When She Was Bad... (19 page)

‘He didn’t make me feel awkward about it at all. He said it was something he had to do for his father.’

‘Sounds to me like he took one look at ycu and decided it didn’t matter any more.’

Becky hugged herself. ‘I hope so. I don’t want to get over-excited, or anything—’

‘Bit late for that,’ Sharon said perceptively. ‘When are you going to

see him next?’

‘Thursday night. I’m staying over with him for a party on Friday in London.’

‘Just don’t sleep with him. If you want to marry that sort of guy, you

don’t give it up.’

Becky lifted a brow. ‘As if I would.’

‘You’re not fooling anyone, babe.’

II2

Thursday was bitterly cold, but Mr Higgins, the gardener, laid a huge fire in the Hall that crackled and spat and smelled wonderfully of pine cones, and gave off so much heat Becky was walking around in her T shirt. Mrs Morecambe helped her hang her Christmas decorations, and she spent a happy morning threading little strips of gummy coloured paper into paper chains. They pinned mistletoe to the ceiling in every room, so that l

She had learned to dread the visits that were as regular as dentist’s appointments. Her aunt always had some criticism, some nasty little dig, and Henry always avoided her questions about the firm. They sat in Fairfield so easily, and discussed the house between themselves so that she had to bite her tongue to stop apologizing for owning the house. Becky thought it would have been better to have no family at all than to have these two, but she couldn’t stop herselt she wanted to please them, to make Daddy’s sister love her.

Oh, well, it was the season to be jolly. Maybe they’d be full of the Christmas spirit.

But she was worried. R.upert was coming to this dinner, too. Becky could take the endless needling, but what about him? He was the son of the guy that had fought with P, obert; he was the enemy that had been trying to take Fairfield for years. Becky winced at the thought of Vicky turning her fire on Rupert. She might even put him off. One really nasty remark, and who knew.., he might storm out. Which would be just what Aunt Victoria would love, because it would leave Becky back at square one.

Becky took a long bath with masses of Floris Gardenia perfume to relax her. She washed and blow-dried her hair, and picked out a Christmassy-looking dress - something dramatic, but still warm. There was nothing worse than looking like Missy Worth had back home, always going to Thanksgiving dances in her itty-bitty silk dresses, but with a bright red nose and chattering teeth! She selected a crimson velvet dress, floor-length with a deep V at the breasts, and a beautiful pale grey cashmere cloak to throw over the top .of it when she walked out to Rupert’s car. Her suitcase was already packed with crisp tissue paper sheets between her suit, her silk nightgown and negligee from Janet FZeger, and her Moroccan slippers, as well as a dramatic little silver number that she’d wear tomorrow night. FrightenEd of Aunt Victoria making some barb about her setting her cap at Rupert, Becky only xvore a smidgen of foundation and some lip salve, just to make them glow. Firelight was soft enough, anyway. She thought she’d get

II3

away with it. The bell rang and she walked downstairs to greet her guests, forcing a smile.

But it wasn’t them. It was Rupert.

‘You’re early,’ Becky said, trying not to sound as delighted as she felt. ‘I thought you might want reinforcements. Bit of back-up.’ Rupert produced something small from behind his back, wrapped in plain round paper.

‘What’s this?’

‘Flowers are so boring. I saw this in a little shop inJermyn Street, and thought of you.’

Becky tore off the paper. It was a wooden musical box with painted flowers on the top and a small gold key. She wound it and it started to play ‘Au Clair de la Lune.’

‘It’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say.’

He grinned. ‘I think “Thank you” is traditional. But don’t bother that look on your face is all the thanks I want. What’s that smell?’ ‘That’s mulled wine, your lordship,’ said Mrs Morecambe.

‘It smells incredible. Do you think I could have a small glass?’

Mrs Morecambe bustled off and returned with two glasses. Becky took a sip. It was sweet and warming and full of cinnamon and cloves.

‘Do you know, I think that’s the best mulled wine I’ve ever had,’ Rupert said warmly. ‘You’re a sensational cook, Mrs Morecambe.’

Becky was amused to note that now it was her housekeeper who was blushing. How lovely of him to make Mrs’ Morecambe feel good. Aunt Victoria and Uncle Henry did nothing but hand her their coats and ignore her.

Rupert sat in the Hall by the fire, sipping his mulled wine and paying Becky lots of extravagant compliments. She enjoyed being with him so

much that when the doorbell rang again she jumped out of her skin. He reached out and put a manicured hand on her upper arm. ‘Relax. I can handle these two.’

