Stronger Than Yearning

And yet now, as far as Lucy was concerned, nothing she could do was right. Her head really aching now, Jenna wandered into the kitchen to make herself a drink, suddenly aware of a deep sense of depression. What was she going to do to put things right between herself and Lucy? Perhaps it was just as well that Lucy was returning to school on Sunday, although Jenna was loath to part from her in her present mood. Maybe it would do them both good to be away from one another for a while?

CHAPTER FOUR (#u67eba6e2-f9a6-50e6-9441-3a42e109aed3)

‘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.