'I'll sue you for every cent, Gene, if you insist on publishing that rubbish!' a low husky voice said, and Pippa stepped away from the door, startled at the venom in the voice.
A man laughed abruptly.
'To do that successfully, my dear Sally-Jayne, you'd have to disprove what I say, and that would be difficult with regard to our private dealings!'
It was Mr Watson, a note of amusement in his tone. Clearly, Pippa thought, the conversation was to do with the memoirs she had been employed to help organise.
Who was the woman, she wondered, and what sort of memoirs could they be to stimulate such anger?
'I could reveal some pretty discreditable things about you if I chose!' the woman continued and then a third voice, teasingly familiar to Pippa's ears, spoke decisively.
'There is nothing to be gained by either of you indulging in such petty recriminations,' the man said. 'I cannot see any reason for giving the gossips more scandal to chew over, Gene. Why are you so determined to publish?'
'I want to set the record straight,' Mr Watson, who must be Gene, Pippa realised as she looked impotently about her for a way of avoiding this embarrassing conversation, said curtly.
'Is it worth stirring up old hatreds and creating new ones?'
'Your name would be mud after I'd finished,' the woman interjected.
'I've been maligned often enough in the past. This will be my version. As to you, my dear, since the doctors give me no more than a year why should I care about the calumnies that will be thrown at me? They will not disturb me.'
'If that does not concern you why should the record do so?'
'That will remain long after the gossip has been forgotten, Juan.'
'Then you won't reconsider?' the woman asked, and after a brief silence she gave an exclamation of fury and the door was opened wide.
*
Pippa, wishing that she could disappear into some of the greenery in the hall, stepped back still further from the door, but the woman who emerged did not see her for as soon as she had gained the hall she turned abruptly to face the man who had followed her out.
She was tall, golden haired, and one of the most beautiful women Pippa had ever seen. She wore a sleeveless, plunging white top and a brief white skirt which showed to great advantage her tanned skin and long, shapely legs. Her figure was slender but voluptuous, and she moved with sinuous grace even though she was plainly in a furious temper.
'Can't you deal with the old fool, Juan?' she demanded, making no attempt to lower her voice so that Mr Watson would not hear.
Pippa did not hear his reply because a harsh laugh from inside the room rose above the other voice, then the man came into view.
Pippa's eyes widened in surprise and just at that moment the man saw her. It was the same man she had twice collided with at the hotel in London when she had been going for her interview with Mr Watson. Confused by his contemptuous stare she recalled that on the second occasion it had been just outside the door of Mr Watson's suite, and it could have been quite probable he had been coming away from it.
Before she could collect her wits together he spoke directly to her.
'So you are here. I trust you found your eavesdropping rewarding,' he said scathingly, and before she could indignantly deny the charge he had followed the woman to the outer door. As she stared after them she heard footsteps on the tiles of the hall and turned to see Luis, accompanied by a small plump woman, approaching.
'Maria will show you your room,' Luis said and stood aside with Pippa's cases while his wife, smiling and nodding, led Pippa up the stairs. She was still fuming at the beastly, arrogant man's accusation.
They had reached the upstairs hall when they heard the sound of a car, and from the way in which Maria glanced at Luis, shrugging her shoulders, Pippa guessed they were aware of Mr Watson's recent visitors.
Then she forgot the strange scene below as she exclaimed in wonder at the huge bedroom Maria led her to. A soft blue carpet covered the floor, and the curtains and a pair of comfortable armchairs were in a deeper shade. The bed was a low double divan with an exquisite snowy white lace bedspread. The walls too were white, and the bathroom glimpsed through an open door had white tiles and a bath in the same deep blue as the bedroom curtains.
'I will open the shutters, the sun is less hot now,' Maria said and Pippa went to look out of the window as she did so.
On the balcony outside was a small table and several chairs, a lounger and a big adjustable sunshade, at present furled. The windows faced the beach and a small clump of pine trees hid one arm of the cliffs from view.
