by Lilian Peake
‘Have I got to teach you your job?’ He put down his pen with deliberation. ‘Call Nedra Farmer first, fix it up with her for tomorrow, then call the others and tell them you’re sorry, but the job’s filled.’ He picked up his pen and started working.
‘That’s not fair! They’ll have made all their arrangements.’
‘For God’s sake, what’s “fair” about the world of business? I’m not saying it’s fair. It’s what suits us, the prospective employers, that matters in this instance. Now will you let me get on?’
Rosalind gave a loud, exasperated sigh.
‘Oh, by the way,’ the pen found the desk again, ‘when the girl Farmer comes, let me know. I want to be in on the interview.’
‘That’s never happened before,’ Rosalind protested. ‘One of the directors being present while I—!’ She paused, looking round. One of the directors, she’d said. ‘Where’s Patrick? His desk’s gone.’
‘He’s moved to the office next door to mine. It was only used as a waiting room.’
‘So you’ve finally driven him out. He’s been downgraded good and proper, hasn’t he?’
‘Has he?’ The question was so casual, so carelessly spoken, Rosalind swung round and went to the door before her temper surfaced.
‘I’ll tell him how sorry you are for him,’ Slade called after her dryly.
‘Tell him what you like,’ she called back. ‘You’re the boss.’
‘I am, big and bad,’ was the receding answer, ‘and don’t you forget it.’
In a languid, ‘only doing my duty’ tone, Rosalind contacted Nedra Farmer at the company for which she was currently working. She was amazed, and somewhat chagrined, to discover that her languidity was more than matched by that of the woman who answered to the name of Farmer.
Consequently, Rosalind’s faintly world-weary attitude, which had only been assumed for effect, crumbled to nothing when faced with the real thing. ‘I—I mean we—were very impressed—quite interested in—’ A long sigh in her ear made her gather her thoughts.
The trouble, she fumed, was that she was not really speaking as the personnel officer, but as the mouthpiece of the senior partner. If she had had her way, this conversation would not be happening.
‘We were wondering, Miss Farmer, if you could come to Compro tomorrow at, shall we say eleven o’clock, for an interview? I apologise for the short notice, but—’
‘Oh, don’t apologise, Miss—?’
‘Prescott, Rosalind Prescott.’
‘Miss Prescott. I’m conditioned by experience to these rush jobs, which this is, really, isn’t it?’ The tone had sweetened a little, but the voice was still a husky drawl, the sort of huskiness, Rosalind thought enviously, which would touch off the fuse of many a man’s desires. Rosalind murmured in agreement and Nedra Farmer said, ‘I’ll be there. Eleven tomorrow. Is it you who’s interviewing me?’
‘That’s right. I and——’ No, she wouldn’t mention that the senior director himself would be present. ‘I shall ask the questions.’
There came a deep, intriguing laugh. ‘Then I needn’t shake in my shoes in the waiting room, need I? Until tomorrow, Miss Prescott.’
Gerry appeared at the door and watched as Rosalind pretended to mop her brow. ‘Any potential customer who could resist that… Hi, Gerry. What can I do for you?’
He came in, seeming pleased. ‘I’ve been moved back to Commercial where I should have been from the start. Got a new project. It won’t be based here, but in Brighton.’
‘That’s fine. Just a minute.’ Rosalind rang through to the typist who acted as her secretary. It was the girl who had so engaged Slade’s attention in the pub the day before. ‘Lavinia? We’re on to a certainty with the customer liaison officer. The lady called Farmer’s agreed to be interviewed tomorrow. Write to the other five, will you, and tell them the job’s filled and not to bother to come for interview on Friday.’
‘But, Miss Prescott,’ the girl remonstrated, ‘suppose Miss Farmer turns the job down?’
Rosalind sighed. ‘You’re right, Lavinia, but I’m under boss’s orders. Okay?’ Rosalind replaced the receiver and said to Gerry, ‘You know what they say about Brighton and illicit weekends? Where the tired businessman takes his—’
She followed his staring eyes. As she had replaced the phone with her left hand, the flash of the diamond must have caught Gerry’s eyes. There was a jarring yet anguished look on his face.
