The Way of a Tyrant

by Anne Hampson

  'I'll never be his woman,' she whispered fiercely, 'no matter how I feel about him!'

  She took the report, neatly typed, back to Scott later in the day. Their eyes met briefly as she placed it on his desk; taking it up, he turned back the cover and for a space he looked at the first page in frowning con­templation. Jane felt a quickening of her pulse as she watched his changing expression while he flicked over the pages.

  'You've missed something out,' he told her, his voice over-crisp. 'On the first page.' Having returned to it he began perusing it again. 'Yes, and now all the page numbers will be wrong.'

  'I've missed something out?' Jane caught up her lower lip in vexation; she had known all the morning that her mind had not really been on her work, but she would not have thought she had made a mistake like this. 'I'll go and fetch your original copy.'

  The report was tossed at her and she picked it up.

  'It seems to me that a whole page of my copy is missing.'

  Jane was reading through the first page of her own copy.

  'It doesn't read as though there's anything mis­sing-'

  'Jane!' he interrupted sharply, 'I say there's some­thing missing! Don't stand there arguing; go and bring my copy!'

  'Yes.' Leaving the report on his desk, she left the room, stinging from the anger in his voice. He had spoken sharply to her before this, very sharply on oc­casions, but never had she been so hurt by his manner as she was today.

  'You're right,' she was saying a few minutes later. 'I've missed out a full page.'

  Scott drew an impatient breath.

  'You'll have to do the whole thing again.'

  She refrained from argument, realizing at once that she would receive the full lash of his tongue were she to protest, as she had protested once before. But she had no intention of re-typing the whole; she could quite easily rub out the numbers and re-number each page. This she did, after inserting the extra page. But she had reckoned without her employer's keen eyesight and im­mediately she presented the report she regretted her disobedience. His eyes came up, narrowed and stern.

  'I thought I told you to re-type all of this.' He tapped it with his finger. 'Perhaps you'll explain why you haven't done as I ordered?'

  'It—it seemed unnecessary to do it all again. The numbers are neatly done—' The crash of his hand on the desk cut her short and she actually jumped. 'I'm sorry…'

  'When I give instructions I expect them to be carried out.' The report was actually flung across the desk; it would have slid on to the floor had not Jane stepped forward to catch it. 'Do it again!' The command was rapped out with unbelievable imperiousness.

  'Today?' Automatically she glanced at the clock, an action which brought a glint to the hard blue eyes.

  'Yes,' said Scott in a very soft tone, a tone far more deadly than the one he had just used. 'Today.'

  Jane opened her mouth to protest, aware that she would have to put in at least two hours' overtime, and Les would be needing her, especially this evening, when they were having the barbecue. But she very soon decided against voicing her protest. Scott's expression was quite enough to still her tongue.

  It was ridiculous for him to demand a whole re­typing, she thought, her anger rising as she looked at him. But she was under no illusion as to the reason for the order. Once again he was letting her see that he was the boss, and she merely his employee. She had asked for it, of course, requesting as she had that their relation­ship remain on a business footing. It was not only that, though; Scott, she now had to accept, was in fact get­ting his own back for what she had done to him four years ago. Out of character it might be, but it was there, for what other reason could he have for treating her in this way?

  She was very tired when at last she finished her work. Scott was not in his study and she left the report on his desk and went home to Coral Gables. Les had rung through to Driftwood house earlier and she had told him she would be working late.

  'I think it was rather mean of Scott,' Les said with a frown on noting how tired she looked. 'You should have told him you hadn't slept very well last night and he might then have let you do the work tomorrow.'

  Jane said nothing; Scott had guessed that she hadn't slept, but the knowledge had not made any difference.

  'I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you. I hope it's all in order?'

  Les nodded.

  'Yes. I have a marvellous staff here.'

