Giving him the pleasure of having the last word, Samantha turned back to the stand. But embarrassment had rattled her, making her movements clumsy, and though she tried to steady the model as she dressed it, she inadvertently pushed it. It teetered on the edge of its plinth and then, with a resounding crash, fell to the floor. The smiling head fell off and rolled ridiculously across the carpet to land at Zachary Farrell's feet.
Silently he stared down at it and then, still without a word, picked it up and held it out. "Yours, I presume?"
"I bet you wish it was!"
"Full marks, Miss Byers," he said softly and, placing it in her unresisting hands, walked away.
Her encounter with Zachary Farrell left Samantha shattered, and, long after he had departed, she thought of the many brilliantly cutting things she could have said to him had she thought of them at the time. Unfortunately he had a habit of rendering her speechless even before he said a word to her. It was his eyes, she decided. Those pale gray eyes. His mouth too: the lips always compressed together as if he were afraid that by releasing them he would disclose their fullness and give himself away. That well- shaped, sensual mouth did not hide a man with a frigid nature. He might be cold and calculating in business but with a woman he would be passionate and demanding.
"Venez vite!" Madame Vonet's sharp voice brought Samantha back to the present and she saw the buyer talking to a customer.
She was a narrow-faced young woman, petite and curvaceous, with dark eyes and shiny black hair that fitted her scalp like a satin cap. It was a supremely sophisticated style and threw into stark relief the bone structure of the face which, though not beautiful, was arresting. The forehead was slightly too high, the eyes a shade too close together and the mouth, if one analyzed it, almost too full. Yet taken as a whole it was a fascinating face that one would never tire of watching. Samantha knew without question that the girl was foreign and found this confirmed when she heard her speaking in perfect French to Madame Vonet.
"The clothes you ordered have just come in," the buyer was saying, "but I have a couple of other dresses that I also think you will like."
Madame turned to Samantha and briskly told her what to bring out from the stockroom. The dresses were all in the ready-to-wear range but were Italian and French and highly expensive. Samantha carried them into the salon and placed them carefully on a settee.
"Put them on a rail," Madame hissed.
"There isn't one here," Samantha protested.
"Well get one from the stockroom."
Annoyed that she had not thought of doing it herself, Samantha wheeled one out and soon half a dozen dresses were swaying delicately on the aluminum frame.
"Will that be all?" Samantha asked the buyer.
"Do you have better things to do?" the woman hissed.
"No but…"
"Then stay where you are."
Samantha did as she was told and watched as the customer disappeared into a fitting room. Each time she put on another dress she came out to see herself in a mirror that would give her a more distant view. Only one of the outfits did not meet with her approval, and she nodded complacently at all the others to signify she was taking them.
A quick mental sum told Samantha that the bill would be in the region of five hundred pounds, and she swallowed hard when the girl reminded the buyer that she had said she had a couple of other garments to show her.
"A green suit and a white chiffon dress," Madame Vonet said. "I'll fetch them for you myself."
She disappeared and the girl sauntered over to a settee and sat down. An awareness of her body was apparent in every movement she made and Samantha was surprised to see that her hands, long and thin with brightly painted nails, were ringless.
"You are new here." The words were spoken in English without any trace of an accent.
"It's my fourth day in this department."
Feeling she had done her duty conversationally, the girl looked into the distance while Samantha, not sure whether to remain where she was, decided it was better to do so than to incur Madame Vonet's wrath.
The woman came out of the stockroom carrying a green suit in one hand and a white dress in the other.
"I'll try the suit first," the girl said and disappeared into the dressing room.
Behind Madame Vonet the telephone rang and she nodded to Samantha to answer it. Samantha did so. The call was from Rome and the name of the caller sufficiently important to send her scurrying after the buyer.
"It's a personal call from Senor Petrachi. Will you take it or shall I ask them to ring back?"
"Viktor!" With an exclamation, Madame placed the clothes she was holding into Samantha's arms. "Please attend to these. My call may take a little while."
She hurried out and Samantha gave a half smile to the girl standing in a silk slip before the mirror.
"I don't have all day." The girl ignored the smile and pointed to the suit.
Quickly Samantha unzipped the skirt and unbuttoned the jacket before passing them over.
The girl put them on, her impassive face brightening into vivacity as she looked at herself. "Lovely. Green is my color, don't you think?"
"Most strong colors would suit you," Samantha replied. "You have very dramatic coloring."
"I suppose you notice it because you're so pale yourself."
Samantha immediately felt insipid and wondered if the comment had been chosen with care or by accident. There was something about this client she did not like, though she was quick to admit her feeling could be caused by jealousy. After all, not many girls of her own age could buy so many expensive clothes without blinking at the cost.
"Yes, I'll definitely have the suit."
She stepped out of it and dropped it carelessly onto the chair before swiftly plucking the chiffon dress out of Samantha's hands and slipping it over her head. There was a ripping sound and Samantha gave a cry.
"The zip! It isn't properly undone."
"You should have seen that it was." The girl spun round, giving Samantha a view of the back of the dress.
Quickly Samantha lowered the zipper. But the damage had been done and two inches of the delicate fabric had been ripped away from the side.
