by Margaret Way
'When I came in you looked tired.' Defeated, she thought to herself but could never say. Now her grandfather looked vigorous.
'I'm not tired at all!' he said, supporting her. '
'Good. I have a wonderful vision of you as a young man, tremendously handsome and alert. A real powerhouse. No wonder you understand Quinn.'
'Get me a drink,' he ordered.
'Are you allowed it?'
'Just one. Whisky with a little water. It's over there on the sideboard. What time is he coming?'
'We're having dinner at Rosemount, so it will be before then.'
'Good. I can't wait. He thinks he has an insurmountable advantage, but we'll see!'
'No tricks, Granddad!'
'I won't say. It's never been my policy to give away secrets.'
Jaime, busy pouring him a drink, glanced back over her shoulder and they both smiled. It wasn't until later that she began to be plagued with doubts . When it came to summing up his fellow man Rolf Hunter had never been far wrong, so regardless of her feelings she had to listen to his fears about Quinn. What did Quinn Sterling, with the world at his fingertips, want with her? She had said she could handle him. The difficulty would be doing it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A month later, the engagement still hadn't been made official, for Sir Rolf had found a very good reason to send his top executive and director to Japan for a series of important business talks. When he put himself out it was clear that Sir Rolf's word was still law. In any case their Japanese friends were showing considerable interest in Hunter Sterling Exploration and were pressing for the talks. It went without saying that Quinn was the right man to head the delegation and it didn't need Sir Rolf's firm assertion to convince Jaime that this was right. Uncle Gerard had gone as well, so she was spared his knife-edged remarks over breakfast. She had only seen Quinn once alone after that dinner at Rosemount. Her grandfather had been right about Margo Sterling's reception of their news; she had been shocked and genuinely worried, as though there was little chance such a match could come to fruition, let alone guarantee anyone any happiness.
Under the circumstances Jaime didn't find this attitude surprising, but Quinn had handled both of them with great charm and persuasiveness, talking most of the while about Jaime's plans and aims for her own company. At the end of the evening, Mrs Sterling hadn't seemed nearly so stricken, but it was obvious that never in her wildest dreams had she considered a marriage between them.
Jaime was the loveliest young creature she had ever seen, a more spirited, purposeful version of her mother, but a child still, one who had had no chance to mature, and in that Margo was wrong. Jaime's temperament, the events of her life, the solitude and frequent setbacks, had strengthened her backbone and decided her character, Jaime was a woman and she was able to cope with her new life far better than anyone imagined. Because she looked so young, so eager, so physically fragile, it didn't mean she hadn't learned how to survive and better, meet challenges. Quinn Sterling was the biggest challenge of her life, a frighteningly self-sufficient. self-assured man, but he couldn't force her into anything she didn't want. She was dedicated to making a success of herself, though she had to admit Quinn took her aspirations and burning ambitions quite calmly. She was no shrinking violet and if she wished to set the world on fire he was prepared and willing to help her. He had a great eye for talent in any field and considered it a precious commodity to be sponsored.
So brilliant and uncommonly successful himself, he would never fall into melancholia if he happened to marry a woman with a few grandiose ideas herself. Life would have to be exciting with Quinn, and there would be no room in it for a less than interesting life's partner. All the time he was away Jaime was so busy that she had to wonder how she found the time to miss him, but she did. Some vital part of her was a prisoner to Quinn; still she launched into her collection, involving herself with her team to such an extent that they were beginning to find words unnecessary, the same beautiful thoughts communicated through fabric and the feel of it, until finally Jaime was ready to show her small range to selected buyers. They had all expected it to be a series of triumphs, but it didn't work out that way.
By the time Jaime got back to the shop, she was so upset that she would have burst into tears, only she didn't have the energy. The collection that had sent Di and Marike and Jill into raptures had somehow looked terrible to three leading boutiques. The fourth, admittedly less exclusive, had found the garments attractive, in fact the buyer had just stopped herself from going into a rave in case she shot the price up. Anyway, she had placed an order. The rest had hated the entire range, but then they couldn't keep themselves from inspecting each garment very closely. There was something strange about the whole thing.