‘You don’t know what they’re like, Rupert.’

‘They’re not as bad as you think. They just need to be handled

firmly,’ he said, ‘like dogs.’

Becky giggled.

Rupert jumped up and walked out to the hallway. Victoria was already brushing snow from her felt hat vigorously.

‘Rebecca, you really must start to light the porch lamps outside. There’s ice on the gravel,’ she said without looking up. ‘I could have slipped and broken my neck.’

‘Oh, nonsense, there’s plenty of light going outside from the Hall

windows,’ said Rupert loudly. Victoria’s head snapped up, like a fox hearing the hounds braying in the distance. He sauntered forward and embraced her, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek and shaking Henry’s limp hand warmly. ‘How nice to see you again, Victoria, Henry. You’re looking very well, Victoria. What a lovely suit.’

She was wearing a boxy suit in heart-attack purple, with dark stockings and rather clumpy brown shoes.

‘Rupert.’ Victoria acknowledged him coldly. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Dinner, and some of Mrs Morecambe’s excellent mulled wine. You should try some.’

‘Yes, thanks,’ Henry said quickly. His wife shot him a disapproving look.

‘You don’t normally like anything but sherry before dinner, Henry. And, Rupert, you were here just last week for the dance.’

‘Indeed. Amazing that Becky agreed to have me back so soon. In fact,

I’m stealing her tonight.’

‘You’re doing what?’

‘I’m taking her down to London. Mice Pomfrey’s having a party tomorrow night. Becky hasn’t had much of an opportunity to make friends up here, so we’re going to hit the circuit.’

‘Mice Pomfrey’s?’ Victoria’s face tightened. Becky watched with interest. ‘I don’t think she’d enjoy that, P,.upert. Rebecca is used to America, you know.’

‘But she’s not in America now. If she’s to settle at Fairfield, she needs to make a go of it here. Wouldn’t you agree? I expect you’ve been

introducing her around all your fr’iends’ children, Henry, haven’t you?’ ‘Not really. Didn’t think they were Rebecca’s sort of people.’ ‘What, none of them?’ Rupert’s eyes widened slightly in mock surprise. ‘But with your work, and Victoria’s famous dinner parties, I’d have thought you knew hundreds of people. Gosh, while the court case was pending, I’m sure I saw in the Tatler that you had Fairfield filled with parties.’

‘Really?’ Becky blurted out. Her aunt had told her that it was always ‘very quiet’ in the country.

‘Hardly .filled with parties,’ Victoria said fiercely, looking at Rupert

like he was something nasty she’d found on the sole of her shoe.

I really, really, like this guy, Becky thought. ‘Shall we go in to dinner?’ Rupert said innocently.

It was the first enjoyable dinner with her aunt and uncle that Becky had ever had.

115

‘So, how was America, Rupert?’ Henry asked. ‘Glad to be back home, aren’t you?’

‘Of course he is. What could he possibly like about America? The people are so brash and tasteless. You’re English, really, Rebecca,’ Victoria added without conviction.

‘Yes, I am glad to be back. But only because I found Becky here. To think that I was over there when she came over here. America’s a lot of fun, you know. You should try it, Victoria - it loosens people up.’

‘I hardly need to be “loosened up”,’ Victoria said tightly. ‘Please pass the potatoes, Rebecca.’

‘How are things going at Lancaster, Uncle Henry? I’m having a hard time finding out the information I need from some of the company officers.’

‘Now, Rebecca, that’s hardly a fit subject for dinner.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rupert said easily. ‘Becky told me she wants to take an active interest in running Lancaster, and she hasn’t been able to make head or tail of it.’

‘I finally got a couple of prospectuses,’ Becky said, feeling emboldened. ‘But I need more.’ Victoria sighed. ‘Look, Rebecca, these companies have been run very efficiently by the trustees for years. They did manage to survive before you arrived.’

‘But the point is that now Becky is going to take over. I have a suggestion that might help,’ Rupert offered innocently. ‘I know a couple of lawyers, Becky. Experienced in ‘company law. They can help

sort through the paperwork and get you the figures that you need.’ Becky lifted her head. ‘Well, that would be ‘

‘Unnecessary,’ Henry said. Becky noted her uncle had gone a mottled shade of puce. ‘We can supply you with whatever you need, Rebecca, I’ll get on to it. All right?’

