by Andrea Blake
“All the buyers had proofs, didn’t they, Suzanne?” Neal enquired.
“Yes, of course. I took them round myself last Friday. Jennifer was serving when I went to her department, so I left it on the middle of her desk. You must have seen it, Jennifer,” Suzanne said, looking concerned.
“But I didn’t. I don’t know anything about it.”
Suzanne studied the tip of her cigarette for several moments. “Are you sure you didn’t put it on one side to look at later, and then forgot all about it?” she suggested gently. “You’ve been very busy downstairs lately. It would be an understandable oversight.”
“I’ve told you, there was no proof on my desk,” Jennifer retorted vehemently.
Neal reached for his telephone and asked the switchboard operator to get him a number.
“Whoever is at fault, the first thing to do is to call a halt on printing,” he said grimly. “I ordered eight thousand of these catalogues, and they’re not a cheap job. If the whole lot have to be corrected—” He stopped short as someone came on the line.
Jennifer felt sick. Eight thousand expensive catalogues ruined by her carelessness... ‘But I knew those prices,’ she thought helplessly. ‘I couldn’t have got them wrong.’
After a brief conversation Neal replaced the receiver. “I suppose it could be worse,” he said, with a shrug. “They’ve only done about a thousand. Suzanne, when Jennifer has altered all the mistakes, perhaps you would be good enough to take the corrected copy round to the printers so that they can re-set the errors right away. We can’t afford a delay.”
He turned to Jennifer. “Make sure you get them right this time, please. In fact, you’d better check all your items. Go down with her and double-check, will you, Suzanne?”
Half an hour later, soon after Suzanne had gone off to deliver the corrected catalogue to the printers, Neal came into Jennifer’s little office.
“Did you find the proof Suzanne left for you?” he asked curtly.
She shook her head. “I—I haven’t looked yet. But I can’t have missed it, Neal. I clear the top of this desk every night.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “There’s a woman to be served. If you’ve no objection, I’ll have a look through your files while you’re attending to her.” She was away about ten minutes, and when she returned to the office Neal was sitting in her chair with a copy of the catalogue in his hand.
“I didn’t have to look very far,” he informed her coldly. “It was in your stationery drawer.”
“It can’t have been! I use that drawer every day. I would have seen it.”
He rose to his feet and looked down at her. “Be honest, Jennifer. Did you forget all about it until this afternoon?”
“No ... no!” she protested passionately. “I never saw it ... I swear it. I’ve no idea how it got in there. Please, Neal, you must believe—”
She stopped on a sharp indrawn breath. Suddenly, shockingly, she did know how the proof had come to be in her stationery drawer. It must have been planted there ... by Suzanne. What other explanation could there be?
Neal moved past her to the door. “Everyone makes mistakes, Jennifer,” he said tersely. “Most people have the sense to admit to them.” Then he left her.
Tony was waiting in his car on the other side of the road when Jennifer left the store that evening.
It was not until they walked into the brightly lit cocktail lounge at the Crown that he saw how white and pinched she looked.
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you feeling well?” he asked concernedly.
Jennifer managed to smile. “I’m all right. I’ve had a rather beastly day, that’s all.”
He helped her on to one of the tall leather stools along the bar. “You need a pick-me-up. A scotch and a sidecar, please, George.”
The barman served their drinks and then Tony discovered he had mislaid his cigarette case.
“Did you leave it in the car?” Jennifer suggested.
“Could be—I’ll go and have a look. I won’t be a minute.”
When he had gone, Jennifer sipped her cocktail and stared at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
‘What am I doing here?’ she thought wretchedly. ‘I don’t want to be here. I’m not enjoying myself.’
Some men came in from the reception hall and she wished Tony would hurry back from the car park. He would laugh at her if he knew, but she felt horribly uncomfortable sitting by herself on the tall stool with a drink in front of her. No doubt it was very silly and prudish of her to be so ill at ease, but she could not help it.
