by Jessica Ayre
Paul gave Lynda a quick sidelong glance, as if once again checking on her suitability for the work ahead, and then pulled into the drive of a large grey stone house.
Lynda could feel her blood pressure rise. I'll show him! she said to herself, and opened the car door defiantly, flinging her hair back over her shoulders.
The large wooden door opened before they had a chance to knock and a butler ushered them in. A tall, elegant man came up behind him.
'Paul—we were beginning to despair of you. So glad you finally made it.' They shook hands and the man turned his grey eyes on Lynda and gave her a warm smile. 'And you must be Lynda Harrow. Welcome to Brecon House, Miss Harrow. We're very, very glad to have you with us.' He took her hand and gave it an unexpected squeeze. 'You probably want to freshen up. Williams here will show you to your room and bring your things up.'
Lynda followed Williams up a wide staircase and heard Northrop Shaw saying to Paul in a congratulatory tone, 'Charming, charming, old man. But then you always did have excellent taste…'
Northrop Shaw's manner was so pleasant that Lynda didn't allow his comment to rankle, and she quickly forgot everything as Williams showed her to her room. It was lovely. Blue and white ruffled curtains gave out on to a large garden surrounded by tall elms. A large, comfortable bed covered in white occupied much of the room and the pale blue walls were hung with watercolour landscapes. Williams opened a door for her and pointed to a small bathroom, then left her quietly.
Lynda poked her head out of the window and took a deep breath of the fresh country air. Then she readied herself. I'm going to enjoy this, she vowed to her metallic image in the mirror.
She walked down the stairs with a wide smile on her lips, letting the sound of voices guide her towards a large comfortable drawing room. Paul was standing in a corner, balancing a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was engaged in conversation with a striking, deeply tanned blonde whose enormous blue eyes fluttered intimacy every time she looked up at him.
So that's what he means by work, is it? Lynda grimaced to herself, then strode boldly towards Northrop Shaw.
'Ah, Miss Harrow, let me offer you a drink and introduce you round.' He took her arm and steered her towards the bar. As he poured her a generous gin and tonic, Lynda looked round the room and noted with approval the many small rugs, the tall plants, the way in which the armchairs and sofas were arranged to provide various small enclaves making the large room cosy.
'This is a lovely house, Mr Shaw.'
'Yes, it is nice. Paul provided my ex-wife with a wonderful designer. As I'm sure you are,' he added kindly, his eyes twinkling. Then taking her arm again he led her to a corner of the room where a man with a curly mass of salt and pepper hair and the most darkly intense eyes she had ever confronted rose to greet them.
'Miss Harrow, let me introduce one of my partners, Stanford Rees.'
Stanford Rees looked her up and down and offered a perfunctory smile, then sank back into his chair, motioning for her to join him.
Lynda sat down opposite him, acutely aware of his eyes on her as she leaned back in her chair.
'So you're Lynda Harrow,' he said in the deep mid-Atlantic tones she had only so far ever heard on radio.
She gave him a wide smile, watching his slow careful gestures as he lit his pipe, noting the casual cut of his tweed suit.
'Are you good?'
At first she didn't quite grasp his meaning. He laughed, aware of her confusion.
'At your work, I mean,' he added sternly.
'Terribly,' she gave it an emphasis by meeting his eyes provocatively.
'As good as you look.' He focussed unnervingly on her legs, then bosom.
'Oh, far, far better,' she said with a flirtatious audacity which amazed her.
'Well, well, I think I'm going to like you, Lynda Harrow.' They got up as Williams announced lunch. Rees playfully stroked the silky fabric of her new jump suit. 'Mmmm, magic. It moves and talks,' he said, giving her a warm glance.
'Just like what's inside it, Mr Rees,' she countered, stepping ahead of him with a swish and almost colliding with Paul.
'I see the two of you have met,' he said brusquely. He took her arm with such force that she could feel her skin bruising. She tried to draw away, but instantly thought better of it as she noticed Stanford Rees eyeing them intently.
'Having a little trouble with your colleague, Overton?' he drawled the words, obviously enjoying their flavour. Then, moving away without waiting for a reply, he gave Lynda the benefit of a large conspiratorial wink.