‘Yes, thank you, Uncle Henry,’ Becky said meekly.

It was the first time in her life she felt like she’d had the upper hand with her family. She stole a glance at P,.upert, but he was pretending to be engrossed in his salmon mousse.

Oh, well. She’d have a chance to thank him later.

II6

‘But I still don’t see why I have to start this way.’

Lita stood in front of him, glowering, her arms crossed over her impressive breasts. She had her long glossy hair tied back in a neat ponytail and wore a suit - a fitted jacket over a white shirt and a long pleated skirt, together with Maryjanes. The thick mascara and bright red lips were gone, he noted, and instead her silk shirt had a small pussy bow at the neck - the most outlandish thing she was wearing.

‘You have to start this way because everybody starts this way.’ Lita looked up at Harry. He towered over her the way he towered over everybody else, much like the way he metaphorically towered over Doheny. All the other secretaries, even the junior executives, were terrified of Harry Weiss and scuttled back to their desks whenever he appeared, trying to look busy.

Not Lita. When she had turned up for work yesterday in a thigh-high mini and sexy lime green shirt knotted under her bra, Sadie, the receptionist, had sent her home. Lita had demanded to see Harry.

‘Are you crazy?’ Sadie whispered. ‘If he sees you like that he’ll fire you.

Lita blinked. ‘But this is an ad agency. Copywriters dress how they want.’

‘Sure, but you’re not a copywriter. You’re Mark Smith’s assistant.’ ‘I’m what?’ Lita shrieked. She glanced down the corridor. Harry’s office was at the end. The door opened, and Harry emerged, talking business with a couple of suits.

‘Get. Out.’ Sadie shoved Lita towards the door. ‘It’s for your own good. And hurry back, because you’re already late.’

Reluctantly, Lita went back to the Village and changed.

When she got back to Doheny, she marched straight into Harry’s office. Susie looked up at her coldly. There were a hundred job applicants for every position at Doheny, and this Hispanic cipcake with the smouldering eyes and bee-stung lips had just waltzed into the ground floor. Yeah, it was a real mystery.

‘I want to speak to Harry Weiss right away,’ the prima donna said.

II7

‘Well, isn’t that nice? You can’t - he left for a meeting.’

‘When will he be back?’

‘Mr Weiss won’t be back until tomorrow.’

‘Then I need to see him, first thing.’

‘You can make an appointment. He doesn’t have any time until eleven a.m. I’ll call you if he agrees to see you. Now …’ Susie glanced pointedly at the clock on the wall. ‘Have you reported in to Mr Smith yet?’

‘Of course not. There’s been some mistake. Harry - Mr Weiss - didn’t hire me to be a secretary,’ Lita insisted.

Susie was a secretary and didn’t like the way Lita said it.

‘He certainly did. He discussed it all with me. Of course, if you don’t want the job, I’ll be more than happy to tell him you resigned,’ Susie said icily. ‘Plenty of candidates would love a shot at working for Mr Smith.’

Lita wavered. Suddenly, she felt unsure of herself.

‘No, I’m not resigning.’

‘Then get over to your boss’s office now. Unless you’d rather be fired,’ Susie snapped.

Lita swallowed hard and did as she was told.

Mark Smith’s office was two floors and half a building distant from Harry’s. It hummed with activity. Copywriters lounged in their offices with the doors open, shouting out campaign slogans and script ideas for commercials. Art directors were ripping up magazines, pinning photos to pinboards and, Lita noted, flirtin heavily with the assistants. She made a quick inventory. There seemed to be about twelve offices on the floor, two of them occupied by women. Everybody else in a skirt was typing, or over in the kitchenette making coffee.

‘Excuse me.’ She turned to one of.the typing girls who was dressed conservatively like herself. All the assistants were. She guessed that the freedom from shirts and ties was only handed out when you got an office. ‘Where does Mark Smith work?’

The girl indicated the office with a jab of her thumb.

Lita walked up to it. It was as chaotic as the rest of the place. In the room were two men, one big and beefy, wearing a tweed flared suit and a large gold charm in his chest hair, and the other skinny, with sideburns.

‘Yeah?’ the big one said. ‘Mark Smith?’ Lita asked. ‘Who’s asking?’

She stuck out her hand. ‘tLosalita Morales. I’m your new assistant.’ He looked at it with withering contempt, and didn’t take it.