by Iris Danbury
When Caterina came in to clear the table she beckoned to Jacynth to follow her upstairs. Jacynth was now shown into a well-furnished bedroom with a large double bed covered with a dark blue quilt.
Caterina indicated the bathroom next door, then disappeared.
Jacynth sank on to the bed in sheer exhaustion and frustration. What a welcome! True, she had arrived almost a day late and Mr. Brendon had been expecting someone else. But need he have behaved in so arrogant a manner at this first meeting? On the other hand, perhaps he considered it better to begin as he meant to go on.
Well, he had already put her on her mettle. If he thought she was inefficient and inadequate she would show him how mistaken he was.
She unpacked her suitcases which had been brought up and stowed her clothes in the wardrobe and chest of drawers. When she undressed, she discovered that the water in the bathroom was stone cold and she had to content herself with a wash instead of the warm, scented bath she had anticipated. The house itself seemed adequately heated for the time of year, mid-March, but perhaps Mr. Brendon was of a Spartan turn of mind and considered cold baths more healthy.
She had convinced herself that after all the turmoil of the last two days she would be unable to sleep, but as soon as her head touched the pillow, the world and her own troubles floated away from her.
She was already awake when Caterina brought her breakfast, drew back the curtains and opened the shutters. Jacynth now saw that her room had wide windows opening on to a balcony. As soon as Caterina had gone, Jacynth sprang out of bed, opened one window after some trouble with the catch and stepped out towards the stone balustrade, but the contrast in temperature between her heated bedroom and the morning air outside was enough to make her turn swiftly and hurry inside. In a split second she realised she had not entered her room soon enough, for across the space of the courtyard below, Mallory Brendon stood on the balcony of what was presumably his own bedroom. He was wearing a dark red dressing-gown, but his appearance was completely groomed, his hair smooth.
Hurriedly Jacynth closed the door and moved away from the window, aware that she was wearing only a flimsy nylon nightgown.
Her cheeks already burned as she remembered the way he had glared at her in his uncompromising manner. She resolved to be more careful in future, and put on a wrap before venturing outside, but then how was she to know that other rooms across a courtyard overlooked her own?
After her breakfast of hot rolls and butter and a sweet, spicy kind of cake, accompanied by deliciously strong coffee, she chose a dark sapphire blue jersey dress with three-quarter sleeves and a mandarin neckline. On her first morning she would give Mallory Brendon no chance to criticise her clothes or say they were unsuitable for office work. She paid careful attention to her make-up, using just enough lipstick to define her soft mouth, the merest touch of green eye-shadow, and brushed her fair, silky hair until it shone, then clipped it back with a tortoiseshell slide.
Well, she was ready for work. What now? Did she wait for Mr. Brendon to demand her presence or go down to wherever he usually worked?
She decided to venture downstairs and at the foot she saw Caterina. Jacynth managed in Greek the phrase “Where is Mr. Brendon?” and the woman pointed to a door down the hall.
Jacynth knocked timidly and heard a masculine voice call out what she supposed was Greek for “Come in”.
Mallory Brendon was standing behind a massive desk near the window, so that his face was partly in shadow. All the same, Jacynth could easily read that his expression was not genial or welcoming.
“Sit down, Miss—er—” he snapped.
“Rowan. Jacynth Rowan,” she supplied.
There was a long pause at the end of which he sat and half turned away from her, so that his profile was clearly outlined. The long straight nose, no hint of gentleness about the mouth, a determined chin and thick dark hair smoothed into sleekness.
“I’ve decided to send you back to England,” he said as he opened a folder and shuffled some papers.
She half rose from her chair in protest, but subsided at a gesture from him. “Surely that’s most unfair!” she exclaimed. “You don’t even know—”
“Perhaps you would kindly wait until I’ve finished what I have to say,” he interrupted. “Diana Osborn has worked for me before. She was very satisfactory—in every way.” He paused, and Jacynth thought she detected the slightest hint not only of regret but of some nostalgic memory connected with Miss Osborn.
She wanted to say, “Then give me a chance to prove that I can work just as satisfactorily,” but she curbed that impulse and waited for him to continue.
“As Diana is no longer available—according to you—” the glance he gave Jacynth implied that she had made up the tale about Diana Osborn’s marriage, but she let it go—“then I don’t feel disposed to accept any kind of incompetent substitute.”
When he stopped speaking, although he did not look at her, she judged that some sort of answer was expected from her.
“You have no means of knowing yet whether I’m an incompetent substitute,” she said as mildly as she could, for she was aware that on this initial interview, apart from last night’s meeting, her whole future of remaining in Rhodes and working for Mallory Brendon depended.
“I didn’t say that you were any such thing,” he retorted. “You should listen more carefully. I said I was not willing to accept such a person. What you have to prove to me is that you’re not that person.”
“I see. It looks as though I’m already starting under a serious handicap. I suppose, in the circumstances, it isn’t possible for you to be impartial.”
“Why not?” he demanded. “Are you accusing me of having already made a decision to reject you?”
“I think you are unwilling to accept me, however suitable or competent I might be. It is not my fault, Mr. Brendon, that the company asked me to come here. No doubt they thought they were doing the right thing.”
