Roberta Leigh - Love in Store Read online

  "Of course not."

  "That's why they will both regard you as their enemy—until they know which one you're going to favor."

  "I don't intend to favor either of them," Samantha stated. "I want to remain unbiased."

  "Ha!" Jackie muttered. "I've yet to meet a girl who can be unbiased when faced with two men. You are bound to prefer one to the other and that's going to affect your behavior when it comes to any Board decision."

  "It's a possibility which I recognize," Samantha conceded, "though I don't intend to succumb to it. For Uncle John's sake I must think only of the store. That's why I need to know how it works."

  "Little Miss Tycoon!"

  "You can laugh," Samantha said, "but it's unfortunately all too true."

  "Unfortunately, the girl says!" Jackie flung up her arms. "You're the luckiest girl in the world. You'll have two young men sucking up to you to get your favor. If you—" She stopped. "You wouldn't know if they're married, would you?"

  "What difference does that make?'

  "All the difference in the world. If they are single, having you as a wife would give them control."

  "A man wouldn't marry just for that."

  "Wouldn't he?" Jackie said dryly.

  "I suppose he would, if he were ambitious and determined enough." Samantha's eyes narrowed at the idea of this. "But then I'm determined too, and when I marry it won't be in order to give someone the benefit of my voting stock!"

  "Then let's hope that both the Farrell nephews are as ugly as sin! That will be one way of helping you to remain unbiased."

  Samantha remembered this as she dressed for her meeting with them the next day. It had been arranged too early for her to have time to have her hair set, an action which she regretted, for no matter how businesslike the clothes she wore, it was difficult to coax her hair into a style that complied with the image she wished to present.

  "Leave it loose," Jackie suggested. "It's a good contrast with that Quaker outfit you're wearing."

  Samantha glanced down at her navy blue suit with its figure-fitting skirt and jacket. The severity of the line was softened by a deep blue chiffon blouse that gave a blue glow to her large gray eyes. "I thought of putting my hair up into a French twist."

  "That went out with the Ark. Leave it loose. You have beautiful hair and it's such a gorgeous color." She sighed enviously. "It's the sort that you can never get out of a bottle."

  Samantha smiled and ran a comb through the silky tresses. She coaxed the ends under with a brush, hoping it made her look less young than when they curled up into little duck's tails, and planted a small navy hat on her head.

  "Is that supposed to make you look efficient?" Jackie asked.

  "I always wear a hat for a business meeting," Samantha replied, picking up her bag and gloves. "I don't look scared, do I?"

  "You look fighting fit," Jackie assured her. "And you will have both those young men eating out of your hands within five minutes of meeting you."

  Samantha took heart from this comment as she found herself in the office that had once been Uncle John's and which now—if seating arrange- merits were anything to go by—had been taken over by Zachary Farrell. He was the one who sat behind the old-fashioned mahogany desk, while his cousin Larry perched on the side of it. Both of them eyed her without expression, though Zachary's lack of it was more foreboding. But then he was a more foreboding-looking man than his cousin, being deep-voiced and stern-featured. It was difficult to judge his age, for he was sitting with his back to the light, and though she knew from her mother he was in his early thirties, he could have been considerably older. His finely arched dark eyebrows were lowered over eyes whose color she could not see from this angle and a slightly long, firm nose pointed down to a wide- lipped mouth. It was a mouth that did not suit the character she had given him. She could not help noting it and wondering what it would be like if it relaxed into a smile. Such a thought could not have been further from the mind of the man himself, for when he spoke his unusually deep voice held no hint of friendliness.

  "You realize, of course, that my uncle's action came as a great surprise to my cousin and myself?"

  "To me, too," Samantha said. "I had no idea Uncle John was planning to do such a thing. He never mentioned it when he stayed with us in Ireland."

  Silence met this statement and glancing from the man behind the desk to the one seated upon it, she saw both faces exuding the same impression of disbelief.

  "It's true," she reiterated. "Uncle John never breathed a hint that this was in his mind. If he had—if I had known—I would have tried to talk him out of it."

  "To discuss the might-have-been is pointless," Zachary Farrell said. "We must now decide how we proceed in the future. Ideally you should sell your shares to my cousin and myself."

  "Half each?"

  "Naturally I would prefer to have them all," he said without a hint of humor, "but since my cousin is of the same opinion, we would reach a position of stalemate. But if you gave us each five percent…"

  "If Uncle John had wanted that, he wouldn't have left me the shares in the first place." Samantha moved forward in her chair to sit up more primly. Her skirt moved as she did, showing a slightly longer expanse of shapely leg. It attracted the attention of the man perched on the edge of the desk, and he fixed it with a pair of brown eyes which were suddenly alert.

  "I'm not saying I won't eventually do that," she continued, "but for the moment I would rather follow Uncle John's wishes."