‘So you’re engaged. Couldn’t tell me who he was, could you? Now it’s official, you can.’ She was silent. ‘No wonder you wouldn’t come and live with me! He must be worth a fortune to buy you that little bauble. And,’ as his voice rose towards hysteria, he was unaware of the figure looming in the doorway, ‘to think I thanked you, thanked you, for putting your head on my pillow last night! To think I told you my secrets, and when you went you kissed me …’
Rosalind, seeing the towering figure behind him, wanted to scream out to the younger man, Stop, stop! The way he looks right now he might kill you … Gerry followed the path of her eyes and saw Slade Anderson. He swung back to Rosalind. ‘So that’s who it is—the New Broom himself ! Swept you off your feet all right, didn’t he? Be careful he doesn’t sweep you right under the carpet after you’re married to him. He’s the sort to run a wife and a mistress.’
Gerry was beside himself, his cheeks scarlet, his hair agitated into disorder by agonised hands. With two strides Slade confronted him, grabbing him by the collar, but Gerry shook himself free. ‘You’re not throwing me out until I’ve had my say. I’m the one who said I’d smash the “other man’s” face in. Well, I’m not fool enough to do such a thing to the man who pays my salary, but if I tell him a thing or two about his precious fiancée, I guess that’ll have the same effect.’
‘Gerry,’ Rosalind whispered, ‘please …’
Slade faced her, cheeks drained, eyes icy cold. ‘Were you on his bed last night? Did you, as he said, put “your head on his pillow”?’
‘I’ll say she—’
Slade silenced him with a forcefully worded phrase. He turned back to Rosalind. ‘Well?’
She answered quietly, ‘I lay on his bed, I put my head on his pillow. I kissed him.’
‘And wow,’ Gerry interrupted, his voice high-pitched, ‘is she a great little lover! And do you know what else?’ His words were slurred, as if he were drunk. ‘I couldn’t get her out of my bed. She kept wanting more and—’
‘Gerry!’ Rosalind cried. ‘How can you say such things when you know they’re—’
Gerry laughed hoarsely and disappeared.
Slade’s lips were pale, the skin around them white.
‘Slade,’ Rosalind pleaded, ‘please believe me when I tell you again that nothing happened last night.’
She was talking to his shadow. Then even that was gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
ROSALIND did not see Slade again until he returned home with Patrick. It was a moment she had dreaded all day.
When she had prepared the evening meal, she changed into a pink and white shirt blouse and white slacks. After combing her dark hair which, thick as it was, sprang softly into curls which framed her face, she applied a little makeup.
Why, she asked her reflection, am I doing all this? She knew the answer even without the help of the girl in the mirror. There was a compulsion inside her to put things right between herself and Slade. If she made herself attractive and feminine, maybe it would soften his attitude and persuade him to listen to reason, to believe her when she told him the truth about the time she had spent with Gerry the evening before.
When the front door opened as she descended the stairs, her heart dived. By the cold look on Slade’s face, she knew that he had not forgotten the scene in her office that morning. Nor had he forgiven her for the transgressions which, as a result of Gerry’s false accusations, he thought she had committed.
All through the evening meal Patrick talked about business matters. Slade gave bland replies,
even mentioning new contracts he was hoping to secure for the company. They might have been dining out and she a stranger who was sharing their table. Part of her was pleased that she did not have to join the discussion. The other part wanted to shout, ‘Remember me? I’m the sister of one of you and the fiancée of the other!’ The evening passed slowly. They watched television and listened to tapes and records on Patrick’s elaborate hi-fi equipment. Rosalind, weary of waiting for the opportunity to speak privately to Slade, went up to bed. She had not gone unnoticed. At die door, she turned to say ‘goodnight’ and found Slade’s cool eyes upon her.
Tired with an excess of emotion rather than true fatigue, she sank on to her dressing-table stool. Peeling off her shirt, she studied herself in the mirror, noting the slope of her shoulders and the attractively feminine shape which was reflected back at her. I’m not such a bad bargain, she told herself, why—
The door opened and Slade entered, edging the door shut with his shoulder. ‘That’s a smug look on your face, honey,’ he drawled. ‘Was it something Gerry Alton told you last night?’
She half-turned. ‘Can’t you get it into your head that nothing happened between us, nothing ! What Gerry implied simply wasn’t true.’
