Crimson (62 page)

At the top of the stairs, she stumbled over Pitch, who crouched, invisible, against the navy-blue carpet. The cat’s yellow eyes glared up at her, as if he knew what she was doing and wanted to protect his master’s territory.

As Annabel entered the bedroom, she saw the large black backside of Mrs. Price, who was picking bits of white china from the floor. She stood up, turned, and gave a squawk as she saw Annabel.

“Oh madam, I’d no idea you -back Mr. Grant didn’t say. That drat ted clumsy cat ed over an ashtray!” Mr. Grant doesn’t know I’ve returned,” Annabel said cheerfully.

“It was bitterly cold in Norfolk at the health farm, so I decided to return to town.”

“You were lucky to get here, madam. On the early morning news, they said there was blizzards in south-east England.”

“Yes, terrible blizzards,” Annabel. said hastily. You must have left very early, madam. Before six. In the dark.”

“Yes. But the train arrived on time.” Annabel wanted to say, “Go away.”

“Shall I unpack for you, madam?” “I stupidly left my suitcase on the train.” Annabel gave an embarrassed laugh and embroidered her lie.

“I’ve already telephoned the lost property office … Luckily, a porter handed it in. I have to go and collect it this afternoon.”

“What a nuisance, madam. Would you like me to go for you? Or I could telephone Mr. Grant’s secretary. She could have the suitcase picked up.”

“You’re very kind,” Annabel said.

“But … er … er … I have to personally sign for it, you see, and produce identification prove that it’s mine.” Firmly she added, “What I would like now is a hot bath.”

“I haven’t finished the bathroom yet, madam.”

“Then please leave it until tomorrow. Leave this room as well.” Annabel had regained her confidence: why had she been so frightened? “Shall I take your boots to dry, madam? They look very wet. They need stuffing with newspaper.”

“Thank you. I’ll let you have them after my bath.”

“Would you care for a cup of tea to warm you up, madam?” Go away! Go away! Annabel thought, but aloud said calmly, “No thank you, Mrs. Price, that will be all.”

Motionless, Annabel listened as Mrs. Price padded downstairs. Then she ran-to the bedroom door and turned the key in the lock. She flung her fur coat on the floor. In the bathroom she shoved the plug in the tub and went through the charade of preparing a bath; while the taps were running, she could take the drawers out without being heard.

Adam’s bathroom was above the kitchen, his study above the dining room. His bedroom also ran the width of the house; one end, which overlooked Cadogan Place, was used as a sitting area. Here navy sofas were grouped around a zebra skin before a marble fireplace in which a log fire quietly burned; dark blue shelves on either side of the fireplace held a collection of Thai water jars.

On the opposite wall stood a George III mahogany bureau bookcase. Above four narrow drawers, a sloping desktop could be pulled down to provide a writing surface; above it, a glass-fronted bookcase contained a collection of eighteenthcentury drinking glasses.

On trembling legs, Annabel ran towards this splendid piece of furniture.

Miranda wore a plain orange suit, not so short-skirted as the rest of her clothes. She felt nervous but excited. Waiting in the impressive pillared entrance hall of the Connaught Rooms, she -had already peeped into the cream hall and seen SUPPLY KITS shareholders sitting in rows, some stamping snow from their ‘shoes, some reading newspapers. The city press had been having a great deal of fun, and there had been a lot of speculation and broad hints for Miranda’s private relationship with Adam was guessed on Fleet Street. Today’s headlines had read: SUPPLY KITS BOARDROOM CONTROL BATTLE The Times, IT’S MIRANDA V. ADAM! Daily Mail, NEW BOSS AT SUPPLY KITS Daily Express, and WHOOPS, IT’S D-DAY FOR CITY SWEETHEART, MIRANDA Daily Mirror.

J a, who quite enjoyed a fight, knew that she was bdut to battle as fiercely as a mother tiger for her wounded cub; the neglected KITS needed all her protection, care, and attention to nurse it back to health.

From behind her, Lord Brighton said, “Nearly time to start it’s five to ten.” Together, they moved slowly towards the hall.

Miranda!” Miranda twisted her head backward as she heard her name shouted.

To her astonishment, she saw the wild red-gold hair and unmistakable Viking-sized figure of Angus Maclayne rushing towards her from the street entrance.

