Rachel Lindsay - Designing Man

by Rachel Lindsay

  Alix glanced nervously at her hostess and saw that the woman had lost color. She racked her brains for something to say but was forestalled by Paul, who leaned across the table and tapped Dina playfully on the arm.

  "If you like jade, I'll show you father's collection. He's been amassing it for years."

  "I'd no idea," Dina drawled. "Is it all jewelry like this?"

  "Only a small part of it. Most of it is large pieces."

  "There's the gun," Mrs. Duval intervened tonelessly.

  "A jade gun?" Dina widened her eyes.

  "Only the handle is jade," Henri said. "But the whole gun is more like a toy. You could hide it in your bosom and no one would ever know. It's in the desk in my library; I'll show it to you later."

  "No thanks, I've got a phobia about guns. I once had to use one in a play and the very thought of it almost gave me a breakdown.''

  "There's a difference between a prop gun and a real one," Alix said and quickly turned the conversation to stage props in general. Peter followed through with an amusing story of prop jewelry that was once worn to a society ball and stolen by a luckless thief, and everyone laughed and relaxed.

  At last the dinner came to an end and they adjourned to the drawing room for coffee. Dina kept close to Henri, her hands lingering possessively on his arm as he guided her to a chair. She was still wearing his ring and he made no attempt to reclaim it, but leaned nonchalantly over the back of her chair, his whispered remarks bringing a sparkle to her eyes. They made a striking picture together, the tall, gray-haired man and the laughing red-headed girl in her filmy gown.

  Alix wondered how much Dina was playacting. Many girls found older men extremely fascinating and Dina could well be one of them. She was wishing there was some way of interrupting the two of them when Paul got up from the settee and strode purposefully across to Dina.

  "You mustn't let father monopofize you all evening or I'll get jealous." His voice was unusually loud and easily heard by everyone in the room.

  Alix was too far away to see the look that passed between them, but she breathed a sigh of relief as Dina stood up and gave Paul her hand.

  "How naughty I am," she said in a little-girl voice. "I'm at your service, sir. What would you like to do?"

  "Dance," he said promptly and led her over to a bureau in the far corner, where they were immediately engrossed in choosing records from a stack that lay there.

  Left alone, Henri lit a small cheroot and settled down in a chair to smoke it. From her high-backed wing chair on the other side of the fireplace, his wife sat watching him, only the twitching of her veined hands, half-hidden in the folds of her dress, a sign that the scene enacted before her had not gone unnoticed.

  For the rest of the evening Paul remained by Dina's side. It was obvious he had maneuvered her away from his father in order to allay his mother's fears, but Alix also felt he was avenging himself for the way Henri had behaved on the night of the play.

  However, Dina seemed to approve of the arrangement and, locked in Paul's arms, was oblivious to anyone else. Peter was dancing with Fleur and Lady Brandon watched them with a beady eye. Henri was still smoking and his wife was still watching him, though she looked more relaxed and even permitted herself the occasional smile.

  Feeling strangely dispirited, Alix decided to go to bed early. At the doorway she paused for a last look around and saw Dina pull Paul's dark head down to hers and whisper something in his ear. He chuckled at what she said and for a second laid his cheek against her.

  What did it mean, the tiny intimate gesture she had just witnessed? Was Paul in love with Dina? The idea filled her with misgiving. Dina was quite wrong for him. She was a born man-eater who delighted in the power she wielded and loved to twist men around her fingers. She needed a dominating man who would stand no nonsense from her. The reserved and serious- minded young designer would be like wax in her hands.

  I wish I knew what game Dina was playing, Alix thought as she wended her way to her room. A couple of hours ago she spoke as if Henri was her ideal and now she's looking at Paul in the same way. Maybe she doesn't care for either of them except as two more scalps!

  This was a far more satisfactory conclusion yet it gave Alix little comfort. Somewhere in the future she sensed tragedy and knew that nothing she did today could avert it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With a contented air Alix sat at her desk and gazed at the newspapers piled high in front of her. They had had marvelous publicity for the barbecue and even the most news-hungry client would be satisfied by it.