‘No? Even though you lay on his bed? Yet before that,’ he added bitterly, ‘you swore on your honour that all you did was talk about Alton’s difficulties.’
‘That’s all—’
‘You kissed him, you admitted it.’
‘I admit it,’ she said wearily. ‘But he made those stupid statements simply out of revenge. You see, I hurt his pride, although you,’ her flushed face lifted to his accusingly, ‘you wouldn’t understand that, would you, since you don’t care about other people’s feelings, least of all mine. You bought me, along with the business. To you, I’m just a clause in a contract.’
‘Correct,’ he said, his eyes sweeping carelessly over her, reminding her of how much of herself she was revealing. She clasped her arms across her body. ‘And, my beautiful clause-in-a-contract, on Saturday you’re fulfilling that contract.’
Her heartbeats tripped against themselves. ‘You mean we’re—?’
‘Getting married. After what I heard this morning, I want a legal hold on you. Today I obtained a licence and attended to all the formalities. This evening I shall phone my parents and you can contact yours whenever you wish.’
Her throat tightened with every word he spoke. She forced herself to ask, ‘Where will we live?’
‘Exactly where we live now. Patrick and I have discussed it and he has no objection. Eventually, of course, we’ll get a place of our own.’
‘Thanks for consulting me! Didn’t it occur to you that I might want to move out of Patrick’s place?’
‘And leave the brother you’re so fond of to fend for himself? No, I see you hadn’t thought about that.’
‘Where—’ she moistened her lips, ‘where will we sleep?’
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Was there a trace of mockery in his eyes? ‘Where we sleep now. I’ll ask little, if anything, of you.’
His reply, she told herself fiercely, had pleased her. She retrieved her shirt from the floor, pulling it cape-like across her shoulders.
‘Take tomorrow off,’ Slade instructed, ‘and buy yourself a wedding outfit. Unless you intend to go to the ceremony in a tee-shirt and jeans? As a token gesture of defiance, of course.’
‘Maybe I will,’ she snapped, infuriated by his derision. ‘Maybe I’ll go dressed in my oldest clothes. Why should I spend my hard-earned money buying clothes I’ll never wear again simply because they’ll remind me of an event I’ll remember with loathing for the rest of my life?’
Patrick’s head came round the door. ‘Is she at it again, Slade? What’s set her off this time?’
She turned on Patrick. ‘The diabolical way you used me as a bargaining weapon to get Slade’s money and Slade’s support for Compro.’
Patrick and Slade exchanged glances, but neither spoke. Rosalind pulled on her shirt and after watching her lazily, Slade said, ‘I’ve just told her the date of our wedding.’ As Patrick’s eyebrows rose in enquiry, Slade said, ‘Saturday, three o’clock. That should give whichever members of the family who want to come plenty of time to get here. There’ll be a small reception afterwards at the Cranbrook Hotel not far from here.’
Rosalind said, ‘I don’t know whether my parents could afford to pay for such a place. It’s—’
‘All taken care of,’ Slade broke in. ‘Since you’re not marrying me voluntarily, I wouldn’t dream of asking them to pay.’
‘That’s good of you,’ said Patrick. ‘Having a honeymoon?’
Slade shrugged. ‘Since the lady’s hardly likely to be willing, no.’
Rosalind turned her back to Slade. ‘Thanks again,’ she said thickly, ‘for consulting me on the matter.’
‘Ugh, sarcasm,’ groaned Patrick.
‘Do you mind?’ said Rosalind. ‘It’s late. I’m tired.’
Patrick went out, Slade remained. Rosalind’s skin prickled and she knew he was approaching. To hide from him the excitement which she knew her eyes would reveal, she closed them. Not only her body but her mind wanted to know the touch of him again. She was not disappointed. The shirt-blouse slipped from her shoulders and arms and she was turned to face him.
‘Open your eyes,’ he murmured, ‘look at me.’ She shook her head, squeezing her eyes tightly like a child. He laughed and she felt him move. Under the feathering of his lips her shoulder and her throat came to tingling life. There was the grasp of his hands round her arms. ‘I’m tired, too, Rosa,’ he said softly. ‘Your bed looks inviting. Will its owner give me that invitation?’
