Italian Invader

by Jessica Steele

  'I'd hoped to find Brian here,' she defended herself, starting to feel sick inside at the way this was going. 'I wanted those figures,' she stated, starting to feel a little desperate. 'I thought he might have left them on his desk for me.'

  'You searched his desk?' he asked sharply.

  'I needed those figures,' she reiterated.

  'Was the design on the desk then?' he insisted, his tone sharp still, and Elyn started to feel even more desperate.

  'I don't know! I wasn't looking for designs. I'm not interested in designs!' she exclaimed, her voice rising, even though she knew she was doing herself no good by not staying calm. But then she had never ever been ac­cused of stealing anything in her life, or been so much as suspected of it, and she was not liking it very much, to say the least. 'Grief—why would I want any design— what would I do with it?' she asked—and suddenly went from agitated to staggered, when Hugh Burrell chose that moment to put the boot in.

  'You'd know better than anyone what to do with it!' he tossed in spitefully—and all eyes turned to him.

  Though it was the tall Italian who took him up on his comment. 'Would you care to explain that?' he sug­gested evenly—and it was clear to Elyn that Hugh Burrell could barely wait.

  'I thought everybody knew,' he almost fell over himself to explain. 'Elyn Talbot's stepfather is Mr Samuel Pillinger of the now dead Pillinger Ceramics firm.' Elyn saw the start of surprise on the faces of the other members of the design team. Clearly, anyone who had known her from Pillingers had had much more inter­esting things to gossip about when she'd joined Zappelli's. She transferred her look back to Maximilian Zappelli, but could read nothing from his stern, masked expression. 'Her stepfather might have owned Pillingers,' Hugh Burrell went on to inform his listeners with relish, 'but until it went bust, it was Elyn Talbot who ran it. She'd know better than anyone who'd be dead keen to get hold of a design like that one!'

  Well, that's it, Elyn thought. And, having just been neatly buried by Hugh Burrell, it was with a sinking heart that she realised how, from the evidence he had, and from what he had just heard, Maximilian Zappelli could only conclude that she was the one who had stolen the important design.

  But, even as she tilted her chin defiantly and prepared to protest to the bitter end that she was not the guilty party, she saw his glance go from her to Hugh Burrell. His cool steady stare was back on her again, though, but when she was fully expecting him to go straight for her jugular, to her absolute astonishment, Maximilian Zappelli commented quietly, 'Thank you, Miss Talbot. I've no need to detain you further.'

  Elyn stared back in disbelief. Though before she could utter a word, a strangled sort of cry caused her to switch her gaze from him to Hugh Burrell. He, she saw, was looking as totally amazed as she felt that it appeared their employer was saying—not that she was out, but that she was free to return to her office!

  Quickly she pulled herself together to realise that she had nothing to thank any of them for. She took her eyes from Hugh Burrell and, inclining her head slightly in the direction of Maximilian Zappelli, she walked stiff-backed from the room. Somehow, though, she knew that was not the end of the matter.

  Nor was it. She was not totally surprised, therefore, when at a few minutes before five that evening the internal phone rang.

  'Hello,' she answered.

  'Would you come to my office, please,' instructed a voice, then the phone went dead.

  Elyn replaced her receiver. He had not asked who she was, and she'd had no need to ask who he was. Her guess was that she was about to be dismissed, and as she put her work away, she started to get angry. He might have done it on his own time, not hers! she fumed. It was always a rush to catch her train on time, and now she would miss it.

  She was just debating whether, since she would be leaving soon—permanently—she'd catch her train anyway and leave Maximilian Zappelli waiting when, for some unknown reason, she suddenly felt compelled to go and see him.

  'Night, Elyn,' Diana and Neil chorused as they left the office.

  'Night,' she replied. 'See you tomorrow!' Fat chance, she knew, but somehow just that small act of friendly communication with the other two seemed to have cooled her anger.

  Not that she wouldn't stick up for herself, she deter­mined as she went in the general direction of Max Zappelli's office. Perhaps that was why she felt so com­pelled to go and see him—so he should know that she had not just guiltily slunk away. She promptly ceased all such musings when she came to what she was fairly certain was the door to his office.

