The Way of a Tyrant

by Anne Hampson

  'Is that forest yours?' she asked when presently all this splendour was left behind and they were making their exit through the gateway.

  'Forest?' in some amusement. 'It's merely a wood. Yes, it goes with the house. I believe many monkeys have made it their home.'

  'Monkeys? How delightful! I haven't seen one yet.'

  'No? They're here. You'll occasionally see them run­ning across the road over on the eastern part of the island. I've seen them myself.'

  'I've seen a mongoose dashing across, but not a monkey.'

  'Then you'll have to wander in these woods; you're bound to see them there.'

  'The island used to be covered with dense forests,' she murmured conversationally after a while.

  'That's so, but deforestation was necessary for the growing of the sugar cane. You'll have noticed that it grows in profusion here in Barbados?'

  'Yes, I have. You seem to go through one endless plantation as you travel to the east coast. No wonder it's called the sugar island.'

  'That is one name for it…' A pause and then, 'There's another, much more romantic name. Have you not heard it?'

  'No, I haven't.'

  'Isle of the purple moonflower,' he told her. 'Rather pretty, don't you think?'

  Was there an edge of sarcasm to his tone? She some­how felt that his cynicism was very much to the fore.

  'Pretty indeed and as you say, romantic' She said that just to note his reaction, but he was concentrating on his driving and no comment was forthcoming. And for the rest of the short journey he remained silent, thoughtfully so. She wondered at his thoughts… and she wondered where he was intending to spend the coming week-end…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was a month since Jane had come to work as sec­retary to Scott. It had been the most difficult period she had ever known. Scott had turned out to be the most severe and fault-finding taskmaster, his own com­petence, like his tongue at times, being a lash which stung intolerably.

  'I can't go on,' she once told Les, but instantly re­gretted her words, so concerned did he become.

  'Is he so difficult to work with?'

  'To work for,' she corrected. 'Scott never for a moment allows me to forget that he's my boss.'

  'I can't think why he should be like this. David and Susan like him enormously, as you know. He appears to be kindness itself to me as well.' A pause, as he glanced curiously at her. 'It must be you,' he declared at length, and she nodded understandingly.

  'He's getting his own back.' And yet it was not feas­ible, since such mean and petty conduct was totally at variance with the fineness of his character.

  'If you want to throw the whole thing in, Jane, please don't consider me. I'm to blame for the de­ception, since you never wanted it, so I'll take the consequences. Leave if you wish, and we'll go back to England.'

  Without hesitation she shook her head.

  'You love it here, and we're staying.'

  Les was clearly relieved and Jane knew she could never bring herself to act in a way that would result in his losing his job. She must endure all Scott gave her, and hope that he would mellow with time. She cer­tainly tried hard to do things right, but he seemed intent on finding fault and she gained the impression that his intention was to keep her constantly aware of his superiority over her, aware that he was her boss and his orders were to be carried out to the letter. Some­times, though, she would think she glimpsed a vision of the man she had known before—the gentle, kindly man, the one whom, at that time, she had not found attractive enough to marry. And now… What a per­verse creature woman was! Now, she would have done anything to hear the tender words, see that soft light enter the deep-set blue eyes. What did her longings mean? Jane thrust away the persisting light that as yet was no more than a glimmer, like dawn's first gentle ray. But at the back of her mind she was terribly afraid, and often recently she would recall that sensation of having been lured into a trap.

  'Jane!' The word was rapped out and she jumped visibly. She was sitting at her typewriter, but her thoughts occupied her completely and she had not even heard Scott's entry into her room. 'I expected that report long ago. What have you been doing?'

  'I'm sorry. I've almost finished it.'

  He looked sternly at her, noting her rising colour.

  'Bring it to me immediately it's finished. I want it in the post this afternoon.' And with that he strode out, pulling the door to behind him.

  'I'm sorry I was a long time.' The second apology accompanied the handing over of the report some twenty minutes later. 'I hope you'll find it all right.'

  Scott took it from her, his eyes on her face.