'Insufferable prig!' she heard Paul mutter under his breath.
'Oh, I don't know, I rather like him.'
He scowled at her and dropped her arm. 'Don't forget we're here to work,' he said.
'I thought I was,' she replied softly, not sure that he had heard her now that they had entered a vast expanse of dining room echoing with voices.
A highly polished mahogany table took up almost the entire centre space. On it stood an enormous bouquet of white and yellow chrysanthemums. Large French windows opened on to the garden and at one end of the room a long, narrow table replete with attractively arranged buffet dishes was surrounded by the guests. She followed Paul towards the table and heaped her plate with cold salmon, tongue and a variety of salads.
'All right, Lynda?' Northrop Shaw was at her side.
'Fine, thanks. It's a wonderful spread.'
'I thought you might want to meet Stanford Rees' assistant.' Lynda followed him towards the table and found herself facing the blue-eyed blonde she had seen with Paul. 'Jessica North, Lynda Harrow.'
The two women sized each other up and since Northrop Shaw had wandered off to make other introductions sat down together at the table. Williams appeared from nowhere to fill their glasses with chilled white wine.
'Are you from New York?' Lynda began tentatively.
'No, the other end, San Francisco, though with Stanford the travelling never stops.' Jessica smiled her blue-eyed smile, just as Stanford Rees appeared behind them and tapped her on the shoulder.
'I'm delighted to hear you talking about me, but you really can't monopolise the only other beautiful woman here. Move over, Jessica.'
Jessica dutifully moved one seat along. Next to her Lynda could see Paul with an elegant older woman in tow. She turned her full attention to Stanford Rees, whose train of conversation startled her. She had expected more flirtation, but instead he began:
'Overton is a brilliant architect. A little jumpy personally,' he looked at her thoughtfully, 'but brilliant. Nonetheless, I'm not altogether convinced about this project. Convince me, Miss Harrow.'
His forthrightness was endearing and Lynda did her best. He had a quick, ruthless intelligence and it wasn't altogether easy to reply to his questions. But the admiring looks he gave her from time to time helped, and by the time lunch was over Lynda was astounded at the depths her own enthusiasm had reached.
'Well, Miss Harrow,' he said as he pulled her chair out for her, 'you've gone some way towards convincing me. Far farther than any of the others… But that's enough shop talk now. What about a stroll around Northrop's magnificent grounds?'
'That would be lovely.' Lynda felt more than a little tipsy after all that wine and talk. She looked round to see if she could spot Paul, but he seemed to have disappeared.
As they reached the door, Northrop Shaw joined them.
'Can I offer you a tour of the gardens?' he queried. 'There will be plenty of coffee all afternoon in the drawing-room.'
Lynda nodded her reply and the three of them set off in the crisp autumnal air. The gardens were truly beautiful—well-tended flower beds, magnificent shrubbery and ancient trees, in the midst of which they came upon a strange clapboard summerhouse.
'My wife insisted on it,' Northrop Shaw explained. 'I think she had a fantasy of taking lovers here of a warm night,' he laughed a little hollowly.
Lynda suddenly felt a pang and caught herself thinking
of Paul. How lovely it would have been to stroll through these gardens with him.
He noticed her faraway look. 'Tired, Miss Harrow?' he enquired politely. 'Perhaps a rest before dinner would do you good.'
'That's just what I need,' Lynda said gratefully, and bidding the two men goodbye, she walked towards the house.
In her room, she found her toiletries and clothes neatly arranged. She undressed and lay down on the bed, snuggling into its warm comfort. When she opened her eyes, dusk was falling, and she looked at her watch with momentary panic. Luckily it was only six o'clock. She relaxed for a moment. From next door she could just make out the sound of two voices, a man's and a woman's. The muted talk was interspersed with laughter and silences. She wondered vaguely who it might be; perhaps some late arrivals. Then she got up a little lazily and decided to run a bath. It would refresh her.
While the water poured into the tub, Lynda pinned her hair up and looked at her slender body in the long bathroom mirror. She spotted bruises on her arm. Fingerprints—Paul's. A chill ran through her from neck to toe and she drew her arms over the soft curve of her breasts. She could sense his rage as if he were standing beside her now. Lowering herself into the bubbly warmth of the bath, she protested inwardly. He has no right, and closed her eyes, luxuriating in the scented water.
