Rainbow for Megan (2 page)

Letting herself into the house, she went through to the kitchen to prepare the midday meal. Only a snack was required as her father preferred to have the main meal of the day in the evening. Mrs. Jackson came in to do this; her aunt had arranged this when she had married, and the arrangement had never been altered. A morning help was also provided, a chore Megan could have taken on, but her father had thought she had enough to do in the secretarial line and argued that they could afford it.

As she watched the toast, it occurred to Megan that this argument no longer applied. The last manuscript had been rejected, accompanied by a long letter from the publishers regretting their decision not to

accept his latest work. His previous book had not sold the required amount to make publication profitable,
etc.
The trouble now was finding a publisher who handled the type of work Mr. Shaw specialised in. As an historian he was hardly apt to produce a bestseller. There had been a steady sale of his work in the past, but things were getting tighter in the commercial world, as everywhere else, and the likelihood of finding another publisher was very slim indeed. The manuscript was now doing the rounds of likely firms, and Megan had got to the point of dreading the post these days, for all too often it would be returned.

She sighed as she buttered the toast. Everything seemed to happen at once. A few weeks before the publisher's letter arrived, another letter containing even more daunting news landed on Mr. Shaw's desk. A firm he had invested in heavily had crashed overnight and little could be salvaged. She had broached the subject of getting a job to help out, but her father had said there was plenty of time, they had had setbacks before.

Preparing her father's tray, Megan thought sadly of how she had planned to seek Alain's advice. Her father was no business man, and she recalled Alain's earlier doubts about this particular firm, now justified. She straightened her shoulders. Alain didn't want to know any more. She would have to tackle this on her own.

After lunch, she settled down in the guest room that he had converted into an office for her as the typing disturbed her father's concentration. As she typed away, she wondered if the history of the fells would fare any better than its predecessor, but very much doubted it. When she went downstairs to make a pot of tea at four o'clock, she heard voices coming from her father's study and paused as she went past. At first she thought it was Alain, and felt a surge of gladness, but as she listened to the different intonations she felt sharp disappointment. It was not Alain but someone she did not know. She moved on to the kitchen and proceeded to make the tea, adding an extra cup for the unknown visitor.

The man talking to her father rose when she entered the study. He was dark and well-built, tallish, and in his early thirties, Megan guessed. He was also very sure of himself, she noted, as he stood waiting for the introduction while she deposited the tray on the desk.

`This i my daughter,' Mr. Shaw said. 'Megan, we have another author in our midst. Ray Hallett, alias Vernon Hood.'

Megan held out her hand and smiled a welcome. She had heard of Vernon Hood, who hadn't? The most successful thriller writer of the day. 'Are you here incognito?' she enquired, thinking that there had

been no gossip in the village. It would be a topic that would set the Women's Institute alight.

He smiled, showing even white teeth. Megan decided he was a bit too
blasé
for her liking, but he was extremely good-looking and would have no trouble, she thought, in attracting the opposite sex. At the thought of the unattached females in the village, between Alain and this charmer there ought to be some interesting times ahead. Megan wanted to giggle.

He answered her question. 'At the moment, yes, and I'd like to keep it that way. However, I have no doubt the news will filter out, especially when I refuse to join local affairs.' He grinned.

Accepting the tea Megan gave him, Mr. Shaw said, `Well, you can ask her now. I've no objection, she's been threatening to get a job for weeks.'

Megan's brow raised as she asked whether Mr. Hallett took milk and sugar. He did, then explained, `I'm seeking secretarial help. I heard about your father and came to ask his help in getting someone.'

Megan frowned. She didn't like being thrown at the man; for all she knew she might be entirely unsuitable. `There are agencies in Salisbury,' she said, 'I'm sure they could find someone for you.'

Ray Hallett watched her with those knowing brown eyes of his. 'Don't you want the job ?' he asked bluntly.

Flushing, Megan answered hurriedly, 'I only thought it fair to give you a chance to look round. You don't know if I'll be suitable or not, do you ? And you might not like to tell me,' she added honestly.

`Works both ways,' he said smilingly. 'You may not take to my way of working. What do you say to a trial period for both of us?'

There was not much Megan could say to a proposition like that. It would have looked downright rude if she had refused. Whether she liked it or not, it appeared, she now had a job. A short discussion took place, and Megan was surprised at the hours he wanted her to put in—three in the morning, and two in the afternoon. The salary also shook her—she had never dreamt of earning that much a week.

`You'll find you earn it,' Ray Hallett warned her. `I'm a bit of a slavedriver.'

It was arranged she should start work the following Monday. He had bought The Foxes, a house two miles out of the village, and that, Megan mused, would make him Alain's nearest neighbour. She couldn't help wondering what Alain would think of him and decided they wouldn't get on. She didn't know why she was so sure about this, but she was.

SUNDAY passed quietly for Megan and her father. It was decided between them that they would not mention their money worries to Alain. Megan knew her father was a proud man. 'He'll only offer to bail us out,' he commented.

For reasons of her own, Megan wholeheartedly agreed with this decision. Ray Hallett's offer had come as a windfall—a much-needed one. It would give them the breathing space they required until they had got over the hump. 'Mind you, Meg, if you don't like the job you say so,' advised her father. 'We'll get by. I've several publishers in mind.'

Planting a kiss on his bald pate, Megan said, 'I'm quite looking forward to it,' which was not quite truthful, as she was dreading the first few days.

Before she prepared for bed that evening, Megan sorted out clothes suitable for secretarial work. There was not much choice, for her wardrobe was on the slender side. Practically living in sweaters and slacks, her stock of dresses was woefully low, but at last she found a dress of light cotton material that would suit the purpose. She wondered if Ray Hallett would object

to her wearing trousers, and did not see why he should.