  'I hope so too. As if it isn't all right it'll not catch the post.' A threat in the tones and in his sharpened ex­pression. Jane said a little prayer, which was destined to be answered, the report being such that Scott was unable to find the slightest flaw in it.

  'What shall I do then?' she asked when, having read it over again, Scott told her to get it ready for mail­ing.

  'You can go,' he answered, glancing at his watch. 'And tomorrow you can have the day off; I'm going away and won't be back until Monday.'

  'Thank you.' She left his study, aware of a strange feeling of dejection. It was an absurd truth that al­though at times her life as Scott's secretary was almost unbearable, she took no pleasure at all in these Fridays off which he gave her. This was the third time it had happened. She supposed she hated the idea that had become firmly fixed in her mind—the idea that Scott had a girl-friend in St. Vincent, where he used to live and where he spent these week-ends. He had men­tioned St. Vincent on the telephone one day when he happened to be talking to someone, and although Jane, having knocked, and entered his room, had immedi­ately left it again, she had heard enough to establish the fact that he went to St. Vincent for these week-end breaks from business matters. Why she should assume he had a girl-friend she was not sure, but he had made those remarks about having 'other pleasures' and she supposed this was sufficient to plant the first germ of suspicion in her mind.

  Was she in love with him? she asked herself again, just as she had on that morning when they had strolled together on the private beach of the Coral Gables Hotel. And, as on that occasion, she shirked the answer, thinking of the implications and remembering that Scott could never return her love even were he to learn that she was free. Yet that glimmer of light, shin­ing in her subconscious, daily became brighter, more illuminating. This she freely owned as time passed. And when her first couple of months as Scott's sec­retary had gone by she was unable any longer to mask the light by evasion. She was irrevocably in love with him; and the flat, hopeless feeling that settled on her was made all the more bitter by the knowledge that he could have been hers, four years ago.

  But not now. He had no interest whatsoever in her as a woman, and his indifference stabbed like the sharp point of a sword. The result of her own knowledge was a constraint in her manner with him and gradually their relationship deteriorated to such an extent that she felt sure he would soon dispense with her services as secretary and let her resume her duties at the hotel. But he carried on, and she once again felt sure he intended to make her feel her position as his employee.

  It was the night before the barbecue arranged by Les that Scott came to Coral Gables and dined there, with a tall dark girl who, to Jane's critical eyes, was both artificial and conceited. Introducing her as Alma Bonsall, Scott seemed inordinately interested in Jane's reaction. With dignity she overrode the ordeal, but the pain went deep within her. She was jealous—primi­tively so. She hated the girl from the moment of setting eyes on her as the entered the dining-room, one ele­gantly-manicured hand resting on the sleeve of her escort's white dinner jacket. Her slender figure was clad in a clinging gown of silver lamé, a gown which revealed just about as much as decency permitted. Her hair, almost black and swept away from her face to form a pleat at the side of her head, was lustrous and thick, and as Jane's imagination broke bounds she saw this abunda
nce of silken tresses falling all about the girl's elegant shoulders… saw Scott's hands running through it with typical male enjoyment. Yes, she hated the girl, but managed to retain an indifferent front.

  'Will you find us a secluded corner, Jane?' The re­quest, spoken in an over-crisp tone, brought from her a darkened glance and a slight smile touched Scott's mouth. He appeared rather satisfied with himself about something, she thought, politely asking him to follow her.

  'This is the best we can do,' she told him coolly. 'Had you rung to make a reservation we could have found you a table over there… among the palms.'

  'This will do nicely, thanks.' He pulled out a chair for Alma, whose gaze was interestedly fixed on Jane.

  For a fleeting second Jane met the girl's supercilious eyes and then, to Scott,

  'I'll see that you have a menu, Scott, and the wine list.'

  'Scott,' she heard Alma say as she left the table. 'But I thought you said she was an employee of yours…?' That was all Jane heard, but it was enough to make her grind her teeth. The tone of the girl! But perhaps she had caught the superiority from Scott, thought Jane spitefully.

  'Is anything wrong?' Les asked the question immedi­ately he and Jane were seated at their table. A Captain Reeves and his wife were to join them, but for the moment they were alone. 'You look furious about something.'

