His Lordships Daughter

by de'Ville, Brian A

  “All the years I have worked for SG Steven has been trying to get that. June explained. “And here you are just plonking it at his feet.” She thought for a moment or two. “Connections, eh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Oh, boy! You have made our esteemed employer extremely happy.”

  Leaning over, she squeezed Phyllipa’s hand, then kissed her mouth. “I’ve been dying to do that ever since I first saw you.” She waited for her friend to object at the unexpected display of affection, but, Phyllipa taken by surprise just looked at her. It wasn’t just a friendly “Got to go” kiss, it lingered too much for that. But, it was rather nice. “I wonder if you would care to come to dinner at my flat, some evening?” she offered.

  June nodded eagerly. “I would like that very much!”

  Phyllipa smiled. “I’ll look in my diary and sort a date out.”

  Chapter 8

  Henry Inchcape-Gore sat in the library of his home, thinking about his daughter, Phyllipa. He had not seen a lot of her since she had decided to take a job and was missing her company, her laughing face and the continuous stream of arguments with him on all sorts of diverse subjects.

  “Damn!” he said, as he opened his morning newspaper and became engrossed in it, only to be shattered by Bradford, his butler.

  “Lord Braseby to see you, Sir!”

  Hemingway frowned. He did not like to be disturbed by unsolicited people, whoever they were. Putting his paper down, he was rising to his feet when his guest entered.

  “Hope you don’t mind me popping in like this, Henry.” Lord Braseby said. “But there is a matter which I think we ought to discuss.”

  “Oh?” his host said. “What could that be.” Pointing to a chair and inviting his caller to use it.

  Bradford hovered with the Brandy decanter. He knew the visitors habits, and placing a glass in front of him, filled it.

  Braseby looked at his watch.

  “Well! It is a bit early, but I’ll just have a small one.” He said, picking up the glass and draining the contents.

  Henry, the frown still in place, watched him. “So? What is so important?”

  “Clive and Phyllipa!”

  “What about Phyllipa and Clive?”

  “I just wondered if you knew what stage their friendship was at.”

  “From what I can gather,” Lord Hemingham explained, “They are just good friends.”

  Braseby rubbed his hands together. “That sounds promising. “Er…Er… I don’t suppose they have discussed any wedding plans with you, have they?” he asked, rather hesitantly.

  His host frowned. “Of course not, as I said, they are just good friends.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?” Braseby asked, looking at the decanter in the butler’s hand.

  “My daughter doesn’t take too kindly being ordered to marry someone she doesn’t love.”

  Bradford moved, filling the empty brandy glass.

  “Clive will do as he is told.! His father retorted, truculently

  “Phyllipa won’t.”

  “I would like to see them settled.” Braseby went on, emptying his glass.

  “So would I.” Henry agreed “But it doesn’t look like it is going to be to one another.” Hu shrugged his shoulders. “Mind you! I don’t see much of my daughter these days, not since she took a job.”

  “Took a job?” Braseby enquired. “What sport of a job?”

  “She works in a packaging company. SG something or other.” Henry peered over the rim of his spectacles at his guest. “And, she likes it, can you believe it! She likes it.”

  Braseby shook his head. “Funny creature’s women!” he reflected, looking hopefully at his empty glass but the butler had gone, taking the decanter with him. “I’ll never understand them.” He scuffled his thinning hair with an impatient hand. “Bloody children! They should be made to do as they are told. The same as we were.”

  “That was a long time ago.” His host reminded him. “That way of doing things is dead and buried. It’s gone. This is the twenty first century and people believe in choices.”

  “I’m quite aware of the date.” Braseby snapped. “But, we are talking family here.” He looked around him as if looking for a vast audience. “It has always been family first and the rest nowhere, and it is important that we stand together on this one, Henry! You know the old maxim as well as I, divided we fall and that will be that!”

  Lord Hemingham looked at visitor. “Yes.” He murmured, almost absentmindedly…..”And that will be that.” Picking up his newspaper again, he carried on reading.

