by Anne Mather
‘Why, hello, Miss Hoyt,’ exclaimed George Tomlin, the commissionaire, as she crossed the lobby. ‘Long time, no see. You been on holiday or something?’
‘Or something,’ said Shelley drily, as the lift doors opened to her summons. ‘How are you, George? And how’s Mrs Tomlin?’
‘Better in health than temper,’ the old commissionaire declared, as he always did. ‘You take care now, you’re looking rather peaky.’
‘Too many late nights,’ Shelley assured him, as the lift doors closed behind her. It was the kind of comment he expected, and she had no intention of getting involved in any personal discussion of her health.
She travelled up alone to the fourteenth floor, taking the opportunity to check that no errant strands of hair were escaping from the pins that secured it at her nape. The wall of smoky glass that faced the doors gave back her reflection in shadowy detail, and she was satisfied with the severity of the black pencil-slim skirt and matching jacket. Only her face stood out in sharp relief, the pallor George Tomlin had noted accentuating the brilliance of her hair.
The suite of rooms Mike Berlitz used occupied most of the penthouse floor. As well as office accommodation, he had a fully equipped service flat, that for a time Shelley had been as familiar with as her own, and a large lounge for entertaining, when members of the governing body gathered for their monthly meetings.
Diane Sanderson, Mike’s secretary-cum-personal assistant, was already at her desk when Shelley walked into the suite of offices, and her eyes narrowed speculatively as she took in the other girl’s sombre appearance.
‘Is Mike expecting you?’ she asked, lying back in her chair and regarding Shelley over the arch of her fingers. ‘He didn’t say anything to me. I thought you were in the Lake District or somewhere.’
‘Was,’ said Shelley politely. ‘And it was Wensleydale. And yes, he is expecting me. Shall I go straight in?’
‘Be my guest.’ Diane sounded as if she couldn’t care less, but as Shelley crossed the thickly carpeted floor to the heavy wooden doors leading to the inner sanctum, she speedily abandoned her indifference. ‘Miss Hoyt is on her way in, Mr Berlitz,’ she informed him, pressing down the intercom, and Shelley’s smile was faintly amused as she propelled the heavy doors inward.
It was a theatrical entrance, but she couldn’t help it. She had always thought Mike had had the doors installed deliberately so that anyone entering his office would be immediately intimidated. She supposed they had once intimidated her. But not now. This morning she simply used them as a means to an end, and the man who came to meet her, across a vast expanse of burgundy broadloom, was immediately aware of her cool detachment.
Mike Berlitz was forty-five, but looked younger. He was a slimly built man of medium height, who had not allowed his sedentary occupation to ruin either his health or his appearance. He played squash regularly, and spent the occasional week at a health spa, and in consequence he could still wear the same size in suits as he had worn when he was a youth. He was a good-looking man, whose sandy-brown hair had not yet begun to thin, and in his position as chief executive he was quite a heart-throb among the girls on his staff.
There was no trace of animosity in his face now as he met Shelley in the middle of the floor, and had she not had that telephone conversation with him, she would never have suspected his true feelings. ‘My dear,’ he exclaimed, taking a resisting hand between both of his and holding it tightly. ‘I’m delighted you’ve decided to cut short your—convalescence. Livingstone’s been an adequate substitute, of course, but he doesn’t have your flair or potential.’
Shelley withdrew her hand and stood back from him. ‘It’s very kind of you to say so, Mike,’ she thanked him politely. ‘Do I take it the job’s still mine? In spite of everything?’
Briefly, a look of confusion crossed his face, but it was quickly concealed. ‘Of course, the job’s still yours,’ he responded, though his eyes were guarded. ‘You know how much I’ve missed you. I haven’t exactly kept it a secret.’
Shelley moistened her lips. ‘That isn’t what I meant, Mike, and you know it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I would like to hear what you have to say about Marsha Manning. I’m wondering what excuse you’ll give for causing her so much unnecessary heartache.’
