At the Boss's Command

by Darcy Maguire

  ‘Roast is right. That’s the hottest I’ve ever been on a horse. How’s your day been?’

  ‘Fascinating. I’ve spent most of it watching Gerda be sick into a Sèvres bowl.’

  ‘That sounds very colourful.’

  ‘You have no idea.’

  ‘You can hardly complain. The poor lady is obviously turning herself inside-out in order to amuse you.’

  ‘Eeww.’

  He kissed her cheek tenderly. ‘You are a very brave girl. Your gallantry will not be forgotten.’

  ‘There was a young mogul called Zell,’ she intoned, ‘who smiled as he rode with a belle; they returned from the ride with the mogul inside and the smile on the face of the belle.’

  Anton grinned. ‘Oh ye of little faith. Wait and see who eats whom.’

  But she didn’t want either of them to eat the other, she thought with anguish. She wanted everything to be the way it had been before they came here.

  But there was no way in the world she could articulate either of those paradoxical thoughts to him. She just had to smile. ‘Go get ’em, tiger.’

  He hugged her quickly. ‘I know this is boring for you. We’ll be out of here in a few days. Be patient. You promised!’

  Amy pressed her face to his chest, inhaling the delicious smell of his hot skin for a moment, then pushed him away. ‘Go and wash. And be sure to pick all the leaves out of your hair, dahling boy.’ At dinner that night, Amy found herself relegated to an even more remote corner of the table. There were extra guests for dinner, mostly quite elderly people, and she was seated on the far side of them. That effectively stopped her from contributing any more unwelcome interpolations into the general conversation—and also prevented her from hearing much of what was said by Anton, Lavinia and the inner circle.

  It was a special torture to watch him, from what felt like miles away, apparently having a wonderful time; so handsome when he laughed at Lavinia’s sly jokes, so urbane when he spoke. Amy felt more and more like the invisible woman. She shrank into herself, smiling politely at the yarns which the elderly gentleman who was her neighbour seemed to have so many of, but feeling cold and lonely inside.

  Once again, she was excluded from the after-dinner fun; everyone went down into Antibes to go to a concert where a famous violinist was performing, but she excused herself, knowing her presence would only irritate Lavinia—who showed no signs of forgiveness—and make it harder for Anton. She felt unwanted, a pariah.

  The only other house-guest who stayed was Gerda, who was still feeling fragile. Amy stood her excruciating discussion of her bosom and her bank account until she could bear no more, and crept up to bed.

  And though she waited until her poor eyelids grew heavy as lead for Anton to come and kiss her goodnight, he had not returned by 2 a.m. and she fell asleep on the coverlet.

  It did not help much when, the next morning at breakfast, Anton told her that he had come into her room very late.

  ‘You were fast asleep,’ he smiled. ‘Snoring like a lumber mill. So I just kissed you goodnight and left you to get your beauty sleep.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ she said drily, thinking that kisses didn’t count if one was not awake to enjoy them. Nor did it escape her attention that he was dressed to go riding again, long legs encased in jeans and well-worn boots. ‘Nice evening?’

  ‘After the concert we went to a cabaret show. It was very dull.’

  ‘Tame, no doubt, compared to your Wanchai strip clubs.’

  ‘Well, the girls are taller. Did Gerda throw up any more?’ he asked with interest.

  ‘Unfortunately, the flow has come to an end. But I know everything there is to be known about which bras she pours her boobs into and which banks she pours her billions into.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Worse than you can imagine.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘Her money and her mammaries are her only topics of conversation, Anton. If I have to spend another hour in her company, I may strangle her.’

  ‘I promise you, Worthington, you’re in line for a medal as soon as we can get away from this morgue.’

  ‘And when will that be? You seem unable to tear yourself away from a certain somebody.’

  ‘Darling, if you think Gerda is bad, you want to try Morticia.’

  Amy burst out laughing. ‘Oh, that’s funny! Gerda says she’s planning you to be the next Gomez.’

  ‘Marriage? I doubt that. Lavinia is very happy the way she is.’

