Folly's Child (36 page)

Hugo was trembling with anger.

‘All right, Laddie, you've said enough. You are quite right, Paula is my wife and as such I expect her to be treated with respect – though I suppose a certain amount of resentment is inevitable to begin with amongst people who have been with me for a long time. What does surprise me is that you should take part in it. I would never have expected you to come crawling to me with tales about my wife.'

Laddie's jaw tightened. ‘It's not something I've enjoyed doing. But I thought you should know what is going on, or one day you might turn round and find yourself minus half your staff.'

‘Don't be ridiculous.'

‘Including me,' Laddie said. Now that he had got over his initial nervousness he was determined to finish what he had come to say. The continued smooth-running of the Varna showrooms depended on it.

Hugo's eyes narrowed. ‘
You?
Good God, Laddie, you're not thinking of leaving me are you?'

‘I wouldn't want to, no,' Laddie said steadily. ‘ I've been very happy working for you, Hugo. We make a good team. But I work for only one boss. I've made allowances for Mrs Varna so far – I realise this is all new to her and she's feeling her feet. But I won't be walked over by anybody. Not even by your wife.'

‘I'm sorry you feel like that, Laddie,' Hugo said, badly shaken.

‘Well I do and I thought it was best to get it off my chest,' Laddie said. ‘All I'm asking is that you open your eyes to what's happening. This has always been a happy outfit. I don't want to see it degenerate into a dog's dinner.'

Hugo was still angry at the criticism of Paula but he had a great deal of respect for his assistant and he was wise enough to realise Laddie would never have sought this interview unless there was some truth in his accusations.

‘Paula is just feeling her way I guess,' he said in a conciliatory tone. ‘ She's a long way from home and it's all very different to what she's used to. I'm sure when she settles down everything will fall into place. But I'll have a word with her, Laddie.'

For a moment his assistant looked on the point of bursting into tears of relief, then his good-looking brow cleared and he nodded.

Thanks, Hugo. I'm sure she'd be a lot happier as well as the rest of us if only you would.'

All day Hugo turned the interview with Laddie over in his mind. He was hurt and angry that anyone should dare to criticise Paula yet in his heart of hearts he knew there must be at least a nugget of truth in what Laddie had said. He had not been entirely oblivious to the change of atmosphere at the showroom, the air of resentment that had an edge of frost in spite of the searing temperatures of New York in a July heatwave, and he supposed that the traits in her character which he regarded as lovable foibles might be interpreted by others as haughty supremacy and bossiness.

Strange really, he thought, that someone with as ordinary a background as hers should be able to give such a good imitation of a princess of the Royal House – strange, but darkly exciting. As for telling the bastards their jobs, that was just the act of a small girl pretending to be grown up. But he had promised Laddie, so he had better have a word in her ear.

They had now moved into the house on East 70th Street and this evening was one of the rare ones they spent at home. They had dined quietly on a delicious selection of cold meats prepared by their newly-employed housekeeper and now they were relaxing with the remains of a bottle of Moët et Chandon in the garden with the strains of Vivaldi wafting out to them through the open French windows.

‘Honey, I want to talk to you.' Hugo moved his chair a little closer to hers, reaching for her hand and feeling his stomach contact as it always did when he touched her silky flesh. She looked so beautiful sitting there with the last rays of the dying sun turning her hair to molten gold and her long bare legs, emerging from the briefest of silk mini-shifts, elegantly crossed to expose her smooth honey-coloured tan. For a moment he was tempted to abandon the attempt at gently chastising her and make love to her instead, right here in the garden with the scent of the roses and banks of sweet-smelling stocks heavy in the air. But the sooner he set her right about her role at the showroom the better.

‘I talked with Laddie today,' he began. ‘Honey, you are going to have to be more careful what you say to the staff. Some of them are taking offence at you telling them how they should do their jobs.'

A quiver of indignation ran through Paula but she tossed her head.

‘Oh, you mean the models being bitchy. Well, they usually are. I've put up with that all my working life. I can handle it.'

