No Gentle Possession
Author
Anne Mather
Reads
16,5K
Chapters
11
CHAPTER ONE
THE long room with its pine-logged walls and low-beamed ceiling was full of people, most of whom were stamping their feet and clapping excitedly to the sound of Tyrolean music gone slightly mad. The small band of local musicians had all imbibed rather freely of their host’s hospitality, as indeed had everyone else, and by now the party was totally uninhibited, dancing and singing, or keeping time with their feet. At the far end of the room a huge fireplace was filled with logs which blazed brightly, adding their own illumination to the scene, while the atmosphere, thickened by cigar and cigarette smoke, exuded the mingled scents of perfume and shaving lotion, wines and lager, or plain body heat.
At the opposite end of the room to the fire, a man sat apart from the rest, lodged on a tall stool beside the long buffet tables where food and drink were being dispensed by several white-coated attendants. For time to time, someone would approach him with the obvious idea of rousing him from his solitude, but from their expressions when they turned away it was just as obvious that they had not succeeded.
Alexis Whitney was bored. It was no new experience for him. He was often bored, more frequently with people than with places, and right now he was in no mood to appreciate the kind of bonhomie that was created at such a gathering. He was well aware that his attitude would have been noted and commented upon; it wasn’t very kind, it wasn’t even very polite, but quite honestly he didn’t particularly care. He was all too compellingly aware that no matter how rude or objectionable he might be, his so-called friends would forgive him, and if that forgiveness was conceived all the more rapidly because of his father’s undoubted wealth and social position, then who was he to complain? It was a cynical attitude, he knew, but events had generated that cynicism, and looking ahead he could see no reason to change his opinions.
Finishing the remaining Scotch in his glass, he rose to his feet, flexing his back muscles tiredly. He Had spent the day on the ski slopes above the village and although during the past couple of weeks he had done a lot of skiing, today he had really taxed his strength and endurance. It had been another attempt to shed the boredom that seemed to be seeping like a poison into his soul.
His amber eyes surveyed the room critically. There must have been about forty people present, almost all the guests from the Grüssmatte Hotel, in fact. But Axel Fritzlander was like that. He threw open his chalet without reserve, inviting anyone and everyone to his parties. Alexis had known him for about twenty years. He was a contemporary of his father’s, and Alexis could remember coming here years ago when he was only a child and his mother had been alive. They had spent many winter holidays at the Grüssmatte Hotel, and in consequence they knew its owner intimately. Now, of course, Grüssmatte was much busier than it had been then, and there were other small hotels and pensions catering for the ever-increasing influx of tourists, but still the hotel owned by Axel Fritzlander maintained its individuality, and his guests expected and received personal service. It was expensive, of course, much more expensive than the Hochlander, or the Gasthof, but that, said Axel, was the only way to ensure that his guests would be of the right type and background to mix socially. To Alexis, in his present frame of mind, it was all rather pretentious, and he half wished he had chosen to stay at one of the other hotels, just to see what kind of a reaction that would have aroused.
Still, he thought reflectively, these weeks in Austria had served their purpose in that they had taken him away from London at a time when he most desired it. He had come to the Grüssmatte with David Vanning, a young barrister in London, and one of his few real friends. They had gone to school together, but nowadays, since David began his career, they didn’t see much of one another. Alexis recalled with wry humour his father’s astonishment when he had told him he was going away with David. The usual crowd he mixed with didn’t go in much for actual working, and until recently he had been quite happy to go along with their philosophy so long as he remained conscious of his father’s displeasure…
At the moment, David was at the opposite end of the room, sitting near the fire with Rosemary Lawson, whose parents had not joined the party. Rosemary had been David’s prime objective in coming to the Grüssmatte, he had made that clear from the start, but Alexis had not minded. It had suited him to have some time alone; it had given him a chance to think, and while he didn’t particularly care for his thoughts, at least he had enjoyed the sense of release gained in purely physical achievement.
Now he made his way towards the door, but before he reached it, a small, slim, red-haired girl interposed herself between him and his goal.
‘Alex darling,’ she exclaimed appealingly, grasping the sleeve of his dark blue suede suit. ‘You’re not leaving!’
Alexis looked down at her wryly. ‘Aren’t I? I thought I was.’
‘Oh, Alex, you can’t go now! It’s only just after midnight! Darling, why aren’t you joining in the fun like everybody else? It’s not like you to be so—so—detached!’
Alexis shrugged. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. But it was a refusal.