“Angus! What are you doing he re?” “Thought I’d never make it,” he panted.

“I’m here to vote.”

“But you aren’t registered as a shareholder!”

Angus grinned.

“Yes I am.”

“How? Why?” Miranda puzzled.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on your shares. Didn’t like it when your holding dipped to forty-five per cent and you lost your majority,” Angus said.

“So I started buying.”

“How many shares do you own?”

Miranda asked urgently.

“Four point eight, which still won’t give you a majority vote … I had hoped to get five point one per cent.”

“Angus … how can you own four point eight per cent? Unless…”

Angus nodded.

“Highland Croft Holdings is indirectly owned by my family.” Miranda flung her arms around him. She mumbled into his still-damp overcoat, “You’re wonderful, Angus. I love you for thinking of this! Four point eight is all I need!”

Behind her, Lord Brighton coughed.

“We should move in.”

As Miranda’s orange figure appeared on the platform, cameras flashed and a rustle of excitement swept through the hall.

Walking confidently across the platform, Miranda felt exultant. It looked as if she controlled the votes. Behind her back, she crossed her fingers.

Miranda took her, seat next to Lord Brighton. She and Adam Grant, sitting on his Lordship’s other side, ignored each other.

Annabel could just peer behind the back of the desk, which stood against the wall; nothing was attached to it. She pulled down the sloping top of the central section of the desk. The writing surface, thus revealed, was covered b worn black leather. Centred at the rear was a tiny classical doorway with carved pillars on either side and a pediment above it; on either side of this were pigeonholes, with drawers beneath.

Her hands shaking, Annabel removed each drawer and laid it on the navy-blue carpet in the order of its removal: she had to be careful to put the drawers back correctly or

Adam would immediately spot that someone had been tampering with his desk.

With a tape measure borrowed from Miranda, she measured each drawer: all were the same width and the same depth. Damn!

Annabel closed the sloping top and looked carefully at its beautifully inlaid design of musical instruments.” Perhaps if she pressed some part, it would activate a hidden mechanism.

Suddenly she realized that she couldn’t hear the bathwater.

She scrambled to her feet and ran towards the bathroom.

The bath had overflowed. Water seeped gently over the navy carpet.

“As soon as one drop leaked through the kitchen Mrs. Price would be up with mops and pails; she “JA the desk drawers scattered over the carpet. Annabel sloshed across the carpet. Quickly she turned off the taps and pulled out the plug her big mistake. She threw all the towels she could see, plus Adam’s dressing gown, on the floor and then stamped on the bundle to soak up the water.

Trembling more violently, she ran back to the desk. Halfway there, she changed her mind and ran back to the bathroom. She turned on the taps above the hand basing which she did not plug: running taps were still necessary to camouflage any odd noises she might make.

Annabel glanced at her watch.

“Damn!” Ten-fifteen already. And her knees were knocking.

In the cream-coloured assembly hall, the shareholders, quiet but expectant, looked up at Lord Brighton as he outlined the reason for the meeting. Miss Miranda O’Dare wished to regain control of the KITS cosmetics business by separating it from the complex of companies into which her original business had developed. The KITS shops had been losing money since the group went public; therefore, this sale might be no great loss to the holding company.

Should the shareholders agree to the price that their independent assessors had decided was reasonable, Miss O’Dare would pay this price for KITS. Should it be decided that Miss O’Dare could not buy the company, then Miss O’Dare would resign from SUPPLY KITS as soon as her contract expired, in three months.

Mr. Adam Grant had also offered to buy KITS, at ten per cent above any price that Miss O’Dare offered to pay.

Lord Brighton concluded his speech by saying that every member of SUPPLY KITS worked hard, but nobody worked harder than Miss O’Dare,

KITS’s founder. As ‘the face of the firm’, Miss O’Dare was perceived by the public to be responsible for the easy and continued success of the company, and therefore, in his opinion, SUPPLY KITS could not afford to lose Miss O’Dare. They could not afford to lose her services or the publicity generated by Miss O’Dare’s presence. Nor could they afford to have any rival company acquire the services of Miss O’Dare. And should she leave, he felt certain, the share price would fall.