Startled, she looked up to find Neal standing beside her, his dark brows drawn into a scowl.
“Jennifer! What the devil are you doing here?”
Before she could reply, he slid on to the stool next to hers and asked the barman for a Carlsberg.
“Well?” he said tersely, watching her.
“I—I’m waiting for a friend,” she said huskily.
“I see ... the friend who has been taking up so much of your time lately, I presume? Is this place your usual rendezvous? What time is he supposed to meet you?”
“He’s already here.” Jennifer indicated Tony’s glass of whisky. “He’ll be back in a moment.”
Neal paid for his lager. “You must introduce us,” his smile was not pleasant.
A few seconds later Tony reappeared with his cigarette case in his hand.
“Sorry to be so long, sweetie. The darned thing had slipped down the back of the seat. Now, how about another drink before we—” He broke off, noticing Neal.
“Tony, this is Neal Parker, my stepfather’s nephew. Neal ... Tony Anderson,” Jennifer said rapidly.
“Oh, how d’you do?” Tony held out his hand.
“Good evening.” Neal gave him a cool nod, deliberately ignoring his hand.
There was a brief interval of strained silence in which Tony went rather red and Jennifer cringed with embarrassment.
Then Neal swung off his stool. “Don’t keep Jennifer out too late tonight, Anderson,” he said, with clipped authority. “She’s had a particularly trying day.” Taking his glass from the counter, he walked away to a table at the other end of the lounge.
“What’s biting him? He looked fit to slit my throat,” Tony murmured, glowering.
Jennifer swallowed her drink as if it were medicine. “I’d like to go home, Tony.”
“But we were going to have a meal here.”
“Not now ... please, Tony.”
Outside in the car park, he caught her arm. “Look, what is all this, Jennifer? Why was that chap so damned rude?”
“He’s the head of Parkers now. He doesn’t approve of me going out with you.”
“But that’s crazy. He doesn’t know me from Adam. What right has he to—”
“Take me home, please, Tony ... please,” she begged.
“Very well, if you insist,” he agreed reluctantly.
It was not until they reached Laureldene that Jennifer said more calmly, “I’m sorry to spoil the evening, Tony, but I really am pretty worn out tonight.”
He reached for her hand and pressed it. “Not to worry, sweetie. Look, we’re throwing a party at our beach house on the coast tomorrow. You’ll come, won’t you? It’s Thursday, so you can have a nap beforehand and I’ll pick you up about four ... okay?”
“Yes, all right,” she agreed, without enthusiasm. At the moment she felt so exhausted that tomorrow seemed very far away.
“Good girl. There’ll be no need to dress up. It’ll be a slacks and sweaters affair. See you tomorrow, then.” Tony lifted her hand and rubbed it against his cheek. “Goodnight, honey.”
Louise was out. She had left a note on the hall table to say that she was spending the evening with the Fletchers. Although she had had nothing to eat since lunch, Jennifer did not bother to make herself any supper. She went straight up to her room, undressed and creamed off her make-up. When she had brushed her teeth in the bathroom, she swallowed a couple o
f aspirins and went to bed.
She did not see Neal at the shop the following morning. When she reached home at half-past one she found her mother, dressed to go out, carefully packing a large batch of cookies into a cake tin.
“I’ve already had my lunch. Yours is in the oven, dear,” Louise said abstractedly.
“Where are you going, Mummy? What are all these for?” Jennifer asked, noticing two fruit cakes on a wire rack on the dresser.
“Oh, did I forget to tell you? I’m helping with one of the stalls at the Christmas bazaar in the Church Hall this afternoon. I thought I mentioned it. Maggie is running me round to the Hall at two o’clock. Why don’t you come with us if you’ve nothing else to do this afternoon?”
“I’m going out later,” Jennifer said briefly.
“With Neal?”
Jennifer shook her head, but her mother was too intent on her task to notice.