Jaime knew she was young and unknown and she had taken that into consideration, yet it was more like a planned refusal. 'The garments might sell anywhere else but here,' type of thing. The saleswoman at Claire's had changed her tune dramatically the moment the manageress declared her attitude. Up until then Jaime had almost chalked up an order. It didn't make sense. It was almost as if she was being undermined.
According to her team, and they were experienced, knowledgeable and very fashion-conscious women, Jaime's collection was a winner. They had greeted her designs with an overwhelming vote of confidence ready to follow her anywhere despite her youth and inexperience assuring her that the made-up garments would gain the Just Jaime label a reputation and lots of orders, perhaps make them all rich. Marike, a few years older, with a diploma in fashion design, was already a good friend and sincere admirer of Jaime's very adequately demonstrated gift. They had given her endless encouragement and she had let them run on, more than satisfied with their individual abilities, and already thought of them as important to her and was pleased to be able to repay them for giving of their very best. It was then more of a shock to learn that at least three buyers took the extreme view. Such a dismal collection wouldn't even go over in Siberia.
With the inbuilt conviction of the truly gifted, the confidence in the face of severe criticism, Jaime found herself more sick and puzzled than disheartened. Her garments were far better made than most that were selling well in the stores, potential winners. Too bad they weren't going over.
She was so tired, so footsore, that she almost dragged herself through the showroom to the workroom beyond. In just on a month she had lost weight, so that every contour of her face and body appeared so much more delicate. She had even resorted to multi-vitamin pills, something she had never done before. It was past five, yet all three were waiting for her as if it was an occasion. One look at her face told the tale.
'I don't believe it!' said Di, always the spokeswoman.
'Me neither!' from Jill.
'What happened?' Marike asked, slightly annoyed with Di and Jill.
'Nobody was buying. Oh yes, Ultra Chic placed an order. A good one. The other three, Sally K., Dina's and Claire's, found the whole range upsetting. Brilliantly put together, the whole lot of them nearly took the garments apart, but they wouldn't consider selling them.'
'Sit down!' Di urged. 'If you get any skinnier you won't be able to model them.'
'You're not happy about something?' Marike persisted.
'No.' Jaime's blue-violet eyes were thoughtful. 'Maybe it's a weird idea, but I think we're being got at.'
'Who would do a thing like that?' Jill moaned, striving stoically to think of someone.
'What about your dear aunty?' Di suggested. 'I know for a fact she could make or break a few of the very exclusive boutiques. You won't trade on your name No, I won't!' This emphatically from Jaime.
'Don't get uptight, dear,' Di said soothingly. 'I'm only suggesting a possible line of sabotage.'
'And you could be right. I've heard about such things. In which case how do we go about setting things right?'
'Listen, my dear,' Di said with sublime confidence, 'the range is superb. You're a very talented girl and we're pretty cunning ourselves.
Would you like me to put the word out on the streets?'
'What word?' Jaime asked rather wistfully, accepting a cup of coffee from Marike's kind hands.
'Who you are, dear!' Di said patiently.
'I'm Jaime Gilmore. Just Jaime.'
'And you can guarantee your dear aunty told them just that. No mention that you're Sir Rolf Hunter's granddaughter or anything like that.'
'If she was trying to stop me she'd certainly keep it quiet. Don't worry, Di, we can do without them. Their prices are too high anyway. I saw an imported rag on a model for six hundred dollars. Those kind of prices would destroy my very aim!'
'Be that as it may, with your talent the customers will pay. Let me drop a fact or two in a few pertinent ears. One doesn't like to trade on a name, but everybody does it.'
'I'm going to trade on my own ability—at least until I'm quite desperate,' said Jaime. 'Let me line up the department stores. Georgia can't buy them, or can she?'
'She's a very influential woman, which as you all know counts in this rotten world!'
