The Way of a Tyrant

by Anne Hampson

  ' Ml tight.' Rising at once, Jane picked up her hand­bag and left the office with Beryl. They had covered a mere couple of hundred yards when Beryl's foot slipped off the pavement and she overbalanced, grab­bing at Jane for support. A passing car glanced against Beryl, but although Jane also fell into the roadway she picked herself up immediately, unhurt. A crowd swiftly gathered and the driver, having helped Jane to get Beryl to her feet, told both girls to get into the car.

  Ten minutes later they were at the hospital, where Beryl was detained.

  'Can you take me back to my office?' Jane was asking the car driver as they left the hospital together. 'My boss will be fuming already.'

  'I'm sorry, but I'm in a hurry. This business has wasted enough of my time,' and without waiting to hear what Jane might have to say to that he turned on his heel and strode over to where he had parked his car.

  It was half past two when Jane entered the office; Mr. Horsefield had given instructions that she and Beryl present themselves to him immediately on their return. He was sitting like a judge behind his desk and Jane's heart sank when she noticed his expression. And as she suspected, he had no wish to listen to her expla­nation. He had no patience with lateness, he kept on interrupting to tell her. She should have started work at two o'clock.

  'Yes, Mr. Horsefield, I know,' she said, trying to be patient. 'But as I've told you, Miss Ponting fell and was hit by a car—'

  'You weren't hit, though. Why should you be late?'

  'I had to go to the hospital with her. Mr. Horsefield.'

  'Why?' Pale blue watery eyes peered at her from over the top of rimless spectacles. 'It was just an excuse, wasn't it—going off to the hospital when there was no need?'

  'Miss Ponting couldn't go on her own. She was suffering from shock.'

  'I thought you said the car driver took her to the hospital?'

  'Yes, he did.'

  'Then she wouldn't have been alone, would she? Miss Coates, I've let it be known, over and over again, that I'm not running this office as it has been run up till now. There was not an atom of efficiency in the whole place.' He leant back and tapped the blotter with a ruler. 'I'm making an example of you, Miss Coates. You'll take a week's notice as from Friday.'

  Her eyes blazed, but she said nothing. That evening she accompanied her brother to the home of Mr. Spender, where she was received graciously and told she would be a great asset to her husband in his new post as manager of the Coral Gables Hotel in Barbados.

  Jane was on the beach, clad in a bikini. Already she had acquired a lovely golden tan and this contrasted with the lighter gold of her hair, hair that fell in a gleaming mass on to her shoulders, forming a glorious cloak. She looked the picture of health as she stood there, graceful as the tall coconut palm against which she leant, her hands at the back of her, pressed against the trunk. She had been in the water, then dried herself on the pale sands where others had also exposed their bodies to the sun. It was tea time now and the private beach of Coral Gables was almost deserted. A mere few people re­mained, under a clump of palms farther along the shore, but just where Jane was the sands were deserted completely. Her dreamy gaze rested on the fringe of blue water lapping the shore, with scarcely a murmur. What a tropical paradise the island had turned out to be! It was heavenly! Coral sands and palm trees; exotic sweetly-perfumed flowers; people who were noted for their friendliness and hospitality…

  Her attention was suddenly arrested by the man coming towards her—what a tall man, she thought, and he was swinging along with such ease and grace that he might not have been touching the sands at all. He wore shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, with sandals on his feet. He had come from the hotel, obviously, for otherwise he would not be on the beach…

  Her flesh tingled all at once and a gasp of disbelief escaped her.

  'Scott!' she breathed long before he reached her. 'It can't be!'

  He would have passed by, but on glancing her way as he came abreast of her he stopped, just as astonished as she by this unexpected meeting.

  'Jane!' He could only stare for a long moment into her lovely face, a face of strength and great character, of finely-modelled features and exquisite contours. 'How did you get here?'