"It's torn," she stammered. "I-I'll get a couple of pins and—"
"Don't bother. There's no point in my trying it on. I have no intention of taking anything that's been damaged."
"You should have looked to see if the zipper was undone."
"What did you say?"
"I said you should have looked to see if the zipper was undone. You don't just pick up a garment and put it on blindly."
"Are you criticizing me?"
Samantha swallowed. What on earth had made her get into this argument? Yet inevitably there would be one when Madame Vonet returned and it was as well to establish the truth now.
"I am merely saying I don't intend to take the blame for the dress being torn," she said quietly. "I didn't put it on you. You took it out of my hands yourself."
"Before you gave me the suit," the girl retorted, "you unzipped the skirt and undid the jacket. I had every right to assume you would do the same with the dress."
"I would have done if you had given me a chance. But you pulled it out of my hands."
"I did no such thing!" With quick, angry motions the girl stepped into her own dress and whisked out of the dressing room in time to meet the buyer, who was coming back in.
"Did you like them?" Madame enquired.
"I'll take the suit but I can't take the dress. It's torn."
"But that's impossible."
"Not if you have a novice for an assistant."
There followed a spate of excited French while Samantha could just follow, and which was clearly putting the blame on her.
"It wasn't my fault," she cut in, and her interruption caused both women to stop in full spate.
"You will speak when you are spoken to, Miss Byers," Madame said.
"I won't stand by and allow myself to be bla
med for something I didn't do."
Madame's bosom swelled with anger. "Go into my office and wait for me there."
Controlling herself with an effort, Samantha did so. What bad luck that something like this should happen to her today of all days. Madame Vonet swept in.
"Now, Miss Byers, we will get this little matter settled." She was holding the offending dress and she bent to examine it, muttering audibly as she saw the extent of the tear. "It will have to be invisibly mended. We won't be able to sell it as new."
"But there's so much chiffon in the skirt. Once it's resewn—"
"Our clients do not expect to buy seconds," Madame cut in, her whole demeanor one of horror. "The dress will have to be marked down and put into our sale at the end of the season."
"Surely not," Samantha protested, dismayed at the thought.
"Are you telling me how to run my department, Miss Byers?"
"Of course not. But I do think it's unfair for a saleswoman to be blamed for something a customer did."
"If Miss Bergerac tore the dress trying to get into it, it's your responsibility."
"I don't see why."
"If you aren't responsible for the clothes that are given to you," Madame Vonet said sarcastically, "then who is? The chimney sweep? Miss Bergerac is one of our most valued clients and I will not have her upset in any way."
"I appreciate her value," Samantha said. "She must have spent over five hundred pounds this morning, but that still doesn't mean she isn't to blame for tearing the white chiffon."
"C'est fini." Madame gestured with her hands. "The cost of repairing the dress will be docked from your salary. I imagine it will be about ten pounds."
"As much as that?" Samantha's gasp was one of indignation, though Madame, thinking it one of dismay, lost some of her annoyance.
"Invisible mending is expensive. I am sorry, Miss Byers, but it will at least teach you to be more careful in future."
"It might be cheaper for me to buy the dress for myself," Samantha muttered, swiftly trying to calculate the discount price she would get.
"Do you normally spend two hundred pounds on a dress?" Madame sniffed.
"Occasionally I've worn dresses that have cost even more." Temper was beginning to fray the edges of Samantha's discretion. One of the perks of representing her mother was the fabulous clothes allowance it had given her. In order to get publicity for each art show, she had had to exert her charm on newspaper and television reporters, and an alluring appearance had been a great asset. But to say this to Madame Vonet was impossible and she suffered the buyer's look of disbelief.
"There is no shame in not being able to afford expensive clothes, Miss Byers," the woman said.
"It is unnecessary to lie about it. I am sorry this unfortunate incident had to occur in your first week with us, but I hope it will teach you to be more careful in future with the clothes."
"It will teach me to be more careful of Miss Bergerac," Samantha said.
"Then that is a good thing too. She is a personal friend of Mr. Farrell's."
Madame Vonet swept out and Samantha followed more slowly. So that was Zachary Farrell's girl friend! If only she had realized it at the time. Amusement superseded the anger she was still feeling at being unjustly blamed for the damaged dress. When she chose to have an argument with someone, she certainly took on the best! Still, Miss Bergerac was nowhere near the type she had imagined as appealing to Mr. Lord-High-and-Mighty. She had envisaged him with someone far more pliable and feminine.
"Don't stand there dreaming!" Madame hissed. "Make sure the salon is tidy."
Dutifully Samantha wandered around the pristine showroom, waiting for this ill-fated day to end. Because her mood was so despondent, she was more than usually delighted to see Larry coming toward her.
"My lunch date has cried off and I've come to see if you will take pity on me."
"It's the other way around," she smiled. "But can you wait twenty minutes? My lunch hour isn't due until one."
"We can soon remedy that. Tell Madame Vonet you're going out with me."
"I'd rather not. We have just had a bit of a row."
"Then I'll tell her myself."
"Please don't."
