Roberta Leigh - No Time For Marriage Read online

  Roberta Leigh - No Time For Marriage

  Love didn't enter into Kane's calculations

  He wanted an affair with Sharon to pass the time while he was waiting in Bangkok for the Thai government to award him a construction contract. And for him it would be just that—a brief encounter with no strings attached.

  Sharon couldn't accept his callous attitude. She wanted love and commitment and it was obvious she wasn't going to get either from Kane.

  Especially when he turned his attention to the exotic Tassy, a woman as mercenary as he…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sharon Kingston looked across the desk at her employer and wondered if she had heard him correctly.

  'You want me to go to Thailand?'

  'Yes,' Mr Palmer replied. 'For six months. You'd be dividing your time between our hotels in Bangkok and Pattaya, which is a beachside resort. Providing you agree,' he added. 'I'll be sorry to lose you, but when Head Office asked me if I could recommend anyone to be our Liaison Officer there, I thought immediately of you.'

  'Do you really think I can cope with the job?'

  'Without question. You're the most able assistant I've had in years!'

  Sharon smiled her pleasure at the compliment, but was still doubtful. 'My work there would be quite different from what I do here.'

  'Easier, I should think. It's simply a matter of dealing with the various tour groups and handling their complaints and problems.'

  'That should keep me busy night and day! It's tricky enough to do in England, but in the Far East

  'Which is why we want someone like you to see the wheels turn smoothly. A high proportion of our tours come from America and their time schedules are tight. All you need is one aircraft arriving late, and you've a hundred guests on your hands for another night. Or else they don't arrive at all and a special dinner has to be written off! And that's apart from the routine problems.'

  Sharon ran her fingers through her thick, corn-gold hair. 'I think you'd do better with a diplomat!'

  'Hence my suggesting you,' Mr Palmer reiterated. 'You're our most promising management trainee, and if you do well out there, you'll be given charge of one of our smaller hotels on your return.'

  A juicy carrot was being dangled before her, and Sharon's eyes—blue as summer skies—sparkled. Even in this so-called liberated era, women hotel managers were few and far between, and to be given charge of a hotel, no matter how small, would be a major step forward in her career.

  'I know it's a serious decision for you,' the manager went on, 'but it's an important step in the right direction.'

  'Putting it the way you have,' she murmured, 'I can hardly refuse.'

  Mr Palmer came round the side of his desk to stand beside her. An ex-Naval officer, he had taken a paternal interest in her since reading in her Curriculum Vitae that her father had held the same rank as himself in the Second World War.

  'You needn't give me your answer today,' he said benignly. 'Talk it over with someone first.' Your boyfriend perhaps?'

  'I don't have one,' Sharon said, and tried not to think of her last evening with Pete Wilburg nine months ago, when he had made it clear he was not yet ready to settle down, and that when he was, it wouldn't be with a career girl.

  'When would I have to leave?' she asked.

  'At the end of the month. You'll need a visa and innoculations, and a fair number of clothes. Thailand's hot and humid and you'll require several changes each day. We'll foot the bill, so don't penny pinch! You'll be mixing with the guests much more than you do here—making sure the special luncheons and dinners go off without a hitch, as well as occasionally joining them on our own Avonmore tours.'

  'What about my accommodation?'

  'You'll stay at the hotel.' Mr Palmer walked with her to the door. 'You've made a wise decision, Sharon. You won't regret going.'

  Hoping he was right, Sharon spent the next ten days getting her visa, having her 'shots', and buying a summer wardrobe—no easy task early in January. But with a generous cheque in her purse she could afford to shop at the more expensive boutiques, whose customers, perennial sun worshippers with no money problems, expected and got high summer cottons in mid winter.

  'What a lucky devil you are,' said an envious colleague. 'Thailand's fabulous this time of year. But make sure they send you home before the monsoon season.'

  'It can't be worse than this,' Sharon commented, watching the rain streaming down the window.