  'I suppose I'd better get ready,' she said with a sigh. She would far rather have gone to bed, but she had promised Les she would wander about among the guests, giving special attention to those old people who were alone. There seemed to be so many of them, mainly women, and they looked forward to Jane's interest in them, and her conversation. 'I'll see you later.' She smiled at her brother and went up to her room. Life was becoming more and more difficult, and although she was glad for her brother's sake that they were here, she did wonder just how long she could tolerate Scott's strange moods.

  Just as she surmised, he was at the barbecue, with Alma, whose other young man was not present. She hung on to Scott's arm, flirting with him, using her big dark eyes as only the experienced knew how, and Jane could well see how he came by his opinion of women. Depressed, and feeling so weary from loss of sleep that she could have left the barbecue and gone to her room, Jane strolled away from the chattering throng standing about under the palms, holding plates of food cooked by the natives who had made fires on the beach. Just a few minutes' break would revive her, she thought, finding a quiet corner of the garden away from the glare of lights illuminating the lawns and shrubberies. The bench was set under a dainty pink poui tree and Jane rested her head against its trunk.

  Voices caught her ears and she shrank back, out of sight of the path.

  'I think I must leave Coral Gables, Margaret. It isn't possible for me to stay, not under the circumstances.' The speaker was Gwen—the young receptionist who had come to the hotel the week after the arrival of Jane and Les. Les had engaged her, choosing her from among six applicants, after Mrs. Bakewell, the existing receptionist, had given in her notice, deciding she did not want to work under a new manager. Gwen—want­ing to leave already? Les would be so upset, Jane felt sure, as he often praised her efficiency and remarked on the charming manner she adopted with the guests.

  'You've been very foolish, Gwen.' Margaret, one of the girls employed to run the various tours which were part of the service offered to the guests, spoke with sympathy in her voice as she added, 'It hurts like hell, loving someone out of reach. I know, because it hap­pened to me once.'

  'He was married?'

  'Yes. And like you, I decided to get out, to take myself right away. It's the only thing to do. You get over it in time, whereas if you stay around it gets grad­ually worse.'

  'I wish I'd never come! Sometimes I think I can't go—can't bear not to see him, ever. But at other times I know I must go.' A pause and then, 'They never seem in love…'

  'They must be; they've only been married a few months. Mr. Coates had to be married in order to get the post…' Margaret's voice gradually faded as the two girls strolled on, hidden from Jane's eyes by the thick bougainvillaea hedge, on the other side of which they were now walking.

  Jane sat very still, shocked by what she had heard. Gwen in love with Les—and believing him to be mar­ried ! She had sounded so unhappy, so hopeless. Jane's own dejection spread like an enveloping cloak. What a damnable situation! Gwen was so sweet, and although Les was not interested in her at present, he could be, later, if only Gwen would stay.

  'The web of lies,' Jane whispered to herself. 'How does one extricate oneself? We should never have done it. I knew all along that complications must result.'

  But never in her wildest imaginings could she have foreseen all this. Should she speak to Scott and ask him to allow the whole thing to be cleared up? It only needed his consent, and his promise that Les would be convinced that he was forgiven and that there was no need for him to throw up his job— Jan
e cut her musings at this point. Les was too vulnerable; he would be so thoroughly ashamed that nothing would induce him to remain as manager of the hotel.

  A deep sigh escaped her as she got up and made her way back to the shore. The picture of Alma hanging on to Scott's arm did nothing to help lift her spirits and it needed only old Mr. Bradshawe to seek her out to bring her to the point of tears.

  'Ah, there you are, my dear Mrs. Coates. I've been looking for you the whole evening. Will you come into the bar and have a drink with me?'

  She nodded wearily.

  'Of course, Mr. Bradshawe.' They began to walk back to the hotel. 'Are you enjoying the barbecue?'

