'I don't eat dinner either—with men I don't know,' she said.
'We can easily remedy that,' he replied. 'I'm Kane Morgan, and I'm well known to the management of this hotel, who can vouch for my integrity—I don't make a booking unless I intend to keep it; my honesty—I always pay my bar bills—and my single status.'
'You mean no woman has snapped you up?' Sharon questioned with simulated astonishment.
'Nor likely too,' he grinned. 'I like variety of choice!'
'Me too,' she replied. 'And you're not the variety I would choose.'
Before he could reply, she turned on her heel and walked away, chuckling inwardly at his look of astonishment.
Only when she was changing to go down to Reception, did Sharon's amusement turn to concern. Kane Morgan was a guest here, and if he wished he could make life difficult for her. Yet somehow she felt he was too sophisticated to do that. Besides, for every girl who turned him down, there were probably a hundred who wouldn't, and though her attitude might have surprised him, she was pretty sure he would have forgotten all about her before the day was through.
Later that morning, as she was sorting out the problem of a double booking for the penthouse suite in the west wing, she saw him again. Casual in slacks and T-shirt, he was showing a map to a tour guide, a middle-aged woman with whom he seemed to be having a serious conversation. The change in his demeanour was astonishing. Gone was the bantering sophisticate with the sardonic expression and 'come to bed' eyes, in its place an intelligent man with a warm, friendly expression. Yet the good looks and superb physique were the same, as was the energy and vitality he exuded; and it was this which set him apart from the rest of the men Sharon had met.
Although Kane Morgan's behaviour by the pool had irritated her, her curiosity to know more about him prompted her to quiz one of the clerks when she lunched with him in the staff canteen that day.
'Mr Morgan seems to be staying here a long time,' she murmured casually.
'I don't think he will leave until Mr Bonlam has made a decision about the contract,' Mr Chittiwera told her. 'But he often flies back to London. Last time the Minister's daughter went with him. They are— how you say?—good friends.'
Sharon was not surprised. 'She's very beautiful.'
'So are you,' the young clerk said shyly. 'Our sunshine agrees with you.'
Sharon accepted the compliment with a smile. Although she spent much of her time indoors, she had still managed to acquire a slight tan, and her corn- coloured hair glinted with sun-silvered lights. Today she had discarded her usual skirt and blouse for a cotton dress a shade deeper than her blue eyes, the manager having surprised her yesterday by saying she could wear her own clothes if she wished; an offer she had immediately taken up.
'Does Miss Bonlam work?' she asked.
'Not officially. She's a graduate of the Harvard Business School, and rumour says her father relies a great deal upon her advice.'
Could that be part of her attraction for Kane Morgan? Sharon wondered cynically. He looked the type to love judiciously.
'I'm surprised Mr Morgan finds time for a girlfriend,' she said aloud. 'He seems to work nonstop—except for his morning swim.'
'He hardly ever relaxes,' Mr Chittiwera agreed, piling his plate with fried noodles. 'He is a man who always likes to be in control of himself.'
'And everybody else, I should think,' Sharon quipped, recollecting the jutting jaw, and was inexplicably curious to know whether he was like that with Tassy, too. Hastily she pushed the thought aside, irritated to find it was leading to sensual ones that she wanted no part of.
Yet these same images returned later that afternoon when she went to the mezzanine floor to organise a cocktail party for fifty guests, and saw Tassy and her father going into one of the conference suites with several dark-suited men. They couldn't be meeting Kane Morgan, for the Englishman had left the hotel at midday, and she was curious to know if this meant he was no longer favourite for the contract? If so, would he and the Thai girl no longer be 'good friends', or was her attraction for him stronger than business ties?
She was still musing on this when she returned to the lobby, where she was immediately pounced upon by an agitated blonde woman in her middle thirties, who was holding on to a mischievous-looking boy of about eight.
'I wonder if you could look after Terry for me?' she pleaded. 'I'm due at the hairdresser's in five minutes and my husband promised to be back to look after him. But he hasn't arrived and Terry doesn't want to come with me.'
