Holiday in Jamaica

by Tracy Sinclair

  "That's the story that's going around." Terry's eyes took on a speculative glint. "I wonder who the father is?"

  "Don't you know?" Erin asked without thinking.

  Both women looked at her avidly. "No! Do you?"

  Erin's cheeks flushed, and she hurriedly shuffled some papers aimlessly around her desk. "No, of course I don't. This is the first I've heard of it. I just thought you'd have some ideas since you've both worked with her so long. If the story is really true," she added.

  "Oh, it's true, all right. Mary Gordon got it from a very reliable source."

  "Now that you mention it, it's funny that none of us can make even an educated guess about the father," Terry said reflectively. "The three of us talk about everything, but Helen has always been very closemouthed. When you come right down to it, we really don't know anything about her."

  "We know she's a fine, decent person," Erin said hotly, "and that's all that matters. If she's in trouble, we shouldn't add to it by discussing her behind her back."

  Before the other women could respond, Mary Gordon approached and said, "Erin, what have you been up to? The boss wants to see you."

  "Mr. Martin?" Erin asked.

  "No, the big boss—Mr. Dimitriou. He sent word for you to get up to his office on the double."

  They all looked at her, and Erin's mouth felt suddenly dry. What could he possibly want with her? Did it have anything to do with that awful party? Or, worse yet, did he think she had started the rumors about Helen? Before she was obliged to answer the questions that threatened to break over her like a torrent, Erin grabbed a pad and pencil and said, as though it were just a normal errand, "See you later."

  But the calm she managed to display before the women threatened to desert her outside Jason's office. Pausing by the closed door, she had to wait for her heart to stop racing before she could force herself to knock softly on the heavy paneling.

  "Come in! Come in!" The muffled voice sounded impatient and did nothing for her self-confidence.

  Timidly, she pushed open the door and saw Jason dictating into a machine, his desk piled high. He was frowning in concentration and waved an imperious hand at her, indicating that she should sit down. Erin perched uneasily on the edge of the chair farthest away, wondering what unpleasant surprise lay in store.

  When he had finished dictating, he turned and looked at her. "Good morning, Erin, it's nice to see you again." His tone was pleasant enough but very businesslike. There was none of the soft teasing quality that had been present the last time she saw him. Nor was there any personal interest in that impenetrable gaze.

  "Good morning, Mr. Dimitriou," she answered nervously.

  For just a moment something flickered in his eyes, but he merely said, "I suppose you're wondering why I sent for you."

  "Yes, I am," she managed.

  "As you undoubtedly know by now, Helen, my secretary, will be gone for a while." His face hardened and he swung his chair around abruptly to gaze out the window, presenting Erin with the back of his head poised above wide shoulders in a well-tailored suit. "I've decided that you will take over her job," he told her casually.

  "You can't be serious," Erin cried, jumping to her feet.

  He turned back to face her, and there was a mocking twist to his mouth as he said, "I assure you I am."

  "But why me?" she asked incredulously. "I'm the newest woman here. Surely it should go to someone with more seniority."

  His eyes were steady on her face. "These are special circumstances."

  "But you need someone with more experience. This is my first job. My typing and shorthand… they're… I'm afraid I wouldn't satisfy you."

  There was amusement in his glance as it traveled slowly over her slender young figure and lovely face. "I'll be very patient, I promise, and I'll teach you everything you have to know."

  Erin's cheeks flamed along with her temper. It seemed obvious that he expected her to replace Helen in more ways than one. Well, he was due for a big surprise! For perhaps the first time in his life, one woman wasn't going to succumb to the fabled Dimitriou charm.

  Standing very straight and trying to keep her voice from trembling, she said, "Thank you very much for the opportunity but I don't want the job."

  There, it was out! Would she get fired now for her impertinence? Well, no matter, it was something she had to say. After the way he had practically spelled out the duties, nothing would induce her to work for him, not even her brother.

  Instead of the explosion she had expected, he leaned back in his chair, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as if he had anticipated her reaction.

  "That's precisely why I chose you."

  "What do you mean?" she stammered.

  "I don't know exactly how long Helen will be gone," he explained. "But whenever she wants to return, her place will be waiting. She might not be back for a period of months." He paused as though contemplating something distasteful and then resumed. "If I gave it to one of the other women and she settled in, so to speak, she might be reluctant to give up the job when Helen returns. That's why you're perfect. You don't want it in the first place."

  His logical and dispassionate explanation left Erin feeling like an idiot. The only way she could have felt more foolish was if she had actually voiced her suspicions to him. But she had an uncomfortable feeling from the twinkle in his eyes that he already knew what she had been thinking. How could she have been silly enough to suppose he had any interest in her when he could take his pick of the female population? But some of her reasons for refusing the job were still valid.

  "I understand now, Mr. Dimitriou, but I really don't know if I could handle the job."

  "Don't worry about it, you'll do fine. By the way, your salary will be raised, of course. That should fatten your college fund—and make the position more palatable."

  "That's… very kind of you," she faltered.

  "Forget it. Now go empty out your desk or whatever you have to do and get back here in a hurry. We have a lot of work to do."