'Well, it's Friday and well past knocking-off time. Monday I'll be ready to come back fighting!'
'Atta girl! The first step or two is pretty hard,' Di said fondly. 'I've been closely associated with this game for twenty years now. It's no secret that contacts are important. If I were you, young lady, even allowing for the fact that you have a genius for design, I'd get that beautiful face into the glossies as Sir Rolf Hunter's granddaughter, starring out in her own business. The implications are enormous.'
'I'll never get the Communist vote!' Jaime said, and laughed for the first time that day. 'I don't like it, Di. I want to make it on my own!'
'You very nearly didn't today, thanks to your aunt.'
'We're only assuming Georgia had anything to do with it,' Jaime reminded her.
'You did tell me Sue-Ellen had your design sheets on purpose!' Marike pointed out, her piquant face disliking the idea but not rejecting it.
'So she did.'
'Then I don't think there can be any doubt about it.'
'Maybe not!' Wearily, Jaime brushed her hand across her eyes. 'I never think when I'm as tired as this. Let's all go home.'
'Just you remember we're right here behind you.'
'Thanks, Di.'
'Shall I lock up for you?' Marike asked.
'Gosh, I forgot to tell you, Mike is waiting outside!' Jaime swept to her feet trying to look as if she was capable of locking up her own premises. 'All of you, thanks for everything, I'll reward you in time—now get out of here and have a nice weekend. Jill, take those flowers, they were only fresh this morning. Tell your mother they're a present from me.'
'Gee, thanks! Usually we have a few nice little daisies, not these beauties. How can you afford them?'
'I didn't,' said Jaime. 'They were sent to me—a persistent admirer. That's the second lot this week.'
'I wish someone would send them to me!'
'Why, bless your heart, they will. On your next birthday.' Di rustled up a few sheets of tissue paper and wrapped the masses of beautiful carnations, presenting them to the very pleased Jill. 'See you, Jaime. Take care now.'
Jaime smiled and waved them all off, pretending an energy she didn't feel. For the first time it occurred to her that one could be dedicated and still feel terrible. The last month had taken a lot out of her, though she had been wondrously happy and fulfilled from time to time. This was possibly the aftermath. It happened, the unresolved tensions. She didn't want to, but she immediately thought of Quinn. She had wanted to please him with a full report of some modest success, but not after a day like this. If there was some plot going against her it was clear it had worked. Well, what had she expected, miracles? Ultra Chic were largely taken with the range; it was a start. On Monday she had two appointments with the leading department stores. She had to look forward.
At that moment she only succeeded in looking impossibly overworked, very young and dangerously fragile. She rested her elbows on the cutting table and looked away out of the window. There was no view to speak of, not the magnificent harbour vistas of Falconer.
Her grandfather didn't wish her to pursue this career of hers. Was it possible he was making things hard for her in the mistaken belief that she would fall back on him alone? He was capable of anything to suit his own ends. He harped constantly on the way she was cooped up in a workroom instead of being out in the sunshine enjoying herself. Sue-Ellen had the most glorious tan from hours in the pool or the surf. Jaime in a month had lost her pale golden tan to a clear ivory. It only served to accentuate her increasing delicacy.
Her chin in her hands, she considered her grandfather's remarkable record of interference and intrigue. He could force her out of business if he wanted to. He had become extremely possessive and jealous of her ambitions that denied him her time. Sabotage, every way she turned. Georgia wouldn't hesitate to injure her in any way she could. What few moments they had had together hadn't been pleasant. Sue-Ellen and Leigh were livid, mutually supporting, in their open contempt and rage over her supposed engagement to Quinn.