Later, as she climbed into bed, she fervently hoped she would like the job and would be capable of holding it down. She also thought of Alain.

He hadn't even bothered to ring and find out where she was, let alone call in on them. Of course, he was always very busy the first week back, she told herself, he had so many things to catch up on. Still, she thought sadly, he might at least have rung.

The Foxes was a modern dwelling, and Megan, driving along its shrub-lined drive the following morning, trying to control the butterflies in her stomach, concentrated on the house in front of her. The previous owners who had had the house built, a retired bank manager and his wife, had never fitted in with the villagers. The man had been much too pompous and his wife of the opinion that money could buy anything. It was a help, Megan mused, but it hadn't bought them what they craved—bowing, scraping and servility from those they considered the yokels of the village. Finally they had given the villagers best and, after a few disparaging remarks on the unfriendliness of the locals, had left the district.

Getting out of the car, she wondered whether Ray Hallett would fare any better. On first showing she doubted it. He had an air of cocksureness about him that would be bound to arouse a certain amount of resentment from a few villagers she could think of.

Mr. Browne, for instance, on the District Council; a rather touchy character, but goodhearted when you got to know him. Of course, she mused as she walked to the door, Ray Hallett was a very successful man, and it must be very difficult not to let it go to your head. With his looks he was probably very successful in other ways, too. She wondered if he were married, although he had not mentioned a wife. Her thoughts were abruptly terminated at this point by the man himself answering the doorbell.

`Good morning, Miss Shaw,' he said jovially. 'Do you mind if I call you Megan ?' he asked as he ushered her into the house. 'As we're going to work together, Miss Shaw is a bit formal, isn't it? Do come in, I'll show you to your den.'

Megan had no objection to his using her Christian name—everybody else did except Alain, who for some unknown reason of his own called her 'Tuppence'.

She followed him through the hall to a room at the end of a luxuriously carpeted corridor, then he opened the door and stood aside courteously for her to precede him into the room. She noticed that he was casually dressed, in a short-sleeved navy shirt and corduroy trousers. She thought she must remember to ask him if he objected to her wearing trousers, then realised suddenly that he wouldn't, and she didn't know why she had thought that he would.

The room she entered was a miniature office, a desk

complete with typewriter and dictating machine. Her eyes were riveted on the latter. She looked back at Ray Hallett. 'I usually copy Father's work from notes,' she said with a sinking feeling. She wouldn't be able to take the job after all, she thought miserably. Why hadn't she thought to ask? Most writers nowadays used tapes.

He smiled at her. 'Don't look so worried. It's not so difficult, you know. I might be a slavedriver, but I'm also human. I don't expect you to get through much while you're getting the hang of it. My last secretary took about a fortnight. I'm pretty certain you'll halve that time.'

Megan looked back at the machine doubtfully.

`Come on, I'll show you how it works,' he said cheerfully. 'The only real necessity with this work is knowing your spelling. Bad spellers are the ones who are really caught out. You'll see what I mean once you start.'

It did not take Megan long to learn the truth of this. She was able to adjust the speed of the dictation while she practised. His diction was extremely clear and very precise, so was his punctuation. By the Wednesday, she started to get to grips with the work, and the small pile of tapes waiting to be transcribed slowly dispersed. Nothing passed his attention—his office was next to hers, and she was instructed to just ring if she

had any queries; it would be less tiring than running from office to office.

As the days went by, Megan found that she had badly misjudged Ray Hallett. She saw he was a kindly, thoughtful man completely engrossed in his work. Remembering his remarks about not being a sociable person, she wondered a little about this. She learnt he had a sister, who had come down from her home in the Midlands to see to the furnishings of the house and make sure her brother was comfortable before returning to her family after he had moved in. She had noticed a photograph of a lovely dark-haired woman on his desk and wondered if that was his sister.

The work she found utterly intriguing. She would avidly follow each chapter and try to work out the villain of the piece. Megan had not had much time for reading in the past, but she slowly became addicted to the detective story, and felt she would like to read Ray Hallett's previous books. At one stage of the story she was sure she had spotted the one vital clue to the killer's identity and told him so. He had smiled and asked her to name the character. She had done so, only to be told with a teasing twinkle in his eye that she had swallowed the red herring. Megan had accused him indignantly of deliberately misleading his public, and he had laughed delightedly. Then she had said curiously, 'I don't believe you know yourself until the last chapter,' which had sent him off into peals of

laughter and he managed to get out : 'You know, Megan, you're perfectly right,' and left her wondering whether this really was so.

On Megan's recommendation a housekeeper had been found for him, and a daily help. Megan knew that Mrs. White in the village could do with the extra money and had given her name when her advice was sought.

It was on the Friday that a few of the questions Megan had pondered on were answered for her. She had asked if she could borrow a copy of one of Ray's books to read over the weekend and had chosen his first. Permission was readily given. 'I think I've come on a bit since then,' he commented with a smile.

Taking it from the shelf, Megan idly opened the book and the words, To my loving wife, leapt out at her. She closed the book hastily, feeling as if she had intruded on his personal life. Her abrupt action did not go unnoticed.

`Marie,' he said quietly. 'I lost her a few weeks before the book was accepted.'

Megan coloured. 'Please, Mr. Hallett, I don't want to pry. If you'd rather not talk about it .

`I'd be grateful if you'd drop the Mr., Megan,' he said slowly. 'I think we know each other well enough by now for you to call me Ray.' He was silent for a few moments, then said quietly, 'No, I'd like to talk about her if I'm not boring you.'