'It is beautiful, no?' Maria asked. 'I will unpack your cases now while Luis tells Mr Watson you have arrived.'
*
Pippa nodded absently. She had seen an open topped Mercedes snaking its way along the track out of the valley, and she recalled with mingled fury and puzzlement the antagonism displayed by the unknown man. She had met him so briefly, three times, yet on each occasion she had appeared in a bad light. First she had been absorbed in contemplating her reflection in the hotel mirror. She wanted to justify her apparent vanity by explaining that any girl facing an interview for a job wanted to look her best. Then he had heard her angry argument with Frank outside Mr Watson's suite and must have formed an even worse impression of her, unaware that Frank had pursued her against her wishes and had persisted in arguing with her. And finally he had found her apparently listening to a conversation which could be none of her business.
'Though what I could have done I about it, not knowing the house, I can't think!' she said indignantly, and shook her head in response to Maria's enquiring look. 'Sorry, I have a bad habit of talking to myself,' she said with an embarrassed laugh. 'Who were the people with Mr Watson when I arrived?'
Maria gave her a strange look.
'Il Conde Juan is his nephew, his sister's child. She married a Spanish nobleman,' she explained. 'The other was Sally-Jayne Ross, his last wife.
'Sally-Jayne Ross? The actress?' Pippa asked in astonishment.
'Did you not recognise her?' Maria asked, surprised.
Pippa thought of the famous blonde beauty, noted for her green eyes and ravishing smile, and accepted it suddenly.
'I had a feeling she was familiar,' she admitted. 'I've seen her in her last two films. But I didn't know she was married to Mr Watson.'
'She is not now,' Maria said drily, 'but she often stays on Mallorca and a fast boat can soon bring her here.'
'Mallorca? Oh yes, that is the Spanish name for the larger island,' Pippa said with a smile. 'I shall have to use it. You speak such good English, Maria.'
'I lived in London when I was a girl, my family had a famous restaurant there. I married Luis when he was there with Mr Watson and have spent years in California until Mr Watson gave up acting.'
'Acting? Then he - Mr Watson was also in films?' she asked, astonished.
Maria smiled suddenly. 'You are not very quick to recognise stars, Miss Dawson,' she said with a laugh. 'Perhaps it is to be understood if you were not expecting to meet them. Mr Watson's name in Hollywood was Gene Perrier. Did he not tell you that the book he plans to write is all about his years in the film business?'
'No, he did not!' Pippa said, startled. Gene Perrier, she was thinking in amazement. One of the best known actors of thirty or forty years ago, he had never been a great star, but he had played major roles in many of the best and most popular films, and many critics had maintained he had never been given the opportunity of showing his real potential in leading parts. Rumours of his blunt manner and outspokenness towards other actors and directors were rife in his heyday, and Pippa had read that this had prevented him from reaching the very top. Was he bitter, vindictive against those he might have disagreed with? Did he intend to publish his version of what had happened? From the few sentences she had just overheard it seemed likely. Her task as his assistant would prove rather more exciting than she had imagined, Pippa realised.
Maria had been
speaking and Pippa came to with a start.
'I'm sorry, what did you say?' she apologised.
'I'll go and ask whether Mr Watson is ready to see you now,' Maria said and left the room.
Pippa sat down on one of the balcony chairs, staring out over the sea. She did not look at the rippling waves, stirred by a slight breeze, however. In her mind she saw the look of contempt on the face of the man she had encountered on three brief occasions, three times when he had caught her in actions which could appear detrimental to herself. He must have been visiting his uncle at the hotel in London, she realised, for she had seen him the second time right outside the suite. He must have emerged while she was arguing with Frank. Juan, Maria had called him. Il Conde. That must be the same as Count.
Would she see him again, Pippa wondered. Would she have the opportunity of changing the impression he had already formed of her? Vain, bad tempered, and unduly curious, that must be the way he thought of her, and she was none of those horrid things. Without wondering why, she longed for the chance to prove his first impressions wrong.