  Braseby frowned. His shrewdness told him something was amiss with his ideas for Clive and Phyllipa, and Henry had just, more or less, confirmed it. “And that will be that!” he echoed and was now silently dismissing him like a bloody servant. He rose from his chair. “Well! I can see you are not going to do anything about it.” He waited a while, staring at Henry, expecting him to say something, but his host, immersed in his paper failed to turn his head. “So, I’ll see what I can do!”

  The butler silently appeared ready to show him out, but Lord Braseby abruptly turned on his heel and stalked from the room. “I’ll think of something!” he snarled. “Bank on it!”

  Phyllipa eased her car on to the motorway. The lanes were crawling with traffic and her indicators were continually active as the powerful car overtook its competitors. Adjusting the Aston Martin to the speed of the arterial, she kept it there until turning off at a junction and the hum of the motorway was dying down.

  Ten minutes later she was sitting at her desk, studying some technical data when the Managing Director walked into the office and plonked a bottle of champagne and two glasses on her desk.

  “I owe you an apology.” He said graciously. “I don’t know how you did it and I don’t suppose you are going to tell me how you did it, but you did it.”

  Phyllipa smiled. “Would you mind running that by me once again.”

  Steven laughed “Yes, I suppose it did sound a trifle garbled. But, the contract was in this morning’s post.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith….!” Phyllipa quoted, looking into his face.

  “O.K I admit it. I deserve everything you throw at me and I’m hoping you will accept my abject offering.” His strong fingers worked the cork from the bottle and quickly filled the glasses. Handing one to Phyllipa he proposed a toast. “To beautiful women, wherever they may work.”

  “I’ll go with that.” Declared his Trouble-Shooter, happily sipping the golden liquid.

  “I thought you had gone off champagne.” Steven mused.

  “No! I didn’t say that. I said I wouldn’t buy any.”

  “If I remember correctly, you said it was a question of principal and you preferred not to drink it.” He persisted.

  Phyllipa frowned and sipped her wine again. She knew her boss was only pulling her leg but she couldn’t let him win anything verbally. “I know quite a lot about champagne.” She explained, modestly. “This is a good one. It’s a soft medium sweet, Louis Roederer.” Taking another sip, she hesitated. “Er… 82, I should think. How long have you had it?”

  Steven looked at the labelling on the bottle. “You’re dead right. That is exactly what it says here.”

  “How long have you had it?” she asked again.

  “I’m only guessing, but, about twelve months I should think.”

  “Ah!” Phyllipa said. “That would have been before I bought my principle into play. The price has gone up twice since then.” Her eyes stared mockingly into his. “So in answer to your enquiry.” She concluded.

  “I get your drift, Ms Gore.” Steven cut her off, drily.

  “Anything pre-principle.” She continued ignoring his interruption. “I will drink, but post-principle is out. It’s too expensive.”

  For a few seconds he went quiet and just gazed at her. He had only been having a little bit of fun, but if the exchange had been serious he got the feeling he would have lost t
he round by a mile. Picking up the bottle he topped their glasses up. “I’d like to thank you properly for what you have done.”

  Phyllipa’s eyes twinkled. “Forgive me if I seem labour to this point, but you kept telling me I wouldn’t or couldn’t get it.” She shook her head. “I gave you word on this and I don’t like to be challenged. It is very important to me!”

  “O.K but, in my defence Phyllipa, I still don’t know who you are, you are still a stranger who applied and got the job as a cleaner.”

  “Only because the position of MD wasn’t vacant.”

  He pressed his hands together as if in a prayer. “I still don’t know anything about you.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Very much so, I want to know everything you will allow me to know.”

  “What had you in mind about thanking me properly.” Her voice was abrupt.

  “Dinner, tonight?”

  “It sounds very attractive but not tonight.”

  For a moment he looked slightly hurt, but then cheered up. “How about tomorrow night?”

  “That would be ideal. But, there are two conditions.”