The girl’s hand dropped from his sleeve. She had to tip back her head to look up at him. ‘What’s the matter? What have I done? You’ve scarcely spoken to me for the last five days!’ Her voice quivered a little. ‘I thought—I thought you liked me.’
Alexis controlled his impatience. He despised women who ran after a man, who could not control their emotions. ‘I do like you, Sara,’ he replied briefly. ‘But right now I’m tired, I want to go to bed.’
Sara Raymond touched a strand of her hair provocatively. ‘I don’t mind where you want to go, if I can go with you.’
Alexis expelled his breath on a long sigh. ‘No, Sara,’ he said definitely, and with a faint smile he walked past her to the door.
No one else tried to stop him. Only Axel was likely to have attempted to do so, and he was occupied with a group of people near the band. Alexis cast one last look at the scene, and then went out into the hall.
He collected his sheepskin coat, and fastened it warmly before stepping out into the frosty air. He scorned the fur hats worn by some and his hair, which at first sight could appear almost white because of its silvery lightness, lay thick and smooth against his head. It was a magnificent night, the sky an arc of inky blue above, inset with a million jewel-like stars. All around the chalet, and the village on whose outskirts it lay, the mountains slumbered beneath their pall of snow like rampant giants, their startling whiteness illuminating the scene with brilliant clarity.
Hunching his shoulders, Alexis set off to walk back to the hotel, but as it was only some hundred yards from Axel’s chalet, he decided to walk the length of the village before retiring. Now that he was away from the party, from the thick, cloying atmosphere, his brain felt sharper, and clearer, and the weariness in his bones seemed to ease as he moved.
There were still one or two people about, although most were enjoying the kind of après-ski entertainment Axel provided, and the sound of accordion music drifted on the air. But it was not an unpleasant sound, and Alexis felt more at peace with himself at that moment than at any time he could recently remember.
It did not take long to reach the end of the village where the bare iron supports of the ski-lift stood out starkly against the background of snow. Motionless now, they stretched up towards the line of spruce and pine trees which marked the beginning of the higher slopes. During the day, these lower slopes were thronged with people, young and old alike, but the more rarefied atmosphere of the upper slopes was what Alexis preferred.
He was about to turn back again when a movement some way up the slope caught his attention. Someone was up there, and because they were wearing something light, they had not immediately been noticeable. Alexis frowned. Surely no one was foolhardy enough to be messing about at this time of night without anyone on hand to offer assistance should it be necessary. Even these lower slopes could be treacherous, providing their users with twisted ankles, sprained muscles, and sometimes actual broken limbs.
He hesitated. It was really nothing to do with him. If his eyes were not so accustomed to searching the slopes for possible dangers on his own perilous descends he might never have noticed that there was anyone up there.
But even as he considered this, there was a startled cry and the person, whoever it was, overbalanced and came tumbling down the slope towards him. It was obvious in that undignified descent that whoever it was was not wearing skis, and Alexis gave a resigned sigh before he went to help the unfortunate climber out of the drift of snow into which he had tumbled.
However, as he reached the place where the snow was thickest, the climber was scrambling to his feet, and brushing himself down, so that clearly there was no damage done. Alexis halted, and then said:
‘Are you all right?’
The climber started, as though until that moment he had thought himself alone, but as he looked up Alexis saw that his supposition of which sex had been wrong. It was a girl who stood regarding him with obvious impatience, a tall girl with an oval face, unnaturally pale in the moonlight, and dark, very dark hair that strayed in a deep fringe across her forehead, and pushed out from the bottom of the cream fur hood of the parka she was wearing.
She stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing so that he could scarcely see them between the thick lashes, and then dropping her gaze she said: ‘I’m perfectly all right, thank you,’ dispelling any doubts he might have had as to her nationality. Her voice was low and attractive, and unmistakably English.
Alexis inclined his head. ‘That’s good.’ He paused. ‘However, I wouldn’t advise you to do this very often. These slopes have been known to produce quite serious accidents, and as you’re not even wearing skis…’
She looked up then, anger quickening her speech. ‘I’m quite aware of the hazards involved, thank you.’
‘Are you?’ his expression was wry. ‘Is that why you made that ungainly descent from up there?’ His eyes flickered up towards the firs. ‘I’m sorry—it’s something quite new to me. I always thought the idea was to remain in an upright position. Obviously, I was wrong—’
‘Very amusing!’ She made an irritated little grimace at him and giving one last flick to her cream trousers began to walk towards the village.