'How long will you be?' Sharon asked.
'About an hour. Then I'm meeting someone for tea at the Oriental Hotel. But my husband's bound to be back by then.'
And if he isn't, Sharon thought cynically, I'll be expected to babysit all afternoon.
'I'm afraid I can only keep an eye on him,' she explained. 'I have to take over at the Reception Desk now.'
'I'll be quick as I can,' the woman promised. 'You're an angel to help me. I'm Mrs Victorsen by the way, and my husband really should be back any moment. I'm not making it up.' She pulled her son forward. 'Now be a good boy, Terry, and don't give the young lady any trouble.'
For the first five minutes Terry obeyed his mother's command. Then boredom set in and he started racing around the foyer, sliding across the marble floor and jumping over the low-back chairs. Twice Sharon was forced to give him chase and order him back to his seat, but the third time it was Mr Bim—returning from an appointment—who caught hold of him and frog-marched him back to her.
'This young man tells me you're supposed to be playing with him,' he stated.
'Not until I'm free. He knows that.' In a low voice she explained what had happened, and the Manager, I though mollified, was still annoyed.
'We can't have him rushing around upsetting the guests, Miss Kingston. Take him into the garden and I'll get someone to stand in for you here.'
Wishing it were the other way around, Sharon I thanked him and led the boy out. Instantly they were enveloped by stifling heat, a shock after the air- conditioned lobby.
'I want an ice cream,' Terry stated, pulling off his cotton T-shirt.
Sharon shook her head, not relishing the idea of having him run riot in the American ice-cream bar.
'Then I want to go and swim,' he said.
'You'll have to wait for your father. I have to go back on duty as soon as he comes for you, and there isn't time for me to fetch my swim suit.'
'You can sit on the side and watch me.'
'And what happens if I have to dive in and rescue you?'
Terry giggled at the idea, and taking advantage of his good humour, Sharon suggested they had a quick peep at the animals in the little zoo at the far end of the garden.
The boy agreed, and chatted away cheerily as they walked over the thick, springy grass, past clumps of colourful tropical vines, pink hibiscus bushes, and beds filled with roses. On the west side of the gardens, away from the river, they came to a fenced-in enclosure which held parakeets, monkeys and a baby elephant.
Terry watched intrigued as the monkeys scrambled up and down their cages, or sat on wooden ledges and busily ate nuts, ignoring the brightly coloured birds that flew around them, their noisy cries disturbing the languid peace of the sultry afternoon.
'My Daddy says you can see elephants pulling logs and bathing in the river near Chiang Mei,' he announced. 'He's going to take me there soon.'
'I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time,' Sharon smiled. 'You're from England, aren't you?' she went on, to keep the conversation going.
'Yes. I live in Bromley. Daddy's a very important businessman, and travels round the world. But Mummy doesn't like it 'cos she gets lonely at home.'
'But you've both come with him on this trip,' Sharon said diplomatically, 'so she isn't lonely any longer.'
'We only came 'cos I was ill and the doctor said I needed a holiday,' Terry informed her, then rah his fingers along the bars of one of the cages, startling a parakeet into screeching anger.
Deciding a change of venue was called for, Sharon led the boy to a wooden seat in the shade of a coconut palm.
'Let's play "I Spy",' she suggested. 'You go first.'
Terry dangled sun-burnt legs over the edge of the bench, and thought deeply. 'You won't guess this one,' he said confidently. 'I spy with my little eye something beginning with "S".'
'Sun.'
'No.'
'Sandal.'
'No.'
'Shrub.'
'No, no!' he squealed in delight.
'Oh dear, you've got me stumped.'
'It's sup-pa-rod.'
'What's that?'
'Thai for pineapple. Look, they're groeing over there.'
'That wasn't very fair,' Sharon demurred. 'We should stick to English words. I hardly know any Thai.'
'I won't play then.' Jumping down from the bench, he disappeared into the shrubbery.
Sharon followed hard on his heels but couldn't see him anywhere.
