His Lordships Daughter

by de'Ville, Brian A

  The MD silently chucked to himself. “Well” it’s your ball game so you had better get on with it, but before you go, will you have dinner with me this evening?”

  Phyllipa was taken by surprise but her face didn’t register anything. “Yes, alright, I’d like that. Pick me up at eight.”

  “Where?”

  Phyllipa thought fast. “In the car park.” She replied nonchalantly, nodding to the workmen struggling with a large filing cabinet. “In the corner!” She shouted at him.

  “The car park?” queried Steven.

  “Yes! The car park, Mister Grant.” She moved past him “Now, if you will excuse me, I do have work to do.”

  Steven ran his hand through his hair. “Yes, of course, Ms Gore. Eight o’clock it is then.” Looking around at the plush luxury of the office he had given her, he smiled, shaking his head in the disbelief at the brass printed plaque bolted to the door. “Phyllipa Gore, Trouble-Shooter.”

  When Phyllipa got back to her office, her boss had gone and she breathed a sigh of relief, it wasn’t that she didn’t like him around, because she did, but in her own time. Sitting at her desk in her high backed leather chair she surveyed her office. The firm which she had hired had done a good job and the place looked comfortable. Especially the chairs. Suddenly picking the telephone up, she dialled a number.

  “It’s Phyllipa Gore, Michael! I would like you to have lunch with me, tomorrow. Twelvish! Just a chat. The Davenport Hotel. Until then, goodbye!”

  Opening a desk diary, she filled in names, times and dates, then putting her feet up on a small table and picked up the Times newspaper and turned to the crossword page, but her mind wandered to Steven Grant. His dinner invitation had surprised her. She could have refused him. She could have said, thanks but no thanks, but she was a little fed up with dining at home and a meal out would break the monotony. For a few moments she mused, wondering once again what sort of lover he would make. Gossip had it that he was celibate. Married to his overdraft. A twenty four hour a day workaholic, immersed in the intricacies of a demanding profession. Suddenly, grunting, she emerged from her dreaming to pencil another nine letter word into the crossword.

  Phyllipa, gearing down her Aston Martin, passed through the entrance into the car park. Glancing at the clock on the dash, she saw it just on eight o’clock and by the time she looked up again, Steven Grant was parking his BMW alongside as she bought the car to a standstill.

  “I like that.” She stepped from the vehicle.

  “What’s that?” he asked her, opening the passenger door to invite her in.

  “On time people.” She climbed into his car and made herself comfortable. “Where are we going?”

  “I’ve booked a table at Martino’s.” he replied, as the car glided from the car park. “I don’t know whether you know it or not but they are rather good with fishy things.” Phyllipa shook her head and stared at him, noting once again his strong jaw line. The latter usually denoted a resourceful character. “It sounds nice, but I don’t know the place.” She sank into the deep cushions of the seat as the car, disciplined by a red light, slowed to a halt.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, the green light winking as they quickly pulled away.

  “Yes! And thirsty. I’ve had a busy day.”

  “Good! That makes two of us.” The car slid into a railed off private car park, stopping outside a small restaurant with leaded Georgian windows. Wide flower beds running the full length of the building were crammed with an explosion of bright colours.

  Long legged iris formed a misty blue backdrop as they stood guard over old fashioned violets. Disciplined lupins nodded an acquaintance with wide eyed pansies. Flowers of reds, blues, yellows, flashed with rainbow magenta separated laid back greens festooning the purple scabious, while diminutive forget-me-nots roamed restlessly among their friends.

  Phyllipa stood and stared as they left the car, transfixed by the loveliness. “I thought you would like this.” he said.

  “It looks wonderful.” Phyllipa agreed, narrowing her eyes and looked at him with an innocent expression on her face. “They say it makes you thirsty.”

  “What, looking at flowers?”

  “It’s a psychological feeling, colour plus shape plus scent.” Phyllipa went on. She cleared her throat for effect and her companion eyed her suspiciously.