“Oh, well, that will be much more fun for you,” she said, lining another tin with greaseproof paper. “I’ll see you tonight, then, dear.”
By half-past three Jennifer was ready for Tony to collect her. She sat on the edge of her bed, wishing she had not agreed to go to the party, and wondering what would be the outcome of the seemingly irretrievable mess which her life had become.
It was only twenty minutes to four when the bell rang. Hoping she did not look as listless as she felt, she picked up her coat and bag and went downstairs.
But it was Neal, not Tony, who stepped into the hall when she opened the door.
“You!” she said blankly. “What do you want?”
He put a cardboard box on the hall chest and began to unbutton his overcoat.
“These are some of the faulty catalogues. There’s no point in scrapping them. I’ll give you a hand with correcting them,” he said evenly, slinging his coat over a chair and turning towards the kitchen.
Jennifer gathered herself together. “I can’t do them now. I’m going out,” she said, following him.
Neal opened the kitchen door. “With Anderson?” he enquired, over his shoulder.
“Yes.”
He drew out two chairs, put the box on the table and removed the lid. “You’ll have to ring up and tell him you can’t go.”
Jennifer glared at him. “He’ll be on his way here by now.”
“Then you can tell him when he arrives. Let’s get started, shall we?”
She stuck out her chin and braced herself. “I’m going out with Tony.”
Neal’s eyes narrowed. “Are you?” he said silkily.
“Yes, I am ... so will you please leave? My mother is out and I want to lock up the house.”
“Does Louise know you’re running around with young Anderson?”
Jennifer hesitated, and he said, “No, obviously she doesn’t. You haven’t told her because you know very well she wouldn’t approve. And nor do I, my girl. I’ve made some enquiries about that young man, and they’ve confirmed my own impression of him. If you have any sense, you’ll stop seeing him.”
“That’s my business,” she retorted. “I’ll run my own life, if you don’t mind.”
“With Anderson’s help you could ruin it. He’s got an unpleasant reputation which could rub off on you if you’re seen about with him. Don’t be a fool, Jennifer. You’re not his kind of girl.”
“How do you know what kind of girl I am? I can take care of myself,” she answered defiantly.
His dark face hardened suddenly, the muscles of his jaw bunching under the taut olive skin. His eyes were fierce and brilliant.
“Can you? I wonder.”
Before she could react, he had taken two swift paces forward and pinioned both her wrists behind her. His other hand holding the back of her head, he looked down into her shocked, indignant face.
“Can you?” he repeated, very softly.
CHAPTER SIX
FROM the front of the house came the sound of a motor horn—three short blasts followed by a long one.
“There’s Tony. Let me go!” Jennifer demanded furiously.
Neal tightened his hold on her. “Would Tony, d’you think?” he asked mockingly.
“Please, Neal ... please let me—”
He bent his head and kissed her.
It was a kiss which left her stripped of all her defences. Neal, too, when he straightened and put her away from him, looked less in command of himself than usual.
But almost at once he recovered himself, and she saw amusement kindling in his eyes. He was holding her by the shoulders now and, gently, he began to draw her back to him. Too shaken to be capable of artifice, she did not resist.
Then the front door bell shrilled, and she gasped and jerked away from him, her instinct to defend herself resurging.
“You’re ... despicable!” she exclaimed hoarsely.
“Jenny—wait!” He made an urgent movement towards her.
But she dodged out of his way and snatched up her things. “Suzanne was right. You are two of a kind—and I despise both of you. You’ll have to get her to help you with those wretched catalogues. I never want to see you again. I’m giving you my notice, Mister Parker,” she told him, with bitter emphasis.
Then she ran out of the kitchen and down the hall, wrenching the front door open so violently that Tony, who was standing in the porch, was startled into dropping the cigarette he had been lighting.
Shutting the door with a bang, Jennifer said breathlessly, “I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” and hurried down the steps and towards the car.