  Without quite understanding how it had all happened so fast, Erin found herself on the other side of the door, the hesitant recipient of a new challenge. She had a feeling there were many pitfalls ahead, and the first was explaining the situation to the other women. Were they going to resent what they must surely consider to be her good fortune? And how about Bob? What would he think of the whole thing?

  As it happened, their reactions were exactly what she had expected. There were many speculative eyes in the steno pool, and, although they all offered congratulations, Erin could feel their resentment. Even when she explained that it was a temporary job, it didn't help.

  Bob, of course, was delighted.

  "Say, that's really great," he said enthusiastically. "Talk about having a friend at court! I guess I knew what I was doing when I brought you into the company. Between the two of us, we'll be running the place in no time."

  "I wouldn't count on it," she advised dryly. "I have the feeling no one has any influence over that man."

  And from what Erin saw during the ensuing days, she was correct in her surmise. Jason was the final word on any decision big or small. The three telephones on his desk provided instant communication with people all over the world, and regular conferences held in the handsome board room down the hall kept him informed on local matters.

  Erin usually attended these meetings to take notes, and she was always nervous about it. Some they talked so fast that her high-school short-hand was barely adequate. It was then she saw a side of him she hadn't known existed.

  Without seeming to glance at her or even be aware of her presence, he would notice that she was having difficulty and say, "Okay, slow down, fellows. This woman isn't a machine, you know."

  But just when she was beginning to think he might be human after all, something occurred to reaffirm her original opinion of him. It happened during one of those board meetings and concerned an employee. One of the managers in the cruise line division had been caugh
t accepting kickbacks from a local meat packer. In order to sell to DSL, the Dawson Meat Packing Company had been quietly paying the man a bribe every month.

  Erin thought she had seen Jason angry before, but it had been just a pallid imitation of the monumental rage he was in now as he said, "Fire him! I mean now, this instant! Get him out of here."

  "But boss, he's been with us five years. Don't you think—"

  "You heard me," Jason interrupted, eyes blazing and mouth a grim line. "I said get rid of him."

  "Maybe you could talk to him first—you know, see if he has any explanation," one of the other men interjected nervously. "I'm not trying to defend what he did, but perhaps there were extenuating circumstances…" His voice trailed off before the contemptuous look on his boss's face.

  "What do you consider a good excuse for stealing?" Jason asked in a conversational tone of voice, although his eyes were hard and watchful.

  "Well, of course there's no excuse," the man said lamely. "I just meant that maybe he was in trouble or something."

  "He could have come to me if he was in trouble. I would have done everything I could to help him out. No, he's a liar and a thief, and I find that contemptible. The matter is closed. Let's get on with business."

  Erin sat quietly through the exchange, but she was appalled. True, the man was everything he said, but she was shocked at Jason's implacable fury. Not even to listen to a possible explanation. Anyone could make a mistake—except when they worked for Jason Dimitriou. In business he demanded the highest ethics; too bad his personal .morals weren't as good, she thought bitterly.

  It was noon of the same day when he came out of his office and leaned against her desk, reading some reports.

  She continued with her typing, deliberately ignoring him. When he casually asked, "Where would you like to have lunch?" all the keys on the typewriter jammed.

  The nerve of the man, not even asking her. He just took it for granted that she would jump at the chance.

  Angrily, she looked up and met his calm gaze. "I'm sorry, Mr. Dimitriou. I told you I don't believe in mixing my business and social lives."

  "First, could you manage to call me Jason? I know I'm a great deal older than you, but I always feel like you're addressing my grandfather, who would have asked you to call him by his first name, too. He liked pretty women. Said they kept him young," he added with amusement.

  So it's an inherited trait, Erin thought, pointedly saying nothing.

  "Secondly, my offer of lunch was a purely business proposal. I want you to help me pick out a present for a lady," he told her.

  "And you consider that business?" she asked tartly.

  "Certainly. Helen always did it."

  "In that case, I'd be glad to do your shopping if that's part of my job, but it needn't entail lunch. Just tell me how much you want to spend."

  "Contrary to what you think, I'm not the kind of man who delegates his secretary to select anonymous gifts," he told her severely. "I believe in the personal touch. I just want you along for a female opinion. So go comb your hair or do those mysterious things that women feel compelled to do before they can face a tuna fish sandwich."

  As usual, his autocratic manner swept aside all objections. There was only one way she could get back at him. Reaching into a drawer for her purse, Erin said, "All right, I'm ready," and enjoyed his surprised look.

  He took her to a restaurant she had read about but had never been to. It was dark and cozy, and they were met by a fawning headwaiter who addressed Jason by name. Looking at the linen-clad tables set with sparkling crystal and silver, Erin very much doubted there would be a tuna fish sandwich on the menu.

  After they were seated and had been given huge menus with silk tassels, the waiter asked if they cared for a cocktail. Erin declined and Jason asked to see the wine list instead.

  While they waited for the wine steward, Jason turned his attention to Erin, who felt curiously self-conscious. This didn't feel like a business lunch; it felt more like a date.

  To cover her nervousness, she looked around the room and remarked, "This is a lovely restaurant. Bob will be terribly impressed when I tell him where I had lunch."

