"Philippa!" His voice jerked her back into the main room. "I'd like you to type out some figures for me."
Hardly had she sat down before he started to dictate. Her fingers flashed over the keys and once more she was part of the machinery of business. If ever she failed to measure up to his standard, she would be scrapped without any sentiment, like any other piece of unserviceable office equipment.
CHAPTER FOUR
For the rest of the afternoon they worked non-stop; Making more calls to England, each one of which resulted in a further spate of dictation.
She was still typing when darkness fell with its usual abruptness. Lucas switched on the lights and the warm glow made him seem younger and more eager. Or was the eagerness caused by the knowledge that he had managed to lower his prices? His answer told her she was right.
"Callisto's will never beat us now," he said triumphantly.
"I never thought you'd get your bid down as low as this. You've worked a miracle."
"I've just worked."
"And bullied and bludgeoned." She recollected his earlier conversation with Ransoms, one of their biggest suppliers. "They were so scared you'd take your business elsewhere, they would have sold you what you wanted at a loss."
"I never threatened them," he protested.
"Not in words. But it was implicit in what you said."
"You're learning quickly, Philippa. I'll make a business woman of you yet."
"Never. I couldn't ruin another man in order to make a profit for myself."
"Now you're being melodramatic." He rubbed the side of his cheek reflectively. "Profit for one man needn't spell ruin for another. If people co-operate they can all make a profit."
"And if they won't co-operate?"
"Then they're fools. And fools don't deserve success."
Reluctant to continue the argument - she knew when she was on a losing wicket - she stood up. "If you've finished work for today, I'd like to go and change."
His eyes moved over her. "What time are you meeting Masterson?"
"At eight-thirty - downstairs."
"I hope you know how to take care of yourself?"
She flushed. "What are you implying?"
"I'm not implying anything. I'm asking a question because I've a damn good idea what he has in mind for you!"
"Stop it!" she said angrily. "I told you before that you've no right to interfere in my private life."
"While we're here, you're my responsibility."
"Nonsense! I'm not a child."
His eyes moved over her again. "You're certainly not." he murmured, "and that makes it even more of a worry!"
"Forget it," she said briefly. "I can take care of myself."
He turned away and she saw he was still frowning. Lucas's dislike of Roland did not only stem from jealousy. Intuitively he had no trust in Roily Masterson. And Roily, in a not so distant past, had been Roland… a man who had cheated and lied. Fear snaked through her. What if Lucas was right, and Roland had not learned his lesson ?
"Lucas, I -" A sharp knock on the sitting-room door cut her short, and, efficient secretary to the fore, she ran across and opened it.
Maya stood there, shimmering in a crystal-beaded chiffon dress that gave seductive hint of the body below. Philippa stepped back, intensely conscious of her shining face and creased cotton dress.
"Still working?" the woman drawled, and smiled at Lucas. "I knew I should have rung to warn you about the time."
Lucas ran his hand through his hair. "I never realised it was so late. I've been working out a new price for Rodriguez."
"Any success ?"
"What do you think?"
Maya leaned towards him, and though she did not touch him, there was implied intimacy in the movement. "You're always successful, darling. That's part of your charm."
"Well, it's your turn to be charming while I go and change."
He looked at Philippa and, interpreting his command, she moved to the cabinet to offer the Portuguese woman a drink.
The moment the door closed behind him, Maya sat down and took a cigarette from her handbag. "I'll have a vodka," she said, and in silence accepted the drink when it came.
"She's not bothering to be charming now," Philippa thought, and was glad to be given a logical reason for her dislike. "Is there anything else I can get you ?" she asked aloud.
"No, thanks. I've always been able to get what I want for myself." Philippa coloured and Maya laughed softly. "You English women always seem so innocent - like young horses!"
"English men are devoted to fillies," Philippa said evenly.
Maya nodded, graciously accepting that though the point had been taken, it had also been won. "Don't you mind working so late?" she asked.
"It's part of my job."
"It doesn't leave you much time for a private life." There was a pause. "What do you think of Roily Masterson?"
"I hardly know him."
"But you're seeing him again, aren't you?"
"How do you know ?"
"Roily has a roving eye." Maya leaned forward to flick some ash from her cigarette, and, as she did so, drew back with an exclamation. "I've laddered my tights. It must have been a spark from the cigarette." She dabbed at her leg. "Do you have any colourless nail varnish? It'll stop it running farther."
"I've some pale pink that might do. If you'd like to come into my room -"
"No, it's better for me to stay still; could you bring it here for me?"
Philippa was in her bedroom when Maya called again. "Colourless polish would be much better, Miss Smith. Could you fetch some from the beauty salon on the first floor? It won't take you a moment."
Despite the gentleness of the request, Philippa felt she was being placed in the category of a maid. But deciding it was childish to show any resentment, she did as she had been asked, and returned to the suite some ten minutes later.