  "The pictures are great," she said to Peter, who was happily poring over another bundle of papers. "Take a look at this."

  He glanced at the center spread she was holding out. It showed a smiling portrait of Henri and another smaller picture of Paul and Dina laughing together as they shared a plate of food.

  "The old boy kept up a pretty good front," Peter commented. "I don't suppose he enjoyed having his girl friend snatched away by his son."

  "I don't think she's Henri's girl friend… yet."

  "Don't you?"

  Peter looked disbelieving and Alix hurriedly bent to the papers again. Suddenly she held out another page. "Here's another couple who seem to have had a good time."

  Peter stared at a photograph of himself and Fleur Brandon, sitting on a garden seat holding hands.

  "Dear me," he said carelessly. "A photographer must have been hiding in a flowerpot!"

  "I didn't think the Honorable Fleur was your type."

  "I found her very charming."

  The use of such an adjective struck Alix as disquieting, making something serious out of a situation she had tended to disregard.

  "You haven't fallen for her, have you?"

  "Would you object if I have?"

  "It isn't for me to object. But Jack Beecham might."

  "The building magnate?" Peter was surprised. "What's he got to do with—"

  "He's engaged to Fleur," Alix cut in. "I thought you knew."

  "No." It was a clipped sound. "She can't be. Not to a fat slob like that."

  "He may be a fat slob," Alix said carefully, "but he's a millionaire and Lady Brandon is relying on him to restore the family fortunes. They say she spent her last penny on grooming Fleur for a rich marriage."

  "That lets me out then," Peter said and gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Is the engagement official or did one of your news hawks tell you?"

  "Lady Brandon told me. And from the way she said it, I fancy she wanted me to warn you off."

  "Why isn't Fleur wearing a ring?" he persisted, "and why wasn't Beecham at the party?"

  "Because I don't think it's official yet."

  "Then Fleur must be putting up a fight.' No girl with any sense would willingly marry a man like him!"

  "Maybe not," Alix agreed, "but Lady B. is a tough nut and Fleur will have to give in eventually."

  "I'll stick around until she does."

  "Why bother? You're not short of girl friends."

  "That's true." He frowned and then replaced it by another smile. "Thanks for the warning, Alix. As you say, I've a long list to choose from, and there's no point courting trouble."

  Whistling tunelessly, he walked out, and Alix settled down to make some telephone calls. She had completed her third one when Miss Wilkinson hurried in, mouthing that Paul Duval was waiting outside to see her. Before Alix could ask her to show him in, he strode into the office, his expression so furious that her smile of welcome froze on her lips.

  "I see you're admiring your handiwork," he said, glaring at the papers spread over the desk. "I suppose I'd be wasting your time if I asked you whether you've seen this." He tossed a newspaper in front of her, indicating a paragraph of print with a sharp rap of his fingers.

  Alix read it, her dismay increasing with every line.

  "It isn't only with his brilliant clothes that a handsome young couturier gets the better of an older one. Glamorous actress Dina Lloyd—whose love affa
irs she delights in telling us about—switched allegiance from father to son within a space of hours, despite still wearing a beautiful ring she had playfully filched from pere. So once again youth triumphs over age and father has yet another wound to lick."

  "Well?" Paul demanded furiously. "How do you think my mother will feel when she reads this?"

  "The same as your father feels," Alix said briefly. "Though I doubt if your mother takes this newspaper."

  "Maybe she doesn't," he snapped, "but there'll be plenty of so-called friends to tell her what she's missed. You might call this kind of thing publicity but I call it filth!"

  "You don't think I engineered this, do you?" Alix's temper began to rise. "That article was written by Jamie Hunter, but I assure you he didn't get his information from me."

  "Who else knew what happened at dinner on Friday? The only people there who were not our personal friends were you and your assistant."