  “Anything.” He offered.

  “Dress will be formal and it will be my treat.”

  His face showed disappointment. “I am thanking you for landing the contract. It’s down to me.”

  Phyllipa shook her head and drank the rest of the champagne. “What I did was for the company. And to that end I will bring work in when I deem it necessary. Even if does mean my stepping out of line.” She looked defiantly at him. “I consider it my duty.”

  “Yes, well we are not going that road again.”

  “So what do you think? Dress will be formal and it will be my treat!”

  Steven sighed. “O.K you win.”

  “We’ll be sitting down at eight o’clock.”

  “We?”

  “You and I, At the Davenport Hotel, Just ask for me.”

  “And it has to be formal does it?”

  Phyllipa nodded. “Absolutely! I’m not having you sit at my table in working jeans and a scruffy old pullover.”

  “I don’t possess a scruffy old pullover.”

  “It’s just as well because I don’t want you to wear one. Phyllipa looked at him, waiting for a riposte, but, having been caught out before by his Trouble Shooter’s unusual debating skills, he preferred to stay silent.

  “That’s settled then. Eight o’clock it is, and don’t forget to bring a large appetite with you.”

  Steven laughed “That’s easy. I love to eat.”

  Phyllipa giggled at him as she sipped her champagne. “I wasn’t referring to your food appetite.” She murmured to herself.

  Happy at what she saw, Phyllipa studied herself in the long dress mirror. She had chosen a deep cobalt blue silk evening gown. It was tight, almost stretched, but it showed all she wished to show off to perfection. Adjusting the diamond studs to her ears, she clipped a matching bracelet around her wrist, took one last look in the mirror then nodded her head in satisfaction. Everything looked right!

  From the bedroom she turned into the dining room and smiled at the waiters preparing the table for dinner, she was in her own apartment at the Davenport Hotel. Walking behind the well-stocked bar she splashed soda water on glistening chunks of ice in a tall glass, then sipping it, spoke to the staff and checked the wine.

  Her watch told her that it was ten minutes to eight! Looking around the solid silver cutlery and the spotless white napery, she nodded her head again, agreeably. She wanted everything to be exactly right but, apart from a built in respect plus an almost pathological insistence in support of etiquette, she didn’t really know why she wanted everything to be so perfect, except to show her boss how she did things. It was her treat!

  Lowering the lights, she moved through to the kitchen checking that everything was in order. All the staff had gone now except one waiter and she smiled at him as she returned to the dining room to find her guest, Steven, leaning against the bar. He was gazing around as if not quite sure where he was. Clad in evening dress, his handsome face was full of curiosity.

  “I thought it was just going to be a meal in a hotel restaurant.” He bent his head to kiss her cheek. “I didn’t expect all this.” His grey eyes moved up and down Phyllipa’s body, almost insolently, as if inspecting her, nodded his head. “You look absolutely lovely!”

  “You look pretty good yourself.” She retorted, removing the chilled champagne from its bucket. Filling two glasses she handed one to her guest. “Before you say anything….” She explained, indicating the champagne. “This is from my father’s cellar, he pays for it! Who shall we drink to?”

  “To the person who designed your dress.” He said, as their wine glasses met.

  “Are you hungry?”

  , He pulled a chair out for her. “starving!”

  Phyllipa smiled and made herself comfortable whilst the hovering waiter place a dish of oysters on the table. Removing one from the dish, she picked up a knife and with a flick of her wrist opened the hinged shell and freed the contents. “The trick is not to spill the natural juices.” She carefully explained, sprinkling black pepper and squeezing lemon juice into the shell.

  “Shouldn’t there be an “R” in the month?” Steven asked, innocently.

  She shook her head “These are Pacific oysters, harvested right throughout the year. I hope you like them?” leaning over the table, she teased Steven’s mouth open with her fingers, then let the oyster slide from its shell down his throat. “Swallow!” she ordered, closing his mouth, and Steven swallowed. Her eyes riveted into his. “Well?”