  She had not realized her feelings were so transparen­tly revealed and at her brother's words she brought forth a smile.

  'You're imagining things, Les,' she answered care­lessly. 'What would I be furious for?' He shrugged.

  'I don't know. You just didn't seem yourself, I thought.' His eyes strayed to the table by the wall, lit by one small candle in a vase shaped like a broad-petalled flower. 'Scott's got himself a bundle of glamour and no mistake,' he commented after a pause. 'I wonder if she's his steady?'

  'Of course she isn't!' snapped Jane, and her brother's eyes opened wide.

  'So…'

  She coloured.

  'So—what?'

  'You don't care for his having female company, I take it?'

  'I don't give a toss about his company! Scott King­sley means nothing to me.'

  Les's eyes flickered.

  'I hope you're sure, Jane,' he said at length in anxious tones.

  'Certainly I'm sure.' Her voice was more moderated now and although her brother looked searchingly at her he made no further comment, and in any case, they were very soon joined by Captain and Mrs. Reeves and from then on the conversation became light and entertaining.

  The Captain danced with Jane. He was tall and distinguished with bushy grey hair and a large moust­ache. Catching Scott's gaze momentarily as he danced with his glamorous partner, Jane perceived that sardonic expression in his eyes and immediately glanced away. What was he trying to do to her? she could not help wondering. She had suspected him of retaliation for what she had long since done to him, then decided such an action was too petty for a man like Scott. And yet it would certainly seem that he had something in mind, and the more Jane thought of this the stronger grew her conviction.

  As she had half expected, the moment arrived when he asked her to dance. She rose stiffly, and treated him to a cool and forced little smile. He said, once they were away from her table,

  'You don't seem happy this evening, Jane. Is some­thing the matter?'

  Her mouth went tight; he saw it and gazed in­quiringly at her.

  'I'm perfectly all right, thank you.'

  'Angry, obviously.' The blue eyes twinkled with taunting amusement. Jane felt she could have enjoyed saying something to wipe that expression from his face, but unfortunately nothing appropriate occurred to her.

  'You shouldn't have left your friend,' she said.

  'I didn't. I should have thought you'd be more ob­servant; Alma has met an old flame of hers and he's dancing with her now—' Deliberately Scott swung Jane right round to that the girl and her partner were visible. 'Just so you'll know that whatever else I lack my manners at least leave nothing to be desired.'

  'Sarcasm,' she could not help retorting, 'is the lowest form of wit!'

  'And clichés the instruments of the unimaginative,' was his swift riposte, and Jane flushed.

  'You really shouldn't try to spar with me,' he added when she remained silent, endeavouring to get over her discomfiture. 'You're not sufficiently experienced in the art.'

  'How pompous you are! And so very sure of your­self!'

  'Jane,' he murmured softly, 'do try to remember that I'm your boss.'

  'Employer!'

  Scott laughed.

  'You're in a very bad temper tonight. I shall cure you later.'

  'You—? At his subtle warning she threw him a startled glance, leaning away as she did so, and in order to prevent her from bumping into someone Scott jerked her back. She trod on his toe, which did nothing for her dignity, and in addition he found herself so close to him that it seemed every muscle in his hard body was pressed against her. Embarrassed, she endeavoured to draw apart, but he kept her where she was.

  'Well, Jane,' he said close to her ear, 'you were about to make some comment…?'

  She swallowed, and to her extreme annoyance she trod on his toe again.

  'Please let me go,' she almost snapped. 'What are you supposed to be doing?'

  'Dancing with you—but you appear to have lost your skill all at once.' Mocking satire in his tones—and that detestable gleam in his eyes. Jane felt her fury straining at the bonds. She could not trust herself to speak, lest she raised her voice, and so she followed where he led and cautiously retained a silence. 'Have you lost your tongue as well?' came the infuriating question after a while, and now she did manage to draw herself from that close embrace.

  'Tell me,' she said, trying to be patient, 'are you en­joying all these taunting comments you make?'

