by Jane Corrie
Jenny got up quickly and walked over to the win-
dow in an effort to shake these thoughts off. If Mark was in the hotel, then he was there for a purpose, and Tony's suspicions that he had come to make an offer for the hotel would be a certainty, for Jenny could see no other reason for the visit. Going over the past was not going to help her to remain subjective and see things from a business point of view—the very thing she had accused Tony of not so long ago, she told herself crossly—although she had more reason than he had for adopting this attitude. It wasn't easy to forget that Mark had accused her of being Malcolm's mistress, even though events had since proved to her that Malcolm must have hinted at such an association, for he was as determined to end their engagement as Mark had been to bring it about.
The ringing of the telephone on her desk cut short these memories from the past, and the dulcet tones of Rose came over the wire asking if Miss Grange could see Mr Chanter.
Taking a deep breath, Jenny thought that he hadn't wasted much time; he hadn't altered in that respect either. 'Very well,' she answered smoothly, adding quickly, 'Oh, Rose, would you please hold back coffee until I ring for it?' she requested, afraid that her visitor might feel that she was presuming on their past acquaintance if she offered him refreshment.
A few seconds later there was a perfunctory knock on her office door, and Mark strode in.
Jenny did not move from her position, but gave him a small smile purely for the sake of politeness,
which was not returned, she noticed, and as he walked towards her she watched him curiously, telling herself that this was the man she very nearly married, but found the fact hard to accept. He was still extremely good-looking; dark and lithe of movement. His blue-grey eyes that had once laughed into hers were now devoid of emotion, and as his glance flickered over her she wondered if he was thinking the same as she was. If so, there was no outward sign of such thoughts on his hard features. With a kind of surprised relief Jenny acknowledged that they were now strangers, and that being the case, the discussion she presumed they were about to have should present no difficulty to either of them.
After seating himself in Malcolm's chair, he came straight to the point with an abrupt, 'It's rumored that you're in financial difficulties. Is that correct?' he demanded without preamble.
Jenny stiffened at the bald question; he had made it sound more like an accusation than a question. His autocratic acquisition of Malcolm's chair had not helped her to retain her cool approach to the situation. He knew very well that it was Malcolm's chair, and could have chosen another, the one in front of her desk, for instance, but that would have looked as if she was interviewing him, and on no account would he allow such a state of affairs to exist, she thought scathingly. It also occurred to her that Tony had been right again in assuming that someone on the staff must have given him this information. Lifting her chin a fraction higher, she
replied haughtily, 'It's not quite as bad as that, Mr Chanter.'
Her use of his surname seemed to infuriate him, and his eyes blazed back into hers before he answered furiously, 'Don't come the grand lady with me, Jenny Grange. I've a long memory where you're concerned. You're damn lucky to be sitting where you are, and don't forget that. Not every secretary ends up owning the establishment she worked for ! '
Jenny flushed and looked away from him and down at the desk in front of her. So much for her thinking it was going to be easy ! They were back to the past with a vengeance, and he was once again speaking to her as if she were a cheap go-getter. For a second or so she debated whether to ring the bell for Thomas, the hall porter, and have him escort him out of the hotel, not that she could envisage such a happening actually taking place, but the thought gave her a pleasant feeling. It was too ridiculous for words, she told herself, and made an attempt to bring the conversation to a less personal nature. 'I'm sure you had a reason for asking to see me,' she managed to say calmly. 'I think the past's best left out of it, don't you?' she added briskly.
He gave a curt nod to this gentle but firm reply to his deliberately goading remarks. 'And I'm sure you're aware of the reason. I wish to purchase Peacock's Walk,' he said harshly. 'Name your price; I won't quibble over it.'
Jenny gave a small bitter smile at this. He could afford not to 'quibble' as he had put it. She looked up from the desk and met his gaze squarely before
she replied slowly, 'If I sell, it will only be under certain conditions.' She saw him start and stare at her, and wondered what he was thinking. That she would demand to stay, perhaps? This was her home when all was said and done, but she had no such thought in mind. The staff would have to be kept on,' she went on firmly, adding quickly, 'I intend to make my own arrangements, of course.'