Alexis smiled, watching her retreating back with humour. Then with a characteristic shrug of his broad shoulders he quickened his stride to fall into step beside her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, with that innate charm which was so much a part of his attractiveness. ‘But I couldn’t resist it. You looked so indignant standing there, all covered in snow. It’s a pity I was around at all.’
‘Yes, it was.’
The girl looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, and something stirred way back in his subconscious. Something about her was vaguely familiar; he had the disturbing suspicion that at some time she had looked at him like that before. But how was it possible? It was obvious from her accent that she was not from the southern part of England, nor did she have the cultured overtones in her voice that he was used to. How could he have met someone like her? Unless it was at university…
He frowned. It was an infuriating impression, and on impulse, he said: ‘Have we ever met before?’
Immediately the words were out he regretted using them. She lifted her dark eyebrows mockingly, and replied: ‘Is that the best you can do? I expected something quite devastating after that introduction!’
Alexis’s frowned deepened. He didn’t like being made to feel small. ‘It was not a line,’ he said. ‘I meant it.’
‘Really?’ She sounded uninterested, and a slow feeling of anger began to burn inside him. It was a long time since any woman had treated him to such a show of indifference, and he resented her assumption that he might be interested in her.
In cool tones, he said: ‘I should have realized it was impossible to ask such a question without you assuming I was necessarily voicing a personal interest in you. I’m sorry if I’m exploding the high opinion you have of yourself, but there it is.’
The girl tensed at this, and for a moment he felt contrite. He felt quite sure that could he have seen her in normal lighting and not the eerie artificiality of the moon he would have found her cheeks to be blazing with colour at the intended slight.
But she made no reply and not really knowing what prompted him to do so, Alexis said: ‘Are you staying long in Grüssmatte?’
There was a moment’s silence while she obviously fought with herself as to whether to reply, and then she said: ‘Actually no. We leave in the morning.’
‘I see.’ Alexis thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his sheepskin coat. ‘Will you be sorry to leave?’
‘Not really,’ she conceded quietly. ‘I—well—two other teachers and myself are responsible for thirty teenagers. It hasn’t exactly been a picnic.’
Alexis was interested in spite of himself, but at that moment she halted and gestured towards the small hotel standing back from the road. ‘We’re staying here,’ she said. ‘Good night.’
Alexis’s brows drew together. All of a sudden he wished they had not had that altercation. He would have liked to have continued talking to her. But she was already walking up the slope towards the hotel and short of going after her and risking another rebuff there was nothing he could do. And he still had that annoying sensation that he had met her before.
He arrived back at the Grüssmatte Hotel, not in the best of tempers, and when the hotel manager stopped him in the hall with a tentative: ‘Herr Whitney!’ he turned to him with ill-concealed impatience.
‘Yes? What is it?’
Jurgen Blass gave an apologetic smile. ‘So sorry to trouble you, Herr Whitney, but there has been a telephone call for you—from your father.’
Alexis sighed. ‘Yes?’
‘He—er—would like you to ring him back as soon as you come in, Herr Whitney. He said it was urgent.’
‘Urgent? At this time of night?’ Alexis glanced at the gold watch on his wrist.
‘Yes, Herr Whitney.’
Alexis considered the man’s impassive face for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Very well. Arrange the call for me, will you? I’ll be in my suite.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The manager bowed his head politely and Alexis went on his way to the stairs. For all its excellence, the Grüssmatte had no lifts.
While he waited for the call to come through, Alexis took a shower. It was when he was towelling himself dry that the telephone in the adjoining bedroom began to ring. Wrapping the huge towel around him, he went to answer it. Until that moment he had not paid a great deal of attention as to why his father should want to speak to him at this time of night, his thoughts had still been absorbed with the girl from the ski slopes, but now as he lifted the receiver recollections of his life in London came back to him, and he felt a sense of resentment that because of this medium there was no real escape.
‘Alexis Whitney,’ he responded automatically.
‘Alex! Alex—is that you?’ His father’s voice was indistinct. It was not a good line.
‘Yes, Howard. Where’s the fire?’ He was laconic. It was a long time since he and his father had had any real communication with one another. They saw one another frequently, they talked frequently; but always there was that unseen barrier between them.
‘Alex! I’ve been trying to reach you since ten o’clock!’
‘I was out.’
‘I know that, dammit. Couldn’t you leave notification as to where you are?’
‘They knew where I was.’
‘Then why the hell didn’t somebody contact you?’
‘I guess you didn’t make the position too clear.’ Alexis was bored with this conversation. ‘In any case, I don’t see why whatever you’ve got to say couldn’t wait until morning.’
