the pillow cases.

  ‘And there’s no urgent office work?’

  ‘Not really, but—’

  ‘In that case, you can go home as soon as the linen is finished. There’s no point in waiting until it’s nearly dark, the state the roads are in. I’ll see you in the office in the morning. At nine-thirty, sharp.’

  Her jaw tightened. Already he was speaking to her as if she were nothing more than an office girl.

  ‘I’m usually in the office by nine o’clock, Mr. Leighton,’ she answered stiffly. ‘The post comes about that time in the winter, earlier in the summer, of course. And I’ve been in the habit of locking up the office at night so that I could get in in the mornings. However—’

  She broke off, sending the ball into his court, then waited to see what his answer would be.

  He gave her a cool glance. ‘Some of your habits might have to be broken, Miss—By the way, what is your name, apart from Julia?’

  ‘Barclay,’ she supplied, inwardly fuming.

  ‘Miss Barclay,’ he continued. ‘I will lock the office tonight and I shall be glad if you wi
ll report to me in the morning at the time I have already mentioned. If you arrive earlier than that, you can occupy yourself elsewhere.’

  He went out, closing the door behind him with a decisive little slam. Julia compressed her lips furiously. Obviously he was going to be impossible to work for. Simply impossible. She finished her job swiftly and took her coat from the hook behind the door. She crossed over to her houseboat, wishing with all her heart that spring was here. At times like these when she felt depressed or had a problem, she would take one of the dinghies out and go for a row or, if there was enough breeze, push off in one of the half-deckers for a sail. There was simply nothing like a spell on the river for soothing away small irritations, reducing others to manageable proportions and giving one the strength to endure what could not be cured. But the river was frozen solid enough for skating, and skating was something she had not learned to do.

  The outside bell of the telephone rang noisily and automatically she crossed to the office to answer it. There was no sign of Mr. Leighton and she presumed he had found Frank and the boys in the boathouse and repair shed. But as she opened the office door the telephone stopped ringing. Her new employer was answering it.

  She murmured an apology and went out again, but she had not gone more than a couple of steps when the door opened again and he called after her.

  ‘It’s for you,’ he said. ‘A personal call, I presume. Will you make it clear to that young man that you work here?’

  Not any longer than I can help, she called out silently after his retreating back as he walked in the direction of the boathouse. It was only a small office, consisting merely of one room with a counter and one typist’s desk. An inner room housed portable radio and television sets, and did duty as an odds and ends room, but there was no office furniture in there.

  She lifted the receiver to find it was Max at the other end.

  ‘Hullo, Julia. How goes it?’ he asked.

  ‘Not too good—thanks in no small measure to you,’ she answered, still angry with him because of what he did in the storeroom.

  ‘I’m sorry about that. Really I am.’

  ‘So you ought to be.’

  ‘Well, how was I to know he was going to walk in at precisely that moment?’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ she told him. ‘What gave you the idea you could do what you did, anyhow?’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Julia. We’re not strangers, and surely I’m not all that repulsive? Let me take you out to dinner tonight to make up. I promise I won’t try to rough-house you again.’

  But Julia did not feel in the mood for being wined and dined.

  ‘Not tonight, Max, if you don’t mind. I want to think things out.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ he queried. ‘You weren’t really serious about going back home?’

  ‘I might go for a little while, anyway. One thing I am sure about. Nothing would induce me to work for this man. Just nothing!’

  CHAPTER TWO

  It cost Julia a great deal to write out her notice and place it before her new boss the following morning. She did not want to leave here. David, and the place where he had once lived and worked, meant a great deal to her. She loved the work, she loved the county and liked its people. But she simply could not see Mr. Leighton and herself working amicably together. Indeed, she felt working together would not be the relationship he would have in mind. He had left her in no doubt whatever that he was the boss. This she could have accepted, even though she had wanted to manage the business herself, but she did not want a job where she had no responsibility and could never act on her own initiative. Moreover, she had a strong suspicion that she was going to be given notice, so she had forestalled him. But she felt far from happy and she couldn’t help feeling that there were difficult days ahead in either case.

  He looked up at her keenly as he picked up the envelope she had placed before him. He opened it and barely glanced at its contents.

  ‘Sit down, Miss Barclay, and let’s talk,’ he said in the courteous, half friendly, half businesslike tone a managing director might use towards one of his senior staff.

  Julia hesitated, but as she would have to work out her notice in any case, she supposed some talk was necessary. She sat down. He offered her a cigarette, but she declined.

  ‘I don’t, thanks, except on very odd occasions, and I prefer not to at this hour.’

