The Questing Heart (5 page)

'I don't know,' she ruminated. 'Mrs Cullingford is fairly easy-going, and she does allow me time to go out and also to write my book.'

'She wouldn't if she knew what you were doing,' he teased her. 'But wouldn't you prefer to work for a man? Most women do.'

She stared at his smooth unrevealing face and saw a spark of mischief in his eyes. In the bright sunlight they shone gold. His hair was not black as it had appeared indoors, but a dark brown, and though he was richly tanned by the sun, there were indications that his skin was naturally fair. His brow was prominent over his eye sockets, which with his slightly beaky nose gave him a resemblance to a hawk when his face was in repose. More often it was alight with malicious amusement; a fascinating personality, she thought involuntarily, with half her mind while she considered his question, but not exactly lovable.

'I'm not most women,' she said slowly. 'Men can be very tiresome.'

'So can women.'

'But not so dangerous.' The words slipped out unthinkingly.

Chris chuckled. 'Your duties would be only clerical,' he told her, and grinned impishly as she blushed. 'Board but not bed.'

'You mean I should have to live in?'

'You do now, don't you? It would be in this part of the world. You wouldn't want to go back to England?'

She looked round at the blue sky, the bluer sea, the groves of lemon trees behind them. Menton was famous for its lemons.

'I'd say not, but before I consider your ... er ... proposition, I'd want to know more details and whether I should be bettering myself.'

'Oh, you'd be doing that, but I can't wait too long for your decision.'

'You? How do you come into it?'

'I'm asking you to come and work for me.'

She laughed merrily. 'You're joking, of course.'

'I'm in deadly earnest. I must warn you it's no sinecure. When the mood is on me, I work long hours and become very irritable. I've been idling enough and I've a play ta finish, you might find it interesting.'

'I might, but... but can you afford to pay me?'

He stared at her, his lips twitching. 'That is of paramount importance? You wouldn't work for love?'

'I can't afford to,' she explained. 'I have to live. Mrs Cullingford pays me a very generous salary.'

'And what princely sum does she consider your services are worth?'

She told him.

'I'll double that,' he said carelessly.

'Oh, don't be absurd!' She was exasperated. For a moment she had believed he really was serious and the prospect he opened before her was alluring. To be in daily contact with Chris, to come to know him intimately as she must—secretaries often knew more about their bosses than their wives did—was thrilling, but she might have known he was not in earnest.

'I'm sorry you think that,' he said stiffly.

'But of course it's absurd. I'm not worth so much and you're a struggling playwright who couldn't afford to pay it.'

'You're not yet au fait with my financial circumstances.'

'But you said ... everyone said ...' she began, wondering if he had private means.

'I use a little camouflage because I don't want to flaunt myself,' he told her flippantly. 'Officially I'm on holiday and it's more fun if people don't know ... everything.'

'I see,' she said, feeling bewildered. Who was she talking to? 'But I'll have to know... everything, if I work for you.'

'Only what's relevant,' he insisted. 'So you don't find the idea so absurd after all?'

Clare looked at him levelly. 'I find your offer attractive, provided you can guarantee my monthly wage.'

Chris laughed gleefully. 'Oh, my darling, you're rich!' he gurgled.

'So must you be if you can afford such wages for a secretary.' She looked at him enquiringly.

'There are no rich men nowadays,' he returned evasively. 'The Inland Revenue sees to that, but your salary will be paid on the dot on the first of each month. Does that satisfy you, you she-Shylock?'

'Completely.'

He sobered. 'In addition to your secretarial duties I want you to let me take you in hand.'

Her grey eyes clouded and she moved uncomfortably. In spite of his assurances she feared he was going to make demands that she would find impossible to fulfil. And yet why should they be so? She wanted to see life to gain emotional experience, and nowadays girls thought nothing of casual lovemaking. It came to her then with a sense of shock that she did not want to be a mere episode in Christopher Raines' life.

'What do you mean by that?' she asked nervously.

