As the Pedder house was less than a mile away, ten minutes later Dove had parked her car in the drive and was making her way along a side path leading into a secluded garden enclosed on three sides by trees and colourful shrubs with, in its centre, a circular lawn where Dove discovered her bikini-clad friend stretched out on one of two loungers placed strategically to catch the
maximum amount of sunshine.
‘This is great!’ Jennifer sat upright at Dove’s approach. ‘For once, our visits home have coincided. How vexed I’ve been on previous visits to discover either that you’d been home the previous week or that you were expected a couple of days after I was due to leave. How long is it since we last met? A year ...?’
‘It must be all of that.’ Dove smiled as she eased the vacant lounger beneath the shade of a tree. ‘I can’t sit in the sun, it makes me sick,’ she explained in response to Jennifer’s raised eyebrows.
‘Poor you!’ Jennifer stretched like a contented kitten. ‘I love it, which is just as well considering the amount of time I spend in warm climates.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m here, I want some advice.’ ‘From me?’ Jennifer’s russet hair almost stood on end. ‘Cool, competent Dove seeking advice from a scatterbrain like me?’
‘You’re not the scatterbrain you’d have people believe,’ Dove replied with the straightforwardness of an old friend. ‘You act out the pose very convincingly, but it’s never fooled me.’
‘All right,’ Jennifer’s freckled face creased into a grin, ‘so underneath I’m really a hard-headed bitch, experienced in the ways of the sinful world. Having got that sorted out, how can I help?’
‘You’re not any of those things either.’ When Dove’s serious expression did not lift Jennifer realized that her friend was in no mood for frivolity, so she sat upright and with matching gravity demanded to know,
‘What’s troubling you?’
The fact that Dove seemed to find difficulty in choosing her words caused Jennifer even more concern. They had been friends since childhood, had been inseparable at boarding school, had shared adolescent doubts and fears. Never, until now, had either of them found it hard to exchange confidences.
‘Were those tales you told about English girls making their fortunes in the East really true?’ The question trickling from Dove’s lips became the prelude to a flood. Giving Jennifer no time to reply she rushed on, ‘I’m in desperate need of a lot of money—four thousand pounds, to be exact—but I’ve no hope whatsoever of earning that much in this country. Then I remembered your tales about the rich Arabs and how well they treated their employees. I’m between jobs at the moment, so if you can advise me how to go about it, I might manage to get a job out East. Without wishing to sound conceited, I can confirm that a British nanny is a highly prized commodity, and that being so, I’d like to cash in on my assets. Trouble is, I don’t know where to start.’
Jennifer expelled her pent-up breath, then stared at her friend, speechless with shock. She had no need to ask why Dove was in such desperate need of money; the small village community in which they lived had been buzzing for weeks with rumours of Donald Grey’s impending bankruptcy. Her father, an accountant, had been scathing and, Jennifer thought, unusually unsympathetic. ‘Any man who tries to set himself above the law of the land is a fool,’ he had replied to Jennifer’s troubled query. ‘Granted, we’re all inclined to rant and rave about the unfairness of our tax system, nevertheless, most of us pay up in the end. Not Donald Grey, however. No, in his usual autocratic manner he decided to take on the might of a Government department single-handed, and not surprisingly has come off worst. The man is way past retirement age, either he ought to sell the business or employ a manager, one young enough to cope with the complications and stress inherent in modern business procedure.’ Unaware of the seriousness of the situation, Jennifer had pushed the matter to the back of her mind, hardly associating it with her friend, but now she was having to frantically marshal her thoughts in order to put forward a cool, calm argument that would convince Dove that the drastic step she was contemplating was simply not on.