*
Chapter 3
Maria soon returned and took Pippa down to a large and sumptuously furnished sitting room. The floor was of highly polished parquet with scattered white wool rugs, and deep green leather armchairs. Three pairs of wide french windows opened onto the patio and the curtains, white flowers on a green background, moved sinuously in the slight breeze.
Mr Watson was seated in a chair near one of the windows, his hands clasping a brandy goblet. He smiled at Pippa as Maria ushered her into the room.
'Please forgive me, Miss Dawson, if I remain seated. I have not been well these past few days. Come and sit down.'
He looked pale and drawn and Pippa felt a sudden anger against the couple who, seeing him like this, had still importuned him about his memoirs.
'Can I do anything?' she asked in concern as she perched on the arm of another leather chair opposite him.
'Pour me another brandy if you will,' he said, draining the goblet of the last few drops it held and holding it out to her.
'It's all right Maria, you can go back to the kitchen. Miss Dawson will take good care of me as you see.'
Maria nodded, gave Pippa an anxious smile as she crossed to the table holding the decanters, and softly left the room, although Pippa noted she did not quite close the door behind her.
'Help yourself to a sherry while you're there, or anything else you fancy,' Mr Watson suggested. 'The sherry is very good, my nephew grows it on his estates.'
Pippa poured the drinks and carried them back to where he sat.
'Your nephew?' she queried. 'He is Spanish?'
'Rather more than half, in effect. One of my grandparents was Spanish and my sister, Juan's mother, married a Spaniard. You may have seen him, he has just left.'
'Er - yes, I did see him briefly,' Pippa agreed.
'He is staying here with me at the moment, but I believe he intends to take a boat across to Majorca and no doubt will spend the night there,' Mr Watson said and a bitter note crept into his voice.
'Are the islands far apart?' asked.
'The shortest distance is about twenty-five miles, so it does not take long in a fast motor boat. Slightly more to Puerto Pollensa or Formentor and twice as long to Palma, although Juan rarely goes to the capital, he prefers the quieter areas. Do you like the sherry?'
'I've never tasted sherry so smooth and rich,' Pippa replied. 'Does your nephew produce much?'
'Not a great deal, his estate near Jerez is small. The main ones are near Malaga where the wine is first class, and Toledo where vast quantities of cheap wine is grown in the La Mancha area.'
Pippa blinked. The nephew must be wealthy with three estates producing these various wines. She wondered what his attitude to herself would be when he returned. He clearly disliked the notion of his uncle's memoirs being published and he was already contemptuous of her.
Was the bitterness she had discerned in Mr Watson's voice simply because of this opposition or had it some other cause?
She had no time to muse further for Mr Watson was talking again.
'I'm going to ask you to excuse me a moment, Miss Dawson. I have a weak heart and think it best if I retire to bed before dinner. Tomorrow morning I will show you the tapes and my notes, then I usually rest in the afternoon. You are welcome to take the Seat and explore the island any afternoon, or swim if the heat is not too much for you. Probably not if you are accustomed to Californian weather. We'll spend each morning checking over what you have typed and if you can spend an hour or so at some time during the afternoon or evening typing we should have plenty to work on. Please will you ring the bell for Luis? He will serve your dinner later after he has helped me to bed.'
Pippa had already seen the ornate bell rope hanging beside a white marble fireplace and she crossed to tug at it.
Luis appeared almost immediately and assisted his master to rise and cross the room. As they went out Pippa stood irresolute, wondering whether to remain or return to her bedroom, but before she could decide Maria came in.
*
'Will you eat in the dining room or your bedroom?' she asked.
'I don't want to be any trouble to you. Would it be easier if I had a tray in my room?'