  He only laughed and said,

  'Would you be flattered if I told you I enjoy every moment I spend in your company?'

  Her heart leapt… then sank again. The man was playing with her; this she must remember, always.

  'I wouldn't believe you,' she said.

  'I'm desolated.' His blue eyes rested on her upturned face, narrowed and faintly mocking.

  'You seem to forget I'm married.' This would put a stop to it all, she decided, but she was wrong.

  'Married…' pensively and with the most odd inflection. 'Ah, yes; I do admit that for the moment I'd quite forgotten. You know,' he added contemplatively, 'you're not at all like a married woman.' He received a startled glance and the narrowed eyes became mere slits. 'I remember my sister, when she was first married. She used to look at her husband with a sort of worship­ful gaze, and she would impulsively push her arm into his in a little affectionate gesture. She called him dar­ling no matter who was there—' Scott broke off and shrugged. 'Times have changed, I suppose, and people don't now reveal their feelings. Nevertheless, I'm sure you must be very much in love—' Again he broke off, and this time she had the extraordinary impression that he was suppressing laughter. What an enigmatical creature he was! Jane did wish she could understand him. 'Yes,' he continued presently, 'very much in love—as is your husband, although he doesn't show it either.'

  'It would hardly be the thing for us to kiss and cuddle in public,' she said defensively, and Scott's laugh actually rang out.

  'You're so right,' he agreed and, swinging her round, he reached her table just as the music stopped. 'Thank you, Jane. I shall see you later… remember?' His brows were raised, his lips twitching. 'I promised to do something to restore your good humour,' he added in a whisper, and then he was gone to join his beautiful companion.

  What did he mean? Jane frowned inwardly, and found her appetite was fast losing its keenness.

  True to his word he came to her, long after dinner, when the guests were outside on the terrace, listening to the calypso singers and the steel band. Muted illumi­nation and perfumed air added to the glamour of the tropical scene. The night, balmy and sta
rlit, was one of sheer enchantment such as can be found only in the islands of the Caribbean. Jane sat with her brother, the Captain and his wife having gone for a stroll along the beach.

  'Here comes Scott,' said Les, and Jane glanced around to see where Alma was.

  'Mr. Coates,' said Scott politely, 'would you mind very much if I took your wife off for a few minutes?'

  'Of course not,' with an eagerness that brought a darkling frown from his sister. 'Well,' he amended at once, 'er—where are you taking her?' Was this all right? he seemed to be saying to his irate sister who, it would appear, now had not the patience even to look at him.

  'Oh, only for a stroll.'

  'Fine—' Les stopped. Jane glanced at Scott, whose face was an unreadable mask. 'If it's all right with my—my wife.'

  Jane drew a deep breath. Really, Les would be giving the whole show away one of these days! To agree so eagerly to another man's taking her off. And what of Scott? His attitude was puzzling in the ex­treme; Jane thought that at least he would display a little more tact. He didn't seem to think there was any­thing at all wrong with asking her 'husband' if he could take her for a stroll.

  'Is it all right with you?' inquired Scott, and as she seemed to have no alternative she said yes and rose from her chair.

  'What happened to Alma?' she asked as they left the table, Scott's hand cupping her elbow in a possessive and masterful kind of way.

  'Alas, she deserted me for another.'

  Jane stopped and turned.

  'There's something I don't understand,' she said, eyeing him suspiciously. 'If Alma's your—your girl­friend then why aren't you with her? Don't you mind that she's with this old flame of hers?'

  'Mind? No, why should I? This is a permissive society, remember. We just move around, as it were, from one to another.'

  She swallowed hard, conscious of pain and regret—and contrition because she herself had brought about this change in him. She recalled that she had not wanted an inexperienced man for a husband; she had told herself that Scott should have learned all about women before asking one to marry him. Well, it would seem that he had learned all about them, and he was a different man because of it—cynical, sarcastic, con­temptuous of her sex. He accepted that it was permis­sible for his girl-friend to have another man, so obviously he had no ideals left. But she herself did have ideals; she could never accept it as right that people should move around, as Scott had so casually said, from one to another.