His lips curled into a sardonic smile. “The right thing? For whom? For you, no doubt, if you were anxious to travel at someone else’s expense. Was that your purpose?”
“Not exactly, although I admit that I very much want to travel and see something of the world.”
“Then we’ll see how you shape up and what sort of substitute category you fall into—competent or otherwise.”
For the next half hour he plied her with questions as to the kind of work she had done in London, which department she had worked in, how much she knew of the basis of property finance as it applied to hotel-building, for Mallory Brendon was in Rhodes to arrange and supervise the financial needs of several organisations erecting new tourist hotels.
Several times he seemed to be trying to catch her out, for his queries concerned matters known only to the directors.
Eventually he stopped his catechism.
“I shall expect you to work hard for me—during the time you may be here,” he told her. “My work has fallen behind very seriously. Obviously, that’s why I sent to London for assistance.”
“And may I know how long the—er—trial period will last?” She felt entitled to ask that. He had no justification for keeping her in the dark.
But she had misjudged his inclination to give a straightforward answer. “We shall have to wait and see,” he told her, his dark eyes smouldering. “The situation depends entirely on you.”
Jacynth thought otherwise. This new boss could pack her back to England whenever he chose, whatever trumpery excuse he might concoct, and she wanted to avoid that possibility for quite a long time. It was not so much a question of pride, or loss of-face if she were ignominiously sent back, as the desire to be separated from her problems at home by a couple of thousand miles. Being here in Rhodes and plunged into work for a man who seemed to have all the attributes of a tyrant might leave her little time to mope over her lost dreams back in England.
“Then I’ll show you where you’ll be working.” She was recalled by Mallory Brendon’s deci
sive voice. “I can’t stand women working in the same room with me,” he declared.
She gave him a mild glance, but inwardly she was saying, No, of course not. A feminine presence in your study might distract or irritate you.
Now he conducted her to the small sitting room where last night she had been served with a meal. On a table by the window was a typewriter, stationery, folders and the usual paraphernalia of office work.
“There’s a whole lot of stuff of which I need copies, so you can start as soon as you’re ready. You’ll find my written instructions inside each folder.”
He moved towards the door, then turned. “One more thing, Miss Rowan. You were probably unaware of the layout of this house, but please try not to appear on your balcony unless you are dressed. On the rare occasions when I have visitors here they might be surprised to view you so lightly clad.”
She lifted her head. “I’ll remember, Mr. Brendon. Now that I know how chilly the climate is, I shan’t make that mistake again.”
She hoped he would take her meaning about the “chilly climate” and wondered what sort of visitors he would entertain.
When he closed the door behind him, she said aloud wrathfully, “Next time I’ll wear a hat and coat. Boots, too, perhaps!”
Like a shot, he poked his head round the door again. “Did you say something? Anything else you want?”
“Nothing, thank you.” This time she waited judiciously a few seconds before muttering under her breath, “Nothing except a handy—and heavy—object to hurl at you.”
She opened the top folder, read the instructions in Mallory Brendon’s bold handwriting and began work. Somewhere about eleven Caterina brought a pot of coffee and at one o’clock served lunch on the table in the centre of the room.
So, Jacynth reflected, this was to be both her working and eating quarters. In hesitant Greek she asked Caterina if Mr. Brendon was in the house and received a definite “No.”
During the afternoon Jacynth worked steadily, though not without an occasional hitch when she found it difficult to decipher Mr. Brendon’s instructions out of all the mass of crossings-out, insertions, paragraphs ringed and arrowed to be transposed.
At seven o’clock she judged that she had done a fair day’s work, tidied the table and stood up, ready to go up to her bedroom and freshen herself before dinner.
Mallory Brendon strode in and glared at her. “There’s no need to work overtime,” he snapped. Then he added with a cynical light in his dark eyes, “Unless, of course, you’re a very slow worker.”
She had sat down again. “You must judge that for yourself. I’ve no idea what you would call a day’s work.”
He was standing close by her shoulder, as he picked up and examined the work she had completed, and unaccountably her heart was thudding as she waited for his approval or otherwise. She was conscious of his nearness, of his masculine presence, and even hoped he would move slightly farther away from her so that she could recover her own detached coolness.
“H’m,” he grunted from time to time. Then, as he replaced the last few sheets, he said, “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
Her spirits leaped up as though he had awarded her the most extravagant praise. “But,” he went on, “this is only the easy part of my work. During these last weeks I’ve had to knock it into shape myself. In future, you’ll have to cope as best you can from my rough drafts.”
Jacynth made no reply. If there was any question of “future”, then she was reluctant to spoil her chances by some injudicious remark.
“Right. There’ll be enough work to keep you busy for the next day or two.”
At the door he threw a curt “Goodnight” over his shoulder and went out.
Jacynth let out a great gasp of indignation. Of all the men she had ever had to work for, surely this man Brendon was the worst! Pompous, vindictive, inconsiderate, he didn’t deserve anyone efficient or willing. It would have served him right if she’d been a nitwit, unable to type a page free of half a dozen clumsy erasures.