  She was faintly embarrassed, but at the same time she was able to take in the remarkable changes that the four years had wrought in him. He had acquired lines she did not particularly care for; his mouth was not so full and generous, those blue eyes held a distinctly cyni­cal light. The jawline spelled implacability and even his voice was firmer than she remembered it, and it contained an edge of austerity she would never for one moment have associated with the man who had always been so eager to please, to pander to her every whim.

  'I'm at the hotel,' she managed at length, forcing a smile to her lips.

  'So you're on holiday too. Well, well, what a co­incidence !' He continued to stare down into her face. 'How long have you been here?'

  She hesitated, aware of an uneasiness sweeping over her. She fidgeted and in so doing her wedding ring was revealed.

  'I'm not on holiday—'

  'You're married?' Scott's eyes were on the ring and as she watched a sneer curved the thin line of his lips. It caused her to start in surprise, so at variance was it with the man she had once known. 'And did you manage to find your ideal—the strong man with the dictatorial traits so essential for your happiness?'

  Jane coloured.

  'I'm sorry if I hurt you, Scott,' she began, but he immediately interrupted her.

  'Hurt? I was merely amused, once I had thought about it. You haven't answered my question. Did you find this masterful tyrant under whose subjection you were to discover such ecstatic bliss?'

  The colour in Jane's cheeks deepened with anger. Civility was too difficult to summon.

  'You're insulting, Scott,' she flashed. 'Such sarcasm amounts to downright rudeness!'

  The censure passed over him; he was immune to it and Jane was finding it hard to believe that this was the man who had been so gentle and kind, and so meek. Not by any stretch of imagination could she visualize his being meek now… quite the contrary, in fact.

  'I take it your husband's with you?' The fine timbre of his voice was edged with curiosity.

  'I—er—yes, he is.' This came out slowly, as she grappled uneasily for some way of voicing the delib­erate lie which hung on her lips. How difficult it was to tell Scott an untruth. This first week at Coral Gables had run so smoothly that already she had reached a state of pleasant complacency over the matter of her false position as wife to the manager of the hotel. But now she was placed awkwardly, knowing full well that her 'husband' must come into the picture. 'He's—he's the manager of Coral Gables,' she informed him, re­jecting the temptation to be perfectly frank and dis­close the fact of the deception, explaining that the necessity for it arose by the refusal of Les's girl-friend to marry him.

  'The—!' Scott broke off immediately and his eyes took on the most odd expression. He turned away, ap­pearing to be interested in the group of people farther along the beach. The avoidance of her eyes was delib­erate and for Jane it had some disquieting significance. 'You didn't change your name on your marriage.' Scott spoke thoughtfully, his abstracted gaze on her fingers, which were playing nervously on the trunk of the tree against which she was standing. She found this avoidance of her eyes most puzzling. It would almost seem that he wished to allay any fears she might have; although aware of the absurdity of this idea Jane could not rid herself of it. It suddenly filled her with trepida­tion which, on the surface, was totally unnecessary. But Jane was experiencing something beneath the surface—something vague yet troublesome. 'Coates is not a common name by any means.' Soft tones and edged with an indefinable quality that set Jane's nerves quiv­ering. There was something actually chilling about Scott in this unfathomable mood.

  'When did you arrive?' she asked, hoping to divert him.

  'About an hour ago.'

  'You didn't book in beforehand.' She wonde
red just how she would have felt had he done so and, on glanc­ing through the book, she had noticed his name there, as one of the expected guests. This thought led naturally to another question, one that escaped involuntarily. 'You're alone?'

  An almost imperceptible trace of a smile touched his mouth.

  'I'm quite alone.' A small pause and then, 'Were you wanting to know if I'm married?'

  Additional colour leapt to her cheeks.

  'Of course not! Why should I be interested?'

  Scott shrugged his shoulders.

