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Джордан Пенни
Stronger Than Yearning
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CHAPTER FOUR
‘YOU’RE early.’
Jenna grimaced at Maggie Chadwick, her secretary, and gestured to the large pile of mail already on her desk. ‘With good reason so it seems.’
‘Mmm. Things did rather mount up while you were away.’
Maggie was an excellent secretary and had been with the company for the last three years. Watching her frown, Jenna wondered if something was troubling her. She knew that she was deeply involved in an affair with a foreign news correspondent for one of the national papers and also that their relationship was an extremely stormy one. Thinking perhaps that her secretary’s lack of good spirits might be the result of a quarrel, she enquired gently, ‘Maggie, is something wrong?’
Almost immediately the other woman’s forehead cleared. ‘Well, I know it’s none of my business,’ she began, ‘but we do seem to be having problems with cashflow at the moment. Some of our clients are being very slow to pay.’ She gnawed worriedly at her bottom lip. ‘I know I don’t have any right to say this, but —’
‘But what Maggie?’ Anxiety sharpened Jenna’s voice, her conversation with Gordon Burns still very fresh in her mind. There were always clients in this business who jibbed at paying their bills: some of them, those with the reputation and standing to do so, even got away without paying them at all, but they were in a minority and Jenna was meticulous about investigating the reliability of those clients with whom she took on large contracts. Only the previous month she had turned down a contract from a Greek millionaire to revamp his huge London apartment because she had discovered by discreet enquiry that he was not over-zealous about meeting his bills.
She saw the apprehension darken her secretary’s eyes and realised that she had probably sounded more brusque than she had intended, but then, Maggie didn’t know how concerned she was about the loan she had taken on to buy the Hall.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jenna apologised, smiling at her. ‘I know I sounded snappy but it wasn’t intended for you. I’m having problems with Lucy at the moment.’
The admission was made before she could stop it, leaving Jenna surprised at herself. She never discussed her personal life with any of her staff, not even Harley, and although she liked Maggie and considered her as much a friend as an employee, it would never normally have occurred to her to confide in her. She had grown so used to making her own decisions and relying on herself that she never sought the advice or help of others on a personal basis. In her heart of hearts much as she liked Maggie, she also faintly despised her.
Maggie was a very attractive girl, who was held fast in the throes of a relationship which, as far as Jenna could see, had no advantages for her at all. Rick Forbes was well known to have a roving eye, and Jenna doubted very much if he remained faithful to stay-at-home Maggie when he was away covering stories for his paper, and yet Maggie put up with his fickleness. The flat they lived in was Maggie’s bought with some money she had inherited from her grandparents; she washed, cooked and cleaned for both of them, and if she was lucky, in return for all that, Rick took her out for the odd meal whenever he returned to London. Maggie excused him on the grounds that when he did return home he was too tired to want to do anything other than mooch around the flat, sleeping and working.
Was it any wonder that men rode roughshod over the female sex when women were so weak with them? Well, no man would ever do that to her! If she ever married … Startled, Jenna stared unseeingly through her office window. If she married? But, of course, she wasn’t going to! All that male pressure was beginning to get to her, she reflected, dismissing her thoughts and turning her attention back to Maggie.
‘It’s okay, I know you’re under a lot of pressure at the moment,’ her secretary smiled, accepting the apology. Many of her peers flatly refused to work for a woman boss, saying that they were far worse than men. Men could be coaxed and flattered into giving way if need be, women could not. They were notorious for refusing to give their own sex a hand up the career ladder, but Maggie had never once regretted her decision to come and work for Jenna. For one thing the work itself was fascinating, and Jenna often gave her the opportunity to exercise her own judgement, praising and encouraging her when she did so. It was unlike her to be snappy.