'Don't look at me if you thought I meant to rape you,' he chided her. 'I'm not that sort of man. I only want to groom you to fit your part.' He ran a derogatory eye over her slight form, to which the cotton dress clung limply, and her hair was blown by the breeze into untidy disorder. She looked oddly immature for all her self-possession and twenty years, and his face softened, though his words were harsh. 'At the moment you look like an escapee from a vicarage garden party.'

'Oh!' She supposed the floral print did look a little parochial, but she found this request much harder to accept than the erotic favours she had previously envisaged. It seemed to impinge upon her personal liberty. She was not surprised he had not been impressed by his first sight o£ her when he had dubbed her a brown sparrow, but when he called the dress she was wearing pretty-pretty it was a slur upon her taste. What sort of freak did he want to make of her if she agreed to his whim, and what was his object in wishing to remould her?

'Of course I wouldn't wear a dress like this for work,' she said primly. 'A secretary should look unobtrusive.'

She thought of the pseudo-blonde girls with their paint and false eyelashes who had been her colleagues at night school and who had been chosen in preference to herself as personal attendants by business executives. Was Chris suggesting that he wanted her to look as they did?

'Mine shouldn't. She will have to be a bit of a dragon to guard my privacy, also she may have to deputise for me upon occasion. She should appear elegant and immaculate to do me credit as well as herself. You have the potential, my darling, the right clothes and make-up will do the rest.'

Clare did not at all want to be shaped according to his fancy, but she was becoming eager to accept the job, so all she said was:

'You shouldn't call me darling, that's not businesslike.'

'Everyone does in the Profession,' he remarked.

'The Pro ... Oh, you mean the stage. Of course, you write plays.'

'Which are sometimes performed.'

This surprised her. 'Then you're not unrecognised?'

'I'm on my way up.'

'Then I can't conceive why you bothered to go to Mrs Cullingford's
soiree
,' she voiced her astonishment. 'She collects failures and beginners.'

'Poor souls, they were a seedy lot,' he admitted absently. 'I went at Forbes' insistence the first time out of curiosity.

I'd never met a lady novelist, and the second time to see you again.'

Clare was incredulous. 'A brown sparrow?'

'As I told you, I'm short of a secretary and it seemed to me that you might suit me.'

'Without enquiring about my qualifications, or knowing if I were efficient?' she enquired, a little dashed by his prosaic explanation.

'Anyone who could cope with Madame Monica would have to be efficient,' he told her. 'My own observations bore that out. So you accept?'

'Oh, please don't rush me.' The situation sounded both interesting and exciting, but some inner sense was warning her that she should not put too great a trust in Christopher Raines.

'You'll be a fool if you don't,' he said succinctly.

Clare was not given to hasty decisions, not being naturally impetuous, but meeting those hawk-like amber eyes, a new recklessness stirred within her. If she never ran any risks she would never climb out of the rut, and she was heartily tired of Monica's posturings.

'I accept,' she said quietly. She would have to give Mrs Cullingford a month's notice, which would give her time to reconsider if Chris' demands proved too exorbitant.

'Good girl,' he said approvingly.

'But you do realise that I'll expect my salary paid regularly?' she emphasised, for she knew artists and authors had a reputation for being casual over such matters.

'Mercenary little sparrow,' Christopher returned pleasantly. 'I promise you it will be, and I'll damned well make you earn it!'

C
LARE'S
expectation of a month's respite during which she could change her mind about accepting Christopher's offer if it seemed expedient was not fulfilled. Instead she was precipitated into a whirlpool of events that nearly shipwrecked her.

As they continued their expedition she reflected that during her remaining time with Monica, she must endeavour to find out more about her prospective employer. Eustace Forbes, who had introduced him, might be able to give her some information. The generous remuneration offered had been a big inducement for during the past few months she had been sending money home. Mr Underwood was out of work and her mother had written a long wail, deploring her absence and the loss of her contribution to the housekeeping funds, demanding her return, but her father also wrote declaring that he could manage and it would be foolish to throw up a good job to help them when she might find herself unable to obtain another one. Clare had compromised by sending part of her monthly salary home, saying she had nothing to spend it on as she had her keep. This was not wholly true; she needed clothes and enjoyed occasional expeditions on the Riviera, and she was prudently trying to save for emergencies. Christopher's offer would make a great difference to her, but could she rely on him?