  'Very much indeed. The food's marvellous. But I missed you. I like young company—and especially pretty young company!' He gave a laugh and she shuddered. At eighty years of age he was still upright, square of shoulder and sprightly on his legs. He had sought Jane out from the moment of entering the hotel, when, Gwen having been off colour, Jane had told her to go to bed and had taken over her job for the rest of the evening. She disliked Mr. Bradshawe on sight, but of course she did not show it. On the contrary, she was polite as ever, producing the necessary smile of wel­come and expressing the hope that he would enjoy his stay with them. He was sure he would, had been his swift response, and he had patted Jane's bare arm in the most familiar way. His arm would have gone round her shoulders now, but she forestalled him, making sure that she stepped aside each time he came close to her.

  They were sitting in the bar when Scott and Alma entered, and with a smile Scott asked if he could join them. In spite of the coldness that had developed be­tween her and Scott, Jane threw him a grateful glance, to which he responded with a faint inclination of his head.

  'I seem always to be rescuing you from old fogeys,' he whispered in her ear a few minutes later. 'How do you manage to get yourself tied up with all these senior citizens?'

  'There's something about me that appeals to them, apparently.'

  'Scott darling, what are you whispering for?' Alma complained just as he was about to bend towards Jane's ear again. 'Have you and Mrs. Coates got a secret?'

  'How did you guess?' he laughed. 'Indeed we have.'

  'Then I want to be let into it! I demand to be let into it!'

  Scott regarded her as he might regard a fractious child whom he would dearly have loved to spank. Jane felt a little lighter from the realization of this, as it did seem that Scott cared little or nothing about this girl with whom he was going about.

  'You demand, Alma?' said Scott softly, and the girl went a trifle red. 'Surely you know me better than to use a word like that?'

  Alma pouted; Jane transferred her glance and saw that Scott was frowning and looking decidedly im­patient. Serve him right! He should have more sense than to go about with a girl like Alma Bonsall.

  'You're not in a very nice mood tonight, Scott! I think I'll ask you to take me home.'

  'Home?'

  'Well, to where I'm staying.' She seemed to have had too much to drink, Jane thought, and the girl's next words strengthened the idea. 'I live on the island of St. Vincent, Mrs. Coates, if that's of any interest to you.'

  'It isn't,' Jane could not resist saying, and Scott's lips twitched.

  'It isn't? But how rude. You should be interested in all your guests!'

  'But you're not one of our guests, Miss Bonsall,' pointed out Jane sweetly.

  'For tonight I am! Scott brought me, so we're both your guests!'

  Jane looked at Scott; his face was a mask now and she gathered that Alma had no idea that Scott had any financial interest in Coral Gables.

  'You're staying somewhere else, though, Miss Bon­sall.'

  'At the—' She stopped and creased her brow. 'I never can remember the name. But it's a rotten place! I've asked to come here, but your receptionist will insist that you're full, and I'm quite sure you're not!'

  'I'm quite sure we are, Miss Bonsall.'

  'Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I shall be going home the day after tomorrow.' She leant towards Scott; Jane had a whiff of heavy exotic perfume. 'You'll be coming too, won't you, darling?'

  Scott nodded his head.

  'I believe I shall be going over to St. Vincent the day after tomorrow.'

  'I'm so glad. I do hate travelling alone.' A dazzling smile went the rounds. Mr. Bradshawe glowed and asked Alma how it was that she and he had not met before now.

  'Mrs. Coates knows that I very much enjoy pretty female company.'

  Scott and Jane exchanged glances.

  'I've only come for the barbecue,' purred Alma. 'Are you all alone here?'

  'Quite alone. But Mrs. Coates is around in the eve­nings and keeps me company, don't you, my dear?'

  'I try, Mr. Bradshawe.' A forced smile accompanied her words. 'Often, though, I have other things to do.'

  Alma yawned elegantly behind a perfectly mani­cured hand.

  'Scott darling, I'm so very tired. Would you take me back to my hotel?' She paused, and as he did not speak at once she added in a softly purring tone, 'Or I might stay at your beautiful new house…?'

  'Is that what you want?' If he noticed the expression of disgust on Jane's face he chose to ignore it.

