Stormspell (32 page)

'You could have rung this morning,' insisted Barbara, and Dominic had to concede that he could. 'Where on earth were you? Daddy brought the Trade Secretary to dinner, and I wanted you to meet him!'

Dominic sighed. 'Then it's just as well I was out,' he remarked flatly. 'Anthony Barras and I hate the sight of one another!'

'Oh, don't be silly, Dominic.' Barbara was impatient. 'I know you mean because he used to bully the younger boys at school! Good heavens, you left Winchester fourteen years ago!'

'I'm aware of the time lapse.' retorted Dominic mildly, stirring several spoons of sugar into his cup. 'But I have no intention of humiliating Crowns by courting his support.'

'Your father always understood that one should never mix business with personal likes and dislikes,' exclaimed Barbara, controlling her temper with evident difficulty. 'Tony could be useful to you. He understands your problems—'

'And I understand his,' countered Dominic, without heat. 'He's a junior Minister, with a name to make for himself, and he thinks he may do it riding on the back of Crown Chemicals!'

Barbara gasped. 'Oh, that's ridiculous!'

'Is it?'

'Of course.' She cast about for words of repudiation. 'He's a charming man, sincere and intelligent. I'd say he was a man most likely to succeed.'

'You're probably right.' Dominic was bored by this conversation. 'However, I don't propose to provide the springboard to his eventual canonisation.'

Barbara made a sound of annoyance. 'You're hopeless!' she maintained. 'Here am I, doing what Ican to improve your standing with your father, and all you do is run my efforts down!'

Dominic put down his spoon, feeling a reluctant twinge of ingratitude. It was true. Barbara was only trying to help. So why did he feel this sense of resentment at her efforts?

'Look. Barbara.' he said quietly. 'I have to run Crowns my way. Not your way, or Jake's way, but my way. It may not be the best way, I'm not denying that. But it will be the best I can do.'

Barbara sniffed. 'It's not just a question of running Crowns. Dominic,' she declared. 'Being the chairman of a big company like Crowns is important, of course, but one has to look to the future.'

'The future?' Dominic frowned. 'In what way?'

Barbara hesitated. Then she said carefully: 'Everyone knows the world is sliding into recession. Oil is running out. Chemicals depend on oil, don't they? Sooner or later. Crowns themselves may be eaten up by some even bigger conglomerate. Isn't it sensible to have a second string to your bow? If you gained influence in Government circles, if you showed you were interested in politics—'

'Like your father, you mean?' Dominic's voice had hardened considerably, and Barbara hastened to appease him.

'Not like Daddy, no,' she argued. 'Daddy's constituency is small, unimportant. You could choose somewhere else, somewhere near London—'

'You must be crazy!' Dominic was angry now. 'My God. I don't even agree with your father's politics, let alone anything else!'

'But of course you must do,' protested Barbara disbelievingly. in your position—'

'In my position, nothing,' Dominic interrupted her harshly. 'My God, I can't believe this!'

'Well, Tony says—'

'I don't give a damn what Tony says,' Dominic retorted violently.
'Tony!
Bloody hypocrite!'

There was silence for a few moments after that, and he raked his scalp with weary fingers. It had been a lousy day, and now this! He felt drained of all compassion.

'Dominic?'

Her tentative use of his name invited a response, and with a heavy expellation of his breath he said: 'I'm here.'

'I'm sorry.' she apologised, evidently unwilling to ring off without an attempt at conciliation. 'That wasn't really why I rang. But I get annoyed when you're so indifferent to people who—'

'I thought that wasn't why you rang,' Dominic overrode her curtly. 'As a matter of fact, I wanted to speak to you, too. Are you free for dinner this evening?"

'I suppose so.' Barbara's reply indicated her resentment at his tone. 'Unlike you, I do not disappear without leaving word of my whereabouts.'

Dominic looked down into his cup. 'I was at the house last night,' he said flatly. 'Marlin Spike. I had dinner with Miss Bainbridge.'

'You what!' Barbara sounded incensed. 'You went all the way down to the country to have dinner with that old woman!'

'That old woman, as you call her, was my nurse.' Dominic reminded her woodenly. 'And it's not that far—only a little over thirty miles.'

'Thirty miles!' Barbara was scathing, it's more like fifty. I can't imagine why you like going there. It's miles too far from town. I don't know why your father doesn't sell it, and buy a villa in the South of France or somewhere.'

