by Liz Fielding
‘Mike, there’s a slight change in plans. Caro won’t be coming with me tomorrow. I’m taking Melanie Devlin.’
‘Jack!’
‘Yes?’
The word was the gentlest of queries. The most dangerous kind, as Mike knew well enough. ‘Nothing. But the Courier is running with the story tomorrow morning.’
‘Well this will cause an extra frisson of excitement in their gossipy little hearts. Ensure their attention.’
‘All right, I’ll get on to them. Who is Melanie Devlin?’
‘My cleaner.’ And Jack held the receiver away from his ear as Mike proceeded to issue a string of warnings. ‘Have you quite finished?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Now this is what I want you to do.’
‘She’ll kill you,’ Mike said, when Jack had finished.
‘Caroline or Melanie?’
‘Both in all probability.’
Jack laughed and hung up. Mike shook his head, scarcely able to credit that a few days ago he’d been concerned that Jack was losing his ruthless streak.
*****
When Melanie finally staggered into the office just before seven, Mrs Graham, looking horribly pleased with herself, called her straight into her office.
‘Melanie, you’re late. You should have been here an hour ago.’
‘I was delayed up on the underground. I’ve been late all day.’ But she wouldn’t be bothering to put in for overtime. She’d learned a lot in a few short weeks.
‘It’s been most inconvenient. I’ve had to wait for you.’ Melanie stared at her. Did she expect an apology? ‘Mr Wolfe telephoned.’
‘Oh?’ Mel, who had had quite long enough to dwell on her idiotic behaviour, thought she knew what was coming. Well, she’d asked for it. Begged for it.
‘Apparently he needs you all next week to help his mother packing and cleaning before she moves house.’ She bestowed a somewhat grudging smile. ‘I have to admit that you’ve turned out rather better than I had expected, Melanie. This will be a nice little job for you.’
Mother? Moving house? What was the woman talking about? What had happened to being dismissed at a moment’s notice? Mrs Graham looked up from her schedule of work.
‘I’ve already rearranged your other jobs.’
‘Have you?’ Mel enquired, faintly. Well, that was all right then, wasn’t it?
‘Mr Wolfe sent this over by courier for you. It has all the details you’ll need.’ She handed over an envelope. ‘He wants you to telephone him after nine to arrange about transport. He’s going to send a car for you.’
She sounded impressed. She had a right to be. Mr Wolfe was an impressive man.
He was also arrogant, dictatorial and cavalier. And like the rest of his kind he couldn’t bear not to get his own way.
‘Actually, Mrs Graham, I’m not in a position to leave London right now. Perhaps Paddy could do it, I’m sure she’d welcome the extra work.’ And let Mr Wolfe talk his way out of that one.
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I’m going to have to let Paddy go. She’s been causing trouble.’
‘Trouble?’ Mel had a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘What kind of trouble?’
‘Oh, demanding crèche facilities, that sort of thing.’
Janet Graham didn’t even look uncomfortable as she lied with sickening unctuousness. Paddy had demanded nothing. Janet Graham had obviously found out about the co-operative somehow and this was her way of keeping the rest of her staff in line. Better the job you have than some airy fairy nonsense. Well Fizz had warned her. Richard had warned her.
‘You’re not going to let me down, are you, Melanie? Mr Wolfe is an important client. A lot of jobs around here depend on being able to keep him happy.’
Lies and moral blackmail. She had to hand it to the woman, she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty in the cause of profit. And as always, she held all the cards.
Melanie wanted to tell Mrs Janet Graham exactly what to do with Jack Wolfe, her job and Busy Bees. But she couldn’t. She’d lost Paddy her job and as yet had nothing better to put in its place. She would have to do something about that. Or rather Jack Wolfe would.
If he’d gone to such lengths he must be really desperate. She’d just have to take a leaf out of her employer’s book and try her hand at a little blackmail.
‘I’ll have to make a phone call.’
‘If you must. Use the one in the main office.’