She did not miss his quick speculative look at her as she said this, and she waited for his answer, thinking that she might be able to persuade Tony to stay on. He could hold a watching brief over the interests of the staff under the new regime.
Mark Chanter's eyes left hers and centred on the register on the desk, and the look said more than words to Jenny. It plainly said that he didn't think the staff quite measured up to his standards. To his way of thinking, the fall-off of guests bore mute witness to this.
Jenny could see his point, but felt it was unfair criticism. It was not the staff's fault that past patrons of Peacock's Walk had been enticed away by the plushier Chanter Enterprise, or that the money Malcolm had hoped would be forthcoming for the slight modernizations he had in mind would not be available. The sudden collapse of the travel agency he had started in Rome, a few months before his death, had taken all available funds, and there were still debts owing. Debts that had to be paid out of the hotel's profits, such as they were.
'I'm afraid I can't agree to that,' he replied haughtily. 'There may be a few I would wish to re-
tain,' he conceded grudgingly. 'But to take them en bloc is out of the question.'
Jenny's lips firmed at this; he would take the younger staff was what he meant. The older ones had been with the hotel for most of their working lives, and were hardly likely to find other positions, and it was for this reason that she had made the stipulation. Not that these sentiments would mean anything to Mark Chanter, she thought bitterly. Sentimentality didn't enter into his world—as if he hadn't enough money. It wouldn't hurt him to keep the older staff on. They might not work at breakneck speed, but at least you could be sure that whatever work they were given would be carried out with meticulous care. She thought of Tony. 'Tony?' she asked quietly.
He gave her a long speculative look. Tony was more than an employee to her, and Mark knew it. He shrugged offhandedly. 'He must be due for retirement,' he said dryly, but it told Jenny all she wanted to know. His answer had given her her answer.
She looked down at her hands and was a little surprised to find them tightly clenched together. 'I'm sorry,' she replied in a low voice, `I'm afraid there's no point in our going on with this discussion. I said all the staff, and I meant it.' She stood up quickly to indicate that the interview was over.
He took his time in standing up, and his hard jaw showed his fury at being dismissed so perfunctorily. `Because of Tony?' he grated out harshly. 'No wonder the place is dying on its feet! You might have
been a good secretary, but you've no idea how to run an hotel. Business and sentiment do not mix, Miss Grange.' He walked to the door and paused before he opened it. 'You'll find it hard to get a buyer on those stipulations,' he added furiously, `and don't,' he flung back at her before he left, 'take too long in changing your mind, will you? or I might just leave you to stew in the financial mess you've made of things I '
It took a few minutes for Jenny to pull herself together after Mark had left, and the arrival of the coffee tray came as a much needed stimulant. To her annoyance, she found she was actually trembling, and had to make a firm effort to control her hand as she poured herself a cup of steaming hot liquid. How could she have ever thought she was in love with such a man? she asked
herself incredulously, and decided that she had had an extremely narrow escape when he had thrown her over. It would have been like being married to a computer. Statistics were all he was interested in. Little things like understanding and trust simply did not exist in his world. No, he hadn't changed one bit; he was still the same man who hadn't even bothered to give her a hearing when she had tried to explain her relationship with Malcolm.
As for changing her mind—Jenny's cup joined the saucer with a dull clink—she wouldn't dream of it! She would sell Peacock's Walk—she hadn't any option now. Mark Chanter must have been pretty sure of his ground to have added that loaded rider about the financial state of the hotel. He had prob-
ably heard of the collapse of the travel agency from the same source that had given him the rest of his information, but that didn't matter now. One thing she did know, and that was that Chanter Enterprises would not own Peacock's Walk, come what may. She would even be prepared to sell at a loss rather than see it go to Mark Chanter!