Her eyes stayed closed. She knew that if she saw his face she would yield to his request. ‘We’re marrying in three days,’ she reminded him in a whisper. ‘As you said yourself, it won’t be a real marriage. So,’ she took a deep breath, ‘will you please leave me alone?’
He put her ungently from him. ‘Saving yourself for the shining knight in armour of your dreams? He’ll never come. No real man is a hero. He’s flesh, blood and desire.’ He went to the door, turned and looked at her. She had opened her eyes at last and their gaze locked.
‘By heaven,’ he muttered, ‘I’ll do what I want…’
He was approaching again and she urged backwards away from him, afraid that if she responded as she knew she would if his lovemaking began in earnest, he would guess her precious secret. The determination in his face changed to anger. He swung round, leaving her room and slamming me door.
Next morning Rosalind arrived at the office early. Her first thought was to inform her parents of her coming marriage. There was little enough time, she thought, impatiently pushing away the pile of mail which awaited her, for her mother and father to make arrangements to travel to London and book accommodation.
She dialled the code and number which would connect her to her parents’ house. Her pen tapped impatiently on the desk top until her mother’s voice came through. ‘Oh, Mum,’ Rosalind said, emotion putting a waver into the words, ‘it’s so nice to hear you. I hope I didn’t get you out of bed!’
‘Rosa dear, you know your father and I get up early. But is there anything wrong? Patrick, is he—’
‘Perfectly all right. No, it’s about me, Mum. And—and Slade. You know, Slade Anderson. Remember? Well, he’s joined Compro. Did Patrick tell you? No? I suppose he hasn’t had time. But that’s not all, Mum. Slade and I are going to be married. Yes, married.’
‘Oh, Rosa, my dear—just a moment, I must tell your father …’ There were voices in the background. ‘Your dad says he’s delighted. You know,’ she went on excitedly, ‘Slade said to us all those years ago that there’d only be one girl for him all his life, and that was you. He said that at sixteen you were too young to know your own mind, but he’d wait, he’d come back. And he did, didn’t he? Were you waiting for him, dear?’ There was such a tender note in her mother’s voice, Rosalind
almost cried.
‘Well, not really, I —’ She stopped. ‘Yes, of course I was, Mum.’ She laughed, hoping she sounded like a happy bride-to-be. ‘I must have been, mustn’t I?’
‘You certainly must,’ was the indulgent answer. ‘When’s the wedding? You know we’re responsible financially for everything. You must have a reception. I hope you’ve given us good notice.’
Rosalind hardly knew how to tell her mother. ‘Well, that’s the point, really. It’s this Saturday. Yes, two days’ time. I know it’s short notice, but Slade said he’d see to everything. He’s booked a room at a nice place called the Cranbrook Hotel. But he’s paying, Mum. He insists. He’s so rich, you see …’ She laughed with her mother, who still seemed stunned.
‘Oh, dear, Rosa, it’s so difficult. I don’t know what to do. You see, your father and I booked this round-the-world cruise months ago. We were so afraid of something happening to stop us going, we didn’t tell anyone. It lasts three-months. We intended to phone you and Patrick this evening …’ Her voice tailed off and Rosalind rushed in,
‘Please, Mum, don’t cancel. You must go, both of you. It’s not worth—I mean—well—’ Rosalind thought frantically, ‘you both know Slade so well, I’m sure he won’t mind. Nor will Patrick. Yes, yes, you must come and see us —or us see you, as soon as you can after you come back. Yes, I expect there’ll be a photographer.’
She felt her mother was near to tears and added, ‘That’s right, have your little cry now, Mum, instead of at the ceremony. All mothers are supposed to cry at their daughter’s weddings, aren’t they? Yes, love to Dad, and you’ll have a wonderful time on the cruise, I know you will.’
By the time the conversation was over Rosalind felt emotionally drained. She found a tissue and dabbed at her eyes, only to find Patrick watching her at the door. ‘Were you speaking to Mum?’ he asked.
‘Yes, what of it? I’m soon going to be the wife of the boss, thanks to you, so I can make as many long-distance calls as I like.’
‘Okay, okay, don’t take off. How are the parents?’ She told him about the cruise.