Then she laughed. The nitwit would probably already have been on her way back to England, and at least she, Jacynth, was provided with further work for a couple of days.
In her bedroom she renewed her make-up and changed her dress, wearing now a patterned terylene in shades of peacock blue and acid greens. At the foot of the stairs Caterina was waiting, evidently ready to serve dinner. The Greek woman motioned to Jacynth to enter again the sitting-room-cum-office, where the centre table was already laid for one.
So evidently all her meals were to be taken solitary in this room. If Mr. Brendon took his alone in the dining-room, no doubt his reason was that he couldn’t stand eating in the same room as a woman!
Jacynth resigned herself to the position. After all, she had no right to demand a seat at her employer’s table and if he chose to eat alone, that was surely his business. If, of course, he were alone. He might have guests, for all she knew.
She turned her attention to the book she was trying to read, but Mallory Brendon’s face came between her and the printed page. Diana Osborn had worked in a different department from Jacynth’s, but there had been gossip about this marvellous “man in Greece” with whom Diana had spent three or four months. At the time Jacynth had listened without much interest and she had not known the name of the man.
“Irresistible!” Diana had termed him. “The most fascinating man you could ever meet.”
Obviously Mallory had wanted Diana to return, so they must have been on fairly friendly terms. More than friendly? Perhaps an affair? Diana was a very attractive girl, with beautiful features and a cloud of dark hair. Sophisticated, too, thought Jacynth, and probably knew how to handle men, even the Mallory Brendons who came her way.
Perhaps it was a jolt when he learned that Diana was married. Or was he really the heartless type who took his pleasure where he found it and cared nothing for the consequences?
For her part, Jacynth was convinced that she would find him completely resistible. Her chief concern was to stay working in Rhodes and avoid being returned to England like a wrongly-addressed parcel. Surely she could make herself as competent and efficient as Diana, so that Mallory Brendon would have no grievance on that score. As to any kind of personal relationship, that was out of the question, for she was still bruised from a recent encounter with an attractive man and her only chance of recovering was to stay out of England as long as possible.
In London she had shared a small flat with one of her own distant cousins, Sara, a glamorous fashion and advertising model, who attracted men like moths to a candle. Jacynth was often invited for a foursome at the theatre or dancing, but she usually realised that her own escort was more interested in Sara and put up with Jacynth as the necessary makeweight. Jacynth had never bothered or showed any resentment, always enjoying whatever entertainment the occasion provided. Until David came along.
He had called at the flat one evening when Sara was out with her latest admirer and Jacynth had made coffee and sandwiches. He was an architect, he told her, and had been abroad for nearly a year, so he had lost touch with Sara and her circle of friends.
Jacynth listened to him, bemused, aware only of the shattering effect he had upon her. She had to wrench her gaze from contemplation of his lean good looks, the way his chestnut hair sprang from a broad forehead, his mouth that made her wonder what his kisses would be like. She busied herself with the coffee pot, but his voice, deep and sonorous, yet with hints of laughter in its inflections, enthralled her.
When he finally left, promising to telephone Sara in a day or two, Jacynth danced around the room for sheer happiness. At last she had met the man who had captivated her from the first moment. She sobered at the thought that he was Sara’s friend, but Sara had a dozen men friends and she had managed without David for almost a year.
Sara’s reaction when she learned of David’s visit had been perfunctory, Jacynth noted. “Oh, he’s back from wherever it was. We must fix up an evening somewhere. Di
d he look well?”
“Marvellous,” had been Jacynth’s answer; she was unaware of the blissful expression on her face.
“And was he amusing?” pursued Sara.
“I could have listened to his tales for hours.”
After that there were several outings of one sort or another, usually with one of Sara’s innumerable acquaintances, Martin, Clive, Tony or someone else, to make up the quartet. Jacynth spent more than she could afford on new evening dresses and smart trouser suits and was delighted when sometimes David seemed to enjoy her company while Sara was occupied with the other man of the party. Dancing in his arms was very heaven and when he smiled, she was intoxicated beyond belief.
David had been back in England about a month when Jacynth was suddenly offered the chance of a few months’ stay working in Rhodes. She was employed as secretary in a large property finance and management concern dealing with the erection of hotels and commercial development in many parts of the world as well as at home.
“How would you like to go, Miss Rowan?” her department chief asked her. “I’ll recommend you. Think about it, but I must know by the end of the week.”
She was stunned. To travel to foreign countries had been one of her keenest ambitions. Now, to be paid a handsome salary and work in fabulous places was surely a prize dropped into her lap.
But there was David. How could she leave England without knowing what his true feelings were? She had been anxious not to rush matters, but to give both him and herself time to cement a lasting affection. If she left now, David would naturally assume that she had little interest in him.
She discussed the job in Rhodes with Sara, who was all for Jacynth’s acceptance.
“Chance of a lifetime, pet. Why are you hesitating?”
Jacynth wanted to say, Because I love David and if I leave now, I shall regret it all my life. Instead, she mumbled, “I’m thinking it over.”
Then it was Friday afternoon and she told her chief that she had decided against the post in Rhodes.