Mike’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment he glanced behind him. ‘I suggest we sit down and discuss this over a cup of coffee,’ he said pleasantly. ‘You’ve obviously been given some false information, and I’d welcome the opportunity to set the record straight.’
‘No.’ Ignoring his invitation, Shelley stood her ground. ‘Just tell me whose idea it was to put the suggestion to Marsha. And who dared to try and manipulate me through her!’
Mike stiffened. ‘Dared, Shelley? That’s a rather emotive word.’
‘It’s rather an emotive situation,’ she retorted tensely. ‘Someone deliberately allowed Marsha to think you were serious about the importance of her work, and then calmly told her it was all a lie!’
‘It wasn’t a lie.’ Mike’s jaw was working. ‘It was an offer, made in good faith—’
‘Subsequent upon my doing as I’m told!’
‘Grow up, Shelley!’ Mike’s control snapped and he gazed at her angrily. ‘We all know you’re coming back sooner or later. You don’t have a choice. And why shouldn’t I try and precipitate the situation with a little sweetener of my own!’
‘A sweetener!’ Shelley caught her breath. ‘You don’t have any conception what you’ve done, do you?’
‘I’ve made a perfectly acceptable offer,’ retorted Mike harshly. ‘For Christ’s sake, I could have used other methods to force your hand. You should be thanking me for giving Manning half a chance!’
‘Half a chance!’ Shelley gasped. ‘Marsha doesn’t need your patronage! Her work is recognised all over the world. It’s you who should be begging her to let you screen her life!’
‘I don’t notice any other television station beating a path to her door,’ retorted Mike nastily. ‘And in any case, she’s not the real point at issue, is she? You are.’
Shelley shook her head. ‘I never realised you could be so vindictive—’
‘That’s because you don’t live in the real world, Shelley. You’ve been cushioned for so long—’
‘Cushioned?’
‘Yes, cushioned!’ Mike made an impatient gesture. ‘How far do you think you’d have got if I hadn’t taken you in hand? Okay—so you had a flair for current affairs reporting. But that’s not unique.’
‘Thank you.’
Shelley weathered the blast of his contempt without flinching, even though inside she was sick to her stomach. Was it true then? Had she only become successful because Mike had made her that way? Were all the sly innuendos, thrown at her over the years, the true extent of her ability? She didn’t want to believe it, but what else could she do?
‘Oh, Shelley—’ As if sensing the turmoil being fought behind her frozen features, Mike halted his tirade. ‘This isn’t the way I wanted things to be. We belong together; in work and out of it. Let’s stop this bickering and get down to what really matters: when will you be coming back?’
Shelley’s nails dug into the leather of her handbag. ‘I suppose that depends on what you mean by “coming back”,’ she responded, holding up her head. ‘You know my feelings about our personal relationship. If you mean—when can I return to my position as associate producer, I’d probably only need a few days.’
Mike expelled his breath heavily. ‘Shelley—’
‘Yes?’
‘Shelley, you know that isn’t good enough.’
‘No?’ She deliberately misunderstood him. ‘I should have thought a few days was quite reasonable—’
‘That’s not what I mean, and you know it.’ He took a step towards her, but once again she eluded him. ‘Shelley, when are you going to stop all this fooling about? You know what I want, and I won’t settle for less. What do I have to do to convince you, that I won’t take no for a
n answer?’
Shelley sighed. So, she thought wearily, ultimately it did come down to this: either she toed the line in their personal relationship, or Mike made things difficult for her in other ways.
‘And if I refuse?’ she countered, realising how unimportant his reply had become.
‘You won’t.’ Mike was confident. ‘We’ve been through too much together.’
‘We haven’t been through anything!’ Shelley gazed at him incredulously. ‘You used me—and maybe I used you, too, only I didn’t know it at the time. But at least I can console myself with the fact that as soon as I realised what you were doing, I put an end to it.’
‘You didn’t put an end to it,’ he contradicted her harshly. ‘You may have interrupted things for a while, but our feelings for one another never changed.’