  'No particular reason,' he agreed carelessly. 'I just thought your question might have an underlying in­quiry.' Another pause. His satirical smile was a prelude to words of amused contempt. 'I found after all that marriage wasn't necessary. Why should a man take on the responsibility when he can have all the perks with­out?' She made no answer, naturally, and he added, 'I have you to thank for turning me down, Jane. I shall be eternally grateful.' Still no comment from Jane. His satirical voice continued, 'Marriage is a much over­rated institution—unnecessary except for the highly romantic'

  Jane said at last, shaking her head in disbelief,

  'You've changed, you used to be so… so…' Her words trailed off, for she could never be so outspoken with this man as she was with the Scott Kingsley she had known four years ago.

  'So weak and lacking in mastery,' he said, and now his voice was brusque and clipped. 'I trust the change is for the better?'

  'You're cynical,' she said, and he immediately in­clined his head in agreement.

  'Cynicism is bred of experience.' A taunting smile appeared in those deep-set blue eyes. 'Your husband—' Abruptly he changed the subject, and his expression also underwent a change, becoming once again un­fathomable. 'Your husband… he didn't strike me as the dominant driving type. I hope you haven't been disappointed?'

  She swallowed hard, trying desperately to recall whether or not she had ever mentioned her brother's Christian name to him. She supposed she must have done and could only hope he had forgotten it by now. It was boldly printed on the brochures and should he not have forgotten then surely he would begin to sus­pect something. Of course, she told herself, it did not really matter if he did. He was only a guest and would be gone soon anyway. She asked how long he was thinking of staying at the hotel and received the laconic reply,

  'Until I'm ready to leave.'

  Jane felt she had been snubbed and lowered her head in confusion. It seemed inconceivable that Scott could make her feel so uncomfortable, Scott whom she had secretly dubbed a spineless jellyfish!

  'Where are you living now?' she asked as the long silence became unbearable. 'I heard you had left your father's house after he'd died.'

  He made no immediate reply; his eyes swept the shore, but in a casual way, just as if he were used to exotic scenes such as this.

  'I sold up the home in England,' was all he offered, and Jane moved uncomfortably, aware that once again she had been snubbed.

  'I must go in now,' she murmured, stooping down for the wrap she had dropped on the sand at her feet.

  He looked oddly at her.

  'You help your husband, I presume?'

  She nodded.

  'Just a little. There isn't a great deal for me to do.'

  'No? I should have thought the management of a place like Coral Gables was a joint effort?'

  'I talk to the guests,' she said, drawing a circle in the sand with her foot. 'We both dine with them every evening.'

  'It must be a pleasant post for you.'

  She nodded, beginning to move away.

  'It is. We were lucky to get it—at least my husband was. I really had nothing to do with it in the first place.'

  A silence hung; she edged a little farther away and he followed.

  'How long have you been married?'

  'Not long.' She frowned to herself, wishing she had made her escape sooner. 'My husband had to be mar­ried in order to obtain the post.'

  'Your husband…' musingly. She caught her breath, fearing he had guessed why she had not refer­red to Les by his Christian name. 'You haven't told me how long you've been married?'

  'Just a few weeks. We've been at Coral Gables for only a week.' Jane increased her pace. 'I'll leave you to your stroll,' she said pointedly, but Scott fell into step beside her.

  'I'm returning to the hotel myself,' he said pleasantly, and she had no alternative than to allow him to walk along beside her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The impact of the unexpected meeting with Scott was felt by Jane for a long while, and after bathing and dressing she went in search of her brother, who was in his office, as she expected. Looking up, he smiled, then frowned a little on noticing her expression.

  'Is anything wrong?' he inquired before she could speak.

  Closing the door behind her, she came towards his desk.

  'How long is Mr. Kingsley staying with us?'

  Her brother's frown deepened.

  'I've no idea. Is it important?'

  She hesitated.

  'I used to know him, back in England. We went out together for a little while.' She paused a moment, re­luctant to worry Les, and yet she had to speak about her fears. 'He asked me to marry him—'

  'He did? You never mentioned anything about a proposal of marriage.'

  'I refused him; we weren't suited. However, what's worrying me is that he might have guessed that you and I are not husband and wife.' She went on to ex­plain fully, and even as she spoke her uneasiness grew. 'I know he can't do anything to harm you,' she ended, 'but I shall be glad when he's gone.'

