They sipped at their drinks — Alix had voted to continue with white wine, while Quinn had whisky and Mrs Babcock chose a very dry sherry — and Alix was quite content to let Mrs Babcock carry the conversation. This, apparently, was the normal order of things in the household, as Quinn said little except to spur Mrs Babcock on.
He seemed, in fact, all too content to let her occupy Alix’s attention while he spent his time overtly watching her. At first Alix felt vaguely uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but she gradually realised it wasn’t an especially lustful assessment, but merely an interested one. Still, she was happy when a ring at the door announced the arrival of the final dinner guest.
Michelle Keir was dressed exactly to the standard Alix had expected. Her two-piece cheesecloth suit was in a soft off-white, bordered with brown and gold embroidery on the skirt, blouse bottom and sleeves. The top was blouson and long-sleeved, with ties at the neck left undone and dangling to reveal just enough bosom to be interesting, from a masculine viewpoint,
The outfit did a great deal to emphasise the woman’s slender figure, and Alix was inwardly piqued to notice that Michelle’s legs, while slender, were quite as shapely as her own.
‘Quinn dear! Sorry I’m late, but my blessed car wouldn’t start and I had to find a taxi,’ she announced breathlessly and then carefully steered the conversation in a direction that ensured he would offer to drive her home. Hardly surprising, Alix thought as she awarded Michelle points for a clever opening gambit.
What was surprising was the way in which Michelle treated Mrs Babcock throughout the rather excellent dinner that followed. Had she merely attempted to monopolise Quinn, which Alix fully expected and didn’t worry about, Alix could have coped easily. But Michelle’s attitude towards the older woman held a constant note of ... superiority? Or perhaps condescension? Nothing obvious, of course, but enough to create a tangible tension.
Mrs Babcock’s normal cheeriness seemed to fade slightly, and her chatter fell away from the instant Michelle entered the house. She doesn’t like Michelle, Alix thought immediately, and her suspicion was confirmed by the obvious tension between the two women.
If Quinn noticed, he gave no sign of it, except to devote most of his attention to Michelle, leaving Mrs Babcock free to converse with Alix during dinner. Clearly the older woman’s chatter was an attempt to cover a quite unnecessary nervousness, and Alix found herself liking Mrs Babcock more all the time. ,
Whatever her position in the household, Mrs Babcock had an openness and generosity that was exceptionally warming, and during their conversation Alix found her to be an intelligent and knowledgeable person. She treated Alix almost as a cosseted grandchild, and Quinn got much the same treatment, in many respects. Only with Michelle was there that distinct reserve, and Alix thought it was because the dark-haired woman clearly viewed Mrs Babcock as a rival for Quinn’s attentiveness.
All up, it made for a slightly uncomfortable evening despite the sumptuous roast duckling and other delicacies, and Alix wasn’t wholly disappointed when it was time to excuse herself. She liked Mrs Babcock more and more, and she found it increasingly difficult to conceal her own distaste for Michelle Keir’s attitude.
Her offer to help with the washing up was vigorously refused. ‘You certainly may not help clean up after your own welcoming dinner!’ the housekeeper declared staunchly. The fact that Michelle made no offer to help at all was ignored, apparently, by everyone. Alix suspected privately that she, too, would have been refused, but only provided Mrs Babcock survived the shock of having received the offer at all.
Certainly Mrs Babcock seemed to relax a great deal when Quinn and Michelle departed, and she was quick to suggest that Alix stay on for one final glass of wine.
‘I just cannot like that woman,’ she sighed when the door was safely closed on their departure. ‘I’ve tried and tried, but there’s something ... vixenish about her.’
Alix chuckled aloud at how close the comment came to her own assessment, but thought it might be prudent to avoid any prolonged discussion of the woman Quinn so obviously fancied.
‘Oh, I think it’s just that Mr Tennant so obviously thinks a great deal of you,’ she replied gently. ‘Miss Keir might just be the type to see that as somewhat threatening, I think. She doesn’t strike me as the type who likes to share.’