  ‘I think she’s in love with you,’ Amy said, her laughter fading away. ‘And she’s sexy, clever and sophisticated.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, you’d have to have a very good reason to turn her down.’

  The smile was more in his eyes than on his lips. ‘What if I was only interested in someone else?’

  ‘Who would that be?’ she asked, her heart jumping.

  ‘Someone with the face of an angel.’

  She was about to reply when a familiar female voice enquired, ‘And what is the joke, dear boy? May we share?’

  They turned to face the bright eyes and lean brown face of Lavinia. She was once again wearing the jodhpurs and cotton shirt that showed off her figure to such advantage, except that today’s shade was peppermint-green.

  ‘Just recalling an old TV show,’ Anton said with a smile.

  ‘I never seem to have time to watch television.’ Lavinia slapped her kid gloves into her palm. ‘Have you had breakfast? Then let’s get out on the horses before it gets too hot. There are some absolutely wonderful bridle-paths we can take along the mountainside. And I know a country restaurant where they’ll look after the horses for us while we have the most scrummy lunch.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Anton said, with only the faintest hint of weariness in his voice—or was that just his way of pacifying Amy’s surging indignation at being left alone all day yet again?

  And for the second day in a row, she was treated to the spectacle of Anton and Lavinia riding off into the maquis, heads close together.

  It all washed over her yet again, that familiar pain at being shut out, unwanted, a sinner not admitted to the golden circle. Her cousins had made her feel like that for most of her adolescence. Now Lavinia Carron was doing it all over again—and it hurt so terribly.

  If only Lavinia were a more likeable person, Amy told herself, she would be standing up and cheering at the sight of Anton with a suitable Significant Other at his side.

  But Lavinia didn’t deserve him!

  An appreciative, compassionate woman with the ability to understand Anton’s own sad past—that was what he needed. Someone who knew where he had come from and why he was the man he was. Someone who believed in the same things he did and who supported him in his dreams— that was what he needed.

  Not this rapacious, hard-hearted female who thought only about herself and who surrounded herself with people as tough-natured and selfish as herself. That just wasn’t fair.

  On the third day of their visit, Lavinia had arranged a cruise along the coast to the Îles de Lérins, the archipelago of islands off Cannes where the Man in the Iron Mask had been incarcerated. Gerda Meyer was now fully recovered from her tummy bug and there was no reasonable excuse to exclude Amy—so she found herself invited to go along. The prospect of finally getting to spend some time with Anton— though hardly alone with him—made her accept, though her better judgement told her to stay home.

  The boat, a charter, was a graceful white yacht which picked them up at the port. As they sailed out of the bay towards the islands, a cool breeze picked up, washing away the fierce heat that was already building up.

  It was another searing day. Banks of cloud along the horizon promised that the hot weather had to break soon.

  The sea was crowded with pleasure boats of all types, though—Amy thought wryly—Lavinia could console herself that hers was the biggest and smartest on the waves.

  Lavinia’s latest materialisation seemed to be as Bond girl—a very smal
l black bikini which showed her tanned and athletic body, over which she had slung a snow-white nautical jacket and very short white shorts, the ensemble completed with a gold-braided white cap. It would have been ridiculous—if she didn’t look so damned good in it.

  She was in her element, issuing orders, arranging everything, clearly revelling in being master and commander of the whole ark. Fifteen years ago, Amy thought, Lavinia must have been head girl of some élite college for young ladies.

  Tomorrow—thank heavens—she and Anton were leaving for Marseilles and then the flight back to Hong Kong.

  That gave Lavinia one more day to clinch the deal, she thought cynically. Unless she was going to wait until the annual general meeting in London at the end of the year. If she was wise, waiting until London was the better plan. Anton might be tempted by all the wealth and that lean brown body to go with it, but Lavinia probably wanted to be quite sure of her prey.

  In her own pink and chocolate Christian Dior bikini and tortoiseshell sunglasses, Amy looked feminine and tranquil. She stayed out of the way, leaning on the polished brass rail and watching the green coastline slip past. At least she was out of that awful stone fortress. The blue sea was purifying and relaxing.