  "You care very much for your brother, don't you?" he asked.

  "Yes, we're all the family we have left," she explained. "But even when my parents were alive, he was very special to me. He was always the leader and I was the follower, maybe because there are six years difference between us. There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for Bob—still isn't, as a matter of fact."

  Jason's eyes were steady on her. "And does he feel the same way about you?"

  She was surprised. "Of course."

  "Did he ever try to find a way for you to go to college in the winter and get a summer job?"

  "No, that just wouldn't work."

  "Did you ever discuss it?"

  "There wasn't any point. I knew he couldn't manage the household expenses alone."

  He covered her hand with his and her fingers fluttered tremulously in his grasp. "Erin, I know how much money Bob makes, remember?"

  "But you don't understand. He's young, and he needs all kinds of things—clothes and a car and money to take out girls. Besides, there isn't any reason why he should have to take care of me."

  "Why do I have the feeling that if things were reversed, you'd move heaven and hell to see that he could stay in school?"

  Under his watchful eye, she found it difficult to deny. Maybe what he said was true, but it wasn't Bob's fault. Material things had always meant more to him. They were just different, that's all, and someone in Jason's position would never understand. She felt disloyal discussing her brother behind his back, and the feeling that Jason was critical of him made her uneasy.

  Sensing that they were getting onto dangerous ground, Erin decided to change the subject. Ignoring his question, she said, "I've told you practically my whole life history, but I don't know a thing about you. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

  "No, I'm an only child."

  "I always think that's a little sad," she remarked.

  "You're right, it is. That's why I intend to have eight or nine children when I get married. A whole gaggle of them."

  "I believe gaggle is used to describe geese."

  "Then what do you call eight or nine children?"

  "A very large family," she laughed.

  "That's right, the larger the better," he agreed.

  The wine was lulling Erin's inhibitions, and before she could stop herself, she asked, "If you feel that way, why haven't you ever married?"

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she was horrified. But instead of taking offense, he answered, "I haven't found a young lady who would be willing to share my life-style."

  Surely he could have made up a better excuse than that, Erin thought, but she merely remarked. "That seems hard to believe."

  "Only because you don't really know me," he told her. "Like everyone else, you assume that all my free time is spent going to parties."

  "Well, isn't it?" she challenged.

  Without answering directly, he said, "Would it surprise you to know that I like to walk on the beach when it rains? Or that I'm as well known in a little family restaurant where the mama does the cooking as I am in places like this? They call me Jason there, not Mr. Dimitriou, and sometimes papa will sit down and have a glass of wine with me and we talk about life, not business or high society." He smiled at her obvious confusion and continued. "Yes, I stay at the Dorchester in London and I dine at Maxim's in Paris, but I also like to poke around in dusty old shops in out-of-the-way places. Unfortunately, the ladies I'm acquainted with don't share my enthusiasms."

  This was a side of him Erin had never imagined. While she was trying to readjust her thinking, their lunch arrived.

  Jason was a gracious host. When the meal was over and they walked out into the brilliant sunshine, Erin's head was in a whirl. Every time she thought she had him figured out, he revealed another facet of his comp
lex personality. Who was the real Jason Dimitriou? Was he the callous millionaire who seduced his secretary and paid his debt with a check? The heartless tycoon who never gave anyone a second chance? Or was he, in reality, a misunderstood soul looking for true love? More probably he was just a very handsome man with a very slick line, she warned herself.

  Jason's voice cut in on her speculation. "And now for the gift."

  A few doors from the restaurant was a famous jewelry store that had branches all over the world. An iron gate shielded the ornate portal and a uniformed guard stood at the door, coldly eyeing passersby. His presence intimidated Erin, but Jason merely nodded at the man and the gates swung open hospitably.

  Inside were thick pale rugs and a hushed atmosphere. A salesman came forward to greet them, and Jason said, "I want to buy a present for a lady— pearls, I think." He turned to Erin. "How does that sound?"

  "I'm sure that would be lovely," she answered, thinking that it must be a very special lady. When he asked her help in selecting a gift, she thought he meant perfume or a purse or something like that.

  Everything in this shop must cost thousands of dollars!

  The salesman put down a square of midnight-blue velvet and was lifting strands of pearls out of a locked drawer. They were different sizes and lengths, but each one gleamed with a lovely inner glow.

  "These are our finest quality," he said. "The difference is in your personal preference. If you will notice, some have a slight pink tint, while others are almost pure white. And these," he said, indicating some larger than the rest, "are the color of heavy cream."

  "What do you think?" Jason asked Erin.

  "They're all so lovely it would be hard to choose. But how do you fasten them? They only have those little threads on the end like someone forgot to finish stringing them."

  The salesman smiled indulgently. "Our customers usually wish to select their own clasps," he said, reaching into another drawer and bringing out a tray of diamond, ruby and emerald fasteners, each a work of the jeweler's art.

  "This diamond one is especially lovely, don't you think?"

  A large center stone blazed like cold fire, and Erin was fascinated. Most women would be ecstatic to have it for an engagement ring, but in this plush establishment it was designated as a mere clasp and surrounded by other diamonds.