by Lilian Peake
‘They’ve been saving up for months, apparently. I told them they must go and Slade and I would see them when they came back.’
Her desk telephone rang and Patrick vanished. ‘Yes?’ she said.
It was Slade. ‘You haven’t forgotten Miss Farmer is coming this morning?’ Rosalind covered her mouth. ‘Mm, I can hear you did.’
‘I’ve got so much on my mind,’ she retorted. ‘Personal things, like getting married in two days’ time. I’ve just phoned my parents and they can’t come. They’re going on a world cruise. I told them not to cancel.’ She spoke tonelessly, but even so he recognised the underlying disappointment.
‘Maybe my parents will make up for the absence of yours. I rang them and they said Emma would come, too. Yes, I thought that might please you. She’s got eight or nine days’ leave due from the hospital, so she asked if she could stay with us. Patrick said she could have the spare room. It’s a bit small, he said, but she won’t mind.’
Rosalind’s heart lifted a little. At least she would have a friend to talk to, if not to confide in. After all, Slade was Emma’s brother.
‘I think,’ Slade was saying, ‘I’ll see this applicant myself. That would leave you free to go out and shop and do anything else you want.’
‘But Slade,’ she answered, ‘there’s no need for you to waste your time interviewing. Duncan Varley, the technical personnel officer, can see her.’
‘My love, interviewing such a succulent specimen of womanhood as Nedra Farmer wouldn’t be wasting my time.’
‘Oh ‘ If I slam the phone down, Rosalind thought, he’ll only say I’m jealous—which I am. ‘You men,’ she finished, ‘you’re all the same!’
‘Some of us are different,’ her fiancé said, ‘as you’ll discover one of these days. Eleven o’clock, you said? Ten minutes—’
A head came round Rosalind’s door, blonde and perfectly groomed. ‘Miss Prescott’s office?’ a husky voice enquired.
‘Slade,’ Rosalind whispered into the telephone, ‘she’s here.’
‘Early. A good sign. Send her to my secretary’s office. I’ll take over from here.’ Rosalind directed the newcomer to the floor below. The young woman smiled an all-embracing smile and withdrew from the room. If, Rosalind thought, she turns that smile on Slade … Her thoughts stopped there and determinedly she got on with her work.
She did not see Nedra Farmer nor Slade again until, laden with the clothes she had bought for her wedding, she was leaving the office at the end of the day. It was plain that the lunch break they had shared had been very prolonged. They were also talking and laughing as if they had known each other for years.
When Patrick and Slade returned home that evening, Rosalind was inspecting the dress and jacket, the hat, shoes and bag she had bought for the marriage ceremony.
There was a feeling of turmoil inside her, of resentment mixed with indignation all bound together by jealousy. Only two days before the wedding, her fiancé had spent over four hours in another woman’s company. The words her mother had spoken that morning came back to her. ‘All his life there would only be one girl for him,’ he had once told her, ‘and that was you.’
Either he had changed his mind drastically over the years, having decided mat he too at the time had been young and foolish, or it was true … The possibility set her heart beating twice as fast. Then she reminded herself that not once since their reunion, even when he had kissed and touched her, had he mentioned one single word of love.
As she went downstairs, Slade waited, smiling up at her. There was a twist to his lips. ‘Have you bought nightgowns of gossamer and lace with which to seduce me on our wedding night?’
She joined him in the entrance lobby. ‘There’s no such material as gossamer that I’ve heard of,’ she retorted, ‘and nightgowns of lace are outrageously expensive.’
‘Never mind, your skin’s as smooth as silk, so who cares about covering it?’
She coloured at the images conjured up in her mind by his rousing words, but it did not cause her to forget that she had a score to settle. She looked up at him sweetly. ‘Did you enjoy your long lunch with Miss Farmer? Did you discover that she doesn’t only possess beauty, but brains as well?’
He looked down at her steadily. ‘I did. She’s just what Compro needs to promote its image and widen its potential.’
‘We’ve never had anyone doing customer liaison work before.’
He propped an elbow on the curled end of the banister rail. ‘Which is maybe why Compro nearly sank without trace?’