  'Come in,' invited a very faintly accented voice in answer to her knock.

  Elyn defiantly squared her shoulders and entered a large room which had obviously been designed to create a relaxed atmosphere. A room perhaps where visiting business people were put at ease, she mused. For as well as a highly polished desk and a couple of upright chairs, there were also a couple of soothing-looking easy-chairs, and a matching soothing-looking settee.

  She went further into the room, not knowing what to expect—perhaps a couple of security guards to escort her off the premises, or maybe, since that design was so valuable, even the police. But her employer was the only occupant. He was standing away from the desk, and somehow, as she looked up into his good-looking face, her insides churned, and a good deal of her defi­ance evaporated.

  'You wanted to see me?' she enquired civilly, aware of his dark eyes assessing her, taking in her expensive suit.

  'Please be seated,' he suggested, indicating a nearby chair.

  By Elyn's reckoning, since she would soon be on her way out again, there seemed to be little point. But, since it seemed her dismissal was about to be served with some degree of politeness, she brought out her own good manners, and did as he suggested.

  He did not sit down, though, but took a few steps away from her before suddenly turning round abruptly and, with a hand on his firm chin, his other hand thrust into the trouser pocket of his immaculately cut suit, de­manded, 'Why did you hesitate when saying how you saw the two junior designers at the tea dispenser?' and Elyn blinked.

  She blinked on two counts. One, that, having already challenged her that she had seen Vivian and Ian at the tea dispenser and had thought the design office would be empty, he was still pursuing that line of ques­tioning,—the other that, by the look of it, her Italian employer was not going to dismiss her until he had everything he wanted to know.

  'Well, Miss Talbot?' he insisted when it appeared she was too slow in answering.

  His suddenly sharp tone annoyed her. 'Well,' she began, starting to actively dislike the man, 'I was on my way to the design section when I saw Vivian and Ian— which meant that Hugh Burrell might be in the outer office.'

  'You didn't want to be alone with him?' Maximilian Zappelli concluded straight away. 'This man—he frightens you?'

  'No!' she denied, wanting to leave it there—but soon realised that this issue was far too important, and that her employer was bent on extracting every bit of infor­mation in order to get at the truth—the truth, she saw, of her guilt.

  'Why, then?' he demanded, and persisted. 'You shied at the thought of being alone with him?'

  'Yes,' she had no alternative but to reply.

  'He makes you feel uncomfortable?'

  'I…' She broke off, but Max Zappelli had come that bit closer, and now, his hands at the sides of his desk as he leaned back and faced her and waited to be answered, she felt compelled to go on. 'I don't think it's so much that he makes me feel uncomfortable, but that I—well, that I just wanted to avoid any—unpleasantness.'

  'Why would he be unpleasant to you?' he asked sharply before she could draw another breath.

  'Because…' She broke off and threw him an exas­perated look. 'Does it matter?' she asked shortly, her exasperation evident in her voice.

  'You're suggesting that, because you find my ques­tioning embarrassing, I should forget that the most im­portant design ever produced at this factory has been stolen?' he d
emanded with arctic sarcasm. 'That be­cause my questions displease you, I should not make any further attempt to get to the root of who stole it?'

  'No, I'm n…' She broke off, her beautiful green eyes widening. 'Are you suggesting that you don't think I took it?' she dared to ask, realising from what he had just said that he could still be uncertain who had stolen the design, and might be prepared to consider that it hadn't been her.

  For ageless moments Max Zappelli stared down into her wide-eyed look, then said toughly, 'I'm stating that I'm not blind, and that it was obvious to me in Brian Cole's office that Hugh Burrell, for some reason which I wish to eliminate before I go further, harbours feelings of malice against you.'

  'Oh!' Elyn murmured, and was staggered at the sudden suspicion that the reason why he had aborted his ques­tioning of her in the design chief's office was that he had been perceptive enough to realise that Hugh Burrell had been inwardly gloating as he'd revealed what he had about her.