Suddenly she heard a door opening, a door opposite the one she had used and which she had assumed was locked, and she looked up to see Paul standing there, ruggedly handsome in his green woollen robe, his eyes sparkling.
'Paul!' she exclaimed in astonishment, and drew a long smooth leg protectively up towards the curve of her stomach and bosom.
He said nothing, simply gazed at her as if his eyes were incapable of movement. Lynda felt her body burning. She wished she could disappear into the froth that surrounded her.
'Lynda!' Her name seemed to be strangled by his sharp intake of breath.
She found what she hoped was a reasonably normal voice. 'Paul, will you get out of here!'
But he didn't move, simply continued to gaze at her for what seemed an eternity. Finally he turned away with a grim set to his shoulders.
Lynda leapt out of the bath and dried herself quickly, refusing to let her mind dwell on what had occurred. An accident—it meant nothing. But the heat of his gaze continued to trouble her. And something else. If Paul had burst in on her now, that meant that the voices she had heard were his and another woman's. The thought turned her stomach. She fought to put it aside, forcing herself to concentrate on the business at hand.
She dressed slowly and with care. She pulled on the delicate bra and knickers she had brought with her and her sheerest tights. Then, standing in her new shoes, she applied more than her customary make-up, accentuating her dark eyes and full lips. Gently she pulled on the new dress, contemplating whether she should put her hair up. She decided against it, liking the feel of her hair against her bare arms. The mirror returned a complimentary reflection. Her brewing anger at Paul added a glow to her cheeks and a shine to her eyes. She felt ready to confront anyone, anything.
At the foot of the stairs she saw Stanford Rees.
'Breathtaking, Miss Harrow, breathtaking! Let me escort you in.'
Lynda smiled her thanks and took the arm he offered.
'My estimation of Overton rises by the second,' he said casually as they entered the softly-lit drawing-room. 'He's lucky to have you.'
She turned on him. 'He doesn't have me, Mr Rees. I merely work for him.'
A low whistle escaped from his teeth and he looked at her curiously. 'I wasn't suggesting… You are angry, aren't you?' He held her a little more closely. 'Good, good, I find myself drawn to angry women.'
He steered her towards the drinks table. Lynda noticed that the room was far more crowded than before. People seemed to have appeared from nowhere. She looked round, glad that Paul had provided her with a new dress. The women all seemed to be clothed in gowns one more sumptuous than the next. She clung a little more tightly to Stanford Rees' arm and held her head high.
As she turned away from the drinks table with an exotic cocktail in her hand, she saw Paul coming towards her. He looked devastating, his rugged colouring and dark hair set off by the gleaming white of his dinner jacket. His eyes smouldered and she lowered hers, seeking to escape before he could reach her. But he caught up with her and put a firm hand on her shoulder, forcing her to a standstill.
'Just a word, Lynda,' his hot breath scorched her hair. She turned round to face him, still keeping her eyes lowered. 'I only wanted to apologise properly. I didn't realise anyone was in there, let alone you. I'm sorry, truly sorry I was so rude.'
She raised her eyes to meet his and the frankness of his gaze brought a deeper flush to her cheeks.
'You look ravishing,' he said softly.
She turned away, unable to speak. This time he didn't follow her, and as she moved across the room she could see him being approached by the elegant woman who had sat next to him at lunch. She had a younger version of herself in tow, a girl of about eighteen, with eloquent grey eyes and ebony hair piled thickly on top of a fragile head. She was wearing a, mere wisp of a black dress held up by two thin straps on delicate shoulders. Paul towered over her and Lynda could see from his look that he was drawn to her, focussing his full attention on her dramatic fragility.
Disgusting behaviour! Lynda said to herself, and suddenly found her clenched hands drawn to her locket. You were absolutely right, Mother. They're not to be trusted.
'Ah, Miss Harrow,' Northrop Shaw approached her, 'I've been looking for you. I was speaking to Paul earlier and I suggested that you both stay the night. It would be mad to drive back this evening-stop you from enjoying the fun.' He eyed her appreciatively. 'Paul said I should check with you.'