Jack Wolfe answered the telephone at the second ring. She didn’t waste time on preambles. ‘This is Cinderella. If you want me to come to the ball you’re going to have to grant me the statutory three wishes.’
‘Can I be Prince Charming and the Fairy Godmother?’ She heard the laughter in his voice. He thought he’d won. Well maybe he had, but he would pay for his victory.
‘You’ll never be Prince Charming, Jack Wolfe, but this is your opportunity to wave your magic wand. Unless a lifetime of bliss with Miss Hickey suddenly seems desirable?’
‘Are you blackmailing me, Melanie?’ He sounded amused.
‘Is the pot calling the kettle black?’
He laughed out loud. ‘What do you want? Money, fame, a new wardrobe?’
‘Those things I can manage by myself. Right now Mrs Graham is just about to sack an employee named Paddy Rorison. I want you to stop her.’
Well, that wiped the smile of his face, she thought as the sudden silence came in shock waves down the phone.
‘And how do you propose that I do that?’
‘It shouldn’t be difficult for a man with your track record of getting his own way. You must know that she’d do anything to keep you happy. Even employ me.’
‘Who is Paddy Rorison? Your boyfriend?’
Melanie gritted her teeth. ‘Paddy is a charming lady with a husband who has just been made redundant and four children who right now are relying on her to keep a roof over their heads. She works like a demon, but Mrs Graham has decided she’s a trouble-maker.’ She was, she discovered, practically incoherent with rage.
‘Is she?’
‘A trouble-maker? No. She’s just the scapegoat.’
‘I sense a guilty conscience at work here. Correct me if I’m wrong?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘You’re not wrong. At least, not entirely.’
‘Mmmm. I think you’d better let me have her address, just in case Mrs Graham isn’t quite as smitten with me as you seem to think.’
Melanie told him. ‘But it would give me enormous pleasure to think that Mrs Graham was having her arm twisted.’
‘Is that right? Well, I’ll do my best to appease your conscience, Miss Devlin. Second wish.’
‘I’ve persuaded some of the women who work at Busy Bees that they should form a co-operative and work for themselves.’
‘That’s the trouble making, I take it?’ The laughter was back in his voice.
‘Personally, I’d call it initiative, but I have to confess Mrs Graham warned me on my first day that she wouldn’t stand for that either. The thing is, there’s a property that’s absolutely perfect for them but the local authority are not at all keen to let them have it.’
‘Maybe they’ve got it earmarked for something else. Or maybe they just think you’re off your head.’
‘Maybe you’re right. Or maybe I simply need someone to inspire a little confidence.’
‘You mean you want someone to apply a bit of pressure.’
‘Is that how it’s done?’ she breathed, with apparent admiration.
‘It won’t be easy.’
‘If it was easy, I wouldn’t be asking but Paddy’s plight has lent a certain urgency to the situation.’
‘I’ll need to see some kind of business plan, Mel.’
‘That’s no problem. Our business plan is a work of art.’
‘So long as it’s not a work of fiction.’
‘Give me your number and I’ll fax it to you this evening. You’ll be astounded by its clarity of vision, its determi
nation of purpose, its sheer brilliance.’ Fizz had helped her and her accountant had gone through it with her, line by line. ‘I wrote it myself,’ she said, crossing her fingers.
‘Then how can it possibly fail?’
‘You’ll help?’
‘If it lives up to its sales pitch I’ll be delighted to. Third wish.’
That was just a little bit more difficult. A little bit more personal. It might not even be necessary. ‘I think I’d like to keep that in reserve.’
‘If I’m being blackmailed I think I have a right to know the full extent of my commitment.’
‘Surely that’s the whole point of blackmail. It’s open-ended.’
‘Not in this case.’
‘I’m not blackmailing you, Mr Wolfe. Nothing awful will happen to you if you say no. But you played dirty, so if you want my help you’re going to have to pay for it.’
‘How much?’ he insisted.
‘I just want to be sure you’ll remember that I’m your cleaner. Nothing else.’