Mrs Babcock’s laugh at that response was both loud and honestly given. ‘My very word, she isn’t,’ the housekeeper replied. ‘And I suppose I should be flattered, but I’m not. Just what Quinn sees in her, apart from what’s obvious, I cannot imagine. Although it’s clear enough what she sees in him.’
‘You can hardly blame her for that,’ Alix smiled.
‘Oh, I don’t blame her,’ was the reply. ‘It’s just that sometimes I wonder if Quinn really sees her as she is. Which is silly, really, because he’s the most astute judge of people I’ve ever known. He’s certainly very taken with you; I can see that.’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Alix said drily, all too aware of the little thrill inside her that leaped at the words. It was a thrill that surrendered to lack of nourishment in the end, because Quinn still hadn’t returned when Alix finally took her own leave. In fact it was some hours before he returned. Alix knew, because she was still awake and wondering to herself if thoughts of Quinn and Michelle Keir had anything to do with it.
Ridiculous, she thought, and fell asleep almost immediately after the arrival of his car announced his return.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning began in panic and grew continuously worse. First, Alix awoke two hours later than she had planned. And if Nick hadn’t come into the bedroom to wuffle-wuffle-wuffle his desire to be let out, Alix might well have been even later.
Thanking her lucky stars for having taken time to bring the big dog into the cottage the night before Alix shooed him out into the yard and scurried into the shower.
She was expected at her new job at eight o clock and with barely an hour to prepare in she managed to slip in the shower, thus getting her hair damp and giving up fifteen minutes for a last-minute drying, rip a fingernail through her second-last pair of tights, forcing a five-minute search for the only others she had, and forget where she d seen the padlock. It was the missing padlock that worried her most. After Quinn Tennant’s tirade of the day before, she was resolved not to have Nick in the kennel without a lock to make triple sure he stayed there.
There wasn’t time for breakfast; she had to fly out of the house, round up the eager, bouncing dog and forcibly insert him into the kennel beside Anna, then slam the lock into place and dash for her car. She made it to the engineering works with only a scant minute to spare.
From the outside, it wasn’t an overly impressive building, despite being tidier than many others m the industrial estate. Inside was a quite different story.
A large, comfortably-appointed lobby gave access to both the design and workshop areas, with the administrative offices opening off the lobby as well. Alix waited only a moment under the expectable scrutiny of the receptionist before a smiling Mr Jennings arrived to greet her with such enthusiasm that she felt genuinely welcome and began to relax for the first time that morning.
‘First, we’ll have the two-bob tour,’ he announced, and they set off on a marathon journey through every section of the works. Alix was introduced to dozens of people whose names she instantly forgot, shown a variety of equipment that confused her even further, and finally, thankfully, escorted to a small, well-lit design studio’ where most things, at least, were familiar.
‘It’s something of a bad morning, I’m afraid,’ Mr Jennings told her then. ‘I have some clients arriving in just a few minutes and the big boss seems to be late himself this morning. So if you don’t mind I’ll leave you here to potter about, and one of us will get back to you as soon as possible.’
There was nothing else for it, and although Alix found it a strange way to begin, she found herself alone with an excellent range of design equipment and d
rafting tools but not the slightest idea what she should be doing with them She was able to busy herself for a few minutes inspecting the work in progress but boredom began to make severe inroads upon her confidence as half an hour passed without a single person entering the room. She just had to do something she felt, or risk being a nervous wreck by the time the ‘big boss’ finally did arrive.
She moved to an empty drafting table and began idly doodling, letting her mind float as she stared at the slow building-up of lines and scribbles on the immaculate emptiness of the paper.
And suddenly, just like that, inspiration came to her!
An hour later, the trash can beside her table was littered with discarded sketches and she was deep in her work, with her earlier nervousness quite forgotten.
It was yet another hour before she had got the sketching to where she could be sure of her ground, but finally she could go to fresh paper and begin a more substantial design.
She was almost finished, and was fairly buzzing inside with a ridiculous sense of satisfaction at having solved the problem of the untrustworthy kennel latch, when the door of her studio swung open to bang angrily against the wall.