Her voice was calm, yet her eyes mirrored dismay as she affirmed, ‘The tales I told you were true enough. Desert sheikhs and millionaire business tycoons are flocking to London in search of young English girls with special qualifications, and they pay well for their services. Four thousand a year isn’t unusual, so I’m told.’ She sensed Dove making rapid calculations. ‘Also they provide luxurious rent-free apartments within their palaces. Some girls have reputedly been supplied with their own personal servants and also ... armed bodyguards!’ Watching Dove closely, she drove home her point when her friend’s grey eyes widened with alarm. ‘Yes, it’s not all caviar and honey! There’s a lot of political unrest in the Arab States, a prince can be deposed almost overnight, and when he is his entire household is at grave risk—even his children’s English nanny! So dismiss the idea completely, Dove, it’s most certainly not for you.’
‘But why not?’ Dove’s voice was implacable. ‘If other English girls are prepared to face the risks why shouldn’t
For the first time since the conversation began Jennifer permitted herself a smile. ‘Because you’re ... just you, I suppose.’
‘Would you elaborate upon that remark? ’ Dove asked with asperity. ‘I’m healthy, unmarried, and over twenty-one, I’m also a highly qualified children’s nurse—so why do you imply that I’m unsuitable?’
Jennifer was left with no alternative but to be brutal. Swinging her legs off the lounger, she faced Dove to spell out with implicit frankness, ‘I’ll tell you why. I’ve become friendly with some of the girls who have taken on such jobs, have talked with them, have wondered at the danger they face and their utter disregard for their own safety. Super-cool, some are trained to shoot, others could snap off an arm without the slightest com-punction—and such an act can become necessary, Dove, because for a girl to be on her own in the Middle East she has to be prepared for anything—even to kill.’
‘Now, in complete contrast,’ she went on, ‘consider yourself. An only child born to middle-aged parents whose idea of bringing up a child was to treat her like a doll, to dress her up, to invite admiration, but never allow her to be touched. Then at five years old, to dump her in a boarding school run by middle-aged spinster daughters of ex-Army officers, themselves so cloistered and out of touch with reality they might have been being from another planet. Even though you were allowed to spend holidays at my home, I always sensed your parents’ faint disapproval at my frivolous ways. Their scandalised expressions when I told them of my decision to become an air hostess was proof enough that they thought my parents far too lenient. You would have loved to have become an air hostess, wouldn’t you, Dove?’ she challenged fiercely. ‘Come on now, admit it, the only reason you’re a children’s nurse is because you wouldn’t upset your parents by going against their wishes! So you followed their dictates, and in consequence you’ve remained as naive as the children you spend your fife with. So there rests my case!’ She jumped up to glare defiance at Dove. ‘If I’ve offended you, I’m sorry, but for your own sake it had to be said.’
‘Oh, do sit down and stop playing to the gallery.’ Dove’s easy reply had more effect than any outburst. Feeling slightly foolish, Jennifer sank down upon her knees and began moodily plucking blades of grass.
‘Are you very angry with me?’ she asked soberly.
‘Not a scrap,’ Dove chuckled. ‘I agree with every word.’
‘Then you’ll drop the whole foolish idea?’
‘Jennifer, will you please keep quiet long enough to listen to my point of view? Here am I, as you so rightly pointed out, twenty-one years of age and a complete innocent so far as the realities of life are concerned. So can you blame me for wanting to be free of my dull rut, to take part in life instead of continuing as a mere spectator? Yes, even if it brings me strife and regret, even danger, at least I’ll be living and not just existing from day to boring day
! I’ve been thinking along these lines for quite some time now, but I haven’t mustered sufficient courage to take the necessary steps towards change. Now, however, circumstances have made it difficult for me to do otherwise. But I’m not being forced against my will, this is something I really want to do! Now, will you help me or must I take the long way round and search out the facts for myself?’
Jennifer’s amazement was great; it was quite some time before she could voice her surprise, her unwilling admiration. ‘You dared to imply that I adopted a pose!’ she gasped. ‘What about yourself? Even I was not aware that your demure exterior was a cover for seething discontent. You actually have more spunk than I have!’ she laughed, then sobered. ‘However, I still think you’re being foolhardy. If it weren’t for the possibility that you might end up in the hands of some sleazy agency I wouldn’t consider advising you, as it is I will give you the address of one I know to be strictly above board. If you can satisfy their very stringent requirements and they agree to fix you up with a job then my conscience will be clear.’ She jumped to her feet, still agitated by her friend’s decision yet feeling compelled to help her. ‘I’ll nip into the house now, before I have time to weaken, and get you the address.’