‘Don’t you? Don’t you?’ Howard Whitney was breathing heavily down the telephone and Alexis could picture him propped against the desk in his study, his face reddening with frustration as he endeavoured to restrain the temper which Alexis himself had inherited. A big man, as tall as Alexis himself but stockily built with a thickening waistline, he was forced to maintain a rigid diet to avoid the blood pressure which was already evident in times of stress. ‘Damn you, Alex, do you know what Knight has done? He’s attempted suicide!’
‘What?’ Alexis, who had been reaching for one of the slim cigars he favoured, stayed his hand. ‘You mean—he’s dead!’
‘No.’ His father bit off the word harshly. ‘No, fortunately he was found in time. He’s not dead—just off his head, I hear.’
Alexis took a deep breath and wrapped the towel more closely about him. ‘I see.’
‘Is that all you can say?’ Howard burst out.
‘What do you expect me to say?’ Alexis shook his head. ‘Give me a chance to take it in.’
‘You’re to fly home first thing in the morning,’ went on Howard grimly. ‘I want you here, in my office, before noon.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Alexis was controlling his own anger now. ‘I’m not a boy any more, Howard. Don’t try to give me orders!’
‘Alex!’ There was a short explosive silence, and then his father went on more reasonably: ‘Alex, for God’s sake, man, do as I ask. I have to talk to you. And not like this.’
‘Where’s Janie?’
Howard snorted furiously. ‘You’re not still interested in her, are you?’
‘No.’ Alexis was cool. ‘But as one human being to another, I guess I can feel sympathy for her, can’t I? Or don’t you know what that is?’
‘I shouldn’t waste my sympathies on her,’ retorted Howard brutally. ‘But as far as I know, she’s still at the apartment.’
‘Did she—?’
‘—find her husband? No.’ Howard was definite about that. ‘He took an overdose of drugs at the office. The night watchman found him. He telephoned her.’
‘I see.’ Alexis digested this. ‘Okay, okay, don’t distress yourself. I’ll fly back tomorrow. But I don’t see what there is to get so steamed up about.’
‘Don’t you?’ Howard caught his breath. ‘Well, maybe you will tomorrow. You think about it, right?’
‘Right.’ Alexis reached for a cigar and put it between his teeth. ‘Is that all?’
‘Isn’t it enough?’
Alexis lit the cigar and inhaled deeply. ‘Fine. See you some time before dinner. That’s the best I can promise,’ and he rang off.
He smoked his cigar thoughtfully for a while, and then stubbing it out went back into the bathroom to finish drying his hair. When he returned to the bedroom he had put on a towelling bathrobe and he flung himself on the wide bed and stared up at the ceiling. His father’s call had banished all thoughts of sleep he might have had, and he felt a rising sense of frustration at the inadequacy of the information he had been given. But then telephones were not particularly confidential pieces of equipment and he supposed he could understand his father’s reluctance to be too explicit. Even so, it was an unsatisfactory state of affairs.
He thought about Janie Knight. He hadn’t seen her since the beginning of December last year, which must be about six weeks ago now. Of course, after he had stopped seeing her, she had telephoned him, numerous times, and even visited his apartment, although Drake, his manservant, knew better than to let her in. She had not been able to accept that it was all over, and he had hoped these weeks at Grüssmatte would convince her irrevocably that he meant what he said. And now this had happened, and while he didn’t feel any sense of blame, it left a nasty taste in his mouth.
David Vanning was most put out the next morning when Alexis broke the news to him that he was leaving as they had breakfast together.
‘But, Alex, we’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Surely your old man can do without you for longer than that!’
Alexis smiled rather ruefully. ‘It seems not, Dave. I’m sorry, but there it is. Still, I guess Rosemary will find the time to console you!’
David made a helpless gesture. ‘That’s not the point, Alex. Rosemary’s okay; you know I’m very keen on her, and I guess one day we’ll get married and all that, but—well, she’s no athlete, and I don’t intend to spend the rest of my holiday hanging round the hotel or making shopping excursions into Innsbruck.’
Alexis rested his elbow on the table, supporting his chin on one hand. ‘Do I detect a note of dissatisfaction in your voice?’ he queried lazily. ‘Surely the romantic idyll hasn’t begun to pall already?’
David looked slightly embarrassed. ‘It’s not that. It’s just that—well, her parents are always around. We never get any time alone. Not really alone, that is.’
Alexis looked amused. ‘Well, that’s what comes of doing things by the book.’
‘What do you mean? Coming here with her parents?’
‘More or less.’
‘They’d never have let her come away with me alone.’