  'You mentioned me to him—four years ago?'

  'Of course. And I expect I referred to you as Les, but he could possibly have forgotten your name after all this time.'

  Les automatically fingered a hotel brochure lying on his desk. His name, as manager, was printed on it: 'Mr. Leslie Coates.' Les gave a small sigh.

  'It's unfortunate that you and he know each other, but as you say, he can't do anything to harm me—and in any case, I can't see that he would want to.' He glanced at Jane inquiringly and she nodded.

  'I'm worrying unnecessarily,' she admitted, but re­peated that she would be glad when he had gone.

  'I don't suppose he'll stay long, being on his own.'

  'No, probably not.' She saw that her brother was already occupying himself with one of the papers before him, writing slowly and thoughtfully. 'I'll go,' she said, turning to the door. 'I'll see you at dinner time.'

  The dining-room was thickly-carpeted with shaded lights and flowers everywhere. Some of the tables were set in arched alcoves while others were spaced along the two shorter walls. A space in the centre of the room was left for dancing, and on a raised dais at the far end of the room the steel band played soft West Indian music.

  Jane and her brother sat with an American family, while across from them, at a table for one, sat Scott. He had sent Jane a faint smile on entering and then his attention appeared to be wholly on what was going on around him. In fact, thought Jane, he appeared more than ordinarily interested, and she wondered if he were feeling rather lost, sitting there, all on his own.

  But after a while he rose and the next minute he was dancing with one of the two English girls who had come in only a few hours previously. The couple were soon in conversation, Jane noticed, unable to take her eyes off Scott, whose height dominated the small space on which several other couples were dancing. No diffidence such as Jane had known; no sign of any lack of confidence. Just the contrary; Scott Kingsley just oozed dignity and self-assurance. As she watched, with a strange feeling of fascination, Jane saw his mouth curve with a cynical smile; she saw his eyes look down at his partner's face and take on an expression of what could only be described as contempt. What had the girl said to cause this reaction? Jane wondered, suddenly flushing as Scott, becoming aware of her fixed regard as her eyes travelled with him round the dance space, gave her a wide stare and at the same time lifted one eyebrow, arroga
ntly.

  Jane lowered her lashes and concentrated on the food on her plate. The conversation got under way and for the next hour she determinedly kept her eyes away from the man at the next table.

  However, just as the meal was ending he came to her and she was forced to dance with him. Her brother caught her eyes as she rose, and as all he did was to grin faintly it was clear that he had no anxieties regarding the deceit he was practising.

  The poised assurance that Scott had displayed when dancing with the other girl was very much in evidence when after a few moments had passed he casually re­marked on her dancing.

  'Still as light as ever, Jane.'

  'Thank you.'

  'I haven't noticed your husband dancing.'

  'He doesn't dance.'

  'No? But he should, as manager of the hotel. There'll be many women who come here alone, and it's part of his job to see that they're entertained.' There seemed to be an undertone of sharpness in his voice which startled Jane. She opened her mouth to ask what it had to do with him and then closed it again, remembering that he was a guest.

  'My husband has never liked dancing,' was all she said, and changed the subject. 'Have you been to Bar­bados before?'

  No answer for a space and then,

  'Yes. I know the island well.'

  'You do? Have you stayed here before—at this par­ticular hotel?'

  Scott nodded.

  'I've stayed at several hotels on the island, including this one.'

  'We have friends managing the Carib Palm Hotel at Bathsheba. Have you stayed there?'

  'I have.'

  Jane glanced up into his face. She caught a strange glance and was also in time to see his face break into a self-satisfied smile. It was quite absurd, she told herself, but she had the impression that Scott Kingsley was thoughtfully planning something… something which would react upon herself. Impatiently she shook off the feeling. The incredible change in the man was un­nerving, she decided, and that was the reason for these odd sensations that kept troubling her. He was deeper, somehow, and unfathomable. There was an air of mys­tery about him, and she wondered what he did for a living.