One month and still not a word from him. He was real and he was powerful and he would want to know how she had slipped up. At least he supported her, or did he? If she couldn't trust Quinn, she couldn't trust anyone. He was too big a man to crush a mere girl, non-starter in the power stakes. She let her head slide down on to her hands, shutting her eyes. She wasn't looking forward to the weekend. The only peace she could find these days was at Rosemount. It was very easy to talk to Quinn's grandmother; she was a highly cultivated woman, and her fashion judgment even for the young sophisticates was perfectly sound. It wasn't even necessary to explain things to her, and importantly she had given her sincere seal of approval to the Just Jaime collection. If she didn't move soon she would fall asleep at the table ...
Quinn, leaving his parked car, saw Diane Collins waving frantically from the window of a parked car across the street. He walked across to her without hesitation, though he was anxious to see Jaime.
'How goes it, Mr Sterling?'
'Fine, Di, and you? How are you, Jill, I didn't see you there.' He bent his tall, lean frame to look into the car. 'How's Jaime?'
'The girl genius. You said it for us. We'll go ahead and repeat it.'
'That means she's got your approval.'
Di smiled. 'Not a single complaint. She's working too hard, and there's precious little of her. Apart from that we want you to know you let us in on a good thing. I've been in the business twenty years, and seriously, Jaime makes it all worth while.'
'Can I repeat that, please?'
'You sure can. We won't hold you up, we just wanted to say hello!'
'I'm glad you did. Jaime still inside?'
'The last one as usual.'
'I'll see she's through. When this collection's launched we'll have a party.'
'How's Tokyo?' Jill asked, smiling.
'Worth every minute, but it's good to be home.'
'You look like a man who got results.'
'Thank you, Di.' He smiled at her and for a moment Di had to support herself in the seat. Never, even in her early days, could a man drive her nuts, but then she'd never met a man like Quinn Sterling and he wouldn't have looked at her. Still, the smile was nice, like a sweet shudder up the spine. She nodded to the equally smitten Jill to start up the car, and with many waves and smiles they were off to the weekend routine. Work was more interesting these, days and a party was something to look forward to. If Quinn had promised them one, he would stick to it. Both women automatically began thinking about what they could wear. Perhaps Jaime might dream them up a design. They just flowed out of her in an unquenchable stream, and she knew exactly how to hide figure faults.
Quinn looked around the tastefully decorated showroom, then walked through to the workroom, a slight frown on his face. He was just about to call out: 'Jaime!' when he saw her.
Not the vibrant young beauty he had left with a passion to conquer t
he fashion world, but an exhausted young creature, her glossy black hair spilling around her in silky confusion, the only side of her face visible newly pale, without any colour whatever, a gleaming ivory. Her thick black lashes and delicate arching brows made up this black and white etching, for her vividly blue eyes were closed. She looked so vulnerable, so utterly spent, that he felt a quick surge of exasperation. It was all very well to make her mark, but she didn't have to make it in a month. That just proved what a child she was!
'Jaime!' he said crisply, with a faint anger.
She didn't answer.
He went around the table and shook her, expecting instant arousal. She had to be very tired, for she didn't spring to life, but tilted her head back very drowsily, her violet eyes opening, flower-fresh but still immersed in some fantastic world of her own.
'Jaime!' he said again, his hand sliding down over her back and closing at her too slender waist. 'Wake up!'
'Quinn!' she said in a hushed voice, her gaze now trapped by the sight of him, the warm strength of his hand. 'What are you doing here? We didn't expect you until next week.'
'Your grandfather knew perfectly well when I would be home.'
'He never told me. Worse, you never told me.'
'Did you really want to know?'
'Oh yes!' she said unguardedly. The sight of him seemed to be twisting her heart over. She wanted to tell him he had haunted her subconscious, except for certain times at night when she ruthlessly had to eject the conscious thought of him from her bed, but she was far from being in control of herself. The sight of him was so unexpected that he might well have been part of her dream. Her deep exhaustion, perversely, was unintentionally provocative. She was half lying back against him, her eyes resting with tantalising softness on each separate feature of his face. 'Hello, I missed you.'
'You say that very easily.'
'It's true.'
'Wake up, Jaime,' he said, moving to lean back against the table. 'You look unbearably desirable.'