‘Hard luck!’
‘I suppose you think in my position you’d have managed to persuade them.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘No, but you thought it.’ David lifted his shoulders dejectedly. ‘Hell, Alex, is it absolutely essential that you leave today?’
‘Absolutely, I’m afraid.’ Alexis finished his second cup of coffee looking idly through the restaurant window on to the groups of holidaymakers making their way towards the ski slopes. ‘I suppose I ought to go and see how they’re getting on with my packing. I shall be sorry to leave all this.’
David grimaced. ‘I half wish I was coming with you.’
Alexis’s lips lifted at his friend’s outburst, but then his attention was arrested by a sleek continental coach that was slowly progressing along the village street. He was suddenly reminded that the girl he had met last night in such unusual circumstances had said she and her group were leaving today. The coach was most probably for them.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
David’s irate tones brought his attention back to the present and he looked at him apologetically. ‘No. What did you say?’
‘I said I’d ring you once I got back to London.’
‘Oh, yes, yes. Fine.’ But Alexis was preoccupied. He rose abruptly to his feet. ‘I’ve got to get moving. What are your plans for this morning?’
David lay back in his chair shrugging. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been promising to take Rosemary on the nursery slopes for days. I guess I could do that.’
Alexis nodded, and then with a sense of compunction he patted David’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, man. But there’s nothing I can do.’ He paused. ‘Be seeing you, then.’
‘Yes. Sure.’
David nodded, managing a faint smile, but as Alex crossed the restaurant to reach the hall, he could see David’s dejected reflection in the long mirrors that flanked the swing glass doors.
* * *
The flight from Salzburg landed in the late afternoon. It had been delayed by bad weather conditions, and it was even snowing slightly at Heathrow as Alexis left the plane.
The formalities over with, he emerged from the reception lounge bent on finding the nearest bar and a stiff drink. He knew he was delaying the moment when he would have to take up his life again, but airports were those transient kind of places where one was in limbo, a condition he presently desired.
But as he climbed the stairs to the bar, a voice he recognized only too well, called: ‘Alex! Alex, where are you going?’
He halted reluctantly and turned, looking down into the well of the hall where a fur-clad feminine figure was waving vigorously at him. He hesitated only a moment, and then with resignation descended the stairs again. He knew perfectly well that had he pretended not to hear her and gone on to the bar, she would have followed him.
Reaching ground level, he turned up the collar of his sheepskin coat against the cold draught of air which swept through the hall, and said, in drawling tones: ‘Hello, Michelle. What are you doing here?’
Michelle Whitney smiled up at him warmly. She was an attractive woman of medium height, but wrapped in the expensive sables she looked particularly elegant. ‘Alex darling,’ she cried reprovingly. ‘Where else would I be? I’ve come to meet you, of course. Your father sent me. I’ve been waiting around for simply hours!’
Alexis considered her avid expression without enthusiasm. ‘That wasn’t necessary, Michelle. I’m quite capable of hiring a cab.’
Michelle raised her delicately plucked eyebrows. ‘What a greeting! It’s just as well I’m used to your boorishness, darling, or I’d feel quite hurt.’
Alexis’s lips were wry. ‘Is that possible?’ he queried mockingly, and was gratified to see her colour deepen.
‘Oh, you are a pig, Alex!’ she exclaimed heatedly. ‘I don’t know why I put up with it.’
‘Don’t you?’ He glanced round irritably. ‘Look, Michelle, I want a drink and as I’m perfectly certain that my father did not send you to meet me, in fact I don’t know how you got the information—’
‘I was there when your father phoned you last night!’
‘Okay, I’ll accept that. But now, I suggest you go home, and I’ll see you both later.’
Michelle wrapped her fur-clad arms closely about herself. ‘Why can’t I have a drink with you?’
‘Because I want to be alone.’
‘Alex, please!’
‘No.’ He half turned away and then looked back at her. ‘Don’t worry. Your little secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell the old man.’
Michelle pursed her lips. ‘There are times when I hate you, Alex!’
‘Good. That’s a healthy emotion.’
‘All my emotions towards you are healthy, Alex.’ She put a tentative hand on his arm.
Alex looked down at that soft-gloved hand, and then into her face, and with a muffled gasp she released him. ‘I still don’t see why we can’t have a drink together. I am your stepmother, after all.’
‘Yes. Unfortunately I’m aware of that,’ retorted Alexis, brutally. ‘G’-bye, Michelle. I’ll see you later, at home.’
Without another word, he swung back up the stairs, and didn’t look back, not even as he walked along the gallery.