Shelley shook her head. ‘I don’t have any feelings for you, Mike,’ she told him steadily, only now aware of how tenuous their relationship had been. ‘I liked you once. I was even attracted to you, in a hero-worshipping sort of way, but that didn’t last. I did grow up, Mike. The trouble is, you haven’t.’
The eloquence with which she delivered her statement evidently surprised him, and it was several seconds before he formulated a reply. ‘I think you should consider your position very carefully before making any rash statements,’ he declared at last. The smile he forced was scarcely more than a splitting of his tightly clenched lips. ‘I don’t think you quite understand the position. You need me, Shelley. I do not need you.’
She had known where their argument was heading, but even so she had to clarify her position. ‘You’re saying that my employment with Capitol Television is subject to certain—conditions?’
Mike’s nostrils flared. ‘Something like that.’
‘The same conditions you put to Marsha, one supposes,’ murmured Shelley quietly, and as if realising his ultimatum was not going the right way, Mike overcame her protests and grasped her by the shoulders.
‘Why are you doing this, Shelley?’ he demanded, thrusting his face close to hers, and she turned her head aside to avoid his angry expression. ‘For heaven’s sake, you can’t intend to turn down all that I can give you! Take whatever time you need, but come back as my wife!’
‘No, Mike!’ With a supreme effort Shelley broke free of him, and as she did so there was a knock at the door of his office.
‘Blast!’
With an oath, Mike was forced to let her escape him, and Shelley quickly opened the door to facilitate her departure.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, Mr Berlitz,’ began Diane, in carefully controlled tones, but Shelley was aware of the other girl’s shock and amazement as she strode towards the door.
‘Shelley!’
Mike’s angry command brought an enquiring pause, and she arched one dark brown eye-brow. ‘Yes?’
‘If you—if you walk out of here, you won’t come back,’ he threatened, casting Diane a warning glance, but Shelley only shrugged.
‘I never expected anything else,’ she told him, stepping into the corridor, and although she knew she might regret it later, right then she felt a marvellous sense of relief.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHELLEY poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it into the living room of the flat. Then, kicking off her shoes, she sank down upon the chesterfield, examining the letter again as she sipped the steaming liquid. She had been offered the job, she told herself fiercely, wishing she could summon more enthusiasm for the fact. John Sadler had not allowed the indifferent reference Mike Berlitz had given her to influence his decision. He liked her ideas. He had told her so. And against all the odds, she was being given a chance to survive on her own merits.
So why wasn’t she excited about it? Why wasn’t she calling her friends, and arranging a party; anything to celebrate the victory of proving her independence?
She sighed, and putting the coffee cup aside, she rested her head back against the buttoned leather upholstery. She knew the answer, of course, had acknowledged it through a dozen nights of hollowed-eyed sleeplessness. Even the five or six weeks that had elapsed since she left Craygill had barely blunted the sharpness of her anguish, and she was gradually coming to realise that some things never changed.
She was in love with Ben Seton. Like Charles had said, she had been attracted to him long before she realised who he was, and from then on she had been fighting a losing battle. It didn’t alter the situation. He was still Marsha’s son, and because of her selfishness she had lost the friendship of someone she cared for dearly. But she also knew that given the same circumstances, she would probably do it all again.
She was not proud of that admission, though there were times when she tended towards the view that anyone who was prepared to put themselves through purgatory, should have had some compensation for doing so. Nevertheless, the future was bleak indeed without even Marsha’s friendship, and Shelley missed her letters and the ‘phone calls they had shared.
She couldn’t help wondering what had happened after her ignominious departure. She had even hoped that Ben might write and tell her he understood. Surely, by now, he must have realised that she was right? In this, at least, his mother would share Shelley’s conviction.
But the days had stretched into weeks—almost six weeks now—and Shelley had given up hope of ever hearing from either of them again. It must be only a matter of weeks before Ben and Jennifer were getting married. With the arrangements for the wedding, Marsha would have no time to worry about her. And afterwards… Shelley shook her head. Did she really want to know that Ben was someone else’s husband?