  Anton leaned on the rail beside her. ‘Your face is peaceful for a change,’ he said.

  ‘I love the sea,’ she replied.

  ‘Ah, I forgot—a mermaid’s natural habitat.’

  She smiled. ‘I thought I was a monkey.’

  ‘Yes, you’re definitely a monkey.’

  ‘Always nice to know one’s a monkey.’

  ‘I told you in Hong Kong, the monkey is a very nice sign to be. And monkeys are very good in bed, too.’

  ‘Really? In what way?’

  ‘They know how to enjoy pleasure.’

  ‘And that qualifies someone as being good in bed? Selfishness?’

  ‘I didn’t mention selfishness. It’s actually just the opposite quality. It’s taking delight in being loved.’

  ‘I’m not sure I have that particular monkey quality.’

  ‘I’m doing my best to develop it in you.’

  ‘Lavinia certainly knows how to entertain her guests.’

  ‘Robert left her very wealthy,’ he replied. ‘She has nothing to do but spend her money in a variety of imaginative ways.’

  ‘You talk as though you don’t like her much,’ Amy replied, glancing at him. He was wearing only black and yellow Hawaiian baggies. His magnificent physique gleamed in the sun, muscles rippling under his golden skin when he moved. She was so jealous of that body; she hated the way other women looked at him.

  ‘I do like her. But she doesn’t always understand that she can’t have her way in everything, no matter how rich and clever she is.’

  ‘Yes,’ Amy said wryly, ‘I can see she’s giving you a hard time.’

  ‘She wants me to change direction on the new refineries.’

  ‘Is that what you talk about when you’re alone together for hours at a time?’ she asked, watching a small sailboat bob past in their wake.

  ‘She seems to think she understands the oil business better than I do,’ he said with a smile. ‘Robert was happy to sit back and rake in the profits, as you put it the other night. Lavinia has ideas about everything. And with the big stake in the corporation which Robert left her, she can throw her weight around.’

  ‘Could she really cause trouble with other shareholders?’

  ‘She knows a lot of people. And she knows how to get things done. If she persuades enough shareholders that I’m taking the corporation in the wrong direction, there could be big problems.’

  ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’

  ‘I could be fired as chief executive officer.’

  ‘But it’s your company!’ she exclaimed.

  He shook his head. ‘I own a fifty-one per cent stake. But it’s a listed company, and if enough of the shareholders were against me, I would have to step down rather than face a civil war and seeing public confidence disintegrate.’

  Amy stared at his face. ‘You mentioned buying her out.’

  ‘Yes. If I could persuade her to sell. That’s one problem. Another is that Zell is a British company, and under British law, if I buy back shares they have to be immediately cancelled. I can’t resell them.’

  ‘What would happen?’

  ‘Well, it’s complicated. There would be fewer shares in circulation and so the remaining shares would be more valuable, in theory. But it would cost a lot of money, money that I have earmarked for our expansion in south-east Asia. It would mean delaying my plans for a year, perhaps far longer.’

  The Bond girl herself was on deck now, surrounded by her friends. There was a palpable air of excitement about the trim, tanned figure; she looked like a woman who knew exactly where she was going.

  ‘Anton!’ she called. ‘Darling boy, you’re missing the dolphins.’

  They both turned. A group of three or four dolphins was indeed swimming alongside the yacht, sleek bodies surging in and out of the waves. It was a thrilling sight. Lavinia Carron’s triumphant expression suggested she was personally responsible for the presence of the animals.

  On second thoughts, Amy decided gloomily, as Lavinia hooked her arm through Anton’s and led him away, the creatures were probably animatronic robots, directed by a remote-control unit in the pocket of Lavinia Carron’s very short white shorts.

  To avoid the crowds, they sailed to the far side of Île Sainte-Marguerite, the largest of the islands. The yacht moored as near the beach as possible and the dinghy took them ashore.