  “Are you sure you’ve got that right?”

  Phyllipa stared at him, accusingly. “Are you thirsty, Steven?”

  He nodded “Yes, I am.”

  “I rest my case!”

  The inside of the restaurant was cool and friendly. The white napery on the tables was spotless, the cutlery was Elizabethan silver and the crockery was English bone china. Phyllipa nodded her head in appreciation. Martino’s were experts in art of making important patrons even more important. A white shirted waiter showed them to a secluded table.

  “Champagne madam ?”

  Phyllipa shook her head. “No! Thank you. .”

  “I was hoping you would say that.” Steven said happily. “What is wrong with the Dom Perignon. It’s Vintage!”

  “It’s expensive!”

  Her boss looked at her in astonishment. “Are you pulling my leg?”

  She shook her head. “No, not at all, the price of bubbly in this country is well over the top, and I do know when I am being ripped off and I object to it, and so should you. I admit it is my favourite drink but I have promised myself not to buy any until the price comes down. It’s just a question of principal, that’s all.” She looked at him defiantly as if expecting an argument. “I do have a few you know.”

  Steven shook his head in admiration “I’m sure you do, and I do admire your stand. So, what else would you like to drink?”

  “Soda water with lots of ice. and the house claret to follow.”

  “You are easily satisfied.”

  Phyllipa smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m not.” She said, softly but firmly.

  The hovering waiter scribbled and looked at Steven. “Scotch on the rocks.” He ordered. The waiter bowed and vanished.

  She studied the menu and then looked across at her companion. The dimmed light was throwing shadows across his face and she thought how attractive he looked.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, noting her attention, she shook her head. “No! I am fine.”

  Suddenly their drinks were in front of them and they were toasting one another. The waiter coughed discreetly, lifting his pen. Phyllipa caught his eye. “I’m going to have the mackerel, with a fresh leafy salad.”

  “Make that two.” The waiter nodded and left .

  Phyllipa put her drink down and looked into his eyes. “Now, let me ask you a question.”

  “It’s not about more money, is it?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “No,. Although it goes without saying that I will expect to be paid commensurate to my worth.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve lost me, what is the question?”

  “How would you like to do all the packaging for “Kristex?”

  Steven’s face flooded with surprise for a moment or two he was silent. “Kristex!” he finally said, “The breakfast cereal people. Possibly one of the biggest orders which anyone in our profession could obtain. A four colour job and fixed demand, year in year out. For ever and ever, Amen!” he shook his head. “Big! Big! Mega Big. How do you know about such things?”

  she smiled mysteriously. “I just asked if you would like the contract.”

  He frowned and fiddled with his glass. “Who are you, really, . You’re not a cleaner, you’re not a trouble-shooter, and don’t even belong in my company. So, who are you?”

  “I answered a job vacancy with I obtained from an employment agency. That’s who I am, Mister Grant. Just an employee.” She frowned, causing Steven to back pedal. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to pry, but you still haven’t picked your salary up.”

  “I know, but I’ve been pretty busy since my promotion.” She rummaged in her
handbag, bought out a small sheet of paper with writing on it and handed it to him. “You asked for my address.”

  Steven took the paper and glanced at the writing. “Some address! Eh!”

  “Now perhaps you will stop complaining.”

  He sighed. “I’d still like to know who Phyllipa Gore is?” he grumbled.

  “Why?”

  Noticing the slight hostility returning, he put both hands in the air in surrender. “Ok tell me to mind my own business, but you interest me.”

  “Mind your own business!”.

  He chuckled. “But you still interest me.”

  “Employer, employee sort of thing?”

  “If it was that sort of thing.” He retorted, tartly. “We’d have stayed in the office.

  “Alright, I apologise.” She said, hurriedly. “Now, we were discussing “Kristex” and I’ll repeat the question. Do you want the contract or not?”

  “It is one of the most sought after contracts in the country. Everyone in my business would like a chance at that order.”

