'I'll bear it.' Hester kept cool. 'Think of the advantages. He seems to control the money side of things—even you have to go to him for your allowance.' She switched off the dryer and began to brush and shape the style while the tongs heated for the side flicks. It was rather a young style for a woman of her mother's age, but on Vilma it looked good. It gave her an air of youth that matched her carefully dieted figure and her cherished complexion. Hester took a spiteful pleasure in noticing that her mother's complexion wasn't a patch on Flo's, who was at least twenty years older and had never used anything but soap and water.
'But why should he be an outcast?' she enquired gravely.
Vilma gave a little tittery laugh. 'You don't think much of me as a mother—well, the family didn't think much of his mother. She was Turkish!'
'That's a sin?' Hester raised her eyebrows.
Vilma displayed savage satisfaction. 'It makes him half Turkish, half devil as far as most Greeks are concerned. He hides it well, but now and then the basic cruelty shows through. He'd watch you die in agony and smile while you were doing it.'
Hester brushed it aside while a fleeting thought sped through her mind. She wondered what Demetrios had done or not done to gain Vilma's dislike. It could be because he'd cut her money, but somehow she had the impression that the bad feeling was rooted further back in time. 'I'm half you,' she said quietly, 'but I'm nothing like you, so I don't see that heredity is all that reliable a guide.'
'You'll find out,' again her mother tittered. 'I won't spoil the surprise by telling you any more. You've asked for trouble and you've got it coming! Demetrios is enough of a Greek to resent outsiders butting in and the Turk in him will see you pay for what you've done—you'll pay for every penny, in blood, I hope and don't come whining to me!'
'I don't think I'm in the habit of doing that,' Hester said gently. 'Probably something to do with never haying you to come whining to—besides, the people who brought me up taught me to stand on my own feet and accept the responsibility for my own mistakes.'
'Some East End family, I believe.' Vilma was sneeringly acid. 'It shows in the way you speak. I'd advise you to have elocution lessons if you want to make a go of your new life, although, as I said, Demos isn't accepted by the family, not socially, and he doesn't bother with my circle of friends. He'll probably add you to his harem and you'll never meet anybody, so it doesn't matter a damn how you speak.'
'I'm overwhelmed by your concern for my well-being.' Hester grimaced as she brushed out the last flick and then composed her face into a cool mask as Crispin came through the curtain to stand beside her.
'Is everything satisfactory, Mrs Thalassis?' He walked all round Vilma to get the overall picture. 'Do you want hairspray?'
'I think I'd better.' Vilma's tone changed to one of bored disappointment. 'It's not as good as my usual place, I think I was misled about this girl's abilities. If I come again, I shall expect you.'
When she had gone, Crispin turned a quizzical glance on Hester. 'You didn't get on,' he murmured reproachfully. 'Instant dislikes aren't good for business, Hester.'
'A mutual antipathy,' Hester said gravely, and Crispin looked surprised.
'Now you've really shaken me, darling! I've never known that happen with you before, but if I thought you were going to make a habit of it, I suppose I should be glad you're leaving to get married, but I do wish you'd told me before—that you're leaving, I mean. I think I deserve better from you than a few days' notice, don't I?' He shook his head sadly. 'And then I didn't have the information from you—you left it to your feller to tell me, which he did less than half an hour ago—by telephone. It's going to put me in a spot, you've several ladies booked for next week.'
Hester felt she had enough troubles of her own without getting involved in Crispin's. 'Sorry, maestro, not my fault, truly. It's as much news to me as it is to you. Oh,' as she saw his eyebrows go up like a startled faun's, 'I knew, of course but I didn't know when, not exactly. I suppose he's arranged things more quickly than he expected.' It was the only way she could think of on the spur of the moment to explain things, and she said it with a painful smile on her face while she damned Demetrios to hell for his officious interference.
This showed how much he trusted her, not even as far as he could throw her! She gave a mental shrug; she couldn't expect much more—she'd done nothing to give him a good opinion of her, quite the reverse!
Crispin surveyed her judiciously. 'Are you thinking of working after you're married, perhaps?'