'Terry!' she called. 'Come on out and we'll play a different game.' There was no answer and she delved deeper into the undergrowth.
'Boo!'
She almost jumped out of her skin as he appeared from behind a bush, then raced off again, weaving between the shrubs and imitating a racing car.
'Terry, come back!' she called. 'Let's go inside and I'll buy you an ice-cream.'
'Don't want one.'
He disappeared once more, and the next thing she heard was a loud crash and an angry male voice exploding with a word that brought colour to her cheeks.
Fearing heaven knew what, she pushed her way through the bushes, stopping aghast as, ahead of her, in a clearing, she saw Terry face down on the grass. A small table was overturned beside him, documents were strewn everywhere, and a dark-haired man was crawling about on the ground retrieving them.
Kane Morgan! | 'Terry!' Sharon rushed towards the child, who was now on his knees. 'Are you hurt?'
'He's fine,' the man snapped. 'Though I'm not sure I am.' He stood up on the last word and suddenly saw her face to face. 'Well, well, so we meet again.' His smile was anything but pleasant and she returned it nervously.
'I'm terribly sorry for what's happened. Terry's a bit high-spirited and '
'A bit?' came the furious exclamation. 'In my opinion you should keep him on a lead!'
'He didn't knock into you on purpose,' she protested, and bent to pick up some of the papers.
'Leave them,' Kane Morgan snapped. 'They're private.'
'I wasn't going to read them,' she replied coldly. 'I was merely trying to help.'
'You'd do better helping your charge learn his manners. As a Nanny, you'd make a first-class vet!'
'And as a gentleman you'd make a first-class boar!'
'Except that I wasn't the one charging around.'
'You can't expect an eight-year-old to behave like a middle-aged man!' she said sweetly, hiding her amusement that he should think her a children's nanny. She saw Kane Morgan's eyes glint with anger. Being somewhere in his middle thirties, he probably took her remark personally. Well, serve him right! His anger was totally out of proportion to the inconvenience he had suffered.
'Children should be taught that a hotel isn't their own home,' he went on remorselessly.
'Nor is it a prison.' She stepped back from him. He was casually clad in slacks and open-neck shirt, and she was aware of his bronzed skin and the warmth that emanated from it. He was like a beautifully coordinated panther, perfectly controlled but ready to spring.
'If you were a father, you'd be more understanding,' she went on. 'Children need freedom, not to be hedged in by unnecessary rules.'
'You consider good manners unnecessary? Your charge was crashing around like a young bull!'
'He's in a garden for heaven's sake! You can't expect him to sit and twiddle his thumbs.'
'If he were in my charge,' came the icy rejoinder, 'he'd have trouble sitting down at all!'
'Physical violence resolves nothing,' she said derisively. 'But you obviously see everything in terms of the physical!'
Grasping Terry's hand, she quickly pulled him out of Kane Morgan's sight. It was only as she did, that the full impact of her behaviour hit her. Their meeting at the poolside had been a purely personal encounter, and he could not complain to anyone about it. But this one was different, and if he told Mr Bim about Terry, she could well find herself in for a reprimand. Like it or not, she would have to seek Mr Morgan out later in the day, and eat humble pie—two portions probably— but for the moment it would do him good to brood on what she had said.
Terry was still quiet from his fall and kept stopping to touch his knees.
'They're only scratches,' she consoled, 'I'll sponge off the dirt, and you'll be right as rain.'
'I'd like to go back and knock down his silly old chair again,' he said defiantly.
'He might knock you down in return,' she scolded. 'You've done enough damage for one day, my lad. We'd better go and see if your mother's finished with the hairdresser.'
Mrs Victorsen was emerging from the salon as they returned to the lobby, looking prettier and more relaxed after an hour free of her son, though her face fell as she saw Sharon's expression.
'What's Terry been up to now?'
'He was running and he fell over and scratched his legs.'
'Oh dear.' Mrs Victor sen put her arm round her son's shoulder. 'Did you hurt yourself, darling?'
'I'm fine,' he said, pushing her away. 'I ran into a table and knocked over a man sitting there.'
