The Station Boss

by Jane Corrie

  `He gave you one of the guest rooms when you stayed here last month,' Vicky shot out at her triumphantly.

  `But I'm not a stranger, am I, dear?' replied Cynthia sweetly, giving Vicky a look that told Sheena

  that she wasn't the only one who would like to slap Vicky.

  `You're not his bride-to-be, either ! ' Vicky snapped back at her.

  `Vicky ! ' gasped Sheena, feeling that things had gone far enough.

  `I prefer to forget that remark, Vicky,' said Cynthia, out of narrow lips. 'I keep forgetting that you're not well,' she added spitefully, and although Sheena could well understand her chagrin, she could not condone that.

  `I'm not an idiot either ! ' Vicky flung back at her furiously. 'I'm right this time—just you wait and see!'

  `Is this a private fight, or a free-for-all?' Clay enquired in an amused voice, as he entered the room. His dark glance rested briefly on Sheena, who looked as embarrassed as she felt, and then went from the bright-cheeked Vicky to the pursed-up lips of Cynthia, and back to Sheena again. 'Don't worry, Sheena,' he said airily, 'these two enjoy sparring with each other. You'll get used to it. I wouldn't advise you to take sides, though, they're quite capable of fending for themselves.'

  `Clay! ' gasped Cynthia, and flung a look of pure venom towards the smirking Vicky who had achieved a remarkable victory over her enemy by having her classed in the same category as herself, even though there must have been ten years' difference in their ages. 'If you knew what we were discussing, you'd take my side this time. Ask Vicky about it later, and

  tell her she can apologise the next time we meet,' then she added meaningly, think it's time she went to bed.'

  I go to bed when I want to !' Vicky almost spat out at her. 'And it's nothing to do with you when I go ! '

  'Vicky ! ' said Clay, on a warning note. 'This time Cynthia's right, and you know it. Off you go, you can finish your fight some other time.'

  It was Cynthia this time who received a venomous look from Vicky. 'Very well,' she said, with as much dignity as she could muster, 'but I don't mind telling Clay what we were talking about,' she announced airily, as she walked to the door. 'Goodnight, Sheena,' she said politely, and gave Clay a conspiratorial look, but completely ignored Cynthia, and left the room.

  Clay's expressive eyebrows rose as he looked back at Sheena and Cynthia, and Sheena cowardly decided to follow Vicky's exit and made a move towards the door, but was forestalled by Clay's, It's not that bad, is it?'

  'Of course not! ' Sheena replied quickly, too quickly, and received a searching look from Clay. think Vicky enjoys riling people, and I'm sure Miss Layton knows her well enough to understand that, and not take her teasing too seriously.'

  'Considering the subject, I could hardly pass it over,' retorted Cynthia, in a voice meant to convey her wounded feelings over what was said.

  Her answer had the desired effect on Clay, who

  walked over to a reclining chair opposite to the one Cynthia occupied, and nodded towards another chair beside it. 'Sit down, Sheena,' he said casually. 'I want to know just what that impish niece of mine is up to now,' and when Sheena hesitated, and was about to plead tiredness, he forestalled her again with, 'Don't tell me you're tired, you slept most of the way in the car coming up here, remember?'

  Sheena's cheeks flamed, and to hide her embarrassment she did exactly what she didn't want to do and sat down in the chair he held out for her. There was something in the way that he had said that that made it sound much more than just falling asleep on a long journey, and by the way Cynthia was looking at her there was no doubt that her thoughts were running on the same lines.

  `Well?' asked Clay, in the tiny silence that followed.

  `She was on about Miss Greig having been given your mother's room,' Cynthia said quickly, as if trying to dispel certain unwelcome thoughts that had entered her mind after Clay's remarks about their journey from Sydney. 'She seems to have got the ridiculous idea that you're carrying on with that old promise of yours to your mother. You'd better watch out, Clay, she'll have you married off to poor Miss Greig before you know it.' She gave him a sweet sympathetic smile. 'You know how she gets these fixations, but this is obviously one that ought to be nipped in the bud, and the sooner the better.'