‘What … what are you doing here?’ Alix could only stare then, wide-eyed with surprise and confusion, as Quinn Tennant strode into the room and halted before her, his own eyes hard with anger.
The key,’ he said brusquely, holding out his hand in a gesture so abrupt that Alix flinched away from him. His anger was a vibrant, tangible aura that filled the room, and he seemed to loom above her with a threatening presence.
‘I ... what ... I don’t understand,’ she finally stammered, her eyes lifting from his outstretched hand to meet eyes like frozen emeralds.
"Obviously!’ He spat out the word with such apparent contempt that Alix recoiled in fear. Then he sighed very heavily and let his hand fall to the side of the faded green coverall he wore. ‘I ... want ... the ... key. Is that clear enough for you, Miss McLean?’
‘What key?’ Alix replied, then shook herself back to a reasonable alertness. What was Quinn Tennant doing in such a garment? she wondered. And what was he doing here, of all places? And what key?
‘My God, woman ... are you totally stupid?’ he raged. ‘I want the key to that bloody great padlock you’ve slapped on my kennel door, of course. What key do you think I mean?’
‘Oh, that key,’ Alix replied, and then had to stifle a giggle at the ridiculous sound of her reply. ‘But why do you want it?’
He shook both hands in the air in a gesture of frustration that Alix thought for an instant would end with his huge fingers clamped around her neck. The muscles of his neck throbbed with his frustration and his jaw was clamped so tightly as he fought for control that he had difficulty getting out his next words.
‘Because ... because I would like to get my dog out of the kennel. Miss McLean,’ he grated. ‘Some day, perhaps, when I have a great deal more time and patience, I would also like to know what in the hell you locked her in there in the first place for, but right now I would just like her out of there. Now, please, will you just give me the key?’
‘Your ... dog?’ Alix replied, her lips forming the two words very slowly as her mind went back over her movements of earlier that morning. She hadn’t locked Quinn’s dog into the kennel; she’d put the lock on the gate of Nick’s enclosure. Or had she?
‘You don’t mean ...?’ Her eyes widened in apprehension. She couldn’t have made such a mistake. She just couldn’t ... or had she?
‘I do mean,’ he replied in a deliberately sarcastic tone. ‘Now will you give me the damned key? I’m already half an hour late.’
‘But why do you want your dog at this time on a work day?’ The words in her mind emerged aloud, and Alix recoiled in panic at the expression they caused on Quinn Tennant’s already angry countenance.
‘That, Miss McLean, is none of your damned business,’ he shouted angrily. ‘But if it will get you off your backside I’ll tell you. I have a client — an important client — who’s very involved in quail hunting. We were going quail hunting. We will still go quail hunting, if you ever condescend to give me the damned key so that I can get Anna out of that damned kennel. Is that a sufficient explanation? Now will you give me the key?’
Alix reached automatically for her purse, then snatched back her hand as memory rushed in with its own awful message.
‘I ... I ... don’t have it,’ she whispered, cringing back from the look of total incredulity on his face.
‘You what?’
‘I don’t have it. It’s at home, I think.’
‘I can only hope that by home, you mean my cottage,’ he said, voice frighteningly soft. ‘Although I wouldn’t be much surprised if you told me you’ve left the key in Melbourne.’
‘Well, of course I mean the cottage,’ she snapped, suddenly angered by his overbearing attitude. ‘Surely you don’t think I’m so stupid that I’d lock my dog in a kennel with a padlock I don’t have a key for?’
Quinn merely raised one eyebrow. ‘That’s a pretty bold statement for somebody who doesn’t even know her own dog,’ he retorted.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she shot back. ‘I was in rather a hurry this morning, that’s all. And I wish you’d stop trying to make so much out of a simple mistake. Or haven’t you ever made a mistake?’
‘Not when it comes to telling the girls from the boys, he replied with a mocking grin, ‘and I can usually recognise my own dog. Okay, the key is in the cottage, so you say Shall we just go and get it, or would you prefer me to spend the rest of the day searching among your belongings until I find it.’