CHAPTER TWO
The office of the Chatsworth Nannies Agency was situated in a tiny street in London’s West End. Dove halted when she recognised the name-plate and wavered at the foot of a flight of stairs, her eyes fixed upon a painted arrow pointing upwards towards her destination. She was fifteen minutes early for her appointment. Should she go up, or linger in the street for a further ten minutes? A gust of wind whipping around her ankles made the decision easier and she began the ascent with unhurried grace and a confidence born not of conceit but of a certain knowledge that she was good at her job, a fact easily established by the wad of reference tucked into her handbag. Nevertheless, her heart reacted with quick nervous bumps as she approached the agency’s glass-plated door which represented entry into a completely different world, a world of travel, of strange exciting places, unusual customs, alien tongues.
A young receptionist looked up from her typewriter and smiled enquiringly as Dove entered the office.
‘I’m Dove Grey,’ she forced an even tenor into a voice threatening to tremble with excitement. ‘My appointment isn’t for another fifteen minutes, but as it’s so cold outside I wondered if you would mind my waiting inside?’
‘Of course not, Miss Grey,’ the girl jumped to her feet, ‘please take a seat.’ She waved towards a plush-looking chair upholstered in bright red leather. ‘I’ll tell Mrs. Todd you’ve arrived, but I know she won’t be able to see you immediately as she is expecting another client.’ She glanced down at her watch and frowned. ‘He’s already five minutes late. But while you’re waiting can I get you something—a coffee, perhaps?’
‘A coffee would be lovely,’ Dove nodded gratefully, and relaxed into the proffered chair looking, in her neat grey coat and white knitted beret, completely unperturbed even though her pulse rate was averaging umpteen thumps a minute.
She was just about to swallow her first mouthful of coffee when the outer door was flung open and a man erupted into the room on a gust of chilling wind. As he strode past without sparing her a glance Dove shivered in his draught. He paused momentarily outside of the door of the inner office, sparing no words on the young receptionist but merely hooking a fierce eyebrow which startled from her the jerky response,
‘Please go straight in, Monsieur Blais, Mrs. Todd is expecting you.’
When the door closed behind his tall frame the young girl slumped back in her chair, then, with a candour born of inexperience, confided to the wide-eyed Dove, ‘Poor Mrs. Todd, she’s been keyed up for a fortnight worrying about this meeting, ever since she received his letter requesting—no, demanding—an appointment. He’s our most difficult client,’ she continued without encouragement from Dove. ‘Not one of the half dozen nannies we’ve sent him has lasted more than a month in his employment.’
‘Really?’ Dove’s response was cool and the girl sensing her disapproval, blushed and without further comment resumed her typing.
Dove suppressed a smile. The youngster was obviously huffed by the slight snub, yet if she were to make any progress in her chosen career the sooner she learnt about discretion and loyalty the better. And yet she could not help but feel a sneaking sympathy for the girl whose body had jerked with fright the moment that black-frowning tornado had gusted into the office. She had not had time to distinguish his features, but his movements as he had swept past had stamped indelibly upon her mind an impression of suppressed impatience, of an intolerant nature resentful of trivial demands upon its time. And there had been one other thing she could not quite pinpoint—an aura of fury, perhaps, such as might be projected by a bird of the wild trapped
momentarily inside a cage.
At the sound of raised voices Dove’s eyes lifted from the page of the magazine she had been scanning without interest and remained riveted upon the tall dark shadow outlined against the glass door of the inner office. She watched the outline of a black-clad arm reaching out for the door knob, then, when the door was a few inches ajar, saw the arm fall away as its owner resumed a scathing attack upon the unseen, unfortunate Mrs. Todd.