  He put the case back in his pocket, and she noticed that he did not light one for himself. He sat back in his chair looking relaxed, yet entirely in command.

  Julia eyed him warily and guarded herself against his undoubted masculine attractiveness. She could well imagine the beautiful, efficient, impeccably and fashionably dressed private secretary pandering to his every whim and dancing attendance upon him; the little typists scurrying around, half worshipping him, half afraid of him. By some means or another this man would bend everyone’s will to suit his own. But she determined he was not going to bend hers. If she changed her mind about staying on, it would be because she wanted to herself.

  ‘How long have you been working for this firm, Miss Barclay?’ was his first question.

  ‘About nine months.’

  He nodded, as though she had merely confirmed what he already knew. ‘I spent some time last night going through the files and the account books. This office has been very efficiently run for just about that time, from the look of the dates on some of the copies of letters. This, I take it, is your work.’

  ‘I did a great deal more than just office work, Mr. Leighton,’ she answered.

  ‘So I believe. John Hargreaves had a son who used to manage the business. You more or less took over when the son died. A road accident, I understand.’

  Julia kept her face impassive. ‘That’s right. I was on holiday here at the time. I stayed for a while to help out, then became—interested.’

  His expression altered. ‘Interested enough to want to own it? Or were you, in fact, bidding for someone else?’

  She gave him an icy look. ‘I told you last night that I wanted to buy it. I’m not used to having my word doubted. I consider lying to be both cowardly and undignified. Perhaps you would like a month’s salary from me in lieu of notice? I have no wish to work a single day longer for someone who can’t trust me nor tell when a person is telling the truth.’

  She rose to her feet. He eyed her calmly, then stood up himself and indicated the chair.

  ‘I apologise. Do sit down again. I had to be sure, you see. It seemed to me from where I was standing in the auction room that your friend was urging you on to raise the bidding, and when I found out later that he was the son of a boat-owner who had taken over several other firms, I thought—’

  ‘You’re right in a way. But he was urging me to keep bidding because he knew how much I’d set my heart on having the business. I would have stopped long before I did, having reached my ceiling price.’

  ‘Then why did you go on?’

  ‘For the very simple reason that he offered to lend me the extra money. But I knew I would have to pay him back, so—’

  ‘You’ve no intention of marrying him, then?’

  She looked puzzled. ‘Why do you ask?’

  But it was evident that he wanted to ask all the questions and was not prepared to answer any. He brushed her query aside.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I—take it his attentions were—unwelcome yesterday evening?’

  Her chin lifted. ‘That incident was totally unexpected and unusual, I can assure you. Such a thing isn’t likely to happen again.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Now. Having cleared up a few preliminary matters, perhaps we can get down to business. I never believe in breaking up a good working team. Frank Willis seems to know what he’s doing with regard to maintenance and general boatbuilding, and you certainly have the office work and stores at your finger-tips. The workmen are willing to carry on. I spoke to them last night. Now, I’m asking you if you’ll carry on as before.’

  Julia eyed
him uncertainly. ‘You mean you’re—not going to be here most of the time?’

  His eyes widened. ‘Oh, I’m going to be here all right. What made you think otherwise?’

  She shrugged. ‘I simply thought you might regard a business like this as a sort of sideline and be here only at week-ends and during holiday periods.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said emphatically. ‘That’s not the way I do things at all. I mean to settle down here, believe me, and I mean to make a success of this business.’

  Julia felt some very definite misgivings. Would he try to bring the methods of big business into the boatyard? Streamline everything and expect the men to account for every screw or fathom of rope?

  ‘I’m sure you will, Mr. Leighton,’ she answered stiffly. ‘Though this is already quite a paying business.’

  ‘I daresay. But tell me honestly, Miss Barclay. If you had been successful in buying the boatyard, wouldn’t you have made some changes—changes that you couldn’t very well have made before? In the past you might have taken quite a bit of responsibility—efficient people generally have plenty thrust upon them, too much sometimes—but Mr. Hargreaves made the major decisions, I’m sure.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He nodded. ‘And so will I, naturally. But you must have made some plans—had some changes in mind, and surely agree that there’s room for improvement?’

  ‘In some respects, yes. But what had you in mind, Mr. Leighton?’

  ‘This office, to begin with,’ he said, indicating the shabby counter, the hardboard, colour-washed walls which needed redecorating, the worn lino on the floor and the old-fashioned electric fire.

  Julia’s lips twitched in sudden humour. ‘I admit it’s not exactly an executive suite.’

  He gave her a sharp, enquiring glance. ‘Why do you make that particular comparison, may I ask?’