Ignoring what she said, Larry strode over to Madame Vonet. There was a swift interchange of words and he returned to Samantha's side, followed by a pale-faced Frenchwoman who who looked at him with something akin to fear.
"You should have told me who you were, Miss Byers," she said in a thin voice. "If I had known…"
"You would have acted differently," Samantha finished for her. "That's why I'm glad you didn't know. At least now I realize what your other assistants have to go through."
"I don't generally take on assistants who have no experience."
It was an admirable comeback and Samantha's half-smile gave the Frenchwoman full credit for it.
"Come on," Larry intervened, catching hold of Samantha's arm. "The commissionaire's getting a cab for me and I don't want to keep it waiting."
CHAPTER FIVE
Over lunch—which was at a nearby restaurant and did not involve taking a taxi, which had merely been Larry's diplomatic way of preventing a row—Samantha told him of the whole unfortunate episode.
"I wish I'd been a fly on the wall," he chuckled. "I would have loved to see you and Marie having a go at each other."
"I'm not concerned with Miss Bergerac so much as the principle of the thing," Samantha persisted. "Why should a saleswoman be responsible for any damage a client does to a dress? I mean a woman could step into it and tear the hem with her heel."
"Our saleswomen aren't responsible for that sort of damage," Larry said.
"They are—according to Madame Vonet."
"The old girl was just being bitchy to you. She knows very well what the rules are. Any damage done to any article in Farrell's is paid for by Farrell's itself. Obviously if one of our staff goes on causing mayhem then we get rid of them. But in normal circumstances you wouldn't be expected to pay for any damage. I'll have a word with her."
"Let me," Samantha said, enjoying the prospect.
"Why not take the bill from her and send it to Zachary?" Larry suggested dryly.
"You mean he foots Miss Bergerac's bills?"
"We all do."
She speared a shrimp with her fork. "You are being too subtle for me. You will have to explain yourself."
In a few words, he did. A year ago Zachary had instructed that everything Miss Bergerac bought at Farrell's should be charged to his own account, and since he, as Joint Managing Director of the company was able to buy everything at actual cost, Farrell's did not even receive a minimum profit on the things Miss Bergerac bought.
"If she spent five hundred pounds in one morning," Samantha murmured, "she could spend a fortune in a year!"
"Six thousand pounds in the first year," Larry murmure^, "and her second one is just beginning."
It was impossible for Samantha to hide her astonishment. "But that's a fortune!"
"Depends who's paying it."
Samantha found this particular piece of information disagreeable and preferred to concentrate on the business aspect of it. "You mean the store makes no profit on that six thousand?"
"Not a cent. It isn't very businesslike, I know, but then Farrell's doesn't make any profit on anything I buy here either. I'm Joint M.D. with Zachary, as you know."
"How much do you spend here in a year?" The question popped out and Samantha immediately looked discomfited, though Larry seemed to find it funny.
"I don't mind you asking. After all, ten percent of Farrell's is yours."
"No, it isn't," she said at once. "I feel Uncle John gave it to me to hold in trust for you and your cousin. As soon as you have resolved your differences, I can give the shares back to you both."
"I doubt if Zack and I will ever solve our differences. If you're waiting for that to happen, the shares will be yours for eternity! To get back to your original question though. I know wh
at you're getting at. Zack and I—and you too— should be allowed to buy from Farrell's at cost price. After all, if we owned a corner grocery shop, that's what would happen. The fact that we happen to own a department store doesn't make any difference to the principle. But it should only apply to immediate family. If Marie was married to Zack it would be different." He leaned forward. "Why don't you bring it up at the next Board meeting? You know we are having one at the end of the week?"
"I didn't," she said in surprise.
"Well we are, and it would be a good time for you to air your views."
"I couldn't. I would hate the first one of my criticisms to be something so—so personal to your cousin."
"He scares you," Larry stated.
"No he doesn't. But you've got to admit it's a rather delicate issue to—to talk about a man footing his girl friend's bills."
"You aren't objecting to him footing them," Larry commented, "you are objecting to us footing them. Everything Marie gets here costs Farrell's both outlay and store space without a single penny profit in return. By rights, she should pay full price for everything. If one wanted to be magnanimous about it, then she should be treated like a senior member of the staff and get a decent-sized discount. After all," he said, straight-faced, "she does work hard at keeping our Managing Director happy!"
Again Samantha tried to ignore the personal undertones of the situation. It was hard to do, for the entire situation was caused by it. "It would even be acceptable if she were given the same discount as the other directors."
"Then say so at the meeting," Larry said.
"What's wrong with your tongue? Why didn't you speak up ages ago?"
"What good would it have done? All Zachary needed to do was to say 'no'. I couldn't force his hand. We both have equal rights in the company. That's why Uncle John brought you in."
"What about when Uncle John was alive? Didn't he know about Miss Bergerac?"
"Sure he did. But he was too tired and drained to want to argue with Zachary. He let things slide." Larry reached out for Samantha's hand. "But he had enough determination to bring you into our lives. He knew that without someone to back me up, I'd never feel confident enough to take a stand against Zachary."
Roberta Leigh - Love in Store Page 5