Alexis’s apartment was the penthouse of a tall block near Hyde Park, and Blake, his manservant, welcomed him home warmly some two hours later. As Alexis shed his coat in the hall of the apartment Blake said: ‘Your father’s been on the phone for you, sir. Several times. I told him you hadn’t arrived back yet, but I’m not sure he believed me. He said he had telephoned the airport, and he knew your plane had landed some time ago.’
Alexis grimaced, and unfastening his tie, he walked ahead into the wide, attractive lounge. This was a room that always gave him pleasure and he looked about him with enjoyment, appreciating its comfortable elegance. There was a turquoise carpet underfoot, patterned in shades of blue and green, while the long settee and armchairs were natural-coloured, soft, buttoned leather. He was lucky enough to be able to afford all the luxurious accoutrements to modern living, but the massive television was seldom turned on, and in recent years his interest in the hi-fi equipment, which had once fascinated him, had dwindled.
Now Blake came behind him, carrying his suitcase. ‘Have you had dinner, sir?’ he asked.
Alexis turned from switching on a tall standard lamp, that had an exquisitely hand-painted shade, and frowned. ‘No, I’ve not eaten. I had a couple of drinks at the airport, that’s all.’ He took off the jacket of his suit and slung it carelessly over the back of a chair. ‘But don’t bother with anything for me. I’ll eat at Falcons.’ Falcons was the name of his father’s house at Maidenhead.
‘Are you sure, sir? It’s no trouble.’
Alexis smiled. ‘No, I know. Thanks all the same. But I need a shower, and quite honestly hunger is not one of the things that’s troubling me at the moment.’
Blake nodded politely. ‘Did you have a good holiday, sir?’
Alexis considered before replying. ‘Yes, I suppose you could say that,’ he conceded grudingly. ‘By the way, make me some coffee, will you, and I’ll have it after I’m dressed again. It won’t do to arrive smelling too strongly of alcohol.’
Blake allowed himself a smile at that. He was rather a solemn-faced individual, and as he was inclined to stockiness and was going bald, he did not at first strike one as being particularly amiable. But in fact, he had been with Alexis for six years now, and Alexis was well aware of the sharp sense of humour he possessed. Now, he collected Alexis’s casually strewn jacket before disappearing through a door into the kitchen, and Alexis walked across to his bedroom.
In the shower, Alexis contemplated the evening ahead without pleasure. How much more enjoyable it would have been to arrive home and have nothing more pressing to do than lounge on the couch in front of the television all evening. Such a prospect attracted him. It was strange that someone who should become so easily bored with the so-called fleshpots, should find the idea of simply behaving like any one of another hundred million people so desirable.
He examined his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he dried himself and was relieved to see that the past couple of weeks of exertion had successfully dispersed the faint thickening of his waistline that had been present before he left. Now there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on his lean body, and the outline of his rib cage was coated only with muscle.
He dressed soberly in a charcoal grey lounge suit, to fit the occasion, he thought without humour, and drove down to Maidenhead, reaching his father’s house just before eight o’clock. Falcons faced the river, and in summer it was very pleasant to sit in the garden, watching the pageant of craft on the water. But in the middle of January, it had no such connotations, and although Alexis had spent part of his childhood here, he found the sight of the bare trees and the frozen, snow-covered gardens rather depressing.
Searle, his father’s manservant, admitted him. Once Searle had had the title of butler, but in these days of shortages of staff, his duties encompassed so many other things, that such an appellation would have sounded pretentious. However, the old man seemed not to mind, and he welcomed Alexis warmly.
‘It’s good to see you again, sir,’ he exclaimed, taking his overcoat.
‘How are you, Searle?’ Alexis bestowed one of his rare warm smiles upon him.
‘Can’t grumble, sir. Mr. Howard’s waiting for you in the library.’
‘Has my father had dinner?’
‘Not yet, sir. He’s been waiting for you.’
‘Good.’ Alexis found that the drive had awakened his appetite. ‘Thank you, Searle.’
He crossed the hall to double panelled doors, and taking a handle in each hand, he swung them open and stepped into the book-lined room which his father used as his study.
Howard Whitney was seated behind his desk, and he looked up dourly as Alexis closed the doors behind him and leaned back against them, surveying the room thoroughly.
‘So you’ve finally decided to appear!’ he remarked grimly. ‘Not before time!’
Howard Whitney’s voice still had traces of his northern ancestry that no amount of southern intonation could entirely dispel. He rose from his desk to face his son, and in his dark evening clothes he was quite impressive, big and broad and physically dominating.