  Clay gave a wicked grin and looked at the cring-

  ing Sheena, who wished that she could somehow become invisible. 'Are you "poor Miss Greig"?' he asked her with a teasing quality in his voice.

  `Right now, that's precisely how I would describe myself ! ' retorted Sheena angrily, feeling that she was being made fun of and that it was about time that she made her feelings quite clear about this. She was getting tired of being on the receiving end of. Clay and Vicky's new source of amusement.

  Her heated reply obviously pleased Cynthia, who went as far as to actually smile at her. 'Don't worry, Miss Greig,' she said sympathetically. 'No one takes Vicky seriously—inside the family, that is—and as long as Clay knows what she's up to, there'll be no harm done.'

  `Ever thought that Vicky could be right?' queried Clay casually, looking directly at Cynthia, who visibly blanched and stared back at him with wide eyes.

  `Clay ! ' she exclaimed, on a note of censure after the shock had partially worn off. 'You're as bad as Vicky! For goodness' sake, what must Miss Greig think? She'll wonder if she's landed in some kind of madhouse ! '

  Miss Greig was incapable of thinking anything at that precise time, except that Clay had decided to go ahead with the mock engagement with her. It was also clear that he did not intend to put Cynthia Layton into the picture. Considering her private war with his niece, this was not altogether surprising, but Sheena would have liked more notice of his intentions, and felt that she had been thrown into an arena

  and left to survive as best she could.

  Sheena looked from the tight-lipped Cynthia, who moved restlessly in her chair and crossed one elegantly hosed leg over the other, exposing a length of leg casually as if by accident, but it was a well-practised action and made Sheena wonder if she was a model too, as Vicky's mother had been. She had the looks as well as the figure, and her clothes were expensive and worn with a casual elegance. Her gaze left Cynthia and rested on Clay, and she was annoyed to find that he was studying her and seemed to-be waiting for some comment from her. What was she supposed to say? she wondered crossly. Perhaps Cynthia had been right and she had landed in a madhouse!

  It was the thought of her survival that made her say stiffly, 'I suppose no one minds if I comment on the fact that Vicky appears to have taken after her uncle, and has the same sense of humour.' Her eyes shone blue fire as they clashed with Clay's black enigmatical ones. She knew she was going back on her word, but he had forced the issue without giving her a fair chance of acting the part. She felt no remorse, he had only himself to blame.

  Clay's eyes held hers, and Sheena felt their magnetic hold on her and wanted to look away, but couldn't. It was Clay who broke what seemed to be some kind of spell on her by turning his dark gaze on Cynthia. 'What do you say to that, Cynthia? Would you say I was some kind of joker?'

  Cynthia tried to give a casual shrug, but it turned

  into a helpless bewildered movement, and Sheena hated Clay for his insensitivity towards this woman who was obviously in love with him.I wouldn't have said so,' she replied in a low voice, 'but I'm not so sure now.' She stared at Sheena. 'You've not wasted much time, have you?' she flung out at her. 'I've known some quick workers in my time, but you must hold the record ! ' she spat out at Sheena, badly wanting a whipping boy to vent her frustration on.

  'Hold your fire, Cynthia,' Clay said softly but warningly. 'You ought to know better than that. Since when have I been influenced by a pretty face? I make my own decisions, as you well know.' His dark gaze rested on Sheena. 'And you've got it all wrong. Sheena's not chasing me, her affections lie elsewhere, but I intend to change all that, so perhaps it is poor Miss Greig, wouldn't you agree?' he asked with deceptive casualness.

&n
bsp; Sheena stood up quickly—enough was enough! 'I'm sure you can finish this intriguing discussion without me,' she ground out furiously. hope I've provided you both with good entertainment for the evening. Don't bother to have that place rebuilt, Mr Dayman,' she spat out at him as she walked to the door, 'I've decided not to stay.'

  Her fury mounted as she heard Clay give a low chuckle, 'Goodnight, Sheena, you'll feel different tomorrow.'

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As Sheena passed Vicky's room she was relieved to see that her door was closed. She had half expected to find her waiting up for her, and she had had quite enough of the remarkable Dayman family for one day.