Maggie frowned and wished she could find a way to put her fears over to Jenna without making any direct accusations. Over the last few months she had seen how Richard Hollis had taken on contracts that were not always as financially sound as they might be. He was a very ambitious young man, though Jenna did not seem to see that, perhaps because in her presence he was always obsequious and obedient. Maggie, however, had seen a different side of him. When Jenna was away, Richard enjoyed ruling the roost. Short with mousy-brown hair, he was not the sort of man who made an impression at first sight, and perhaps because of that, Maggie sensed in him a driving ambition that he kept in check when Jenna was around.
Maggie was well aware of Jenna’s contempt for and dislike of the male sex. There were men Jenna respected, businessmen, but for their professionalism, not their maleness. Maggie had heard one or two sneering remarks Richard had made behind Jenna’s back which made her suspect that he wouldn’t always be content merely to be Jenna’s assistant. Not that there was anything wrong with that … but it was the way he hid his ambition and his feelings from Jenna, assuming a deference Maggie suspected he did not really feel, that alarmed her. Accounting was not Jenna’s strong point, but surely in time she would realise that they were taking on more and more unprofitable contracts and would trace them back to Richard. Resolving that it was probably better to say nothing, Maggie picked up the diary.
‘You haven’t got any appointments today, but there’s a cocktail party tonight at the Billingtons’ — Margery Billington wants to show off her new décor.’
Jenna groaned. ‘Dear God, that’s all I need!’ She chewed her bottom lip, thinking rapidly. Could she get out of the party? She certainly didn’t want to go. She had promised herself that tonight she would talk to Lucy, but the Billington contract had been an extremely profitable one. Margery Billington was American by birth with a wide circle of friends both her own and her second husband’s. Vincent Billington was a well-known racing stable owner. An awful lot of influential and wealthy people had horses in training at the Billington stables and Jenna knew that she ought to attend the party.
She was just drinking her mid-morning cup of coffee when Richard walked into her office, doing a brief double-take when he saw her there.
‘I thought you were working at home today?’
She remembered intimating to him that she might, and something in his manner puzzled her slightly. She sensed a certain tension about him as though, somehow, finding her in her office had thrown him a little.
‘Well, I came in instead. Now that I’ve bought the Hall, I’ve got to make some money to pay for it.’ She said it jokingly, but it was, of course, the truth, and saying it reminded her of something she wanted to discuss with him.
‘Richard, there’s a returned contract in my mail this morning from Victor James — I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t do that one? You know the reputation he’s got. He’s parted company with three designers already.’
Richard shrugged. ‘Well, he came on to me when you were away, virtually pleading with us to do it. The money’s right …’
Jenna frowned slightly.
‘Look, Jenna, you were away and a decision had to be made. I’m sorry if I made the wrong one but …’
Once again, she sensed a slight hostility in his tone, and then told herself that she was imagining it. No doubt he was on the defensive because she had queried his decision. Men hated their decisions being questioned by a woman, but she was the head of the company and if she had been here … But she could hardly blame Richard for her absence.
‘Well, it’s done now,’ she agreed, forcing a smile, ‘but no more contracts unless I’ve okayed them, mmm?’
‘You’re the boss. It’s the Billington bash tonight, isn’t it?’ Richard added carelessly, ‘Want me to go in your place?’
It wasn’t unusual for him to stand in for her at various social functions, but even though ten minutes ago she had been thinking of asking him to do so at this one, for some reason she found herself shaking her head.
‘No. I’ll go myself. What did you want me for, by the way?’
‘Oh … there’s going to be an unforeseen delay with the carpet for the Holmes contract — you remember it had to be specially dyed …’
‘How long a delay?’ Jenna frowned. As she remembered it, that carpet had been ordered months ago. The Holmeses’ daughter was getting married shortly, and when they had originally contacted Jenna some time ago, they had stressed that all the work must be finished in time for that event.
‘Six weeks … maybe eight …’
Jenna thought rapidly. That was far too long a delay.
‘Leave it with me,’ she said crisply, Richard’s presence all but forgotten, all her attention given to the new problem. ‘Thanks, Richard,’ she dismissed him briefly. I’ll have to try and sort something out. I want to talk to you about the new contracts we’re taking on, but I’ll arrange something later.’