CHAPTER TWO
BY the time Jenny had finished her coffee, Tony had joined her, and as she had been expecting him, she took an extra cup out of her filing cabinet, one that she kept for such occasions, and poured him some coffee.
'He made an offer?' asked Tony seating himself on the corner of her desk and accepting the cup she held out to him.
Jenny nodded, and concentrated on squeezing the remains of the coffee pot into her cup.
'And he wants you out?' persisted Tony, determined to hear all of it.
'All of the staff—or rather the older ones,' she corrected slowly. 'I said no,' she looked up at the frowning Tony. 'It doesn't matter about me, but I do owe the staff something after all these years with the firm. I simply refuse to sell unless they are kept on.'
She was silent for a short while, then said suddenly, 'We'll advertise, Tony. You were right—we can't keep going much longer without capital.' She gave a sigh. 'It might have been possible if the travel agency hadn't collapsed. I'm still waiting to hear
from the solicitor about the final settlement.'
Tony nodded gloomily. 'Any idea of how much you still owe?' he asked sympathetically.
Jenny gave a light shrug of her slim shoulders as she answered dryly, 'All I know is that if it's over five thousand, then I shall have to sell to clear it.'
Putting his cup down heavily on the desk, Tony replied briskly, 'Right, so we advertise. No point in prolonging the agony.' He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'You know, it might be a bit of a job getting someone to take it under those conditions.'
Jenny's eyes left his and she concentrated on the coffee jug. 'So Mark Chanter just told me,' she said quietly. 'But it won't stop me trying.' She went on in a firmer voice, 'You never know, we might be lucky and get some tycoon who doesn't have a clue about hotel management, but fancies owning one. And it's not as if we were stuck in some high street,' she added on a brighter note. 'We've an acre of grounds, remember, and that makes the place quite exclusive.'
'Which is why Chanter wanted it?' said Tony, darting a quick speculative look at Jenny.
She frowned at him but refused to rise to the bait and discuss old scores. 'It might have been,' she conceded. 'Either way, it doesn't matter now. He's out of it.' The last words were said with a great deal of emphasis and Tony's brows raised, but he wisely did not comment.
When Tony left her a short while later, Jenny set about wording out the advertisement that was to go in all the leading monthly journals that catered for
such transactions, not forgetting their American counterparts, because she was convinced that she would be successful in acquiring the right buyer. It wasn't, she told herself brightly, as if the older staff were in their dotage, although Mark Chanter had hinted as much. They were all in their late fifties, it was true, apart from Tony that was, and still had a few years of good service left.
A little later, Jenny stared at the carefully worded advertisement that stated that a select hotel standing in one acre of wooded grounds was up for sale, and experienced a feeling of utter desolation. Seeing the cold impersonal words brought home the full implication of what she was doing. She had never imagined such a happening coming to pass, and had tried to hold off the inevitable for months now, hoping against hope that something might be salvaged out of the wreckage, and it might have done, if Malcolm hadn't had a whim to start that agency. He wasn't to know, of course, that it would fail. He hadn't known that Mark Chanter would invade their territory either, giving the already crippled hotel a final blow that was impossible to recover from.
Shaking these thoughts away, she tried to regain her earlier optimistic outlook, but was soon cast down into the depths again at the thought of her next step. She must inform the staff of her decision to sell. It wouldn't do for them to find out about it in a roundabout manner. At the thought of Rose, she sighed heavily; no doubt she was busy putting two and two together, and would soon be dropping
a few heavy hints to whoever cared to listen to her.
Taking a deep breath, she rang reception and asked Rose to contact Mrs Hooney, and ask her to call and see her when she had a few minutes to spare,
Mrs Hooney, a stout motherly woman, who had worked at Peacock's Walk almost as long as Tony had, walked into Jenny's office a short while later, and pulling down her starched cuffs over her uniform sleeves, she smiled at Jenny. 'You wanted to see me, hinny?'