It was a reasonable question, and possibly correct, but Rosalind felt too much loyalty to her brother to admit it. ‘Wouldn’t a man have been better equipped to tackle such a job?’
Slade tapped his head. ‘Up here, perhaps, but a man doesn’t possess a woman’s—’ he eyed his fiancée’s shape which he appeared to find pleasing, judging by the faint smile his scrutiny produced in him, ‘fascinating, attention-riveting assets. She’ll be dealing mainly with men. And,’ straightening, ‘being a man I happen to know what men appreciate.’
Rosalind, still irritated, but without knowing why, went into the kitchen. Slade followed. Patrick sat patiently waiting for his evening meal. Rosalind opened the stove door and, using padded gloves, extracted a baking tin containing the generous portions of Kentucky fried chicken she had bought on the way home.
The men made noises of appreciation at the sight and aroma of the food which was about to be served to them and took their seats at the breakfast bar. To the chicken pieces Rosalind added vegetables and potatoes, putting more on the men’s plates than her own. She slid on to the stool which happened to be next to Slade’s and he looked at her with a touch of mockery.
Since he was much taller than she was, she had to look up to him, which deepened her annoyance. As if aware of her feelings, he smiled broadly but tackled his meal. It was a few minutes before the men, whose appetites were by now partially appeased, began to talk. Patrick appeared to know all about Nedra Farmer and seemed as pleased as Slade about adding her name to the list of employees.
Even my brother, Rosalind thought disgustedly, was running true to masculine form. Breaking into a short silence, she repeated her thought aloud. Patrick looked at her with puzzlement. ‘A woman like that is just what we need,’ he said.
‘Just what all men need,’ Rosalind answered tartly.
‘And you’re running true to feminine form,’ said Patrick.
‘How?’
It was Slade who replied. ‘Thinking, with the vanity which no woman seems to be without, that all any man cares about is what’s under the clothes, and has no interest at all in what’s beneath the hair. In other words, a woman’s brains.’
Rosalind put down her knife and fork. ‘You’re joking, you must be. You selected the woman for interview purely on the basis of a photograph—’
‘Nonsense.’ Slade was all boss now, no friend, fiancé or husband-to-be. ‘I read her application form and the letter attached. These were mainly the things that made me decide in her favour.’
‘So,’ Rosalind was prepared to feel crushed by the two superior beings with whom she shared her meal, ‘her looks didn’t influence you in any way?’
There was a short silence while Slade and Patrick exchanged glances.
‘There,’ Rosalind crowed, ‘I told you so! You did go for her looks after all!’
Slade pushed aside his empty plate and half turned to Rosalind who continued to eat. ‘You think you’ve won on points, don’t you? Well, you’re wrong. I was looking for a person, preferably of the female sex, who’d had public relations experience, which Nedra had.’ First names already, Rosalind thought. ‘She’s been in advertising and the marketing side of various products. I wanted someone who could first attract and then, to use an emotive word, ensnare potential customers, big-name firms with long-term projects—’
‘The kind of companies,’ Patrick joined in, ‘who would be able and willing to pay the fair but often
substantial fees for the computer programmers we, as a consultancy, would send out to them. A woman like that—’
‘You’ve met her?’ Rosalind asked.
‘Of course. Would,’ he continued, ‘bring the prestige contracts rolling in. There’s no doubt that she’s got the intelligence to learn quickly, and she also has a good telephone manner. So when possible clients phone and ask about Compro before they commit themselves to giving us their contracts, she can put the company over good and big, even without a sight of her physical attractions.’
‘Sometimes,’ Rosalind admitted, ‘people have rung me and asked about how to work a computer. I just haven’t had the knowledge to tell them. But then,’ she added, looking at Slade, ‘nor has she, surely?’
‘Correct. But she’ll make it her business to learn. In your job you haven’t been expected to know the technical side of programming. What’s more,’ Slade went on, ‘she’ll go over well at the various receptions she’ll be asked to organise. First her looks will catch the men’s attention, then she’ll bring up the intellectual big guns plus her persuasive power and sell the company on the capable brains it employs, not to mention our past achievements. All of which will mean that Compro’s in business. Get it, my love?’