Once he had gone, she buzzed through to Maggie and asked her to bring in the Holmeses’ file.
As she studied it, frowning, she turned to her own original notes, jotted down after her initial visit to the Holmeses’. They had been remarkably clear about what they wanted. They had just moved into a large 1930’s house in Wimbledon, previously owned by an Arab family, which in Helen Holmes’s view needed completely redoing. A pleasantly plump ex-general’s daughter in her mid-forties, she had know exactly what she wanted. Colefax & Fowler fabrics, Osborne & Little papers. In short, typically country-house furnishings, but her chief request had been for a carpet all through the house which would suit a variety of colours.
In the end she had settled on a very subtle shade of peachy-pink, which would have to be specially dyed, and aware of the delay which might arise, Jenna had put in hand immediate instructions for the order and dyeing of the carpet. Bierley’s was a company that she used regularly: completely reliable and producing a first-class result. She closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair, aware of the beginnings of a tension headache in the base of her skull. She could already imagine Mrs Holmes’s reaction when she learned that the carpet might not arrive in time for the wedding. She picked up the file again, looking for the original order note. Although it might not do much good, at least if she could point out to the company doing the dyeing that they were way, way over the time limit agreed, it might help her to get rid of some of her tension. It was rather late in the day to find someone else to do the job now — especially someone reliable. Dyeing carpets to an exact shade as delicate as the one the Holmeses had chosen was a skilled business …
She traced through the file, locating the memos she had done putting various orders into effect, remembering briefly that she had been away for several days at the time the contract commenced, visiting a client in Spain who had just bought a villa there. A frown pleated her forehead as she looked at the date on her memo and then compared it with the date on the carpet order. Six weeks … why had there been that delay? It was a glaring error on their own part, and yet she could see no reason for it. Well, it was pointless crying over spilt milk, she reflected tensely, picking up her phone and asking Maggie to get the managing director of Bierley’s for her.
He was sympathetic when she explained her position to him. Yes, of course he could see that her client would want her carpet down for her daughter’s wedding, but, he explained, the delay was the usual one, the normal time-lapse between receiving an order and completion of it — three months, as it was in this case. However, he told Jenna much to her relief, because she was one of their better clients, and because they were presently just about to mix the dye for another large order which was not required urgently, he felt they might be able to reschedule things and get her carpet done in time. Thanking him Jenna hung up, and then frowning again she rang through to Richard’s office. His secretary answered the phone and put her through to him. Quickly she told him about the delay in the original order. ‘Obviously someone’s slipped up somewhere,’ she said crisply. ‘We can’t afford errors like that, Richard. Fortunately, the carpet will be ready in time after all, but its delay could have cost us the whole contract.’
There was a brief pause, and then he said heartily, ‘Well, thank God you managed to get it all sorted out. I can’t think what went wrong, although you know I’ve never been keen on your method of sending out memos. You know, I feel that we should each take on certain contracts and see them through to the finish instead of splitting the responsibility as we do now.’
Jenna let him finish and then said, ‘But if we did that, Richard, you would be my partner and not my assistant. People who use this firm as their designers are using it because of my reputation and have a right to expect me to be fully involved in what’s going on.’
She let him digest her comments and then rang off, still frowning. Problems with Richard were the very last thing she needed right now. Her phone rang, and Maggie informed her that there was a call for her. Banishing Richard from her mind, Jenna got back to work.
The backlog on her desk was far greater than she had realised: at least a dozen telephone calls were outstanding and there had been a rash of minor problems with their existing contracts that took time to sort out. Of course they would all happen now, just when she needed life to run smoothly, she reflected grimly, suddenly remembering something else she had to do, and jotting a note down on her pad to call in at a shop she knew, which specialised in reproduction mouldings for ornamentation and also copied or made up brass and wood motifs to order. She wanted to talk to them about copying the Adam plasterwork at the Hall which was badly damaged and also to discuss brass doorplates for the mahogany doors to match the Adam décor. Adam, she knew, would often use a central motif all through his work, so that it was echoed in minute detail all through a room. She reflected fleetingly that it was a pity there was no record of Robert Adam’s original designs for the new wing of the house, and then grimaced as the harsh purr of her phone broke into her thoughts.