But Alexis was never dominated. He was as tall as his father and although he was leaner, it was a leanness of muscle and sinew that was far tougher than his father’s loose flesh.
‘I got held up,’ he said now. ‘Besides, I don’t see why I should account to you for my movements. I’m not a boy.’
‘No, you’re not!’ muttered Howard, reaching for a cigar, but refraining to offer one to Alexis. ‘If you were, you wouldn’t create the kind of mess we’re in at the moment.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alexis moved away from the door.
‘I mean Janie Knight, Alex.’
Alexis frowned. ‘I seem to have missed something along the way. As I recall it, last night we were discussing Frank Knight, not Janie.’
‘It’s all the same thing,’ retorted Howard. ‘My God, what is there about you that makes a woman like Janie Knight prepared to go to any lengths to get you back?’
Alexis glanced across at the tray of drinks on a side table. ‘Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning,’ he advised dryly. ‘Do you mind if I have a drink?’
‘Help yourself!’ said Howard Whitney irritably, and Alexis poured himself a generous measure of Scotch. ‘Go on!’ he said.
Howard shuffled the papers on his desk. ‘I wish to God you’d never got involved with her!’
Alexis swallowed half his drink, surveying the remainder in his glass thoughtfully. ‘It was your idea,’ he pointed out.
Howard clenched his fists. ‘Do you think I’m likely to forget that?’
‘Well?’
‘Knight left a note—a suicide note.’
‘I see.’ Alexis was beginning to understand. ‘Where is it? Have the press got it?’
‘Nothing so simple, Janie’s got it. When the night watchman phoned her about Knight’s attempted suicide, she was first on the scene, before the ambulance or the police. She took the note, and she still has it.’
‘You mean she’s attempting blackmail?’ Alexis frowned. ‘What does it say, for God’s sake?’
His father heaved a deep sigh. There were lines of strain around his mouth and it was obvious he was most disturbed. ‘Well, he mentions the difficulties his company has got into, and how he can see no future short of selling out to a larger corporation. He apparently owes money all over the city.’
‘But that’s not what’s worrying you, is it?’ Alexis was impatient.
‘No. No, he goes on to say that—he knows his wife is being unfaithful to him, and that she’s—the mistress of the son of the man who has been systematically trying to ruin him!’
Alexis finished his Scotch and replaced the glass on the tray, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. For a few minutes he said nothing, and then, when his father was beginning to get agitated, he asked: ‘Have you seen this letter?’
Howard Whitney frowned. ‘What kind of a fool do you think I am? Of course I’ve seen the letter.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday evening. In my office.’
‘You mean Janie Knight walked into your office with the actual letter her husband wrote?’ Alexis gave his father an old-fashioned look. ‘Wasn’t she afraid you’d take it from her?’
Howard sighed. ‘She wasn’t alone.’
‘You mean someone else knows about this?’
‘Yes. That chap Lorrimer—her lawyer.’
‘Philip Lorrimer?’ Alexis shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him!’
‘Maybe not, but there it is.’
‘But how can you be sure the letter was written by Knight?’
‘If it wasn’t, it’s a damn good facsimile. Good enough to fool me!’
‘But not good enough to fool a handwriting expert.’
‘My God, Alex, what good is that? Even if the whole thing is a hoax, even if we take them to court and prove it’s a hoax, it’s going to cause a God-awful stink, and that’s something I could do without right now.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Alexis was bitter. ‘It wouldn’t do to jeopardize your knighthood for services to industry, would it? That’s quite a pun, isn’t it?’
‘Shut up, Alex! If it wasn’t for you there’d be no mess.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alexis was indignant. ‘I wasn’t responsible for buying up the shares in Knight’s company—you were.’
‘I know it, I know it. But don’t you see, if Janie Knight wasn’t so infatuated with you, she’d never have contacted me the way she did. She’d have been just as eager to hush up a scandal as I am.’
‘So what’s the deal?’ Alexis was wary.
‘It’s quite simple really. She wants you back again.’
‘You can’t be serious!’ Alexis was half amused.
‘Can’t I?’ But Howard was not joking. ‘She said you love her—you love one another! You only gave her up because Knight’s company was practically ruined, and I told you to do so.’
‘Nobody tells me what to do,’ muttered Alexis grimly.
His father made a frustrated gesture. ‘I did tell her that, but to no avail, I’m afraid. You must have done your job well. I only asked for information—not recruits!’
But Alexis was not amused. ‘Well, whatever her terms, they’re unacceptable.’