Angered by both men’s praise of a woman she was rapidly coming to dislike for having, it seemed, everything she herself didn’t possess, Rosalind snapped, ‘I’m not your love!’
‘Ah, but you are, you know. Aren’t I marrying you in less than forty-eight hours? Aren’t I making you Mrs Slade Anderson?’
His arm had come round her, his lips had started lowering—and Patrick said blandly, ‘The bedroom’s up one flight of stairs, first on the right.’
Rosalind jerked away. ‘I’ll get the second course.’
Slade’s laughter followed her and he said, ‘You and I haven’t even started on the first course yet.’
Rosalind cleaned the house that evening. The men did not move from the living-room. Instead, they watched as if fascinated as she pushed the vacuum cleaner around the carpet. They lifted their feet whenever she approached their chairs after she had threatened to suck them into the machine if they didn’t.
Over the noise the men continued talk, raising their voices until the cleaner was switched off. As she dusted and polished, Rosalind sensed she was being watched. Turning quickly, she saw that Patrick was staring, with the customary touch of sadness, out of the window.
It was Slade whose eyes were on her, lazily studying her movements as she lifted her arms or bent from the hips. By wearing a well-fitting round-necked top and pants that had shrunk a little in the wash, she supposed she was inviting male appreciation. And, from the indolent smile which curved Slade’s mouth, she was getting it, no doubt about that.
Flattered and ruffled at the same time, she swept from the room with a final, unconsciously provocative look at her fiancé. He lifted himself from his chair and followed her out. Unreasonably apprehensive as to his motive, she fled into the dining-room, now rarely used. ‘What do you want?’ she said defensively. ‘You can see I’m busy.’
‘Busy inviting me,’ he countered, taking the duster from her and throwing it down.
‘I didn’t say a word,’ she said, backing away.
‘No need. Your body was saying it for you,’ his hands linked round her waist, ‘you sensual little morsel. Every movement was an invitation. Well, I’ve accepted it. Here I am. What shall I do with you? Ravish you?’
‘Slade,’ her hand lifted to the open neck of his shirt, feeling the rough hairs beneath, ‘that would be breaking the agreement. Anyway, we’re not married yet.’
‘No one has fired the starting pistol, is that the trouble? That worries you, even in these so-called enlightened days, when love comes—and goes—so easily?’
Her hand slipped to his waist, feeling the sinewy leanness of it under the leather belt. ‘My love wouldn’t come that easily, even if you were to break your word and—and—’ she could not bring herself to say, ‘make love to me’, ‘and make demands on me.’
His eyes hardened. ‘No? That’s a challenge I’m not missing. Earlier I was denied my kiss. Just now I was deliberately aroused by your body’s sexy signals.’ She tried to shake her head, but his mouth had captured hers and she was urged against him. His hands moved over her back, finding a way under the scarlet top and running his fingers over the spine.
Against her will, her body started yielding and her arms lifted to curve round his neck. The palms of his hands pressed against her shoulder blades, moving down to mould round her waist, then up, up again to find the enticements of her womanly shapeliness, holding her possessively. She gasped in her delight at his slow arousing of her bodily desires and when his hands moved away, she sank against him, almost tearful in her disappointment.
‘So,’ he drawled, pocketing his hands in spite of the fact that her body was resting against his, ‘your love won’t come that easily? A little more and I’d have had you begging me for fulfilment.’
Indignantly she pushed away from him. ‘Which means,’ she said, shaking a little with shock and trying, under his watchful gaze, to tuck in her top, ‘that that was just a demonstration of your power over me?’
‘Nothing more, nothing less. I simply wanted to prove my point. That I could make you love me so much you’d come to me at the click of my finger.’
‘Love?’ she cried, searching for anything, any words with which to hurt him, ‘what do you know of love? You’ve less inside you than—than a computer! Why, you can programme a computer to say “I love you”. I know, because Gerry did it for me once, and the words came out—I love you, Rosalind. But the statement would be as automatic and meaningless as when the computer speaks it!’