It was gone six before she was free to leave her office. Everyone else had already gone, and as she stepped out on to the street, she realised that for the first time she had not paused to enjoy the thrill of pride the nameplate outside the main door gave her.
She was overtired, she told herself, and worried about Lucy, but she also knew that her heart was not in London. She was aching to get back to Yorkshire and the old Hall.
There was no Lucy to greet her when she got home. Instead, there was a message on the answerphone announcing that she was staying another night with her friend. The flat seemed empty and sterile and as she made herself a cup of coffee all her old guilts came flooding over her. What sort of a parent was she really to Lucy? There had been a hurtful degree of truth in the accusation that Lucy had thrown at her, but what was the alternative? How could she have kept Lucy without the financial means to support them both? She could have given her up for adoption, of course … Putting her coffee down, she prowled restlessly into the drawing-room, pacing up and down tensely. Would Lucy have been happier if she had? It was all very well telling herself that all teenagers were rebellious but there was a lack of communication between them that hurt as well as worried her. She knew its roots were in her refusal to talk to Lucy about her father. It was all very well for other people to be full of good advice, Bill, Nancy, James Allingham …
Her mouth hardened. Why on earth had she thought of him? A playboy millionaire who had inherited and not earned his wealth, a man who typified qualities of his sex she particularly disliked, rampantly male and arrogantly pleased by the fact, she thought unkindly, using his sexuality about as subtly as a caveman with a club. To denigrate him mentally released some of her tension and, she reflected sardonically as she headed for her bedroom to change for the evening, having a sick step-sister to care for would certainly cramp his style.
She showered quickly, putting on clean underwear before sitting down to do her make-up and hair. Her underwear was white and plain, pristinely immaculate, her taste quite different from Lucy’s who tended to go for pretty pastel cottons with embroidery and bows. Jenna despised even the idea of dressing to please a man, of using her body to gain male favour. The male sex as a whole was worthy only of contempt, she thought as she applied her foundation, so vain and egotistical that it honestly believed all the tricks of the feminine repertoire were motivated by desire rather than necessity. It constantly amazed her how the shrewd business brain behind a successful business could genuinely believe that his pretty secretary flattered him because she found him sexually desirable. Men were past masters at deception — especially of themselves. Take James Allingham, for instance. No doubt in twenty years’ time he would still be believing that it was his body and not his money that drew beautiful women to his side. Maybe now that was the truth, but like so many other men before him he would never be able to admit that he was ageing, less attractive. Women, unfortunately, were not able to be so self-deluding.
She got up and opened her wardrobe. What should she wear? She had several elegant formal dresses especially bought for these sort of dos and eventually selected a plain black silk skirt topped with a white silk jacket. The jacket had wide revers and a fitted waist. The skirt was straight with a discreet pleat at the back. To go with it, she chose very fine silk tights. She styled her hair in an elegant French pleat and then stood back to study her reflection with approval. Elegant and businesslike. No one looking at her tonight would mistake her for someone’s wife — or someone’s mistress.
The invitation had been for eight-thirty and it was just gone nine when she rang the doorbell of the Billingtons’ apartment.
Margery Billington greeted her, hugging her theatrically. ‘Jenna, darling. I’m so glad you’re here! Everyone adores your décor.’
Jenna smile diplomatically and followed her hostess into the drawing-room. It was full of dinner-suited males and designer-clad women. Margery had specified something eye catching and different that also looked expensive and Jenna had done her best to oblige. The walls had been dragged in a soft aqua greeny-blue effect and then veined in gold to produce a delicate shimmer almost like a translucent pearled marble.