'If he sells it. I shall buy it.' Dominic replied flatly. 'I like it, I was brought up there. And contrary to your opinion, I do not consider it's too far from town. On the contrary, it occurs to me that if I gave up the apartment I could live there and commute.'

'You have to be joking!' Barbara's mood was still too volatile to allow that particular piece of information to go unchallenged. 'What? Live at Marlin Spike? What kind of a social life do you think we'd have there?'

Dominic shrugged, and then realising she could not see him, he said: 'Is a social life so important to you. Barbara? I should have thought that was the least of our worries.'

'Well, I wouldn't.' Barbara contradicted him vehemently 'Oh, this conversation is getting us nowhere. I wanted to talk to you about the party, but you insist on being awkward. Call for me this evening. You may be in a more amenable frame of mind by then.'

'Don't bank on it.' retorted Dominic dourly, and waited until she had rung off before replacing his receiver.

His-coffee was half cold, but he drank it anyway, and was still sitting brooding over his exchange with Barbara, when Mrs Cooke came in. Her face was flushed, but she had a definite air of confidence about her. and Dominic thrust his own problems aside to give her a lazy grin.

'You look pleased with yourself,' he observed, pushing his empty cup aside. 'I gather it wasn't as bad as you expected.'

'Not really,' she agreed, a little breathlessly. 'He objected at first.' She gave a nervous laugh. 'He said he wanted to speak to the butcher, not the block.'

Dominic gave a humorous grimace. 'Harry always did have a colourful turn of phrase,' he remarked dryly. 'I hope you put him straight.'

'Oh. I did.' Mrs Cooke nodded. 'I explained that you were tied up and that if he didn't talk to me I couldn't guarantee him seeing you before the last date on the present contract.'

'Very aptly put.' Dominic complimented her. 'This calls for a drink—and I don't mean coffee. What's your poison?'

'Oh. I couldn't drink in working hours. Mr Dominic.' she protested vehemently, but he wasn't listening to her.

'Here,' he said, handing her a Scotch and soda, if you're going to become my personal assistant, you have to get used to drinking with the customers. I can't have my representative falling about after only a couple of gins.' He raised his glass. 'Success!'

'Success,' she echoed doubtfully, tasting the contents of her glass almost experimentally. 'I—I don't know what your father would say.'

'I do.' declared Dominic laconically. Then: 'Is it good?'

'It's quite—palatable.' she conceded daringly, and Dominic couldn't help laughing at the astonishing spectacle of the staid and proper Mrs Cooke enjoying a double whisky in the middle of a working day.

But when she had gone again, to continue with her usual duties. Dominic sought the chair behind his 'desk with a narrowing gaze. Barbara's call had reminded him of the invitation he had issued to Ruth, and her cousin, and with irresistibly quickening pulses, he switched to an outside line and dialled the number of the Pascal residence. Even the thought of hearing her voice again filled him with anticipation, and he waited impatiently as the dial tone seemed to go on for ever before the call was connected. He wondered what her aunt had said to her this morning about her unexpected outing, and his stomach muscles tightened at the awareness of the developing crisis of conscience he was going to have to face.

He had driven Ruth home quite early last evening, on her insistence, and then spent the rest of the evening at his club, drinking himself into a mindless stupor. The idea of returning to his apartment, to spend the rest of the evening wondering what Ruth was doing and who she was with, had been anathema to him. and he knew the present situation could not be allowed to continue.

It was Davina Pascal herself who eventually answered the call. Dominic could have wished for a more favourable advocate, but he concealed his chagrin, and said courteously: 'This is Dominic Crown, Miss Pascal. Could I speak to Miss Jason?'

'Oh/Mr Crown!' Davina sounded positively gushing. 'I was just about to ring you. You're calling about the party, of course, and you must think me very impolite not having contacted you before this, but what with one thing and another—'

'Don't give it another thought,' Dominic interrupted her civilly. 'I know how busy you must be. My mother—'

'Oh. yes. your mother—such a charming lady. And so generous.' Davina sighed. 'We should all take an example from her.'