  "What about the staff?"

  "They'd never talk. They've been with my mother for years and would never do anything to hurt her."

  "Neither would I. I know you have a poor opinion of publicity but—"

  "Why shouldn't I?" he stormed. "Scandal and lies are the tools of your trade!"

  "Mr. Duval!" Alix's voice shook with fury. "I'd like to remind you that my business arrangements were made with your father. If you have any complaints to make about me, then make them to him. And in future stay out of my office."

  "That'll be a pleasure!" Paul's face was an ashen mask. "But before I go, I'll give you a warning. I'll get you out of the salon if it's the last thing I do!"

  The door slammed behind him and the noise was still reverberating when Peter came in.

  "I couldn't help hearing what was going on," he said grimly. "You were both shouting like a couple of banshees."

  "He thinks I planted the story with Jamie."

  "That just shows he should stick to dress designing. As a judge of character, he's lousy!"

  She made a disclaiming gesture. "I want to find out who did give it to him."

  "Forget it," Peter replied. "Columnists are cagey about their sources of information."

  "I'm still going to try. I know Jamie well and he owes me a few favors." She favored Peter with a narrow look. "It wasn't one of your bright ideas, was it?"

  "Certainly not."

  She went on looking at him but he stared back at her with a bland look, and realizing he was not going to say any more, she reached for the telephone to continue her calls of thanks to all the reporters who had written up the Duval barbecue.

  Later, as she sipped a midmorning coffee, her suspicion of Peter returned. He had always been an enigma to her, and even after working with him for two years she was still never sure when he was joking and when he was serious.

  Her mind ranged over all the people who had been present at the dinner party that night. Lady Brandon and Fleur she dismissed immediately, for neither of them was the sort to gossip. That only left Henri, Paul and Mrs. Duval. A sudden picture of Amy Duval's haggard face flitted across her vision and she wondered whether Henri's wife could have revenged herself on him in this way—mocking him for losing Dina to Paul. It did not seem likely, for in the process of doing so she was also broadcasting her own position in the world.

  Frowning, Alix once more picked up the receiver, this time to call Jamie Hunter. He was not in and she left her name with his secretary, knowing even as she gave it, that he was unlikely to disclose his informant.

  She was uncertain whether or not to call Henri Duval, but instead sent a personal note saying how pleased she was by the press coverage they had received and hoping he felt the same.

  There was no reply from him and the next day, when she went to the salon, she nerved herself for his comments on Jamie Hunter's column. But Henri said nothing and she was partly relieved and partly irritated by his silence. Had Paul made a mountain out of a molehill or was Henri's vanity so hurt that he could not bear to talk of it?

  Of Paul she saw little, and on the occasions when they did meet they were punctiliously polite. One afternoon she bumped into him in the corridor outside his room. Wearing the inevitable gray suit he looked the same as she had remembered: diffident and faunlike. Yet seeing his face in close proximity, she noticed a firmness about the mouth and a stubborn set to the chin she had not seen before. Had it always been there or was her anger against him making her more conscious of him?

  But she had little opportunity to wonder about her reactions to him, for in the following days Peter began to behave strangely. Never one to complain about overtime, he now left on the stroke of six each evening, regardless of the fact that Alix herself often had to complete the task he had left unfinished. He turned up in the mornings when it suited him and was so distrait and short-tempered that she finally asked her secretary what was wrong with him.

  "He's probably in love," Willie said.

  "Peter's been in love before, and it's never struck him like this."

  "Perhaps it's real love."

  "Well, the sooner he marries the girl and gets it over with, the better! I'm tired of doing half his work as well as my own. I'll wait a bit and see what happens."

  However her determination not to lose her temper with him was put to the test more rigorously than she had expected, for that evening she was sitting at her desk trying to work out the wording for a particularly tricky letter when Peter flung into her office without knocking, stopping short when he saw her.

  "Sorry Alix, I didn't think you'd still be here."