‘I know you can but I can't afford a bad atmosphere,' Hugo said gently. ‘But it's not just the models. Even Laddie has taken umbrage. Look, I know it's all fresh to you and I expect some of them are jealous and unpleasant because of it but can you soft-pedal a bit – for me?'

Paula stared. There was a hard little gleam in her eyes.

‘So Laddie has been to you behind my back telling tales, has he?'

‘It wasn't like that, honey. Laddie was simply reporting on the way the staff feel and saying you weren't always as tactful as you might be.'

‘And you believe him?' Paula withdrew her hand sharply from his.

‘Laddie is an excellent assistant,' Hugo said soothingly. ‘I've come to trust his judgement.'

‘Even when he tells tales about your wife? How dare he! Surely I am entitled to a certain amount of respect!'

‘Of course you should be treated respectfully,' Hugo agreed. ‘But respect in a professional capacity has to be earned. Take your time, feel your way and I'm sure you'll get it. But antagonising people is not the answer, believe me, honey.'

Paula leapt to her feet. She was furious with Laddie and even more furious with Hugo for listening to him.

‘Well thank you, Hugo, for standing up for me so gallantly!' she snapped. ‘If I'm such a nuisance at the showroom I won't embarrass you by coming there anymore. I can find plenty of things to do – shopping, lunch parties with the girls, charity do's – and when I get tired of that I might even find myself a modelling job with some other designer. There are plenty who'd be glad to have me – Hugo Varna's English
wife
.'

He caught at her wrist. ‘You're blowing this up out of all proportion. Sit down, have another glass of champagne and stop being silly.'

Enraged by his conciliatory tone she snatched her wrist free.

‘Thank you, I don't want any more champagne.

She turned and marched into the house. In the doorway she almost bumped into Doris, the live-in maid, who was wearing the smart black dress and white lace apron that Paula insisted on.

‘For heaven's sake look where you are going!' Paula snapped.

‘I'm sorry, Mrs Varna, I was just coming through to tell you that you have a visitor.' The girl's cheeks were slightly flushed; there was an air of over-excitement about her – as if she had just been told she could compete for one of the big prizes on a game show, Paula thought.

‘A visitor? At this time of night? Who is it?'

‘It's
Mr
Varna's visitor really,' the girl qualified, her excitement surfacing again in a hastily suppressed giggle. ‘He says his name is Mr Martin, Mr Greg Martin, and that he's a business associate.'

Paula almost stamped her foot with annoyance. The. last thing she wanted at the moment was to be forced into a social situation.

But of course Hugo would want to see Greg Martin. He had been out of New York for the last six months so she had not met him, but from what Hugo had told her she knew the two men were good friends as well as business partners. Well, with any luck she'd be able to excuse herself as soon as the introductions were over and go to her room. Perhaps a good soak in the bath tub would make her feel better.

Doris was hovering like a huge trapped black and white butterfly.

‘Very well, Doris,' Paula said. ‘ You'd better show Mr Martin in.'

‘You must be Paula,' the stranger said, holding out his hand.

She took it, her anger forgotten. She felt exactly as she had felt when as a child she had crashed out of a tree still clutching the broken branch to land flat on her back on the ground beneath. All the breath had been knocked out of her then and as she gasped for air she had felt as if her diaphragm had glued itself to her backbone. It was the same now.

‘And you are Greg. I've heard so much about you.'

‘All good, I hope.' His voice had a lazy drawl to it; she tried to place it and couldn't. She wasn't yet sufficiently used to identifying the nuances of accent and placing them – Boston, East Coast, Mid West. The only ones she instantly recognised were twanging Bronx – because Hugo retained traces of it – and Deep South drawl, because she had seen
Gone with the Wind
at least six times.

‘All good of course!' she said, smiling.

His hand felt firm and cool on hers; she did not want to relinquish it. But behind her she heard Hugo's exclamation: ‘ Greg! I didn't know you were back in town!' and she stepped aside and watched the two men embrace, clapping one another on the back and grinning like eager schoolboys.