For these reasons, Lord Brighton recommended that the shareholders refuse Mr. Adam Grant’s offer. He also recommended that they show their appreciation for Miss O’Dare’s work by accepting Miss O’Dare’s offer and agreeing to sell the cosmetics chain KITS to Miss O’Dare for the independent valuation price of fourteen thousand pounds. Lord Brighton moved that Miss O’Dare’s offer be accepted.

Carefully Annabel ran her hands around each empty drawer space in the desk. She touched the backs, the sides, and the bottoms, hoping to feel a piece of wood move very, very slightly when it shouldn’t.

“Ah!”

At the base of the left-hand bank of drawers, the bottom moved ever so slightly. Annabel pushed it backward, then edged her nails under the base panel.

The thin wooden panel lifted easily. She had been right to start her search at the desk! Gently she lifted the panel and pulled it towards her: attached to the end was a box ten inches wide by two inches deep.

Annabel ran her thumb lightly over the top of the box: it yielded. She slid it aside and looked into the secret compartment.

the second row of seats at the Connaught Rooms, thin man with a ginger moustache stood up.

“Mr. Chairman, I don’t go along with what you suggest.” Lord Brighton said, “Do I understand that you object to the company’s acceptance of Miss O’Dare’s offer to purchase KIT ST I “No, I’m all for that,” said the man with the ginger moustache, “but like you said, we all know how hard Miranda I mean Miss O’Dare has worked to pay our dividends. Why don’t we show a bit more appreciation than you suggest? Why don’t we give KITS to her?”

There was a buzz of noise in the hall. A woman in a beige raincoat quickly stood up and, without addressing the chair, pointed out that Miss O’Dare was well paid for her work; personally, she expected Miss O’Dare to work hard for the company; personally, she was a canteen manageress, and she also worked hard for her pay, and nobody gave her gifts worth thousands of pounds. So she opposed the suggestion. She sat down to cries of agreement.

Lord Brighton settled the matter by reminding the meeting that, by law, no proposal of which the shareholders had not been advised by letter could be brought up for consideration.

Annabel stared. at the contents of the secret drawer: a battered silver King Edward III sixpence. Clearly, Adam did not know of the existence of this drawer; that sixpence may have lain in it for over two hundred years.

Annabel was bitterly disappointed. She sat back on the heels of her crimson thigh boots and checked her watch. Ten forty-five already. She looked at the desk. Was there any point in searching it further? She glanced upward. Something might be hidden behind the pediment above the doorway in the centre of the desk; something might be attached to the underside of the base.

Annabel dragged the desk chair closer to the desk and stood on it. Carefully she felt over the top of the bookcase. Her hand came away covered with dirt: obviously, Mrs. Price’s feather duster didn’t move above eye level.

Then she jumped down from the chair and lay flat on the floor to peer beneath the desk. As she couldn’t see clearly, she felt over the entire undersurface; had Adam lodged a notebook there, her fingers would certainly have felt it.

Again disappointed, Annabel sat back on her he ‘els and studied the tiny classical doorway with pillars on either side. She opened it.

Inside were two shelves and, at the top, a very small drawer, too shallow to take anything but visiting cards and rings. Annabel gently withdrew the drawer: it contained only a crumpled oldfashioned white five-pound note.

She bit her lip. She had been so certain that this desk was Adam’s hiding place. Before returning the little drawer, she carefully put her hand in the opening and pressed each wooden side; none yielded. But something didn’t feel right.

It was then Annabel realized what she should do.

In the Connaught Rooms, Lord Brighton, as chairman, made sure that anyone who wished to speak was allowed to do so.

Then the votes were taken and counted. A rustle ran through the room. Reporters flipped their notebooks. Shareholders whispered excitedly to one another. Tension rose.

Adam glared at Miranda, and she glared back. The shareholders voted in Miranda’s favour. The majority was small, but Miranda didn’t mind because KITS would be sold back to her for fourteen thousand pounds: the resolution was passed.

But the meeting was not yet finished.

I again studied the little doorway inside the desk. JW central structure didn’t feel as secure as it should. She took hold of the scrolls of the Ionic pillars on either side of the doorway and tugged them towards her.

She was either about to break a valuable antique or … As Annabel held her breath, the entire little doorway slid towards her: it was a box unit, measuring about ten inches wide and deep by twelve inches high, and it left a space of the same size in the desk.