'Oh, Terry, I hope you didn't hurt him?' Mrs Victorsen looked so worried, Sharon took pity on her.
'Nothing terrible happened. The table will recover, and so will Mr Morgan.'
'Mr Morgan! Don't tell me it was his table.' The woman paled significantly. 'That's dreadful. My husband works for him. I hope you said you were sorry, Terry?'
The little boy shook his head. 'I didn't know who he was.'
'Mr Morgan didn't know Terry either,' Sharon added quickly.
'Oh.' There was a pause then, and a faint smile warmed the harassed features. 'Well, let's hope he doesn't find out the truth! I'd better keep this little monster out of his sight.'
Out of mine too, Sharon thought, and thankfully returned to the comparative quiet of the Reception Desk.
'You look as if you've had a hard time!' Mr Chittiwera commented, grinning.
'Just a drama with our most important guest! Anything exciting happen here?'
'It's about to. Fifty Swedes are arriving in half an hour and none of their rooms are ready.'
Sharon stared into his face. 'You serious?'
'Regrettably, yes. Mathewson Tours checked out two hours late—their flight was delayed and they didn't vacate their rooms until noon—by which time the chambermaids had gone to lunch.'
Furious no one had told her of this before, Sharon dashed for the elevator, narrowly missing Kane Morgan, who was emerging.
'I can see where your charge gets his behaviour from,' he murmured, and strode on towards the coffee shop.
Cheeks burning, Sharon went into the elevator and pressed the button with a shaky hand. What a hateful man he was!
But all thoughts of him vanished when she stepped out at the tenth floor and saw the choas of the bedrooms.
'Everything that can go wrong, has gone wrong,' Mrs Kung, the housekeeper cried, in a state of near- panic. 'Three of the washing machines aren't working and clean sheets won't be available until later this afternoon.'
'Don't we have any extra stock?'
'A room full. But Mr Bim has the keys, and he's gone to Pattaya and won't be back till tomorrow morning.'
'Isn't there another key?'
'No. Mr Bim likes to control all the stock himself.'
Silently vowing this was one duty he would have to abandon, Sharon asked the woman to take her to the stock room.
'And tell one of the maids to get a maintenance man to meet me there. We'll have to break the lock.'
>
'I daren't do that!' Mrs Kung was horrified.
'I'm not asking you to,' Sharon placated. 'I'll take full responsibility myself. But we can't have fifty guests waiting in the lobby all afternoon.'
.Within a quarter of an hour the store room lock was forced open, sufficient linen removed, and the door sealed again, with the man instructed to put on a new lock and provide two new keys.
'I'll lay on a special tea for the Swedes,' she told Mrs Kung as they returned to the elevator. 'That should keep them downstairs an extra hour, which will give you time to finish preparing the rooms.'
Tearfully thanking her, the housekeeper hurried away, then suddenly and rushed back.
'Some Americans have checked into the East penthouse, and I have to see they have everything they require. That's one rule I daren't break.'
'I'll do it,' Sharon promised. 'You stay on this floor and get things organised.'
It was the first time since her tour of the hotel, that Sharon had been to the penthouse floor. The decor was far more sumptuous than the lower floors, with crimson carpeting in the corridors and Oriental rugs in the suites. The Dixons, who had just arrived in the East penthouse, were in the middle of unpacking, and assured her they were delighted with everything so far.
'If you've any particular requests, please let us know,' Sharon said, relieved something was going well for her today. 'Then next time you stay with us, they'll have been noted in our "specials" book.'
'A specials book? What a marvellous idea.' Mrs Dixon's chuckle was as warm and friendly as her appearance. 'I bet it's pages thick!'
'It is,' Sharon agreed. 'But our guests appreciate it.' She looked at Mr Dixon—as thin as his wife was plump—who was on the phone ordering his particular brand of bourbon.
'You won't have to do that on your next visit,' she added. 'Your favourite brand will be ready in the fridge for you!'
Roberta Leigh - No Time For Marriage Page 3