The carpet echoed the base colour of the walls; the furniture a matt off-white — to Jenna’s critical eye the scheme was rather theatrical but Margery had loved it. As she acknowledged several people she knew, she edged her way over to the fireplace to study the huge giltwood mirror she had commissioned from a young student at the Royal College of Art. He had done an excellent job, she noted approvingly, seeing that the cherubs holding the frame had Margery’s features. The mirror had been expensive, but …
‘Jenna, I absolutely adore it. You must do something similar for me.’
She turned away from her contemplation of the mirror to talk to the woman who had come to join her. She was the owner of an extremely successful New York-based boutique which sold British designs at a horrendous mark-up.
‘I’m thinking of buying a pied-à-terre over here … Just something small to use while I’m here on buying trips.’
They chatted for a while, Jenna making a mental note to follow up their talk.
‘Jenna, I’m so thrilled,’ effused Margery. ‘Maison want to do a feature on the apartment. One of the directors has a filly with us, and they’re contemplating a horse-racing issue — You know … noted trainers and their lifestyle, owners, races, that sort of thing, and he wants to feature us.’
Jenna knew the magazine, an upmarket glossy which would do her no harm to be seen in.
‘It would be fantastic advertising for you,’ Margery pressed. She looked sly as she added. ‘We’re thinking of redoing the cottage. I’d like you to do it for us, but you know what men are … he’s kicking a bit over the cost. With the business that will come your way from the Maison feature I’m sure you could see your way to, well … compromising a little.’
Jenna didn’t let any reaction show on her face. The Billingtons were multi-millionaires and could well afford a designer four or five times as costly as herself, but she had no wish to offend Margery, and she thought wryly that there were ways and means of offering a discount that was not always what it seemed. She never had, and never would, seek to make outrageous profits, and charged what she considered to be a reasonable fee for her services. That way she believed she was preserving both her integrity and her reputation, but people like the Billingtons were so used to being ripped off that it probably never occurred to them that she wasn’t jumping on the bandwagon.
‘I’m sure we can work something out,’ she agreed with a smile. ‘Why don’t we get together after the Maison feature is finalised?’
A subtle way of letting Margery know that she hadn’t been born yesterday: no feature, no discount!
She came up against a good many Margery Billingtons in her work and had learned to accept that to succeed she often needed to employ a degree of subtlety.
There were quite a lot of people at the party whom she knew. In the dining-room, hired staff were serving a buffet — the fashionably de rigueur wholefood-cum-nouvelle-cuisine type, Jenna noticed, accepting a glass of wine from a passing waiter. She had nothing against wholefood per se, and indeed was extremely particular about what she and Lucy ate, but most of the people at the party had probably dined well at lunchtime and would go on to consume another hearty meal later. Gluttony for food was like gluttony for sex, she thought distastefully, wondering as she did so why it was she who always seemed to stand apart from the rest of the human race.
Bill and Nancy were the only people she was really close to, and she kept even them at a distance. Sometimes she suspected from the sharp looks that Nancy gave her when she was particularly scathing about the male sex, that the older woman was about to take her to task. There was no one with whom she could share her innermost thoughts and fears — no one at all. She frowned, wondering why she should have such a depressive thought. Her lack of intimate relationships had never bothered her before, in fact she had deliberately cultivated it. The crowd round the buffet table thinned and her frown deepened as she caught sight of a familiar dark head. James Allingham — here?
She was just about to dismiss her suspicion as the product of an overworked imagination when he turned round and she realised she was right. He was looking straight across at her, and she flushed, knowing that to ignore his pointed scrutiny as she wanted would be both rude and gauche. There was a girl with him, a tiny blonde, with a carefully tousled mane of blonde hair, and the sort of immaculate make-up that shrieked model. She might have guessed he would go for that type, Jenna reflected, allowing herself a cool smile before letting her eyes slide away. However, she was not allowed to escape quite so easily. As she made for the drawing-room, Margery came up to her with James and his pocket Venus in tow.
‘Jenna, darling, let me introduce you … James …’
‘Jenna and I have already met.’