'It is still warm enough in the evening to sit on your balcony,' Maria suggested. 'We keep American rather than Spanish hours so dinner is almost ready. Luis will soon have finished helping Mr Watson and then he will bring up a tray to your room. Mr Watson's room is at the end down here, by the way, he finds stairs too much for his heart. Can you find your way back to your room?'
Pippa reassured her, and made her way slowly back upstairs. Mr Watson had not looked ill in London and she wondered whether his weakness today had been caused by the advent of his former wife and the argument she had inadvertently overheard. A sudden wave of anger against the lovely Sally-Jayne made her grind her teeth together, and she determined she would do her utmost to protect her employer from further such intrusions.
After a delicious meal and a peaceful night's sleep Pippa rose the next morning full of energy. She showered and put on a simple cotton dress of pale yellow, trimmed with white collar and pockets and a narrow white belt. She fixed some chunky white earrings in her ears and slipped on matching yellow sandals, then made her way downstairs. Sounds of movement took her to a room at the back of the house, beside the front door, where she found Maria laying a table for two beside a large open window through which the bright morning sun streamed.
'I hope you slept well,' Maria greeted her, smiling. 'Mr Watson is much better this morning and will be with you in a moment. Help yourself, if you please. Everything is on the side table.'
She went out and Pippa poured herself some fresh orange juice and carried it to the window where she stood sipping it as she looked out.
The paved open space was surrounded by flowering shrubs beyond which the hillside rose gradually away from the sea. To the right were massive iron scrolled gates hung on stone pillars, but they stood wide open and Pippa suspected they were never closed. On the left, through another stone archway and more gates she glimpsed outbuildings, and the car in which Luis had collected her from Mahon stood before what must be a garage, although she thought that further on there were stable doors.
She finished her orange and went to pour coffee. Carrying that and a hot fresh croissant she returned to the table and had just seated herself when Mr Watson came into the room.
*
'Don't get up, Miss Dawson. I'm feeling much better today, fit for lots of work.'
He did look much better, his colour had returned and the strain had disappeared from his face, Pippa thought, and smiled as he sat down opposite her with juice and coffee.
'I hope you slept well, Miss Dawson?'
'Like a top, thank you. I'm so glad you feel better Mr Watson. I was worried last night.'
'I'm sorry your reception was rather brief. Look, may I call you Pippa? Miss
Dawson is so formal and I've never been accustomed to much formality. I'd prefer you to call me Gene if you don't mind, too. Everyone else does apart from Maria and Luis, they won't abandon Spanish formality.'
'Pippa sounds better for me,' she replied with a laugh. 'Miss Dawson sounds so old, I'll never get used to it.'
'I doubt if you'll have to, you'll be bound to marry soon and take your husband's name unless, that is, you're one of these so-called emancipated women who clings to spurious independence.'
Pippa blushed and shook her head.
'It must make it very complicated for the children,' she commented.
'Indeed. I had no children apart from a daughter who was killed in a riding accident when she was ten - many years ago,' he said quietly. 'Of course actresses keep their own names for professional reasons but privately have taken my name. I've been married to three actresses,' he added with a slight frown. 'I think now that to marry into the same profession is a mistake, but I never tried anything else and now it's too late.'
'Will your memoirs be about Hollywood mainly?' Pippa asked after a brief silence.
'About my career? Yes, and also about my marriages, because they were linked with it, inevitably. I hope you are not a prude or squeamish, Pippa? Some of what I have to say is blunt and on occasion when I was carried away the language I used on the tapes was somewhat colourful!'
Pippa laughed. 'I won't be shocked,' she reassured him. 'My father frequently forgot himself.'
'I shall have to change that for publication. Type in stars or something if you prefer not to be totally accurate. Have you had enough? Then let's start.'
He led the way out of the room and along to another one past the kitchens, which were near the central stairs.
'This is my study at the back of the house where it is shady and has no view of the sea to distract me. I was born in Maryland and spent most of my boyhood on boats of some sort. That is why I built on an island, I think, when I decided to retire.'
Question of Love Page 3