Jenny swallowed at her use of an old endearment. Dodie Hooney wasn't an employee either, not in the strict sense of the word, for she had been one of the few who had 'mothered' her, all those years ago.
'Sit down, Dodie,' Jenny said gently. 'I've some news for you that won't be very welcome, I'm afraid.' She swallowed again; might as well get it over with, she thought miserably. 'I'm having to sell the hotel,' she got out quickly as her worried eyes met the brown ones of the older woman.
Dorothy Hooney, or Dodie, as Jenny had called her since her babyhood, not being able to pronounce her name properly, gave Jenny a reassuring smile. 'Reckon you hadn't much choice, lass,' she said quietly, leaning forward towards her as if to offer comfort. 'Don't worry about us older ones. We'll be retiring soon anyway, and I'm sure most of us have a bit put away. It's you we're worried about.' She sniffed. 'I overheard that. Rose talking to Thomas this morning. Seems she's got it all worked out. Said Mark Chanter was taking over,'
she gave Jenny a searching look. 'I said he'd be the last person you'd sell to.' She hesitated a second or so, and Jenny knew she was not stating an opinion but asking a question, and was devoutly grateful that she could support her supposition, and gave a small nod that received a satisfied look from Dodie, who went on in a brisker fashion to say,
`Told them so, but they wouldn't listen. Not the young ones anyway. Us older staff know how it was,' she added darkly, then gave a wry grin. 'Happen they've a disappointment coming. You should have seen the way that new chambermaid and the girl we took on to give Len a help in the bar smartened themselves up after Rose had told them who was taking over—or who she thought was taking over,' she amended with quiet satisfaction.
She looked back at Jenny. 'What will you do, love?' she asked, then shook her head sadly. 'Young Malcolm was a good lad, but he hadn't his father's business sense. Happen you wouldn't be in this mess, else,' she added dolefully.
Jenny's eyes softened as they rested momentarily on the brown hair tinged with grey. Trust Dodie to understand how it was, never for one moment putting it down to Jenny's mismanagement, as Mark Chanter had, and no doubt a few of the younger staff. 'I can always go back to secretarial work, Dodie,' she replied with a smile. 'I can't say I was cut out to run a business. Besides, it will be nice not to be in the front line for a change, and let someone else do the worrying.'
Dodie eyed her thoughtfully, and nodded sagely.
`Aye, you've had your share of that, true enough. But you take a holiday first—I don't recall you taking one since you took over,' she advised Jenny sternly.
Having got that business out of the way, Jenny left it to Dodie to tell the rest of the staff of her decision to sell, for although Jenny ran the managerial side of things, Dodie had continued to manage the hotel staff, as she had done before Jenny had inherited the hotel.
Recalling what Dodie had said about Mark Chanter being the last person she would sell to, Jenny gave a small sigh of exasperation. Tony, it seemed, was not the only one who was of the opinion that she was still carrying a torch for Mark, and hadn't forgiven him for throwing her over. She hated to think what Dodie would have said if Mark had agreed to her terms and taken over the hotel. Very probably given her a lecture much on the same lines as Tony had, she thought wryly, and was relieved that Mark had not agreed to her terms, it had saved her a lot of explaining in the long run.
Having set things in motion, there was nothing more for Jenny to do but to sit back and await what she hoped would be an answer to her problems. She tried not to think ahead of what she would do after the hotel had been sold. Time enough for that when it happened, she told herself stoutly.
If she had had any qualms or second thoughts about taking such a step, these were soon dispelled by a letter from her solicitor advising her of the final settlement required in the dragged-out saga of the
travel agency. It was as she had feared, and as she had gloomily predicted to Tony, almost five thousand pounds. She had no choice now but to sell, and the appended message that advised her that she would be given reasonable time to settle the account came as cold comfort, but she was grateful all the same.
The reply Jenny had hoped to receive, came a fortnight later. There had been several interested replies to the advertisement, but none fitted the `tycoon' range she had set her heart on, and as she read the letter postmarked 'New York', her spirits rose higher than they had been for months.