Jenna was aware of the hard speculation in the blonde’s eyes and grimaced inwardly. The girl had nothing to fear from Jenna, if she did but know it.
‘James has a horse with us, darling. He’s just moved into a new apartment. James …’ she turned towards him, ‘you simply must get Jenna to decorate it for you.’
Jenna saw the look in his eyes as they studied the drawing-room, and seethed inwardly, recognising it. How dare he sit in judgement on her? Didn’t he realise that a good interior designer always took note of the client’s own taste? She had never sought to impose her own taste on anyone and never would.
‘Jay, darling, there’s Naomi … do let’s go over and talk to her.’ The blonde’s pointed determination to ignore her only amused Jenna, as did her affected, breathy way of speaking. As she watched them go, it gave her quite a degree of pleasure to be able to reflect scathingly on James Allingham’s taste in women. Somehow it reduced him to the ranks of other members of his sex whom she also despised, making her feel … safer. Safer? What possible danger could he be to her? It was probably a hang-over from her fear of losing the Hall to him, she reflected, sipping her wine slowly.
At ten-thirty she was ready to go. Cocktail parties bored her in the main. She recalled that Nancy had been shocked to hear her say so. ‘You’re getting too high-falutin’ ideas about yourself, my girl,’ she had told Jenna bluntly. ‘You’re only human like the rest of us, you know.’
Even Bill had remonstrated gently with her, reminding her that she was a member of the human race. ‘You can’t always remain aloof from life, Jenna,’ he had told her quietly.
But Jenna had learned the hard way that by remaining aloof she remained safe. If Rachel had been more aloof … less naïve …
‘Ah, there you are, Jenna …’ It was too late to escape, being thoroughly embraced by the man bearing down on her, although Jenna held herself rigid beneath his embrace, turning her face so that his kiss landed on her cheek instead of her mouth.
‘Roger …’ Her eyes and voice were cool, but he appeared not to register that fact. Roger Bennett, supermarket entrepreneur extraordinaire was probably too used to riding roughshod over people to be put off by anything less subtle than a sledgehammer, Jenna thought, asking sweetly, ‘Maria not with you?’
Maria was his long-suffering wife, to whom he was constantly unfaithful with a parade of starlets and pseudo-débutantes. Jenna detested him, loathing his arrogance and the way he had of reducing every member of her sex under forty to a sex object. Roger Bennett had never respected any woman in his life and would have laughed himself sick if anyone had suggested that he should. He was everything Jenna most disliked in a man, and her mouth curled disparagingly as he said, ‘Saw you talking to James Allingham. Now there’s a pretty piece he had with him. I bet she keeps him warm in bed at night.’
‘I’m sure.’ Jenna’s voice was cold. ‘Excuse me, Roger, but …’
‘No, don’t go yet, I want to talk to you. I’m moving into the property market — apartments abroad — upmarket stuff, and I could be in a position to put some business your way. Why don’t we go into the study and talk about it?’
Little though she wanted to, Jenna felt she had to agree. A contract like that was something she couldn’t afford to turn down right now. Since her talk with Gordon Burns, the burden of the loan she had taken out to buy the Hall was weighing heavily upon her.
She glanced at her watch and said coolly, ‘Well, I was just about to leave, but I can manage half an hour.’
Men like Roger were impossible to deal with once you let them get the upper hand. Jenna had had to learn to deal with many Rogers during the course of her career and she had found that a schoolmistressy bossiness was the best answer. For some reason it always de-sexed her in their eyes and once that had happened they became far less of a nuisance. She preferred to work for married couples and even then with the woman, but one couldn’t always choose one’s contracts.
The study was decorated in the traditional manner complete with a mock fireplace. Roger went to stand by it, one foot on the fender, his arm on the mantelpiece. Jenna stayed several feet away from him as she listened to him talking about the proposed contract. It sounded extremely promising, and whether because of that, or because her mind was still on the burden of the loan hanging over her, she failed to notice that Roger had moved, until she felt his arm slide round her.
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