  'I'd love it! Haven't I just said how horrid my hotel is?'

  'You have, Alma, but you're very hard to please, remember.'

  'I know I shall be more than pleased with your new house.'

  'You've seen it already.'

  'But never slept there.' The sultry voice seemed, to Jane's most critical ears, to hold some hidden meaning. She glanced at Scott and her eyes plainly told him what she thought of Alma. His mouth quivered, and Jane knew he was inwardly amused.

  'Then, my dear,' said Scott with a smile for Alma, 'you shall sleep there tonight.'

  Jane actually gave a start. Despite the trend of con­versation she had not until this moment believed that Scott would take the girl to his home. Her wildly expanding imagination brought unbearable pain. By what strange quirk of fate had she come to fall in love with the man that Scott now was, yet she had turned from him when he was good and kind and decent morally? She must stop dwelling on the past, she told herself sternly. She had thrown away the gold and now not even the dross was within her grasp.

  He was rising to his feet; he picked up a wrap that Alma had thrown across the back of her chair.

  'We're going?' Alma rose and pushed an arm through his. 'Good night, Mrs. Coates—Mr. Bradshawe. We might meet again some time.'

  He went coy and the colour mounted his cheeks.

  'I sincerely hope so. Yes, indeed I do. Good-bye for now.'

  Scott's eyes met those of Jane. His inner amusement was there still, but his voice was untinged by this humour as he said,

  'Mrs. Coates, you look extremely tired. I think you should trot off to bed, don't you agree, Mr. Bradshawe?'

  The old man frowned.

  'Well—er-'

  'I knew you would agree with me. Mrs. Coates…' A sweep of his hand indicated that she should precede him and gratefully she obeyed the silent invitation.

  With a smile she said good night to the old man and walked away with Scott and his companion.

  'Thank you,' she murmured softly while Alma was busy at a mirror, combing her hair. 'I'm grateful to you.'

  'No trouble at all. Good night, Jane. I'll see you in the morning.'

  She merely nodded, dejected and at the same time sick with disgust as she saw Scott and Alma going off together, to spend the night at his home.

  And later, she added anger to her other emotions as she lay awake in her bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep because of the vivid picture which her im­agination put before her eyes.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When Jane arrived at Driftwood House the following morning she fully expected to find that Scott had not yet started work, but she was mistaken. He was in his study, but he did happen to stifle a yawn as after knocking she entered in response to his 'Come in'.

  'Good
morning,' she said stiffly, her notebook in her hand. She felt embarrassed, and angry because of it. He should be embarrassed, not she. On the contrary, he was looking perfectly cool and self-assured—except for being tired, that was, she thought.

  'Good morning, Jane.' Scott eyed her intently, then indicated a chair opposite to where he was sitting, at his desk. She sat down, and stared at her notebook. Where was Alma? she wondered. Still in bed, probably. 'There are several letters for you to take down,' he said casually, 'and another report to type.'

  For the next twenty minutes or so she was occupied, but her mind kept wandering to Alma and twice she had to ask Scott to repeat what he had said.

  'What's the matter with you this morning?' he snapped, frowning at her. 'Concentrate!'

  Jane bit her lip and tried her best to keep her mind on her work, but once again she failed and this time the imperious voice of her employer demanded to know what was wrong. His eyes were hard; his mouth and jaw took on lines she had never seen before. And all at once her lip trembled and she found herself blinking rapidly in order to hold back the tears which threatened to fall. She thought unhappily, 'He wasn't like this with Alma,' and then she frowned at the intrusion, because in spite of the way she felt she had no wish to be classed with a woman who would brazenly ask to sleep at a man's house.

  'If you'll excuse me,' she said huskily, 'I'm not very well—I mean, I have a headache…'

  'A headache?' Scott looked intently at her. 'Is that the reason for your tears?'

  Vexedly she brushed a hand across her eyes. Ab­surdly she said,

  'I'm not crying.'