  'Now,' Max Zappelli stressed, 'tell me why.'

  'He—er—didn't take it very well when Pillingers had to close down,' she admitted.

  'I shouldn't think many of your employees were too ecstatic!' the Italian commented drily, but was not to be fobbed off. 'So, what else?'

  Elyn sighed, wondering briefly, since she was still likely to be dismissed anyway, if she needed this! Against that, though, she didn't want any suspicion clinging to her name. So, if this was what she had to do to attempt to clear herself, so be it.

  'So, he asked me out once, and I said no,' she told him.

  'You did not—um—fancy—him?'

  'To be honest, no. But…'

  'But?'

  'Well, it's hardly relevant now, but I once dated someone in the firm, and he seemed to think that to go out with me meant he could expect special privileges at work.' She shrugged. 'Come in late and leave early without anyone saying anything—that sort of thing. I made a rule after that not to date anyone from the studios.'

  For the first time Maximilian Zappelli nodded in agreement. 'I have the same rule,' he commented, and while Elyn, who had never lost sight of the 'philanderer' label she had pinned on him, was doubting that any of the elegant women she had seen him pictured squiring around had ever done a hard day's nine-to-five graft anyway, he was questioning, 'So you told him "no", and he didn't like it, and seems to have waited for an opportunity like today when, by revealing what you had conveniently forgotten to put on your application form, he could cause you maximum embarrassment.'

  'It—er—wasn't quite like that,' she mumbled, re­alising that her interrogator must have given Chris Nickson in Personnel a very thorough third degree about her before he'd sent for her.

  'No?' he questioned coolly.

  'No,' she replied stiffly. 'Apart from nobody asking me on the application if I was related to anyone who ran a ceramic works—' Oh, grief, she thought when she received a slight narrowing of his eyes for her trouble, that hadn't gone down very well. 'I'm sorry,' she apolo­gised, honestly accepting that she was in the wrong, 'I know this isn't the time to be—flippant, but I'm a bit on edge,' she understated. 'Anyhow,' she went on swiftly, part of her wondering just what she'd apologised for, 'I fully meant to tell Chris Nickson about my connection with Pillingers, but—well, the moment just sort of got away from me. I wanted the job, quite desperately needed it,' she admitted, and could promptly have bitten her tongue out as she realised that she had as good as told him about her unsound finances. Dimwit, she scolded herself. The last impression she wanted to give this astute man was that she was so hard up that she'd resort to dishonesty—to the extent of stealing a design—in order to rectify the problem. 'And yes,' she sped on, 'I was concerned that it might go against me if I said who I was. Against that, though,' she hurried on, 'it seemed to me that since there are a few ex-Pillinger people working here, it would soon be out that Samuel Pillinger's stepdaughter was working here.'

  Having come to a rather rushed end, Elyn watch as, without comment, Max Zappelli straightened away from the desk and walked round to the other side of it. He looked down at his desk, his face hidden, and she would dearly have liked to know what he was thinking.

  Then, with an abruptness she was learning to know, he suddenly raised his head, and, while still standing, looked straight at her with those soul-piercing dark eyes and fired, 'You didn't think you might be dismissed when you were found out?'

  She swallowed. Lord, he looked tough! 'Am I going to be?' she managed to enquire.

  'For "omitting" to disclose your connections with a rival firm?'

  She shook her head. 'That rival firm has ceased trading. I meant, am I going to be dismissed for that design of Brian Cole's that has gone missing.'

  For a second or two those assessing dark eyes held her unflinching, if slightly apprehensive, green eyes. 'I hope I'm fairer than that,' he stated bluntly. 'When I find out for certain who took it I'll then set about dis­missing the culprit.' Though before she could breathe a sigh of relief at that, he added, 'In the meantime, Miss Talbot, I want you where I can see you.'

