Rachel Lindsay - Business affair

Warwick was abruptly brought back to Holiday to face bad news:her father's illness, and some unaccountable difficulties in the familybusiness, a huge luxury store.
Marcus Brent offered to help her pull through; but Kate, mistrustful andresentful, was determined to do without him, even to oppose him.
This is the story of their struggle for power and its strange yet inevitableending.

THE narrow strip of goldensand was deserted and the blue sky was slowly darkening to purple as KateWarwick walked along the shore at Bandol towards thehotel. It was the time of day she liked best: when the sun-worshippers couldsunbathe no longer and the sea reflected the silver shimmer of the moon. Shepaused to look at a boat on the horizon, unaware of the picture she madesilhouetted against the cliffs that rose behind her. Taller than average, shemade no concession to her height and her sheath dress was mouldedto her body by the wind. Her eyes, a curiously dark grey, were set beneath awide forehead and above it her hair gleamed blackagainst the whiteness of her skin. Without any parting it fell round her headto the nape of her neck, so thick and heavy that it seemed to have a vitalityof its own.

Turning, she started to walkagain and reaching the steps at the base of the cliff, climbed to the top andcrossed the road to the hotel.

"A telegram has justarrived for you, Miss Warwick," the receptionist called.

Kate accepted the envelope and slitit open.

"Phonedtwice but unable contact you. Call immediately on receipt. Urgent. Love. Dad."

She crumpled the paper in herhand, walked to the telephone desk and gave them the number of her home.Impatiently she waited as the operator tried to contact London, but the linewas bad and after a moment the girl looked up from the switchboard.

"There's a stormsomewhere, I'm afraid, and a two hour delay. Shall I keep the call in hand foryou?"

"Yes, please. I'll dinein tonight." Wondering what could have happened to precipitate her father'stelegram, Kate walked up the stairs to her room.

Overlooking the cliffs and thewater, it was the best suite in the hotel, but Kate, daughter of the head of Warwicks, one of England's largest department stores,accepted it as her due. From the time she was seven she had been used to money,leaving her kindergarten for an exclusive boarding-school, first in England,then in Switzerland. Returning home at eighteen, polished, sophisticated, shehad astounded her father by announcing that she was going to enter hisbusiness. Even now she could not help smiling at the look on John Warwick'sface.

"No business for you, mygirl. You're to enjoy yourselfgo to parties and meet lots of young men."

"Young men bore me,"Kate had said defiantly. "I want to learn about the store. You haven't gota son to follow in your footsteps, so I must."

More shaken than he cared toadmit by this pronouncement, John Warwick finally agreed to let his daughterwork for him. And work she did! Starting as check girl in the parcelsdepartment, she graduated through every branch of the business until, attwenty- five, she knew almost as much about running it as he did.

"You're wasting your life,Kate," John Warwick said one evening as they left the office together."You're not eighteen any more and it's time you thought of gettingmarried."

"Anyone in mind?" sheasked lightly, knowing even as she did so that his answer would be CharlesCollier.

Kind, attentive Charles who, inthe five years he had been at Warwicks, had madehimself indispensable. He had come from South Africa with a formidable list ofintroductions and patiently sat in the outer office day after day until JohnWarwick had agreed to see him.

Liking the tall, impeccablydressed young man, he had given him a job as messenger boyone more example ofan ironic humour that could either make or break itsrecipients. Charles Collier had been made by it and, like Kate herself, was nowin a position of importance, controlling not only the merchandise bought, but all thepeople they employed.

At the beginning of the year agroup of American buyers had come to England to discuss merging with a Britishstore to facilitate the exchange of goods. Kate had been detailed to the socialside and together she and Charles had shown the buyers round London. Throwntogether outside the office as well as inside, their friendship had deepenedand, after leaving the Americans at their hotel on the last night of theirvisit, Charles had taken her home and come in for a drink.

The Warwick house was in a quietsquare off Kensington. The rooms were dark and high-ceilinged, but thefurniture was warm brown mahogany and rich brocade, the curtains at the narrowwindows of jewel- toned velvets.

Kate crossed the marble hall andswitched on the lights in the drawing-room. The crystal chandelier reflectedprismatic colours, echoed in the diamonds round herthroat and in the lobes of her ears, where her dark hair sprang upwards.Charles' eyes rested on her mouth and, afraid of the desire she sensed in him,she walked to the sideboard and lifted a whisky decanter. She poured him adrink, added the right amount of soda and passed him the glass.

"Aren't you having one?"

"No,thanks." She sat down and reached for a cigarette. "I'mexhausted. Thank heavens these people are going home."

"They have been ahandful," he conceded. "But it's unlike you, to be tired. You've beenlooking paler than usual too. Anything wrong?"

"I shouldn't .think so.I'll go and see the doctor over the weekend." She eased off her shoes andrubbed one leg against the other. Her feet were beautifully shaped, long andnarrow like her hands which, finger-nails unvarnished, were clasped in her lap.

Charles sipped his whisky, histhin body reflected in the mirror behind his head. Even when she was wearingher shoes, he was one of the few men who topped Kate by several inches, andthis was one thing she liked about him. There were other things she liked abouthim too: the fastidious way he dressed, his courteous manner, his deliberateway of speaking. He fitted well into the business, never quarrelling with herfather-rand there were times when everybody quarrelledwith old John Warwickand always showing the right amount of deference. Shesighed. They were lucky to have found Charles. Warwicksneeded a man in charge, for no matter that she herself knew the businesscompletely, a woman could never command the same respect.

As if sensing that she waswatching him, Charles moved and she looked into his eyes, feeling a sense ofwarmth at sight of his narrow face with its long nose and heavy-lidded eyes.

"These few weeks have beenwonderful ones for me," he said quietly, "I'm sure you knowthat."

"It's been fun," sheagreed cautiously. "But now I don't mind sitting back and relaxing."

"I hope that isn't a hintto me not to see you any more."

"You know it's not!"

"I don't know anything ofthe sort. In the past fortnight I've seen you ten times. After next week I'llbe lucky if you come out with me once." He set his glass on themantelpiece and came over to her. "For three years I've seen you everyday. I've talked to you and lunched with you and looked into those big greyeyes of yours, yet known that you've only seen me as a piece of Warwickspart of the office furniture."

She sat up straight. "I'vealways liked you, Charles. Dad and I"

"I'm not interested in whatyour father thinks! It's you. Oh, Kate" He pulled her up from the chair,his hands unexpectedly firm on her shoulders. "I love you. You don't knowhow much I love you." Without warning he pressed his mouth on hers, hiskiss so passionate and unlike him that she was too surprised to respond. Aftera moment he released her and stepped back. "I'm sorry, Kate. I shouldn'thave done that."

"Don't apologise,"she said quietly. "We've both had too much to drink."