  Phyllipa shook her head, tiredly “Oh dear! I’m not asking everyone in your business, Steven. Follow my sound. I’m asking you, do you want it?”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “Of course I do.” He answered, softly. “But with all due respect, I don’t think you have a snowball in hell’s chance of getting it. But it was nice of you to think of the company. I like that. I like all my employees to be bread and butter minded.” He sipped his drink.

  Phyllipa bit her lip in frustration. She was not used to being disbelieved, but she couldn’t blame him for not taking her seriously where business was concerned, as he didn’t know who she was. He didn’t know that Michael Renton, the chairman of Kristex was a family friend and that she was having lunch with him the following day. After all, Steven didn’t know anything about her. He said he was really interested in whom she really was, but that may just be inquisitiveness.

  Her train of thought was broken by the waiter placing food on the table whilst another poured the wine, and she smiled at her companion who, for the past minute or so had wondered where she’d gone.

  “Welcome back!” he joked.

  “I’m starving!” ignoring his remark, she tasted the mackerel.

  “Well?” he asked, apprehensively. “What do you think?”

  She looked up at the ceiling whilst she appraised the contents in her mouth. “I think they have an affinity with things which swim in the sea.” She finally agreed. They both laughed as they got on with their meal. The food went with the décor and the service. It was excellent and the house claret was very approachable, even with the fish.

  Steven watched her as she finished everything that was placed in front of her.

  “I’ve got a good healthy appetite.” She confessed, noticing his concern.

  “We could go on to a night club?” he hazarded, writing out a cheque and handing it to the waiter.

  “No, thank you.” Phyllipa declined his invitation. She would have liked to have said that she strongly fancied jumping into bed with him or even seducing him in the back of the car, but didn’t. It may jeopardize her position within the firm and her lately acquired business sense was telling that a one stand wasn’t worth her grandma’s necklace. “I enjoyed the meal.” She stood up as the waiter, acting swiftly, removed her chair.

  “Perhaps we can do it again?” Steven hazarded, looking at her, hopefully.

  “Perhaps.”

  They walked by the flower beds once more, where the evening air was heavy with the fragrance of night scented blooms. A late pigeon, his white tail feathers flashing in the half light, rattled and shot off through the bushes. It was a lovely evening and Phyllipa felt happy, pushing her arm through her companions as they walked to his car.

  Ten minutes later she was standing by her Aston Martin and opening her car door, extending a polite hand to her boss who kissed it in a Gallic fashion, then clicking his heels together, performed one of the worst bows that she had ever seen in her life. “Bravo!” she shouted.

  Laughing out loud, she pulled his face towards her and probed his mouth with her tongue, then was in her car pulling away, leaving Steven him there with a bemused look on his face.

  Pressing a button to lower the driving window, she stuck her hand out and waved, gradually pressing her foot on the accelerator she was gone. She pulled over. Before joining the motorway picking up her car phone and rang David. “I need you tonight. I’ll be home in twenty minutes.” Replacing the receiver she wriggled her body sensuously, ramming her buttocks hard into the leather seat, squealing with delight at the thought of things to come. Then smiling happily she concentrated on her driving.

  Chapter 6

  Phyllipa was in the works early, reckoning that she could learn more about the shop floor before the staff arrived than she could when they were all there.

  First she watered the plants in her office, then sitting at her desk, thumbed through the list of contacts which the company were currently working on. Studying them she finally nodded her head in satisfaction. Due to her cajoling, threatening wheedling and just plain asking, most of them were on schedule.

  She liked the job. From morning until lunchtime it was all go, stretching her intelligence, and she liked the feel of it.

  As Steven had told her on her very first day with the company, the staff were a likeable lot. There had only been one incident, but she had handled it with a brand of what she called her Gore diplomacy, but in reality was a first line attack. No-one, least of all, Phyllipa, could explain why she had such a temperamental disposition, but her lineage did go back a long way, and good and bad blood had splashed and mixed through her family tree. Perhaps it was history, laughing and chuckling, equipping the latest Inchcape-Gore with survival gear for the twenty first century, or perhaps it was her forebears regrouping and pushing their fighting spirit into the future.