  The white beach was hot underfoot. The whole of the island was covered by a natural forest of Aleppo pine and eucalyptus, whose scented and woven shade offered some shelter from the midday heat.

  The weather, however, was now threatening. The fierce heat of the past few days seemed to have charged the atmosphere with violence. A grey haze was in the sky. The endless noise of cicadas was deafening and Amy felt oddly breathless from the heat and the close humidity.

  ‘It’s going to storm,’ Anton warned.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Lavinia said sharply, glancing up at the heavy sky as though daring the heavens to contradict her. ‘Breathe deeply, everybody. The eucalyptus is wonderful for the lungs!’

  Everyone snorted and sucked the fragrant air obediently. Amy wondered bitterly whether they would stop breathing just as tamely if Lady Carron commanded it.

  The plan was that the party should walk through the forest to the port, where they were to have lunch in a restaurant and then visit the Fort Royal, where the Man in the Iron Mask had been incarcerated three centuries ago.

  Their hostess led the way.

  They set off in a group along the winding, sandy paths through the forest. However it soon became obvious that Lavinia, honed by hours in the gymnasium, had overestimated the physical fitness of her party. Complaining about the heat and the oppressive atmosphere, the less athletic began to lag behind, while Lavinia strode on contemptuously ahead. Within a short while, the party was strung out; and the number of twisting paths became confusing, with no directions to follow. The forest seemed endless, the pine trees identical with one another, each path exactly like all the others.

  A rumble of thunder pierced Amy’s resentment and released a flood of remorse. She had been walking with Gerda Meyer, who was complaining of the heat, but boredom had driven her to quicken her pace. Now Gerda was nowhere to be seen. Heinz, her husband, was up in the front with Lavinia, obviously believing a footsore wife was not a good enough reason to take his eye off such an important client as Lady Carron.

  Amy stopped and retraced her steps. Gerda was as dull a woman as creation had ever put wind in, but Amy felt bad about leaving her to wander the forests alone like a silly, bleating sheep.

  Walking back a hundred yards or so, she found no trace of Gerda—or of anyone else. She was completely alone in the stifling, cicada-loud woodland. A glare of lightning was instantly followe
d by a searing crash of thunder so loud and so close overhead that she almost jumped out of her skin.

  A gust of hot wind buffeted her. It was clearly about to storm, as Anton had predicted. Amy looked up at the turgid sky anxiously. Sheltering under a tree was not supposed to be a good idea in an electrical storm, but what if there was nothing but trees? Could lightning tell one identical eucalyptus from another?

  Another shattering peal of thunder heralded more wind and the first heavy, hot drops of rain. Uncertain what to do, Amy hesitated.

  And then the heavens opened and a tempest of rain and wind was unleashed. Blinded by the onslaught, Amy blundered off the path into the relative shelter of the trees. There was no point in searching for Gerda now—she would have to wait until the storm was over.

  She snuggled into herself, wishing she were wearing something warmer; the temperature was dropping fast and it was turning cold. Damn Lavinia, Amy thought, huddling up to the rough trunk of a pine tree. She was probably sitting in a café now with a glass of wine, stroking her ‘darling boy’ and chuckling at the fate of the stragglers.

  The storm intensified in violence, thunder rolling from one side of the heavens to the other, the rain lashing down in curtains that made visibility impossible.

  And then a tall, dark figure materialised through the rain, heading towards her. Her heart jumped into her throat.

  ‘Anton!’

  His beautiful white teeth flashed in a grin as he reached her. He was wearing only his Hawaiian baggies and a cerise waterproof poncho which he spread over both their heads for shelter. His wet face pressed to hers as he gave her an exuberant kiss. ‘Remember Borneo?’ he greeted her.

  ‘How could I forget? Where did you get the poncho?’

  ‘Bought it in the port. Lavinia and the others are having lunch already. I came back to find you.’

  ‘You sweet man! I was very pleased to see you. I hate thunderstorms.’

  ‘How did you get so far behind?’

  ‘I was walking with poor Gerda but I just had to escape and she got left behind. I hope she isn’t drowning.’