‘I was afraid you’d say that. Alex—’
‘No, Howard! Not now—not ever!’
Howard sank down wearily into his chair. ‘She’ll give it to the press.’
‘If there is a letter. Personally, I have my doubts. It’s too convenient. Anyway, let her do it. I know who’ll come off worst in the long run. Besides, what she did, she did for herself, not for me.’
Howard shook his head. ‘And what do you intend to do?’
‘Me? About this? Nothing.’
Howard riffled through his papers. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you returned to Austria. With you out of the way, I might be able to salvage something from the mess.’
‘I do not intend to return to Austria!’ stated Alexis coldly. ‘Quite honestly, I’m sick of the whole bloody round of social back-stabbing. Particularly when there are women involved!’
His father looked up in surprise. ‘What’s got into you?’
Alexis shook his head, and at that moment Michelle Whitney chose to appear. In a long gown of pale green slipper satin that showed off her rounded figure to advantage she was very attractive, and her eyes slid greedily over Alexis’s deeply tanned skin before moving on to her husband.
‘Aren’t you nearly finished, darling?’ she asked, perching on a corner of Howard’s desk and running her fingers down his cheek, looking deliberately in Alexis’s direction as she did so. ‘I’m dying of hunger.’
Howard rose, flexing his back muscles tiredly. ‘Yes, we’re finished, my dear.’
Michelle’s eyes flickered towards her stepson. ‘Hello, Alex. It’s good to see you back again. Did you enjoy your holiday?’
Alexis inclined his head. ‘Very much, thank you.’
‘You can tell Searle to start serving now,’ went on Howard, and Michelle slid off the desk. But although she looked once more at Alexis he seemed to find the pattern of the carpet more than absorbing and she was forced to look away.
After she had gone, Howard turned to his son, and frowned. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘Did you mean what you said just now? About being sick of playing around?’
Alexis was cautious. ‘Why?’
‘Well, old Jeff Pierce retired last week and so far they’ve not got anyone to take his job.’
‘Jeff Pierce?’ Alexis stared at his father. ‘You mean—the manager at Wakeley?’
‘That’s right.’ Howard was watching his son’s reactions closely. ‘How does it strike you? Being section manager in a woollen mill?’
Alexis ran a hand round the back of his neck. His father’s suggestion had left him temporarily stunned. It was something he had never even contemplated. He had worked in the company offices in London, of course, he had even taken a degree in economics at university, but to actually enter into the practical side of the business was something entirely different.
‘But I know nothing about wool!’
‘You don’t have to. Business acumen is what’s needed.’
‘I suppose it would get me out of the way just as effectively,’ he remarked dryly.
His father looked embarrassed. ‘You did say you were sick of the same old round,’ he defended himself.
‘Yes, I did say that.’ Alexis was thoughtful. ‘But this! This is something else.’
‘Don’t you think you’ll be able to do it? I’m not putting you in sole charge of the mill, you know. You’ll have to answer to Jim Summerton if anything goes wrong, just as John McMullen does.’
Alexis gave a wry smile. ‘Thank you for your confidence.’
‘No, seriously though, Alex, what do you think?’
Alexis allowed his hand to fall to his side. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t. I’d have to give the matter some thought.’
‘I realize that. But it does—appeal to you, doesn’t it?’ Howard looked at him searchingly and Alexis raised his eyebrows.
‘It’s a challenge,’ he conceded at last. ‘It’s a long time since I visited Wakeley. Must be six—maybe seven years. While I was at university, I guess. I remember going to see old John McMullen…’
Howard nodded vigorously. ‘That’s right.’ He paused. ‘To think—we used to live in Wakeley. Must be all of twenty years ago.’ He shook his head. ‘That house your mother liked so much—I wonder if it’s still standing.’
Alexis’s jaw hardened. ‘Yes. Well, that’s another story, isn’t it, Howard?’
His father breathed hard down his nose. ‘You won’t ever let me forget, will you, Alex?’ he muttered, and looked up to find Michelle standing by the door.
‘Forget what, darling?’ she queried silkily, looking from one to the other of them curiously. ‘Aren’t you coming?’
Howard walked round the desk to join his wife, glancing at his son with scarcely concealed appeal. ‘Yes, we’re coming, Michelle.’ He tucked her hand through his arm. ‘And what delicacy have you had prepared for us this evening?’
Alexis followed them through to the dining-room, but he was preoccupied with what he and his father had been discussing, and he sensed Michelle’s impatience that she had been excluded from their discussions.