  But, whatever it was it worked. Phyllipa’s fury was her strength! It was the equivalent of punching first then asking questions later.

  “I’ve got these two tickets!” the eighteen year old Hank, a machine minder, had said. Popping his head around her office door. “For this bash down at the town hall, tonight!” he flicked his hand through his mop of curly hair, and waited.

  “So?” Phyllipa asked.

  “Well, I thought you and I would give it a go.” He ventured, full of himself. “I know girls who would give their right arm for one these tickets.”

  “Really!”

  “And they would probably give their other arm just to go with me.” He eyed her up and down, liking what he saw. “But, I’ve chosen you because I know you fancy me.”

  Phyllipa remained silent.

  His eyes flickered “See you at half seven then!”

  “Thank you but no.”

  Hank bristled “No, what?”

  “N. O.” Phyllipa spelled it out. “No! But thank you for thinking of me” she said sweetly.

  His eyes narrowed. “I’ve been watching you with your upper class accent and your designer clothes. You think you’re a cut above us, don’t you?”

  Phyllipa nodded, deciding to humour him, a warning gleam entered her eye. “Of course I do.”

  Hank bit his lip. Things weren’t quite going as he intended. “You’ll enjoy it.” He said having another go. “I could pick you up, I’ve got wheels. Afterwards it would be back to my place. So, what do you say?”

  She grinned, an innocent expression on her face. “What would we do at your place?”

  He shuffled his feet in embarrassment. “You know? What comes naturally. I don’t have to spell it out, do I?”

  “You do with me!” Phyllipa got to her feet, and slammed the door shut. Slowly taking her jacket off, she pushed the zip down on her skirt and stepped out of it. Then unbuttoning her blouse, allowed her bare breasts to tumble from their prison as she spread her legs and looked at hank. His face had turned a deep crimson as he swallowed nervously. “Look, Ms Gore” He sa
id, putting both hands out in surrender. “I think I’ve probably made a mistake.” Quickly he turned to go out the door, but he never made it. Phyllipa leaped at him, her fingers scrabbling around his flies until they found what she was feeling for. “Go on then.” She shouted, her eyes blazing, as she squeezed his testicles, causing him to blink his eyes in some pain. “Why wait until night. Give it to me now. That is what you are after, isn’t it?”

  Hank looked around him, gasping for breath, trying to tug the door open as Phyllipa pulled harder on his manhood. “No!” he screamed “It was just a bit of fun, that’s all.” His hand pointed to the print floor. “The lads bet me I wouldn’t have the bottle to ask you out. That’s all! For Christ’s sake, let go! You’re killing me.” Phyllipa gave it another heave, and was delighted when it started swelling, then she released it, her eyes still flashing danger signals. “Listen and learn.” She cried. “I chose the men in my life. No man chooses me! Have you got it?”

  Hank nodded hurriedly as he scrambled for the door. “I’ve got it Ms Gore. Don’t worry I’ve got it!” he cried, massaging his crotch as he disappeared.

  Phyllipa picked up her clothing and slowly dressed, then sitting behind her desk burst out laughing. And that was the end of it!

  Half an hour later, Hank popped back in again and plonked a cup of hot coffee on her desk, it was his way of apologising.

  She had received a few wolf whistles now and then from some of the older members of the workforce, but, by and large, everyone treated her as a workmate even though a few eyebrows had gone up when she had taken over the empty office and filled it with comfort, but there was background feeling which thought she may be good for the company, plus the canteen gossip had produced some weird and wonderful stories as to who she really was.

  She was looking through some old files when Steven walked in and greeted her. “Morning! Looking for something?”

  Phyllipa shook her head. “No! Nothing definite… I’m just going through these old customer files which we don’t appear to trade with anymore” her voice sounded reproachful. “Upset them, did you?”