  When she reached her room she lost no time in taking a shower, and thankfully shutting her bedroom door firmly behind her, got swiftly into bed. Woe betide Vicky if she made an entrance now, she thought darkly, for Sheena's sympathy lay entirely with Cynthia Layton. She might not like the woman, but it was patently obvious that she had had a rough deal from Clay, not to mention Vicky's blatant hostility and goading insolence, not at all in keeping with her age.

  Sheena bunched her pillows up under her head, and thinking that she heard a footstep outside her bedroom door, quickly switched out her bedside light. If it was Vicky, she would feign sleep, she told herself, but as the seconds passed and the door remained closed, she was able to relax and give her attention to the unenviable position she had landed herself in.

  The grand statement that she would be leaving weighed heavily on her mind. Where could she go?

  * * *

  And where would she get a job? She had no money —at least, not yet—and whatever her father had left her, she would have to wait for Clay to see to that side of affairs for her.

  She turned restlessly. In other words she was in a cleft stick, and Clay Dayman knew it. No wonder he had sounded so sure of himself when he had said that she would feel different tomorrow ! What a fool she had been in blindly accepting his offer to bring her north with him. But she hadn't accepted, she reminded herself bleakly, recalling the way he had simply taken over her life.

  Even if she had changed her mind—and if Doyle had managed to talk her out of it—she knew with an odd certainty that Clay wouldn't have left it at that. It wouldn't have made any difference if Doyle hadn't lost control and tried to force her to stay the only way he knew how to. Nothing short of a wedding ring on her finger would have stopped Clay Dayman from carrying out her father's wishes. Sheena knew this as well as she knew she didn't like Clay Dayman—or his single-minded way of going about things.

  Her eyes closed as she relived her last night at Barter's Ridge, and once again felt Doyle's lips caressing her. Only the timely intervention of Mrs Charter had prevented her self-betrayal and the inevitable result.

  She knew she ought to be grateful that fate had watched over her, but she didn't feel particularly grateful right then. She felt bereft, and cheated out of the fulfilment of her dreams. So Doyle was proud,

  and weak where she was concerned—well, she didn't blame him for that. Who was she anyway? Just a little nobody who happened to be his manager's daughter, and whom he would have married had her father not betrayed his trust.

  She then thought of Cynthia Layton who loved Clay, but Clay didn't love her, and no amount of wishful thinking would change things for her. In a way she had much in common with the luckless Cynthia. She loved Doyle, and although he had wanted her, he had not loved her enough to marry her.

  Clay's assertive claim that he intended to push the memory of Doyle out of her life, whether this had been said to lay the foundation of their mock engagement or not, was a non-starter as far as Sheena was concerned. She had loved Doyle too long to even hope that she could forget him, even while bitterly conceding that she stood no chance of happiness until she did.

  She fell asleep on the bleak thought that she would have to stay at Rimini for a few more days at least, and somehow fend off Vicky's assured predictions of her uncle's intentions where she was concerned. There would also be an unhappy Cynthia to contend with, since Sheena could not see her bowing out of the picture; she was not the type to give up that easily. Between her and the incorrigible Vicky, not to mention the bulldozing tactics of her formidable uncle, she could see anything but a peaceful existence ahead of her.

  Until breakfast the following morning, Sheena was

  left in peace, and it did occur to her that perhaps Clay had given Vicky an order to stay away from her, correctly assuming that Sheena would be in no mood for another dose of Vicky's enlightened comments on her future.

  When Sheena arrived in the kitchen for breakfast, she found Vicky on the point of finishing her meal, and devoutly hoped that she would take herself off to whatever pursuit she had in mind for that morning without seeking her company. Her hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment as Vicky made no move to leave the table after her breakfast. 'Clay doesn't take breakfast,' she said, seeing Sheena glance at the empty seat occupied by Clay the previous day.

  Sheena gave a nod at this unasked-for information, but she was relieved to be spared his autocratic company at the start of the day.

  'That reminds me,' went on Vicky, 'he wants you to take him his morning coffee at ten-thirty. He's working in the study,' she offered helpfully.