She swung from the room and he did not come after her.
Next morning over breakfast, Slade told her he would be away for the rest of the day.
‘I’m off to Reading to make contact with an important new client. You realise,’ he spoke coolly, ‘we shall be returning here tomorrow after the reception?’
‘I do realise,’ she answered stiffly. ‘A honeymoon as a prelude to a marriage like ours will be would be a farce.’ She made her face as expressionless as his.
He slid from his stool and pulled on his jacket, saying, ‘Emma’s arriving this evening to stay for a few days.’ Rosalind nodded and he went on, ‘My parents are travelling down from the north tomorrow morning and will stay tomorrow night somewhere on the way back.’
‘I’m glad it’s all been arranged so expertly,’ Rosalind said. ‘Did Wonder Girl Nedra Farmer do it all for you?’
‘No, Wonder Boss Anderson made the “expert” arrangements.’
Patrick, who had gone upstairs but was now waiting at the kitchen door, smiled. Slade put down his case. ‘If brother Patrick will excuse us,’ Patrick retreated into the entrance lobby, ‘I think I shall need a kiss from my bride-to-be to take me through the long hours until I see her again just before the ceremony.’
‘Why?’ Rosalind’s brow pleated. ‘Where are you going to sleep?’
‘Like all traditional bridegrooms, I intend to stay away from my bride until the last moment.’
‘I—’ He would never know what she had been about to say. His mouth, with a fierceness that took her breath away, covered hers, depriving her of the powers of speech and, since it would be over thirty hours before she saw him again, all her will to resist. Her body melted in his arms and when his head finally lifted he said,
‘Hey, Patrick, I think I’ve got myself a wife with hidden fires of passion.’ He picked up his case. ‘Of course, they might be so deeply embedded I’d need to construct an oil rig to penetrate far enough down to extract them.’
With these parting words, he lifted a hand and followed Patrick from the house.
Before he had kissed her, she had been going to say, ‘I’ll miss you.’ If she had managed to say the words, would he have accepted them as being as completely sincere as she would
have meant them? Or would he have laughed in her face? She would never know.
CHAPTER SIX
ROSALIND stayed away from work that day as Slade had insisted. Duncan Varley, the technical personnel man, would be taking over in her absence.
Emma arrived that evening, just before Patrick was due home. She brought with her all her past brightness and vitality and Rosalind welcomed her with the hug of an old and long-lost friend. Her hair was as dark, her face as round as it ever had been. Her eyes were grey-green like her brother’s, but without his seriousness. She was slim, whereas Slade was solid.
They were drinking tea and talking non-stop when Patrick came in. He looked particularly tired. Rosalind supposed it was the result of Slade’s absence from the office, leaving Patrick with every phone call and problem coming his way. Patrick stood in the living-room doorway, his eyes fixed on Emma. He seemed dazed, like a man in a waking dream. Rosalind glanced at Emma and found her smiling in a curiously strained fashion.
To her brother she said, ‘Did you forget Emma was coming?’
‘What?’ to his sister. ‘I—’ he rubbed his forehead, ‘I guess I did. I’m sorry, Emma, I was miles away.’
Now Emma was standing, and her smile was warm again. ‘Back in London, at that place Slade had kept telling me about every time we’ve talked on the phone? What’s it called—Compro?’
‘Er—yes.’ Patrick lowered his briefcase to the floor. It seemed he still had not completely collected his wits. ‘Com from computer, pro from programme. I—we—I mean—’ His hesitation was so unusual Rosalind stared.
‘The four of us thought it up,’ she reminded him. ‘You and John Welson and Jeanie and I—’ Patrick winced slightly and it came to her that he had not wanted to speak one of the names. The name he had avoided was the one Emma picked up.
‘Jeanie, your wife? Was she beautiful, Patrick? Do you miss her terribly?’
‘My late wife,’ he said stiffly.
Emma was indeed walking where angels would have feared to tread. It seemed, however, that she was undeterred by Patrick’s manner. She patted the couch. ‘Come and tell me all about her, Patrick. You look so tired.’