Maya was still on the chair, her leg held aloft, and with a condescending nod she took the bottle and dabbed a blob of varnish on the end of the ladder. Even sitting awkwardly she still managed to look beautiful, and she was obviously well aware of it, for as Lucas came in she made no move to lower her skirt or change her position.
"Your clever secretary has just been helping me stop a ladder in my tights."
"I wondered what you were doing." He eyed the expanse of shapely leg and thigh." On you a ladder looks good."
"Thank you, darling. Your compliments have improved with the years."
"Like good wine," Lucas said, "a clever man improves with years."
"But how can a perfect man improve?"
He chuckled. "I'll work on the answer and let you know."
Philippa knew an irresistible urge to kick him and, as if her thoughts had reached out and touched him, he gave her a sardonic smile.
"You must forgive the Senhora, Philippa. She doesn't have our British reticence."
Philippa let her gaze rest on Lucas's hand which had strayed to Maya's shoulder. "Our?" she said sweetly.
His hand dropped to his side. "I hope you enjoy your dinner, Philippa."
"I'm sure I shall," she answered, but as she watched him and Maya leave, her heart did not echo the certainty of her voice.
It was strange that one could work in close proximity with a man for six months and not realise how one felt about him until you were alone with him in a foreign country, thousands of miles from home. Or was it the sight of Maya, so determined to become his wife, that had made her realise that to be married to him was the only true fulfilment she required ?
Dismayed by her thoughts, she pushed past the desk to her room. The abruptness of her movement sent a folder flying to the floor. It was the one they had been working with all afternoon, and she hurriedly stacked all the papers together. It was madness to fall in love with Lucas. She meant nothing to him, and if he suspected how she felt, he'd fire her.
In an effort to push him from her mind, she concentrated on getting ready for Roland, and was dressed lon
g before she was due to meet him. With time to spare she returned to the sitting-room. The folder was on the desk, where she had placed it, and reluctant to leave it where it was, she took it into Lucas's room.
The curtains had already been drawn and the bed turned down, but none of his things had been put away - on his own instructions given the day he had checked in. His briefcase was on the chair where he had thrown it, and she opened it, put the folder inside and locked the case in his bureau drawer.
Even when this was done she remained where she was, staring at his hair-brush and comb which had been carelessly flung down. The air was redolent of his after-shave lotion, making his presence so real that he seemed to be there with her. Momentarily she closed her eyes, but when she opened them again the room was still empty, the bed waiting for him as she would have been waiting if he had wanted her.
Cheeks burning, she ran into the sitting-room. She would have to leave him when they returned to England. To see him every day would be intolerable. If he did not marry Maya he would marry someone else sooner or later-no matter what he said now-and that was something she could not bear. Ironically she remembered how scathingly she had thought about the woman who would become his wife, knowing she would always take second place in his life. Now the derision was aimed at herself, for she would gladly have taken any place in his emotions if only she knew that for some short time each night she could be in his arms.
The ringing telephone was a welcome interruption, and knowing Roland was waiting downstairs, she picked up her bag and went down to meet him.
Long afterwards, when she looked back on her first dinner with Roland in Rio, she could never remember where they went or what they talked about. All she knew was that when he held her in his arms on the dance floor it was Lucas's arms close around her; that when he whispered in her ear how beautiful she looked it was Lucas's voice she heard. Only when he tried to kiss her good night in the car did she awaken from her imaginings and push him away, for the passion of one man could never be confused with the passion of another.
"No, Roland, I don't want you to kiss me."
"If I hadn't been a fool, I'd be able to do much more than kiss you!"
She shivered, for the thought was close to the ones she had been thinking about Lucas. However Roland misread the movement, seeing it as an emotional response to what he had said, and he pulled her firmly into his arms and pressed his mouth on hers.
Philippa remained perfectly still beneath his touch, forcing herself not to recoil from it and hoping against hope that it might evoke some response. But though his lips were warm, her own remained cold, and she realised there was nothing more dead than a dead love.
"You see, I do mean something to you after all." Roland drew back and looked at her tenderly.
Philippa marvelled at his blindness. If ever she had needed proof of his egotism, she had it now. But it did not seem important to deny what he had said. If it gave him satisfaction to believe she still cared for him, then he could have it, for what it was worth.
"It's late, Roland. I must go."
"May I see you tomorrow ?"
"The thought of Maya prevented her from saying no, and with a nod she whispered good night and slipped out of the car.
The sitting-room was exactly as she had left it and she glanced at her watch. Two-thirty. Were Lucas and Maya in a night club or at Maya's home? Were they talking of the past, discussing the future, or perhaps content to live only in the present?
As though her eyes were a television screen, a picture of Maya and Lucas grew sharp in front of her, and with a cry of pain she ran into her room and slammed the door. The gesture, childish and defiant, broke the spell and she flung herself on the bed in a storm of weeping. The future she might have had with Roland, the future she would never have with Lucas, and the bleak reality of what lay ahead of her merged into a black despair that made life unbearable.