His soft laughter was unexpected. And under the circumstances not very flattering. ‘Save your wish for a rainy day, Miss Devlin. I make it a point of principle never to play house with people who work for me. Now, have we got a deal?’
‘Yes.’ She hadn’t hesitated. There had been no need to hesitate. After all, she had his word, didn’t she?
Disappointment that it had been given without a second thought seemed ridiculous under the circumstances. Foolish, almost. Even just plain idiotic. Yet it was the second time she had backed away from danger and she was perhaps more disappointed with herself than with him.
What was it Claudia was fond of quoting?
Three’s a charm. Like all smart sayings it was double-edged, but suddenly she had an inkling of what her sister meant.
‘Yes, Mr Wolfe,’ she repeated, more firmly. ‘We have a deal.’
‘Then you’d better let me have your address. I’ll send a car for you first thing -’
‘It’s absolutely forbidden for staff to give their addresses to Busy Bee clients, Mr Wolfe. They might get ideas about employing them first hand and saving the agency fee.’
‘You gave me Paddy’s.’
‘That was different. And I really don’t need someone to hold my hand when I visit the hairdresser. Just give me the flight number and time and I’ll meet you at the airport.’
For a moment there was silence. ‘It’s all in the envelope I sent to the office. Don’t let me down, Melanie. I’m sure Mrs Graham would be quite happy to break her rules if I were to explain what you’ve just asked me to do.’
He didn’t hear the word she called him, because he had already hung up.
‘Is everything settled?’ Mrs Graham asked her when she returned to the office.
‘Yes.’
‘Excellent. I’ll see you when you get back and you can tell me all about it.’ Then as if regretting this unaccustomed warmth, ‘Just make sure that neither Mr Wolfe, nor his mother, have reason to complain about your work.’
His mother! She seriously doubted whether the man had ever had a mother. No, that wasn’t kind. Even rats had mothers.
‘No, Mrs Graham,’ she said, as she shut the door behind her. ‘Thank you, Mrs Graham.’
Then she said something else, but under her breath.
*****
Richard Latham picked up an early edition of the Courier on his way home from a late night shift and he turned automatically to the gossip page as he waited in an all-night cafe for a bacon roll.
A photograph of Jack Wolfe and Caroline Hickey immediately caught his eye. The caption riveted him to his seat.
“Jack Wolfe, financial wizard and eminently eligible man about town, has apparently swapped partners for his trip to the Caribbean. Until as late as yesterday he was planning to take the lovely Caro Hickey to The Ark, a romantic paradise island in the British Virgin Islands. But last night Caro jetted off to New York for a photo-shoot and Jack’s surprise choice of holiday companion is a young actress by the name of Melanie Devlin. No, folks, I haven’t heard of her either. But watch this space.”
His tea grew cold beside him. Jack Wolfe might have an ice-chip where his heart should be, but it seemed that under the right kind of heat even permafrost would melt.
He’d always recognised Melanie was a blow-torch just waiting to be lit, but there was a quick-silver quality about her. He’d put down lures in the past, but she had always eluded him, always kept him just at finger-tip length.
He laughed out loud.
‘What’s so funny?’
Richard turned to the man behind the counter. ‘Life.’ It all had such a wonderful symmetry about it. Everything was just falling into his lap.
First that idiot Tamblin had fallen for his plan. Well, he was greedy and greedy men were easy to fool. When he sold his Carstairs shares at a big fat profit after the takeover went ahead he was going to find out just how big a fool he had been.
Richard knew that Trust and Securities Commission would fall over themselves to offer him immunity from prosecution when he went to them with a well-rehearsed attack of conscience and told them how Wolfe and Tamblin had been insider trading. That Tamblin had recruited him as a go-between to carry information from Wolfe. It all sounded so believable. And it would be so hard to disprove.
And Melanie, working in his flat, would be involved. He’d already taken steps to see that she would.
Sooner or later Wolfe might be able to convince the TSC that the evidence was false, but he’d be long gone by then and Jack Wolfe’s business would be in ruins. He smiled at the thought and then looked down at the paper and the smile faded. This was not just the icing on the cake, but an entire tub of cherries.