  'You obviously don't know Thailand. This is a drizzle compared with what you'll get there!'

  'But at least it'll be warm! Just think. A week from now I'll be in a sleeveless dress dabbing away the perspiration!'

  'As well as mosquitoes. It's not all roses, my lovely!'

  'So it seems,' Sharon said dryly, and decided it would be as well to learn something of the country that was going to be her home for the next half year.

  The Thai Information Office supplied her with pamphlets, maps, and a phrase book which she spent every available moment studying. She also read various tavel books which whetted her appetite about a land that, the more she learned of it, the more intriguing it seemed.

  Her parents, who farmed in Scotland, were delighted when she telephoned them with news of her impending trip.

  'It's time you saw more of the world,' her mother said. 'And this job's tailor made for you. You're a born smoother down of ruffled feathers!'

  'Thai feathers may be rather more prickly! And American tourists definitely are!'

  'You'll still manage it,' Mrs Kingston reiterated. 'But what are you doing with your apartment?'

  Sharon looked around her small, Hampstead mews home. 'Sub-letting it to one of the girls in the office. Unless you and Dad would like it as a pied-d-terre?'

  'Very funny,' her mother replied. 'I'm lucky if I can persuade your father to take me to Edinburgh once a year!'

  'Any chance of you coming out to Bangkok?'

  'I don't see why not. I'll see if I can work something out.'

  'Marvellous,' Sharon enthused, knowing her mother would do no such thing. Her parents had an ideal marriage and loathed being apart from one another, even for a few days. Would she herself ever have such a relationship? At this stage in her life it teemed improbable. So far, the only men she had met who wanted marriage, were looking for full-time housewives, and those who preferred career women, wanted them as live-in lovers.

  Sighing, she went into the little kitchenette to make herself an omelette, then took it into the sitting room and switched on the television.

  It was a year since she and Pete had met on a skiing holiday in Austria. Tall and slim, with a mop of unruly fair hair, he had looked devastating on the slopes, and swooningly handsome in the evening, when they had danced away the apres ski hours.

  He was a consultant engineer for an international construction company, and had spent most of his working life travelling, before being sent to London. His father was an American diplomat and his mother a Danish countess, and though he wasn't rich, he clearly came from a moneyed background.

  Back in England, their friendship had flourished, and he had occasionally hinted he would like to settle down. But Sharon had always doubted his sincerity. She knew he was fond of her, loved her in his own way, but it was a fickle, here-today-gone-tomorrow love. Often he would not call her for weeks, claiming to be busy at work. Then there would be a spate of invitations, after which he'd drift away again.

  Fortunately he had no idea how she felt about him, and she had even managed to hide it when he had told her his company were sending him to Japan for two years.

  'I've had a fabulous time in England, thanks to you,' he said, looking down at he
r as they danced together at Annabel's, in Mayfair. 'I'll be in touch as soon as I'm settled, and we can meet up for another skiing holiday.'

  She had known they wouldn't, though it had not lessened her hurt when he had not even sent her a postcard. For Pete, it was out of sight, out of mind, and though she had tried to do the same, it was proving a slow and painful process.

  Three weeks after her interview with Mr Palmer, Sharon boarded a 747 for Bangkok. She was going via Abu Dhabi on the Arabian Gulf, flying time over fourteen hours. Until now, she had only gone on cheap package tours, but Avonmore had booked her first-class and she was thrilled by the unaccustomed luxury.

  With suppressed excitement she watched as they climbed through the clouds to reach the sky above, where a few stars had already begun twinkling on this late February afternoon. Shortly after take-off, a smiling Thai stewardess came round with free drinks and canapes of caviare and smoked salmon. She was tiny and slender, and emanated a gentle charm as she made her way gracefully through the cabin. I'd feel like an ox beside her,' Sharon thought wryly, momentarily regretting her five foot six inches and Raquel Welch proportions.