“There’s no rush,” he said easily, following her. “Hey, what’s up? Have you had a fight with your mother or something?”
She shook her head, wishing he would hurry, expecting the door to burst open again and Neal to come out in pursuit of her. It was not until they were on the road that she began to relax, and to tremble a little with reaction.
Knowing that she would have to give Tony some explanation of her behaviour, she drew a quivering breath and said, “I’ve just had a blazing row with Neal. He tried to stop me coming with you.”
After a glance in his driving mirror, Tony swung the car to the kerb and slammed on his brakes. “That character is asking for a set-down. I’ve a good mind to go back and give it to him,” he exclaimed belligerently.
She clutched his sleeve.
“No, no, Tony, you mustn’t. Please ... let’s go on.”
“You think I couldn’t take him?” he asked, glowering.
“Of course not,” she said swiftly, and untruthfully. “But I’ve had enough trouble for one day. I want to forget about him.”
After a moment, Tony shrugged and turned back to the wheel. “All right, if you say so, sweetie.”
Jennifer wondered if he had really meant his threat, or if it had been a piece of bravado to impress her. Neal could make mincemeat of him, she thought. Her wrists were still sore where he had gripped them, her lips still burned from his kiss. Her cheeks burned too as she remembered those moments in his arms when, instead of hating and resisting him, she had felt a primitive delight at his power over her. She had wanted to cling to him, to respond. If he had held her a little longer, she would have done.
It was a forty-minute run to the coast, and it was nearly dark when they reached the village where the Andersons had their beach house. Jennifer had expected it to be a converted cottage or a wooden chalet, but when Tony stopped the car, the headlamps lit up a very modern flat-roofed bungalow, with an adjoining double garage.
A door inside the garage led through a utility room to the kitchen. Jennifer had never seen anything like it except in magazine features. There was a stainless steel double sink, an oven built into one wall with hobs set into a laminated plastic worktop under a gleaming copper extractor hood, a built-in breakfast bar and an enormous white freezer cabinet.
“How about a drink?” Tony took her hand and led her through to an equally spectacular lounge with a double-glazed picture window along the whole of the seaward wall.
“
How beautifully warm it is,” she said, taking off her coat and looking round.
Tony was behind a black and silver cocktail bar in one corner. “I ran over this morning to turn on the heating and lay on some food,” he explained. “Draw the curtains, will you? The switch is on the wall just behind you.”
She pressed the switch and the heavy floor-length curtains of dark sapphire Thai silk swished slowly across the expanse of dark glass to meet in the middle.
“What time will the others arrive?” she asked.
“The others?” Tony was crushing ice-cubes. “Oh, not till later. I thought we’d have a little time to ourselves.”
Jennifer sat down on one of the long white leather settees and presently he brought her a drink and settled himself beside her. “You don’t object to being here alone with me, do you?” he asked, with a quizzical expression.
Jennifer shook her head. “This is a lovely house, Tony. Do you live out here in the summer?”
“Lord, no, it’s just a weekend place. We hardly used it all last year because the weather was so rotten.” He got up to turn on the radiogram and to choose a record.
Suddenly it occurred to Jennifer that, apart from trivial chit-chat, they had nothing to talk about, nothing in common.
She tasted her drink, but there was gin in it which she did not like, and after one sip she put it on the glass-topped table. She left the settee and walked across to look at the modern Lurgat tapestry on the wall near the bar.
When Tony came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, she knew what was going to happen and she stiffened.
“Shouldn’t we start getting things ready? ... the food, I mean?” she said hurriedly.
“There’s plenty of time.” He turned her to face him. “Don’t you want me to kiss you?” he asked teasingly.
“No,” she said flatly. “No, I’m sorry, Tony, I don’t. I—I’m hungry. Could we have something to eat?”
His jaw dropped in astonishment. Then, instead of being annoyed, he began to laugh.
“Okay ... if you’re starving.”