Lynda fumbled for words, suddenly terrified at the prospect of a night next door to Paul. 'But I haven't brought my things.'
'Oh, the maid will easily see to that. Do stay.'
Lynda realised that she couldn't refuse graciously, so she mumbled a faint, 'All right, thank you.'
Shaw led her into the dining room for dinner. The seating arrangement was formal now, the lights dim and Lynda found her name printed on an embossed place card. She sat down and was almost immediately joined by Stanford Rees on her right and a kindly gentleman who reminded her of Mr Dunlop on her left. At what seemed a great distance, at the other end of the table, she could see Paul beside the fragile beauty.
Stanford Rees turned to her. 'Shaw has always had a particular talent for seating arrangements, Miss Harrow. May I call you Lynda now that we're to enjoy a second feast together?' She nodded.
The food began to arrive and Lynda soon felt herself carried away by the festivity of it all—caviar on elegantly thin slices of dark bread served with flower-shaped radishes; pheasant roasted to a turn. As her various wine glasses were filled and downed, she lost track of the dishes in front of her and when Stanford Rees took her arm to lead her away from the table, she felt herself floating.
'Coffee? Brandy?'
'The first, please. If I have any more to drink I'll go straight to sleep!' Lynda laughed, and held tightly to his arm as he steered her towards the drawing-room, from which she could hear the sound of dance music. One corner of the room had been cleared to make space for dancing and in the dim light, Lynda could make out a few couples already on the floor. The large French windows had been opened on to a terrace lit with Chinese lanterns, and the cool air wafted in.
Stanford Rees led her to an armchair by the window, then disappeared for a moment, only to come back with two cups of coffee.
'Drink that down and then I'll give you a whirl on the dance floor.'
Lynda drank the hot liquid and closed her eyes for a moment. She felt Stanford Rees' cool tapering fingers on her shoulder.
'A dance, young lady?'
She followed him on to the floor and sank smoothly into the circle of his arm. He moved beautifully and she closed her eyes, allowing him to dictate
her steps, then she opened them only to meet Paul's hot gaze. His eyes flickered at her briefly, then he returned his attention to his fragile beauty. His tall lithe form seemed to envelop hers and sweep her off the floor. Lynda stiffened perceptibly.
'Something wrong?' Stanford Rees whispered softly in her ear. She shook her head, but nonetheless he stopped dancing and led her through the door out on to a dark corner of the terrace. She shivered in the cool night air and he put his arm protectively round her, drawing her to him. Turning her face towards his, he gave her a long gentle kiss. She returned it, but after a moment he drew away, still gently.
'No good, young lady. You're stuck on him,' he drawled in his best American.
Lynda stiffened again. 'What do you mean? Who?'
'Our brilliant young architect.' He said it playfully.
She recoiled. 'What on earth are you talking about?'
He chuckled. 'Well, you may not know it, but I've been watching you and I do. I'm an old hand at watching women.'
Lynda's thoughts were in a jumble and she could feel her stomach clenching painfully.
'I think I'm tipsy. Perhaps I'd better go to bed.' She glanced at her watch. It was after midnight. 'It's been a long day,' she said apologetically.
'It's all right, Lynda,' Stanford Rees put his arm around her protectively, 'I'll see you back to your room safely.' He guided her through the crowded drawing-room and up the stairs. She kept her eyes lowered, not daring to look round.
At her door, he lifted her face to meet his gaze. 'You're a lovely lady, you know. And if you ever decide to chuck in the design side and concentrate on public relations, get in touch with me. The U.S. of A. isn't such a bad place.' He kissed her on the forehead.
When he turned away, Lynda let herself into her room and flopped gratefully on to the bed. Her ears rang with Stanford Rees' words. Could she be 'stuck on' Paul? Perish the thought!
She got up and pulled her dress off roughly, letting it lie in a heap on the dressing table chair. Then she splashed cold water on her face, barely patting it dry, and slipped into the cool silk nightdress which had been left on the bed. As she made to climb into it, she heard a knock at the door. Automatically she heard herself say, 'Come in,' and before she had a chance to counter the instruction, the door opened and Paul walked in, slamming the door brusquely behind him.