She made several tentative attempts to elicit further details from him, but he brushed them off impatiently.

'I've talked enough business for today,' he declared. 'We've come out to enjoy ourselves. Let's forget that such things as typewriters and play scripts exist and just amuse ourselves.'

Clare was quite ready to fall in with his carefree mood, which was a novelty for her, as she was inclined to take even her pleasures seriously. He proved himself to be a most entertaining companion, and she did not mind his teasing, glad that she seemed to divert him. He varied Brown Sparrow with Little Puritan when she said something particularly naive, and she did not resent these appelations. She decided that he had not encountered many girls like herself in his world and her unsophistication had the charm of novelty. Unfortunately that would soon wear off upon continuing association, but under his tutelage she might acquire more poise, though she must not forget today was an exception and when she went to work for him, if she so decided, their connection would be much more formal.

They did get as far as San Remo and looked in at the casino, but Chris did not play. He said it was uninspiring in the afternoon and he preferred to gamble in style when the participants wore evening dress, which produced the right atmosphere.

They stopped on the way back to have a meal of seafood at an unpretentious restaurant on the Italian side of the border, though Clare never discovered the name of the town. The place, in spite of its humble appearances-produced an excellent repast, langouste salad with French dressing being what she remembered best. She did not notice how frequently Chris refilled her wine glass and he, associating her with Mrs Cullingford's lavish refreshments, did not realise that she was unused to alcohol. Soon she was seeing the universe through a golden haze and Chris tookon the semblance of a young god who had descended from » Olympus to honour a mortal maid.

It was very late when they finally reached the villa which greeted them with darkened windows. Clare's mind was focussed upon their parting. When Christopher kissed her tonight, and she felt certain he would, she was sure she would be able to respond more adequately, and thus arouse him to greater ardour. She was viewing the prospect with pleasurable anticipation, but the wine she had drunk was affecting her, so much so that she was dazed and dreamy when he hauled her out of the car.

As she stood swaying he stared at her in dismay.

'Good lord, what have I done? It never occurred to me that Hebe couldn't take her wine. I thought you were used to it.'

'Hebe, gods' cup-bearer,' Clare murmured in soft slurred accents. 'She didn't drink the nectar herself. Mrs Cull... Cullingford wouldn't allow.'

'Mean old bitch!' He put a firm arm about her waist and piloted her towards the house. 'She shouldn't muzzle her ox.' He looked doubtfully at the closed appearance of the house. 'Shall we have to knock someone up?' He felt responsible for Clare's condition and did not want to have to face an indignant Monica.

'Round to back,' Clare told him.

'Ah yes, your secret entry.' He guided her round the house and found the back door unlatched with a dim light shining in the passage beyond. Clare slumped against him, and he said sternly :

'Pull yourself together and get yourself upstairs to bed.'

Clare giggled feebly but made no move to free herself from his arm. She looked childishly vulnerable and Chris cursed himself for having landed her in this state. He wondered whether he should risk discovery by conducting her to her room, or whether it would be wiser to leave her in the kitchen which would provide her with poor comfort for the rest of the night. His dilemma was solved by the arrival of Marie-Celeste. The maid looked with amusement at Clare's tousled head lying against Christopher's shoulder and said something in French which caused Chris to frown and tell her not to be impertinent, it was not as she supposed.

'Mademoiselle Underwood is not feeling well,' he said glibly. 'Can you get her up to bed?'

He handed the maid a folded note, which she pushed into the front of her dress.

'Hush-money,' she said impudently. 'I take it as a sign of goodwill,
monsieur,
but I do not need to be bribed to give the care to Mademoiselle. I am glad she has found a lover.'

Clare became vaguely aware that Marie-Celeste was under a misapprehension.