'I shouldn't think so,' Hester embroidered the truth a bit. 'My fiancé's a widower with a young daughter, so I expect to have my work cut out for quite a while. Don't tell me I'll leave you short-staffed—you'll be able to promote another girl in my place and start a beginner. There's no shortage on the labour market.'
'I was going to promote another girl anyway.' Crispin fiddled with a tail-comb almost as if he was embarrassed. 'I'm opening another salon in Knightsbridge and I was thinking, if you had a bit of capital, I'd take you in as a partner and you could manage this place on a profit-sharing basis. You'd have been manageress here in any case, even if you couldn't put anything into the business.'
'Now you tell me!' Hester sighed disgustedly. It was what she had always wanted and the offer had come too late. .'Sorry, Cris, but I don't think my future husband would care for the idea.'
'Later on he might, so bear it in mind,' Crispin suggested. 'Leave it a while—I'll keep the offer open. These days most married women work, so wait until the old man starts finding how expensive it is to keep two on a salary which seems to buy less every week. He might change his mind!'
Hester's doorbell gave a prolonged peal and she ceased to squeeze gently at her tights which she was washing in the handbasin. With a sigh, she wiped her hands free of soapsuds and went to answer the door, knowing full well who was leaning against the bellpush.
'You'll wear out the battery,' she muttered darkly. 'There's nothing wrong with my ears.'
'Your ears—' Demetrios stepped into the hall, casually well dressed and with a folded raincoat over his arm. He put out a hand and lifted a heavy swathe of hair lying against her neck. 'I think they're charming, like the rest of you,' his finger touched, her ear and she shrank away, frowning. 'Except for that bad-tempered scowl you're wearing,' he was bland.
'The sight of you makes me bad-tempered,' she scolded, while Vilma's most objectionable remark still rang in her ears—'add you to his harem'. She'd even found herself repeating it under her breath over and over again. It had one good effect, however—she wasn't in love with him any more; it had, she had decided, been a momentary infatuation, the product of relief from the nagging worry of Flo's illness and his promise to get her the money she needed. Now she was in her right mind at last.
'You say that when I've brought you your money?' His eyebrows arched and then drew together in a frown as though he sensed her withdrawal. 'I thought you'd welcome me with open arms.' He fumbled in the folds of the raincoat and produced a small brown paper carrier bag, not much larger than the sort used by chemists for prescriptions. He dangled it in front of her eyes, 'As you asked, all in cash—nothing larger than a twenty-pound note—all used and untraceable and all in a paper bag. Do you want to count it?'
'In that little thing?' Hester's face registered disbelief as she stepped past him to open the door which he had carefully closed behind him. 'I thought it would make a bigger parcel than that. However, I'll trust you, but I prefer to do the counting in private. I'm sure you wouldn't short-change me.'
It was meant to be a waspish remark, but as she said it, she knew it was true. Vilma might have done that, but not this man; he was too meticulous. From underneath her lashes she surveyed him. He was meticulous about everything—the way he dressed, the way he behaved and the way he put his propositions down on the table with no attempt to hide the bad bits.
Her fingers closed on the carrier and some but not all of her bad mood vanished. She smiled rather weakly. '
As I said, I'll trust you, and as I'm rather busy…'
'… I shouldn't detain you, is that right?' With his foot, Demetrios pushed the door closed again despite her efforts to hold it open. 'Shall we stop playing games with your door!' he enquired lazily. 'I'm going to win in the end and you know it.' Then with a firm hand about her upper arm, he steered her into the living room. 'Are you going to keep that amount of money in the place overnight?'
Hester hesitated; lies didn't come easily to her. She had an inventive mind, but she always stumbled over the actual telling of an untruth. 'N-no,' she hesitated slightly, 'I think I'll take it to a friend for safe keeping, that'll be the best.'
'I'll drive you wherever you want to go,' he offered helpfully. 'I don't like to think of you travelling about the city with all that money in your bag—it would be so easy for somebody to steal it.'
'My, oh, my,' she marvelled, 'aren't you the thoughtful one! So much concern for my money! I assure you that, if I lost it or it was stolen, I shouldn't ask for any more.'