  Opening her Teach Yourself Thai, she settled back to study it, nibbling on smoked salmon and sipping champagne. What a sybaritic way to acquire knowledge! She had found the language extremely difficult to learn, but was bravely battling on. Trouble was, one didn't only have to acquire a new vocabulary and lettering, but also different tones of voice, for the meaning of a word frequently depended on intonation. Kao, when spoken in varying ways, could be rice, old, they, or badly!

  Fortifying herself with another glass of champagne, she continued with her studies for a further half hour before turning to a guide book and a potted resume of the country's history. It had gained independence in 1939, and she was intrigued to find it had then changed its name from Siam—shades of Anna and the King—to 'Thai' land, which meant 'free'.

  'More champagne?' the stewardess asked.

  'Not unless you want me rolling in the aisle!'

  Sharon set her glass on the table in front of her, feeling somewhat euphoric. It was a good thing the seat next to her was empty, for she was in no mood for small talk, or being chatted up by some business executive on an expense account trip. She'd had her fill of that in London! That had been one of the nice things about Pete. He had never come on strong nor tried to rush her into bed, and had laconically accepted her refusal to have an affair. Perhaps if she had given in to him… But no. Sex would never have held him. He loved his freedom too much. And she loved her career, she reminded herself. It was far more important to her than marriage.

  It was noon, local time next day, when they touched down at Don Muang Airport. The immigration building was like immigration buildings anywhere: large, modern and air-conditioned, its coolness welcome after the walk across the boiling tarmac. A polite official quickly checked her passport and visa, and minutes later she emerged into the Customs Hall.

  As if on cue, a young boy in the dark-brown trousers and beige shirt of the Avonmore Group, rushed forward to take charge of her cases. The smile he gave the official was frankly conspiratorial, and Sharon guessed it was not luck alone that speeded her luggage through unopened. She had already learned from Head Office that the system of 'favours' was widespread throughout Asia.

  'A case of "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours",' one of her colleagues had said. 'It's marvellous as long as you have a back to scratch, but heaven help you if you don't!'

  The boy piled her things into the back of a large shooting brake, and Sharon climbed in beside him as he took the wheel.

  The road from the airport was wide and straight, like any British motorway, but there the resemblance ended, and she stared in fascination at the wooden houses perched on stilts and surrounded by palm trees. There was mile after mile of rice fields, with water buffalo wading through the mud and dragging ploughs behind them. It was the National Geographic come to life.

  'My father is rice farmer,' the boy informed her. 'But I not like work on land.'

  'My father's a farmer too,' Sharon smiled, 'but I never wanted to follow in his footsteps.'

  "We not chip off old block!'

  'We're certainly not,' she chuckled. 'Tell me, what's your name?'

  'Is very long in Thai, so I shorten it to Ian.'

  He swung the shooting brake off the main highway, and they bounced down a rutted road that ran beside a canal lined with shabby houses.

  Sharon had read about these canals, or 'khlongs' as they were called here, which formed a network of waterways lacing the city, and was the reason Bangkok was called the 'Venice of the East'. But it had considerably less glamour, for the khlongs were not only the city's thoroughfares and water source, but drainage system too. No wonder Head Office had warned her to stick to mineral water!

  They emerged from the side street into a bustling main road. Concrete and glass buildings contrasted with the timeless beauty of Buddhist temples; saffron- robed monks brushed against jean-clad youngsters; and American cars sped past 'samlors'—three-wheeled taxis with motor scooter engines. Despite the heavy flow of vehicles there were few traffic lights, and listening to the screech of brakes, Sharon decided that crossing the road meant taking your life in your hands!

  'That's Jim Thompson's house.' Ian pointed left as they turned into Rama Road. 'He American architect and secret agent in Second World War. He settled here and made Thai silk famous. Then he go to Malaysia on vacation and not return. Murdered maybe.'

  They had now reached the Chao Phraya River, a broad expanse of dull green water abounding with craft of every kind. People were milling along its banks, and though most of the men were in European suits, many women wore tight-fitting blouses with the traditional 'panung', a long, tightly wrapped skirt.