It was a long time later before she undressed and slipped into bed. But though she was exhausted, sleep would not come, and she watched the moonlight ride across the sky until its silvery departure heralded the pink dawn. Only then did she fall asleep, not waking again until the glare of sun in her eyes forced the lids apart. With a start she sat up, head throbbing and body aching. Ten o'clock! Lucas would be furious with her for oversleeping.
Not waiting to have breakfast, she showered and dressed and, face still shining and hair still damp, entered the sitting-room. Lucas was not there, and she walked over to his door. There was no sound to be heard, and she tapped on it lightly. Then, as there was still silence, she gently turned the handle.
The disarray of quick dressing greeted her, easing her conscience with the knowledge that she had not been the only one to oversleep. With a sigh of relief she returned to her desk. There was no note of an early appointment in the diary, but as she closed it she saw a folded sheet of paper stuck in the roller of her typewriter. She pulled it out and saw it was from Lucas.
He began without preamble. "I've taken the new costings down to Rodriguez. Wait for my return."
For a long while after she had finished reading the message she held the paper in her hands. Then forcing herself not to be childish, she dropped it into the wastepaper basket. Hardly had it settled before the sitting-room door opened and Lucas came in. He was so pale she knew it had nothing to do with the lateness of his return last night. Something had gone wrong and it could only be the bid.
"I didn't expect you back so soon," she murmured.
"I could have saved myself the journey." His voice was harsh. "And even more important, I could have saved myself the trouble of re-doing our costs."
"What do you mean?"
He sank on to the settee and rested his head in his hands. It was the first time she had seen him so dejected and she was shocked by it,
"What's wrong?" she asked again.
For answer he opened his briefcase, took out the folder and tossed it on to the seat beside him. "Callisto's put in another bid this morning," he said. "It was two per cent lower than our new one."
She frowned. "Why would they put in a new bid ?"
"That's the question I've been asking myself since Rodriguez told me." He raised his head and looked at her. "And I'd give everything I possess to know the answer."
There was an implication in his words that left her in no doubt as to their meaning. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so a sharp knock at the door stopped her. Aware of him watching her, she opened it. A hotel messenger stood outside, almost hidden by an enormous box of flowers.
"Mees Smeeth ? These are for you."
Kicking the door shut with her heel, she walked past Lucas and set the box on the desk. She lifted the lid and stared at the roses that trembled together in scented confusion.
"Aren't you going to see who they're from?" a sardonic voice said behind her.
She picked up the small card that nestled between some flowers, she had no need to read the message, for every shrieking instinct told her the bouquet was from Roland.
"Such modesty!" The mocking voice was loud in her ears and the card was taken from her nerveless hand and held aloft. "Thank you for a wonderful evening," Lucas read. "Until tonight. Roily."
The card was flicked on to the flowers and Lucas caught her by the shoulders and twisted her round to face him. His face was distorted by rage, his mouth set in a line that robbed it of any tenderness.
"Why the flowers?" he grated. "For services rendered?"
For answer her hand came up and caught him a stinging slap across his cheek. The sound echoed long after his words had died away and she was horrified to see the marks of her fingers on his skin "I'm sorry," she gasped, "I shouldn't have done that."
"I asked for it." The harshness had gone from his voice and his eyes rested on the flowers as he spoke. "It was unfortunate these came from Masterson. As you can appreciate, he's not the most popular man in my life right now."
"I know. If I'd guessed they were coming I -
"
"Don't apologise! You're a beautiful young woman and it's not surprising he's fallen for you."
Philippa absorbed the compliment slowly, savouring every word. If only it had not been precipitated by a bouquet which Roland had sent. Roland… He was an insidious threat that could not be denied… a part of her life that must eventually be told to the man now speaking so apologetically to her. But she dared not tell him the truth yet. Once he knew of Roland's past he might be tempted to tell Rodriguez; and if the story came out, it would be impossible to keep it from the newspapers.
"Are we friends again ?"
With a start she realised Lucas was looking at her. "We've always been friends." Her voice was brisk; the voice of a good secretary pandering to the ill- humour of her employer.
Recognising the tone, he picked up his briefcase. "Order coffee for us, will you? Then let's look over the prices again."
"We can't lower them any more," she protested.
There was no need for him to answer. The determined lines either side of his mouth was all the reply necessary, and Philippa knew that for him the battle was only just beginning.
But where would it end and who would be the victor?
CHAPTER FIVE
As the day passed, Philippa understood more clearly than ever the reason for Lucas's success. Without cessation he concentrated on the costings in front of him: adding; subtracting; reaching a conclusion only to throw it aside and begin all over again. The lunch she ordered grew cold and half empty coffee cups stood mute witness to the passing hours as he still continued to work. Success, like genius, must be an infinite capacity for taking pains, she decided wryly, and wondered how much longer she herself could stand the pace.
She was light-headed with exhaustion when at length he threw aside a file in disgust. "It's useless. A whole day's work and nothing to show for it."
"You've managed to cut the transport costs - that's better than nothing."
Rachel Lindsay - Brazillian Affair Page 6