  From that, she gathered, she was still number one suspect. But, by the sound of it, she'd still got her job. She needed that job, but more important, she needed the money it paid. She stood up, words burning on her tongue to tell him what he could do with his job. But as it dawned on her that if word got out that she'd left Zappelli's with the suspicion that she was a thief still hanging over her, she would find it hopeless to get a job that paid even half as much as this one, she had to gulp down on her pride. 'Thank you,' was what she did say, and, with as much dignity as she could find, she left his office without another glance at him.

  Elyn was still nursing bruised feelings the following Tuesday, a week later. So far as she knew—and she was going nowhere near the design section to find out—they hadn't discovered the person who'd stolen that design. Though so much for Max Zappelli's pronouncement of 'I want you where I can see you'—the latest word on the grapevine was that he'd returned to Italy the very next day!

  Not that she wanted to see him, for goodness' sake. She could think of a dozen or so better occupations. But she was feeling restless, she had to own, though that was fully understandable, because until that culprit was found she was still under threat of dismissal—and that didn't stop the bills coming in.

  The internal phone on her desk rang. Strangely, just lately, every time it rang, which luckily wasn't often, her heart would jump into her mouth. And you couldn't get stranger than that, she realised, as she said, 'Hello,' down the phone, because he was still in Italy and, so the grapevine had it, was not due to make another visit for a month at least.

  'Hello Elyn, it's Chris,' the pleasant voice at the other end informed her, and instantly she was swamped by guilt. She had thought about contacting him to apologise because he might have heard a few short sharp com­ments from their employer to the effect that he should have found out about the Talbot-Pillinger connection before recommending her for employment. But she had delayed getting in touch with him, and when several days had elapsed without him contacting her either, she had assumed that perhaps he preferred not to have anything more to do with her.

  But she answered warmly, 'Hello, Chris.' She liked him, and didn't want to be bad friends—then she realised he'd found her warm tone encouraging.

  'I was wondering how you felt about going out with me tonight,' he told her without preliminaries.

  'I…I think I should like to,' she smiled down the phone. She didn't want to go into details while they were both at work—and since he now knew of her family background, perhaps she could explain away any hos­tility they might show towards Zappelli's when he called for her, and also explain how nervous she had been that she might not get the job.

  'Good,' he said, a sunny smile in his voice. 'I'll book a table somewhere—shall I call for you about seven?'

  'That'll be fine,' she smiled, and realising he'd get her address from her application form, she added, 'Till then,' and p
ut down the phone.

  The internal phone did not ring again until ten past three that afternoon. This time, though, Elyn didn't get the chance to say 'Hello,' for, clearly impatient to be getting on, a very faintly accented voice demanded in a hurry, 'Miss Talbot?'

  'Sp-speaking,' she answered, her heart racing—it was him! Was this it—her dismissal?

  'Please to come and see me, now!' he ordered, and his line went dead.

  Elyn put the phone down, stared at it, then spent the next two minutes in trying to calm herself. But three minutes later she was on her way to see Maximilian Zappelli, totally unaware that for the first time ever, she had not told Diana and Neil where she could be found.

  By the time she had reached his office door, however, her brain patterns had sufficiently sorted themselves out for her to realise that if Max Zappelli was going to be true to his word, then it couldn't be that he had sent for her purely to dismiss her. She had not stolen that missing design, and he had most definitely said, 'I'll find out who took it—then set about dismissing the culprit'.

  Even though she knew for certain that she was not the culprit, it was with a feeling of quite some trepi­dation, nevertheless, that Elyn knocked on his door. A moment later she was answering his 'Come in', and a moment after that she was once more in the company of the tall, sophisticated business-suited Italian.

  'Good afternoon,' she greeted him formally—and found her greeting ignored as his glance flicked over her and another of her good quality suits.

  'Take a seat, Miss Talbot,' he invited, much as he had before. This time, though, he waited no longer than to observe that she had taken a chair near his desk, before going round to the other side and taking a seat facing her.

  His expression was bland, and she could tell little of what might be going on behind that clever forehead. But suddenly, since he was not being short and sharp with her, she began to wonder—had he sent for her in order to apologise? A flurry of excitement surged through her veins, and she guessed then that apologies didn't come easily to him.