Wolfe couldn’t possible know who Melanie really was, or that piece in the paper, so obviously planted to boost the illusion of a man with his mind on anything but business, would have been a whole lot bigger. And there would have been pictures, not just of Melanie, but the whole Beaumont clan. Well, it would be a pity to keep the man in the dark about who he was bedding.
He used the payphone on the countertop to call directory enquiries.
‘Broomhill, Sussex,’ he said, when the girl answered. ‘I need the telephone number of Devlin Enterprises.’
If you wanted to hurt someone really badly, he reasoned, you wouldn’t use a peashooter like Greg Tamblin. Not when someone kindly handed you a cannon.
*****
Janet Graham discovered her secretary giggling over the piece when she arrived for work. Telling the girl to get on with her work and not waste time on such trash, she bore away the post, relishing the thought of sacking the Devlin girl the moment she returned. And let Jack Wolfe complain after the lies he’d told her.
Helping his mother, indeed!
And then she realized that the letter she was holding was Melanie’s resignation.
*****
In New York, Caroline Hickey received a fax marked urgent from her publicist and held up the cover shoot long enough to dash off a furious reply.
*****
Trudy Morgan didn’t see the paper until she arrived at her office, but when she did her first thought was to call Claudia and warn her just what kind of Grade A heartbreaker her baby sister was involved with.
Her second thought was that it might be better to do nothing.
Getting involved in her client’s love life was not her idea of a good time. And Jack Wolfe was her landlord.
*****
Luke Devlin didn’t read gossip columns. Fizz did when she had time, but she was busy and Claudia never read the papers until lunchtime. She called her sister as soon as she saw the piece in the Courier, but when Fizz tried to get through to Luke his line was engaged.
*****
‘Mr Devlin? Richard Latham. You won’t remember me although we did meet at Melanie’s eighteenth birthday party.’
Luke’s recollection was that there had been several hundred young men at Mel’s eighteenth. ‘I’
m sorry, Richard, if you’re looking for Melanie-’
‘No, Mr Devlin. That’s the whole point of my call. I know where Melanie is.’ He paused. ‘Or maybe I should have said I know where she’ll be in a few hours from now.’ He hadn’t called too early. The last thing he wanted was to have the love-birds stopped at the airport, the affair hushed up. ‘I just wondered if you do? Or the kind of man she’s going with?’
*****
Luke tried to get hold of Melanie. All he got was her answering machine but the hall-porter was happy to tell him that his niece had just left for a short holiday and that she expected to be away for a week. He had a contact address…
Five minutes later Luke was calling his father-in-law on the other side of the Atlantic. ‘Edward, have you heard of a place called The Ark?’
*****
Heathrow was heaving with travellers but Melanie saw Jack Wolfe at once. Hard to miss, standing a head and shoulders above the crowd, he was looking about him, impatiently seeking her out amongst the milling mass of people eager to be away on holiday. Casually dressed in a light weight jacket, he was attracting more than his fair share of attention.
Once his eyes swept over her but although they paused momentarily on the girl crossing the concourse as if she owned it, they did not linger. Instead he glanced at his watch with growing irritation, evidently a man not used to being kept waiting and she paused, wickedly, to keep him on tenterhooks just a little longer.
This was why she hadn’t given him her Chelsea address. Or one of the reasons.
Overlooking Chelsea Harbour, her apartment was way out of the reach of a struggling actress, let alone one reduced to cleaning to make ends meet. Besides, having decided to dispense with her disguise and make a grand entrance, she didn’t want to give him any clues to her true status before she hand-bagged him with her appearance.
He’d played a low-down trick on her. It wouldn’t do him any harm to let him sweat a little on whether she was going to turn up.
She had spent a long time considering the impression she wanted to make. She could have gone for old-fashioned heading-turning film star glamour, rented some furs, borrowed a Peke to tuck under her arm, and with a chauffeur in tow with her luggage she could have made an entrance that would have stopped the traffic.