'Which is all to the good,' Demetrios seated himself without asking, 'because you'd stand no chance of getting a replacement sum from me, and I'm sure Vilma wouldn't oblige.' He stretched his legs to a more comfortable position. 'Get your coat and we'll go.'
'What you mean is, you want to know what I'm going to do with it?'
'Quite right,' Demetrios nodded, 'and I've no intention of letting you out of my sight until I find out.'
Hester gave him a reluctant grin. 'At least you're honest. I think I'll take a chance and keep it here for the night.'
'In that case,' he countered, 'I think I should stay to see you're not robbed.' His eyes slid to the divan, made up for the daytime with a tartan throwover and a couple of cushions. 'There should be room for both of us on that,' he goaded.
'Honest and determined with it!' she snapped acidly. 'Don't you realise that it's my money now and I can do what I like with it? I don't have to tell you a thing if I don't want to.'
'You'll tell me what I want to know.' Demetrios was lazily confident.
'Oh, for crying out loud!' Her patience snapped. 'Don't you ever let go? I have my own reasons, isn't that good enough?'
'No.' He sounded mild but immovable. 'It may be your money now, but I still want to know. As your future husband, I think I should be told.'
She let loose with an expletive which would have been better deleted.
'Very crude,' he reproved, 'and coarse. I didn't know you knew such a word. Don't ever let me hear you say it again.'
Hester was defiant. She repeated it loud and clear— and then wished she hadn't. Demetrios was on his feet in one sinuous movement, his arms were round her like steel bands and she was hauled close against his broad chest. The scent of aftershave and cologne assailed her nostrils, the warmth of his body against hers made a mockery of her independence. She held his gaze defiantly for as long as she could and then, with a little moan, closed her eyes as she felt every bit of pride and independence drain away, leaving her weak and wanting.
'That's better,' he approved, releasing one arm and wiping her mouth with his handkerchief before he kissed her. It was a kind of drowning in bliss, she thought, while she was still capable of thought, that nothing she had ever heard, read or thought had prepared her for this. She shivered uncontrollably as his arms relaxed their pressure and his hands stroked and soothed, bringing her even closer to him—and then she wasn't soothed at all, she was filled with a fierce hunger, an almost unbearable need. Tears welled into her eyes at the pain of it, she gave a little sob, and suddenly he had released her and stepped back.
The movement was so swift, she almost fell, and she blinked dazedly, her eyes refusing to focus properly.
'Everything in its right place and in the correct order.' Demetrios sounded as shaken as she was, and then his voice took on the old amused tone. 'It's the accountant in me, so stop tempting, my brown-haired witch. It's going to be great and glorious, but not here and not now.'
'Oh!' The words brought her back to earth with a bump, she was no longer floating weightlessly on Cloud Nine but back in her rather third rate bedsit, the carpet worn and faded and her tights soaking in the handbasin. Looking past him, she could see into the tiny bathroom through the partially open door to where a half empty packet of soap powder balanced drunkenly on the shelf above the basin. The sight restored her to normality more quickly than if she had been suddenly immersed in cold water.
'Turning on the charm?' Her mouth felt bruised and she lifted a shaking hand to steady her lips. 'It won't work so well next time, I'm building up an immunity.' She was tired of conflict and her shoulders sagged. 'I know a very safe place for the money—you can come with me if you like.'
She had a choice; either she could take it straight to Mia—which was what she wanted, if only to see the relief and delight which would light her foster-sister's face—or she could take it to Crispin's place, a studio apartment in Chelsea, but taking it home to Poplar would mean that Demetrios would meet Mia, and Flo wouldn't let a visitor go—especially a man who came with Hester—not without seeing him and talking to him.
Hester dismissed the Poplar idea. Flo thought her stay in Switzerland was being organised by the National Health, and although Mia knew better, knew how the money was really being obtained, she didn't know about Demetrios' conditions. Flo wouldn't stand for what she'd done and Mia would balk at this strange marriage, then all Hester's hard work would be wasted. Crispin's it should be, and at least he had a safe.