‘I came here, madame,’ his cold incisive tone cut through the silence of both rooms, ‘because I was assured you ran the most efficient agency in the country. Six times you have proved my informant wrong! Six times you have supplied me with inept, spineless, incompetent samples of womanhood. Not one of the six was capable of self-motivated thought, not one would I have trusted to take charge of a mongrel puppy, much less two high-spirited, intelligent children! And now, madame, you add insult to aggravation by suggesting that the fault lies not with your staff but within the household where they have been employed. I wonder,’ his voice slated with sarcasm, ‘where you find the temerity to make such remarks!’
‘The reason is simple, monsieur, it is that I have never found it difficult to speak the truth.’
Dove checked an impulse to applaud when the unseen woman proffered the unruffled, even-tempered reply. She obviously had no intention of crumbling under the pressure being applied with such arrogance. ‘Over a period of eighteen months,’ the woman continued, ‘you’ve reduced six of my best employees to tearful mental wrecks, and I have no intention of allowing you to do the same to a seventh. My girls,’ one could almost sense her swell of pride, ‘are the most sought-after on earth. The world’s wealthy are beating a path to my door in search of a new generation of highly-skilled, levelheaded young nannies to bring up tomorrow’s princes, statesmen and giants of industry. Only here in Britain do they find what they seek, girls of sterling character, of high principles, girls of such rare integrity they are almost unique. At random, without referring to my files, I can recall an employee who was given a gold watch worth two thousand pounds by a grateful employer. Another was flown to London first class when she became ill, was put up in a penthouse suite at the Dorchester and received treatment from a top specialist. My girls are so prized they are treated like princesses, they travel in private jets, stay at Claridges in London, the Crillon in Paris, and the Baur au Lac in Zurich. At this very moment I have clients of great wealth and esteem waiting patiently for the services of one of my nannies, an oil tycoon in Texas, a world motor racing champion in Switzerland, a European prince, even one of our own ambassadors here in London. I admit that you pay a generous salary, monsieur, probably the highest of any of my clients, but not for twice that amount would I permit another of my girls to enter your employment!’
Feeling a sense of partisanship with the courageous Mrs. Todd, Dove waited, expecting to see a vanquished male slinking out of the office. Then his hard reply fell upon her ears and it became obvious that the man was too insensitive to even recognise censure.
‘You have, unwittingly perhaps, put your finger right on. the canker eating away at the foundations of your organisation.
Your employees have become corrupted by greed. They come out East expecting to encounter sheikhs with the looks of a film star riding in from the desert on snow-white stallions. Once they discover that the majority of Arabs drive around in air-conditioned Cadillacs and are totally uninterested in Western women their enthusiasm wanes and petulance shows its sulky face. I say good riddance to your sex-starved, money-grabbing British nannies, Madame Todd; in future I shall be guided by my own judgement which tells me to employ a sensible, intelligent Frenchwoman.’ With lips clamped tight he spun on his heel and strode towards the exit, casting a look of distaste upon each of them as he passed, a look so contemptuous, so denigrating, it aroused within them a state of furious resentment, the furore of a dovecote whose inhabitants’ feathers have been ruffled by a savagely pecking hawk.
For a second after the door banged shut behind him they were speechless, their faces registering various degrees of anger, consternation and, in Dove’s case, downright shock. Then the young girl exploded.
‘Who does he think he is ...!’
The question jerked a response from the svelte, businesslike woman sagging in a seemingly uncharacteristic attitude on the threshold of her office. Making a visible effort to pull herself together, she straightened and rebuked briskly:
‘That’s enough of that, Sandra.’ Then with a look of apology she turned to Dove. ‘I’m sorry you had to witness such a scene, Miss Grey, it must have left you with a very bad impression. I assure you, however, that what you’ve just heard is not the usual reaction we receive from our clients. Please,’ she stepped to one side, still shaken, ‘come into my office and we’ll find out if we can be of help to one another.’
By the time she had ushered Dove into her office and taken her seat behind a desk littered with several piles of correspondence she seemed calmer; only her expertly-tinted hair, slightly disarranged by agitated fingers, gave a clue to the trauma so recently experienced.
Son of Adam Page 2