  Sheena seated herself at the breakfast table, and on Pietro's swift appearance with her breakfast, she thanked him, and wondered absently how she would be able to do justice to the generous portion of eggs and bacon that he had served her with. 'Who usually takes his morning coffee in?' she queried lightly, yet with a touch of annoyance in her voice that Vicky did not miss.

  'Usually Pietro, but I do if he's extra busy,' Vicky replied carefully.

  'I wouldn't want to step anyone's toes,' Sheena replied, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice,.

  'I suppose he wants to talk to you,' answered Vicky, with an innocent look that belied the knowing look in her eyes.

  'Very likely ! ' Sheena said dryly, as she settled to her meal. She wanted to talk to Clay too. There were a few things she wanted to get straight before she let herself in for any more evenings like the last one. Shock tactics weren't in it !

  'We've a tennis court at the back of the house,' Vicky said quickly, wisely changing the conversation. 'Do you play?' she asked hopefully.

  Sheena chewed and swallowed a crisp piece of bacon before she answered, surprised how hungry she had been and having no trouble in clearing her plate. 'I've had one or two games, but I can't say I'm any good at it.'

  'Doesn't matter,' Vicky said quickly. 'I can teach you if you'd like a game—besides,' she added airily, 'that way we can keep out of Cynthia's way if she decides to call in—and I'll bet she does,' she ended darkly.

  Sheena poured herself a cup of coffee, and took her time in replying. 'Why do you dislike her so much, Vicky?' she asked her slowly.

  Vicky shrugged impatiently. 'It's not only me,' she said defensively. 'No one likes her. We only put up with her because Clay ' she didn't finish the rest of the sentence, but Sheena knew what she meant. Clay had encouraged Cynthia to hang around, but

  was now tired of her. On recalling what had been said the previous evening, Sheena realised he was making it quite clear that whatever attraction Cynthia had once held for him, it was now over. She felt a spurt of pity for her, and a surge of anger against Clay Dayman. It was so easy for a man.

  `Mum doesn't like her, either,' Vicky added, with a glint of defiance in her eye as she looked straight at Sheena, and Sheena wondered how to tackle this latest move of hers on this delicate subject. She had clearly said 'doesn't' and not 'didn't', and that meant that she was determined to carry on with her pathetic makebelieve.

  `She's a model, isn't she?' queried Sheena, deciding to take the coward's way out and not force the issue.

  Vicky gave another disdainful shrug. 'She'll never make the top, like Mum,' she said on a disparaging note. 'You've either got it or you haven't. She looks all right, and she's got the fig
ure, but you have to have more than that,' she told Sheena earnestly. 'I've some photographs of Mum,' she added, as she got up hastily from her chair, 'you'll see what I mean then when I show you them,' and rushed out of the kitchen.

  Sheena finished her coffee and stared at the bright tiles of the kitchen. She felt immensely sad, and knew she would feel even sadder as she looked at the photographs that Vicky was going to show her. Pictures of a lovely woman who had died so tragically

  at the height of her career—and not only her, but Vicky's father, too.

  Her blue eyes that spoke her feelings so clearly met Pietro's sympathetic brown ones as he cleared the breakfast table, and without realising it she spoke her thoughts aloud. 'What does one do?' she asked in a low despondent voice.

  Pietro's thin wiry figure straightened as he lifted the tray of used crockery, and he smiled at Sheena. `What we all do,' he said, with a trace of an accent in his voice. 'Try and make it easy for her.' He gave an expressive shrug. 'She's young yet. I think maybe all will be right,' and he left Sheena to her musings.

  It was even harder than Sheena had thought it would be. As she gazed at the photographs in the thick album that Vicky had brought back with her, she was lost for words. Her mother was all that Vicky had claimed, and Sheena, staring at the image of the lovely woman posing in a clinging velvet dress on the front of an expensive glossy magazine, was able to understand what Vicky had meant when she had said that there was more to modelling than having looks and a good figure.

  Whatever the secret was, there was no denying that this beautiful woman had possessed it. There was an ethereal quality about her, and the large dark lovely eyes that stared back at you from the glossy cover seemed to be challenging you to find fault with such matchless beauty. The eyes particularly reminded Sheena of Clay. They had the same mesmeric gaze, only his was compelling and hers was guileless.