In spite of the Italian ancestry on his father's side, Greg towered over the slightly-built Hugo and in every other way, Paula thought, his Mediterranean heritage was clearly stamped on him. His shoulders were broad, his hips slim, his complexion deep-tanned and swarthy. Jet black hair sprung from a classically patrician face, dark eyes smouldered like some sleeping volcano. There was a slight hook to his nose and his teeth gleamed very white.

‘I see you have met my wife,' Hugo said. ‘Paula, this is the guy I owe all my success to. If it hadn't been for him I'd still be running a couple of sewing machines on Mom's kitchen table.'

Greg laughed. ‘That's nonsense and you know it. If I hadn't spotted your potential someone else would have.' But he looked pleased all the same.

‘We're in the garden, Greg. It's too good an evening to be indoors. Let's crack another bottle of champagne. This is an occasion – the return of the prodigal!'

He steered Greg towards the French doors and Paula followed, feeling a little left out. She was used to the almost entirely undivided attention of any man she met – this one scarcely seemed to have noticed her. And oh, she wanted him to notice her! It mattered more than it had ever mattered before – and not simply because her ego required it. She was quivering from head to toe with barely suppressed excitement – no wonder Doris had looked so flustered! There was something about Greg Martin that had reduced her to a veritable jelly of desire. She knew she would do anything –
anything
to have him look at her with those fiery dark eyes boring into her very soul.

‘Ask Doris to bring out another bottle of Moët, would you, honey?' Hugo said over his shoulder and her irritation flickered again. First he chided her as if she were a naughty schoolgirl, then he ordered her about like a servant – how dare he?

As she joined the men in the garden she was annoyed to find they were talking business. Boring! Dollars – and millions of them – only became interesting when she could spend them. She settled herself in the garden chair opposite Greg, crossing her legs provocatively and watching him from behind her long lashes. To her disappointment he still seemed quite oblivious to her.

‘So you had a profitable trip then?' Hugo was saying.

‘Uh-huh.' For the first time since she had sat down the jet-dark eyes swivelled to look at her. ‘ So, by the seem of it, did you!'

Hugo smiled. ‘I went to see a fashion show and came back with a wife. I wish you could have been at the wedding, pal, but it all happened so fast. Just wait, Greg, one day the same thing will happen to you!'

Greg laughed, waving his hands in protest.

‘No way. I enjoy being an eligible bachelor too much for that.'

‘So did I. But marriage is an institution I can thoroughly recommend.'

Hugo beamed at her. Oh yes! she thought. Less than an hour ago you were carping at me, passing on sneaky complaints from your twopenny-halfpenny staff. Marriage is an institution – that's rich!

But the moment she looked at Greg her annoyance died again. Impossible to remain in a bad temper looking at that handsome face and beautiful body. Look at me, Greg, please
look at me
!

Darkness fell, Hugo turned on the soft floodlighting and still they sat talking. Paula watched them, feeling the small quivers of desire tickling her inner thighs, scarcely listening to their interchange.

At last Greg rose. ‘I'd better be going, Hugo. I'll look in at the showroom one day next week. I can't say exactly when – I've got several important deals to sort out. But you'll be there, I guess?'

‘Why don't you have dinner with us one evening?' Paula suggested.

He swung round, giving her the full benefit of those dark eyes. She thought there was just the slightest hint of amusement in them.

‘That would be nice. Would it be all right if I brought someone with me? I'd hate to play gooseberry on the newly-weds.'

Her stomach lurched uncomfortably. He knew! He knew what she was thinking and he was rejecting her!

‘Of course,' she said smoothly.

‘Who will it be?' Hugo asked, apparently unaware of the tension hanging in the air. ‘ Which one is in favour at present?'

Greg shrugged. ‘ I'm not sure. I've been away for rather a long time and I only got back today, remember. But I'm sure I can find somebody to make up the party.'

‘You bet you can!' Hugo laughed, and added, to Paula: ‘Greg is never short of a partner. His little black book reads like a directory of who's who in the world of glamour.'

‘I'm sure,' Paula said icily.