'You'll get a bit of a surprise,' she mused, thinking of Crispin's Art Nouveau decor, his Oriental cushions and mad lighting effects. 'It's my boss's place—I believe you spoke to him on the telephone today.' That reminded her of his high-handed ways. 'What right had you to tell him I was leaving—to arrange it for me?' She scowled and her eyes glittered. 'You made me look an absolute fool! You should have left it to me, and when you'd made the arrangements, I'd have given in my notice in the usual way.' She stuffed her feet into her shoes and grabbed her coat from the hook, disdaining any help with it, and finally scrabbled in her bag for one of Crispin's cards which she stuffed in his fingers with a curt, 'I'm ready. We're going to Chelsea—here's the address.'
The door of Crispin's flat was open and the strains of soul music greeted her as she stepped over the threshold, beckoning Demetrios to follow but not turning her head to see whether he did or not. Crispin, in a purple satin jumpsuit met them as he was carrying a loaded tray from the kitchenette into his living room.
'Darling!' He greeted her with obvious pleasure and then looked over her shoulder to where Demetrios stood, tall and rigid. 'Is this your man? Bring him in, do—we're having a bit of a party—no, don't run away,' as she made to turn and leave. 'It's just a few friends celebrating my new venture, all very nice types.'
'It's business.' Hester moved forward reluctantly. 'Nothing to do with your business, though. I just wondered if you'd do me a favour till tomorrow and keep this in your safe.' Her hand produced the brown paper bag which she had converted into a neat parcel.
'Mm,' Crispin thrust the tray at her, 'hold this, my sweet, have a canapé and a drink.' He gave her a droll look. 'I shouldn't do you any favours, you know—not after you've practically walked out on me, but for you, Hester, anything. Is it valuable?'
'So—so,' Hester shrugged. 'We won't keep you a minute, we don't want to intrude.'
'Who's intruding?' Crispin's fair eyebrows nearly touched his hairline. 'And why so formal? Come and meet my friends—and,' he glanced over her shoulder at Demetrios, 'wouldn't you like to introduce me? Oh, sorry, sweetie, I've left you holding the tray. Shan't be a sec—just let me get rid of it.'
The beat of soul music increased as he pushed open his living-room door—there was a babel of voices and Hester shrank from the noise. She wasn't in the mood for parties; all she wanted was to see her parcel safely tucked away and then get back to her own place.
'There!' Crispin was triumphant as he returned e
mpty-handed, 'that didn't take long—now, let's have the introductions.'
'Crispin—Demetrios Thalassis.' She made it as brief as possible, hoping Crispin wouldn't recognise the name but knowing he would. He never forgot a client's name—he prided himself on it.
'Any relation to our new client?'
'By marriage only.' Demetrios kept it curt and Hester knew he wasn't approving of Crispin. Under her lashes she peeped at his impassive face and hastily thrust herself between them, words tripping off her tongue.
'We haven't much time, I'm afraid, so could you…?'
'Not joining the party?' Crispin looked disappointed and then reverted to his businesslike approach. 'Oh well, some other time, perhaps, when you're not so busy.' He led the way down the passage and opened a door into a bleak little room, strictly functional and with not a trace of Art Nouveau. 'My office and,' he felt around the parcel, 'here's the safe. What is it, money? Oh, does that mean you've changed your mind, that you're going to buy into the business after all?'
' 'Fraid not.' Hester was suitably sad as she watched him stow her precious package away and lock the small safe. 'Will you bring it tomorrow, please, I'll bank it at lunch time.'
Goodbyes were brief—Demetrios made it quite clear that he had neither the time nor inclination to hang about. He stood in the narrow hallway, reducing its proportions to the size of a dog kennel, and he looked as if it smelled like one. His lofty superiority upset Hester so that when she seated herself in the car, she erupted in a uncontrolled fashion.
'Stuck-up pig! How dare you treat a friend of mine like that!'
'Friend?' There was a nasty note in his voice and she could hardly recognise the smiling, almost teasing man who had come to her flatlet earlier that evening.
'Yes, friend! Cris has been very good to me, I've worked for him since I was seventeen and he's taught me a lot. If it hadn't been for you and your machinations, I'd have been promoted manageress of the present salon when he opens the new one in Knightsbridge…'
The Daughter of Night Page 5