  Coldly she noted his immaculate dinner jacket. "Where else would I be? I asked you to do this letter three days ago but you didn't."

  "I'm sorry. It slipped my mind."

  "It's not the only thing that's slipped your mind lately. I'm surprised you still remember to come into the office."

  He reddened. "There are other things in life beside work. It wouldn't do you any harm to relax a bit more. You've been working far too hard since Mark went away."

  "I'd rather you left Mark out of this! He has nothing to do with what we're talking about. Tell me, Peter, aren't you happy working here?"

  "Of course I'm happy. But work isn't the be-all and end-all of my existence."

  "What's her name?" Alix asked bluntly. "I assume a new girl friend is causing this change of attitude?"

  "Her name isn't important," Peter said lightly. "And she isn't the one who's changed my attitude. I've always felt this way. The only thing is that up till now I had no reason for working regular hours. But—"

  "If you're looking for a nine-to-five job, you're in the wrong business," Alix cut in angrily.

  "You know I don't mean that. All I'm saying is that work for work's sake is not my idea of the way to live. You're the one who should change, Alix, not me." He came closer. "Take that letter you're doing. There's no earthly reason for it to be done tonight. But you've got yourself into such a routine that you've forgotten how to take things easy."

  "Maybe I do work too hard," she admitted, "but if my assistant doesn't work hard enough…"

  "Are you firing me?" Peter asked.

  "Do you want me to?"

  "No." It was a firm commitment. "I enjoy my job and I enjoy working with you."

  "Then you'll have to conform to my pace," she said equally firmly. "Otherwise I'll get someone else."

  There was silence for half a moment.

  "Right," he said. "Your pace it shall be." He held out his hand for the letter. "Give me that and I'll finish it."

  She shook her head. "You're obviously going out now. Let's put the new broom into operation tomorrow."

  "The old broom you mean." He smiled. "I've always worked at your pace until the last few weeks."

  She half smiled and was still thinking of his comment as he went out and she resumed work on the letter. Thank goodness Peter had acted reasonably. She would have been sorry to have asked him to go. But there was definitely a girl involved in his change of attitude, and she was
not convinced she had seen the last of Peter's odd behavior.

  This time her smile became a rueful chuckle. She was the one who behaved oddly—preferring work to pleasure—because work was more exciting. Was that why she was still heart-free, or would her attitude to work change if she fell in love? What a pity she couldn't think of Mark as her husband. Restlessly she flung down her pen. Peter was right. If she wasn't careful, she would end up a lonely spinster with a big bank balance when what she really wanted was a semidetached with a husband and children.

  "No, I don't," she said aloud. "A suburban life would bore me to death. I want the best of both worlds: a career and a happy marriage."

  With a rueful sigh, she picked up her pen and continued working.

  A couple of days later, going to lunch in a Fleet Street club—it was a useful way of keeping in touch with people she didn't necessarily want to make a point of telephoning—she saw Jamie Hunter sipping a drink at the bar. With a glint in her eye she perched on the stool next to him.

  "You're just the man I want to see," she said gaily.

  "I know," he replied. "But if it's about that barbecue story, you're wasting your time. I never betray a source."

  "Not even off the record?"

  "Not even. But I'll give you lunch by way of compensation."

  "I'll accept."

  She followed him to a table and they ordered their meal.

  "By the way," he said casually, "I saw your assistant at the Savoy Grill last night with the lovely Fleur. And the night before they were hitting it up at Roxanne's." He paused. "Jack Beecham's in the States, you know, so when the cat's away…"

  Alix forced herself to shrug, though inside she was seething with anger. So Peter was still seeing Fleur! And taking her to the most expensive places in London. He had to be finding the money somewhere and she was dismayed to think it might be from the gossip monger who was now giving her lunch.

  When she returned to her apartment, Peter was already at his desk, and sitting down behind her own, she faced him.

  "I had lunch with Jamie today. He said he saw you and Fleur last night."

  "That's right."