'Yes.' Dominic's tone was dry now. 'Well, if I could just speak with Miss Jason—'

'Oh, you can't—'

'I can't?' Dominic's stomach muscles contracted in disbelief. 'Miss Pascal, I—'

'She's not here,' Davina inserted smoothly. 'That was what I was going to ring you about. Neither of them are here. Not Ruth or Martin. They've gone away for a few days—'

'Gone away?' Dominic was incredulous. Ruth had said nothing about this.

'Yes.' Davina sounded smug. 'They've gone skiing. That's what I was trying to tell you. I should have rung you sooner. I'm afraid they'll miss your party.'

Dominic sucked in his breath. He would have liked to tell Davina Pascal what she could do with the accursed party. Why hadn't Ruth told him she was going away? Why had she deliberately kept this information from him?

'Are you still there, Mr Crown?' Davina's voice had an edge of satisfaction to it now. and Dominic knew she had arranged this deliberately. The scheming old bitch, he thought savagely, and then struggled to control his anger. 'Yes. I'm still here.' he affirmed in a clipped voice.

'Thank you for your time. I'm sorry to have troubled you.'

'That's perfectly all right.' Davina could afford to be generous. 'Do give my best wishes to your mother, won't you? And thank your fiancee for the invitation. It was kind of you to think of it, but as you can see. Martin and Ruth lead quite a hectic social life.'

Dominic made some civil rejoinder before ending the call, but once the receiver was replaced, he pressed both hands painfully against the sides of his neck. He sat like that for several moments, feeling the blood draining out of his head, then allowed his arms to fall on to the desk, feeling the weight of depression bearing down on him.

Why had she done it? he asked himself again, staring broodingly across the room. Why hadn't she told him what they had planned? Why had she let him find out in this most humiliating way? In God's name, she had had plenty of time the night before to tell him. What kind of a selfish game was she playing? What kind of man did she think he was?

He slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes against the images that came to torment him. Where was she right now? What was she doing? What did she really think of Martin Pascal? And what the hell was he going to do about it?

Pushing back his chair, he got abruptly to his feet, reaching for his jacket and pulling it on carelessly. Then, he pressed the intercom and looked up moodily as Mrs Cooke came in. 'I'm leaving,' he said, without preamble. 'I've had enough for today. Take all my calls for me. will you ? I'll come in in the morning, if there's anything urgent.'

Mrs Cooke looked concerned. 'Is anything the matter. Mr Dominic?' She hesitated. 'You don't look very well, if you don't mind my saying so. You've been working too hard.'

Dominic's mouth curled. 'No. I haven't. I haven't been working hard enough.' He adjusted the collar of his shirt, sliding his tie back into place. 'See you on Monday, hmm?'

'Would you like me to come in in the morning?' she enquired anxiously. 'I don't mind. I have nothing else to do.'

Dominic paused, momentarily stirred to an instinctive compassion. 'Don't you?' he asked probingly. 'I thought perhaps—Mr Cooke—'

'There is no Mr Cooke.' she declared, moving her shoulders in a gesture of dismissal. 'There was, but he left me fifteen years ago. Does that answer your question. Mr Dominic?'

He sighed. 'I'm sorry.'

Mrs Cooke shook her head. 'I'm not. I'm glad to get it off my chest. Your father—well, he never asked me.'

'He wouldn't.' averred Dominic dryly. 'So long as you did your work to the best of your ability, that was all he was concerned about.'

'I know that.' She gave a tentative smile, before saying impulsively: 'But I'm glad you did. I—we— I'm sure you're going to make a success of your job. Mr Dominic, if it's not presumptuous of me to say so.'

Dominic grimaced. 'I wish I could believe that.' he commented wryly. But all the same, his hard features softened. 'I think the whisky must have gone to your head. Mrs Cooke,' he added, yet he couldn't deny the faint stirring of optimism he felt as he walked towards the lifts.

The doorman hailed him a cab, and Dominic gave the address of his parents' home in Curzon Terrace. Then he settled back, and waited rather impatiently for the driver to reach his destination. He felt hot and irritable, and he would have liked nothing better than to go straight to the apartment and take a shower. But he wanted to talk to his father, and this was as good a time as any.

However, when he walked into his mother's sitting room to find her strumming idly at the piano, she quickly disabused him of his expectations.

'Your father's not here.' she told him. her tone half apologetic in the face of his frustration. 'He's playing golf with Alan Harmer. It's nothing urgent, is it. Dominic? I don't like to ring him at the club— you know how agitated he becomes if he gets an unexpected phone call.'