Pushing these thoughts aside, Shelley picked up her empty cup and carried it into the kitchen. She had to stop thinking about the past and concentrate on the future. She had a real chance now. With the offer of a job with National Television she could compete on her own terms, without the suspicion that someone else was secretly pulling the strings.
The intercom which connected her flat with the front entrance buzzed as Shelley was examining the fridge, wondering what she should have for dinner. She wasn’t hungry. She seldom was these days, and the pre-cooked meals she provided herself with were often consigned to the waste disposal.
Now, glad to be diverted from a task she seldom welcomed, Shelley crossed the living room to lift the receiver, wondering belatedly who it might be. In the early days following her return to London, the days after that stormy interview at Capitol Television, Mike had made several visits to the flat, but all to no avail. He had even accosted her once, on her way to do some shopping, and virtually threatened her with dire consequences should she continue to ignore his offer, but Shelley had been adamant. Even though she was out of a job, and in Mike’s opinion likely to stay that way, she had not been alarmed by his intimidation. And if she was obliged to take a less-demanding post, she would keep her independence. That—and the remnants of her self respect—were all she really had left.
Now, however, it did cross her mind to wonder whether Mike had heard of her successful interview at National Television and had come to make a counter offer. She hoped not. She had begun to believe she was free of his machinations, and it troubled her to think he might still be marking time.
‘Yes?’ Her voice was a little terse in consequence as she spoke into the receiver, and her caller sounded faintly apologetic as she identified herself.
‘Shelley? It’s Marsha. Can I come up?’
To say that Shelley was shocked was to put too fine a point upon it. She was stupefied; stunned; rendered almost speechless by the sound of that so-familiar voice. Without thinking, without even trying to speculate why she might have come, Shelley said: ‘Yes. Come up,’ in a strangled voice, and then pressed the release catch almost automatically as she slumped beside the door.
She had scarcely gathered her wits when the tap came at the door. Having enabled the other woman to open the outer door, Marsha had been able to mount the two flights of stairs to Shelley’s floor, and her tentat
ive summons caused no minor panic in Shelley’s chest. What did Marsha want? she asked herself anxiously. What awful calamity had brought her all the way to London? Surely, if something had happened to Ben, Marsha would have written. It wasn’t like her to make the journey unannounced.
Realising she could not put off the moment indefinitely, Shelley took a deep breath and opened the door. ‘Marsha,’ she said huskily, but she could hear the edge of hysteria in her voice. ‘Wh—what a surprise! You—you should have let me know you were coming.’
Marsha said nothing for a moment, her keen, painter’s eye observing more than Shelley would have wished. In the space of a few seconds she noted the starkly drawn features, the nervously fluttering hands, the revealing air of finely stretched muscle, that warned of a brittle fragility, not even acknowledged by Shelley herself.
Then, because of what she could see, and because of what she had learned, she held out her arms, and Shelley collapsed into them. With an eagerness long denied both women embraced, and only when her tears threatened to soak Marsha’s tweed-clad shoulder did Shelley manage to pull herself together.
‘Oh, God, I’m sorry,’ she said, sniffing, and stepping back into the apartment. ‘Come in, please! You don’t know how glad I am to see you.’
‘I have a fairly good idea,’ remarked Marsha drily, smothering what sounded suspiciously like a sniff herself. ‘Put the kettle on, there’s a good girl. I think we could both do with a good strong cup of tea.’
With the kettle plugged in, and her mother’s best porcelain cups decorating the tea tray, Shelley turned to find Marsha propped against the frame of the kitchen door. ‘How domesticated!’ she murmured lightly, though her expression was far from frivolous. ‘No. I don’t want anything to eat, thank you. I had a quite satisfactory lunch, and I’m planning on having an even more satisfactory dinner.’
‘Oh.’ Shelley forced a smile. ‘You’re staying in town then?’
‘Temporarily,’ agreed Marsha, affecting an interest in the pattern of the rubber floor tiles. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m here to discuss the format of a television profile with Tim Hedley. Apparently your friend Mr Berlitz had second thoughts about its viability.’