  Steven closed his eyes, and opened them again. “Wonderful!” he cried drinking his champagne. “Slightly salty but very fresh.” Taking a knife he picked one up, flicked in the blade and watched the lid drop onto the plate. “I can suck them blindfolded, they are one of my favourite foods!”

  Phyllipa laughed as she touched her mouth with her napkin. “At least we have something in common.”

  Her boss nodded and looked around at the sumptuous room. “I suppose all this belongs to you?”

  “It belongs to my family, since I have been working for you, I’ve been staying here.” Shucking another oyster, she topped the shell up with champagne and popped it into Steven’s mouth. “Would you mind if I talked about business?”

  Steven sighed. “If I said I did would it stop you?”

  Phyllipa shook her head. “No!”

  “In that case I don’t mind.”

  “Were you thinking of paying me commission on the Kristex contract?”

  Steven’s reply was emphatic “No! I wasn’t.”

  “If a company rep had bought it in, commission would have been paid wouldn’t it?” she argued, a twinkle in her eye.

  “Yes it would, but, as it came through you it becomes a House Account!”

  Phyllipa thought for a while. “So, what happens to the commission?”

  “As there isn’t any, the answer is irrelevant.”

  “I think that is a little unfair. It certainly doesn’t encourage me to bring in another fat account in, does it?”

  Steven looked up in alarm. “You haven’t got another one, have you?”

  She shook her head. “No, not at the moment! But I have one in mind. You’ll love it, it’s a blockbuster!”

  His hands came up in protest. “Please no more! In case you hadn’t noticed all our plant is now working flat out. We have no spare capacity.”

  “Buy some more machinery, Steven expand!”

  He laughed. “Have you any idea what those machines cost? The price would take your breath away.”

  Phyllipa smiled and drank her champagne. “Well it was just an idea. But, if you are looking for money, I could lend you some.”

  “Thanks but no thanks! The company can’t afford to borrow anymore.”

  “We could come to some arrangement which would suit us both.” She argued.

  “ I do not wish to b
orrow any money. Either from you or from the bank or anyone else. Right?”

  “If you say so.” She nodded in agreement, “But, now perhaps we can get back to the subject of commission?”

  “Two and a half per cent?” he snapped

  “I did have this figure of three and a half floating around in my mind, but I don’t know where it came from.” She murmured.

  “Three and a quarter? And that’s my last offer.”

  “Done!” she sighed with satisfaction. “I’m glad that is out of the way I hate talking about money.!”

  The waiter uncorked another bottle of champagne, placed it in the silver chiller, then removed the oyster shells from the table.

  “Don’t you think it’s time you told me who you really are, Phyllipa?”

  “You only have to ask the waiter.”

  “I know that. I could have asked at reception, but I still would like you to tell me.”

  Phyllipa gazed at the ceiling as if in deep thought. “I’ve been with the company a few months now.” She suddenly said, “And I think it is time you knew who you are dealing with.” The waiter silently put warm plates in front of them, distracting her attention. “I hope you like venison?” she pressed a hidden switch, “And I know you like Mahler.” The symphony eased gently through the air causing Steven to smile, knowingly.

  “You’ve been checking up on me haven’t you?”

  Phyllipa nodded “Of course! I like to know the likes and dislikes of any guest of mine.” She nodded towards the waiter filling the plates with food. “This is a ragout cooked in red wine, it’s almost fat free and one of my favourite dishes.”

  “It looks delicious. They say deer meat feeds the brain. It makes clever people more clever. I believe it is something to do with the fauna they eat.”

  Phyllipa gave him a challenging look. “Special fauna?”

  “Very special,” he confirmed, drinking his champagne and watching her face. “I suppose it is all in the mind really. Rather like flowers which make one thirsty.”

  “Touché!” Phyllipa shouted.

  Taking her hand in his, he kissed it with a deliberate old fashioned charm, causing Phyllipa to giggle as they enjoyed their meal. The food was superb and the pears in the brandy were very cold.