  'My brother is monk,' Ian said, seeing her stare at an orange-robed young man, his head closely shaven. 'Every morning he walks through city with bowl, begging for food. He only allowed eat what he given.'

  'Sounds a tough life,' she commented.

  'He say he have better life next time.'

  'Next time?' Sharon was puzzled.

  Ian grinned. 'Buddhists believe in reincarnation!'

  I wish I did, Sharon thought as the young man overtook a bus with reckless disregard for safety, and breathed a sigh of relief when he suddenly said:

  'We nearly at Avonmore.'

  Ian pointed ahead, but all she saw Was a high white wall running parallel with the pavement for several hundred yards. A minute or two later they turned through an open pair of gilded wooden gates and bowled down a narrow tarmac road, with green lawns stretching either side of it. At the end of the drive rose a circular building some twenty storeys high, with a conical-shaped roof covered with slivers of glass which caught and reflected the light. The sparkling white building reminded her of a giant ice-cream; a welcome mirage, she thought, for many a hot and weary traveller!

  'This most famous hotel in Bangkok.' Ian spoke as proudly as if he owned it. 'We have a little zoo, a ferry landing where you hire boat to go on river, and two roof restaurants. In big one you can order breakfast, lunch or dinner any time of day, so you can suit your "stomach clock"! Is good idea, eh?'

  'Very,' she said, though privately thought it better to adapt one's body as quickly as possible. Yet come to think of it, it was seven a.m. in England now, and she would far rather have orange juice and coffee than steak and chips!

  'Even animals not take notice of time difference,' Ian went on. 'Scientists take shellfish from East Coast America to California, but they still open and close shells like in eastern time zone.'

  'Really?' She was intrigued. 'You're extremely knowledgeable, Ian.'

  'I read much,' he said solemnly. 'All information useful. One day I manage big hotel too.'

  Sharon could well believe it. He was a bright boy, with determination; the kind the Avonmore Group liked.

  The shooting brake stopped outside the hotel entrance, and leaving Ian to
see to her luggage, she went inside.

  It was a relief to escape the oppressive heat, though the air-conditioned foyer struck her as being almost too cool. Marble floors stretched endlessly ahead, dotted with colourfully cushioned bamboo settees and armchairs. In the centre, a fountain cascaded into banks of tropical plants and flowers, the same blooms appearing in shiny golden bowls on the low, ted-and- gold lacquered tables.

  It was easy to spot the staff among the guests, for the women wore long, slim skirts and collarless jackets in brown and lemon, and the men light-weight brown suits. Within a moment of giving her name to one of them, she was shown to the office of Mr Bim, the Chinese manager.

  Dapper and punctilious, he was the exact antithesis of Mr Palmer, but his smile was warm and he offered to take her on a quick tour of the hotel before showing her to her suite.

  Although she would have preferred to shower and change first, she tried to look enthusiastic as she followed him from one lavish reception room to another, all skilfully decorated in a subtle blend of East and West.

  At the head of each staircase stood tubs of tropical flowers, and statues of Oriental deities glowed in the lamplit niches along the corridors. Despite the tropical clime, the upstairs floors were close-carpeted, and the bedroom windows draped with heavy Thai silk that matched the counterpanes on the modern divans. The bathrooms were ultra-modern, as was the beautifully made furniture in the more expensive suites.

  Her own, on the tenth floor, was delightful, with a small balcony overlooking the river. Never had she seen such a wondrous sight. A panorama of golden temple spires stretched before her, their undulating roofs glittering with colourful mosaic tiles, while below lay the broad green ribbon of water, crowded with barges, motor boats and water-buses.

  'It's beautiful,' she murmured. 'And so is the hotel.'

  'We like to think so,' Mr Bim said, 'though some guests are never satisfied. They blame us for the noise on the river, as well as the mosquitoes!'

  Sharon laughed. 'What shall I say to them when they do?'