‘I would not!’ Alix was justifiably indignant. The absolute nerve of the man! She felt a chilling inside her at the thought of Quinn Tennant inspecting her clothing, her books, her private papers — all on the excuse of looking for the dratted key.
‘I suppose you think I’d snoop,’ he said mischievously, and he was so right that Alix felt herself flushing an admission. Quinn’s eyes roved boldly over her figure, as if assessing the underclothing beneath her simple office dress. His grin, then, was predatory. ‘Would it bother you all that much if I discovered you wear lacy pink, old-fashioned bloomers? It shouldn’t, because nothing about you would surprise me all that much — except maybe an exhibition of common sense and logic. But if it’s worrying you, Miss McLean, don’t let it. Just tell me where the key is and 1’ll promise to leave your bloomers ... undisturbed.’
There was a sensual quality to his words and eyes that quickened Alix’s pulse, but it served also to fan her growing anger. ‘I can imagine what your promise might be worth,’ she snapped, ‘But it doesn’t matter in any event, because I don’t know exactly where the key is. So you’ll just have to wait until my lunch break, when I d be more than happy to go home and find it for you.’
‘Lunch break, hell! You’ll go and find it now, he replied, and there was a steel-like firmness about his words.
‘But I can’t,’ said Alix. ‘I can’t just walk out of here m the middle of the morning ... it’s my first day here Now look Mr Tennant, I’m very sorry for what s happened, but I am here to do a job, not to jump at your beck and call. I would be very happy if you’d just leave, before the manager comes back for me. Or would you like to have me in trouble on my first day here? Yes, I suppose that’s exactly what you’d like, isn’t it?’
His eyes belied his words. ‘No, Miss McLean, that is not what I want, nor is it what I would like,’ he replied with a terrible calm. ‘All that I want is to get that key so that I can remove Anna from the effects of your short-sightedness And if It s of any consolation, I can absolutely assure you that getting me that key will not get you in any trouble.’
‘Easy enough to say,’ Alix replied. She could just imagine Mr Jennings’ reaction to a request that she take off half of her first morning just to give this obstinate, overbearing man his dog. Quail hunting indeed! She was about to expand her objections when the door opened to admit Mr Jennings
and another man Alix had never seen before.
‘Ah, here you are, Quinn,’ said Jennings. ‘Have you had a chance to get Miss McLean started on anything special? Because if not I thought she might have a go at…’
Alix didn’t hear the rest. Her mind swirled at the awful reality of Mr Jennings’ obvious subservience and the confirmation she read in Quinn’s sparkling green eyes
He was the boss. He was the ultimate authority to which she must answer in her new job. And her landlord. And … and ... She staggered then, and might have fallen but for his strong hand on her arm. She tried to shake it off, feeling both foolish and ashamed without any real reason, but his clasp was like iron.
And he was laughing. Laughing with a mocking cruelty that slashed through Alix’s final defences like a knife
I have one or two things for Alix to do before I turn her over to you,’ he chuckled to the business manager, who looked from one to the other in obvious confusion. It was clear that Mr Jennings couldn’t comprehend either Quinn Tennant’s amusement or Alix’s own pale silence. ‘Now about that key, Alix ...’
He drew out her name slowly, giving it a sensuous, personal quality that was like a physical caress pulsing up Alix’s spine. It made her knees go weak and she could feel her pulse beating more quickly.
‘Whatever you say, Mr Tcnnant,’ she replied softly, hoping her voice didn’t reveal the shakiness inside her. How could this be happening? Was this hateful, domineering, beastly man going to be everywhere in her new life? Laughing at her, mocking her, and worse — able to reach inside her and touch at nerves and feelings and emotions like some master pianist at work? It was frightening to have him angry with her, frightening to find herself so intricately bound up in his affairs, his home, but nothing was so frightening as the effect he could have on her inner, most personal feelings.
‘Listen, mate, we’re going to have to give the shooting a miss,’ interjected the strange third man in the room. ‘I just got a call saying they want me back in Brisbane this afternoon, so I’ll have to grab the two o’clock plane.’
The Everywhere Man Page 7