  "Wishes?" Zachary Farrell queried.

  "That I should work in the store for a year and learn how the business is run."

  "One needs to have more than a day-to-day working knowledge of the store to know how Farrell's operates," he said bleakly. "To do that you require business acumen and flair."

  Irritated, she stared across the desk at him and wished she were not directly facing the light, for it gave him an advantage over her.

  "How do you know I don't have that kind of flair?"

  "What were you doing before you came here?" he asked. Seeing her expression he gave a smile—if such a word could be used to describe the derisive way in which one side of his mouth turned up.

  "I think it's very commendable of Miss Byers to want to follow Uncle John's will." Larry Farrell spoke for the first time. "And since we are all in the family so to speak, I suggest we drop the Mr. and Miss." His smile was a genuine one, appreciative of the way the sun was turning her hair into a golden aureole around her head. "Which department are you planning to start in, Samantha?"

  She was startled. "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

  "Flowers, I think. You will outshine all the blooms there!"

  "I suggest Miss Byers begins in Hardware," Zachary Farrell spoke in a tone which indicated that he wished it was Hard Labor.

  "Surely Samantha can do better than that to start with?"

  "If that's where I'm needed," Samantha said at once, "that's where I'll go."

  "You are not needed anywhere," Zachary Farrell said. "But since you wish to comply with my uncle's wishes…"

  "When can I start?" she asked, rising so as not to give him the opportunity of making a move first.

  "Why not tomorrow?" His tone was bland. "The store opens at nine but you needn't be here before eight-fifty."

  "That will suit me perfectly." Her tone was equally bland. "Do I have to wear a uniform?"

  "Any simple garment in black or navy will do. You wear a badge, of course. I will tell the manager of the department to expect you. Do you wish me to let them know you are one of the owners of Farrell's?"

  She knew instantly that to say yes would make him think she was taking the easy way out; and though she knew that by saying no she was playing into his hands, she had no option but to do it. She shook her head and the way in which his mouth turned up in the semblance of a smile, confirmed her suspicions. What a dislikable man he was. She found it hard to understand why Uncle John had found it difficult to make up his mind which
one of his nephews should be given control of his store. For herself she would have had no such problem. Larry Farrell would have won hands down.

  "I will have to give the Department Heads some reason why you are going from one section to another." Zachary Farrell was speaking again. "Normally a Personnel Officer would interview you and decide where you would be most suitable." He frowned. "I'll have to think of something."

  "I'm sure you can." Murmuring good-by she went into the corridor and had not yet reached the lift when the younger of the cousins came after her.

  "Why the rush?" he asked. "I would like us to get better acquainted. After all, we are all working partners together."

  "Partners?"

  "Naturally. Your vote is crucial to the running of the company. This whole vast edifice—" he waved his hands around him—"which employs several hundred men and women, to say nothing of giving further employment to thousands in the factories, is controlled by three people. Zachary, myself, and you. Because of that, it's important for us to understand and like each other."

  "I can't see your cousin liking me."

  "Don't take any notice of Zachary's manner. His father was Polish and you know how moody Poles can be!"

  "Farrell isn't a Polish name," she said, surprised.

  "His father's was something unpronounceable.

  He died when Zack was ten and Uncle John suggested he take the family name."

  This gave Samantha another reason for disliking him. How typical of him to take the name of the man whose department store he had hoped to own, rather than to remain loyal to the name of his father.

  "Join me for coffee," Larry Farrell said and, seeing her silence as acquiescence, put his hand under her arm and guided her past the lift into a room farther along the corridor.

  It was not as large as the one they had left, but furnished in a more modern manner, which made it look friendlier. The leather easy chairs were the latest in Italian design, the carpet was thick underfoot and there was a television set in one corner. He caught her eyeing it and grinned.

  "Zack gets mad with me every time he sees it," he confided. "But I like to watch the racing."

  "And listen to music too," she said demurely, noticing the stereo on the shelf behind him.

  "If I'm working late and I'm alone."

  She could not imagine either occurrence happening to him and was curious to know how active a part he took in the running of the store.

  "Coffee or something stronger?" he asked.

  "Coffee would be lovely, and some biscuits if possible. I'm starving."

  "Would you like something more substantial?"

  "No thanks. Biscuits will be fine. But I'm used to having breakfast and I was late out of bed this morning and only had orange juice."

  "Don't tell me you are an egg and bacon girl."

  "Toast and marmalade too!"

  "You must have hollow legs." He eyed her shapely limbs appreciatively.

  "Just an active metabolism." Because he looked as if he would like to pursue the subject, she said hastily, "Do you and your cousin have specific tasks here, Mr. Farrell?"

  "Zachary is in charge of the overall buying and the running of the store, while I look after Personnel and Publicity."

  Because of her limited knowledge of the way a department store worked, she did not know if this was a fair division of labor. Somehow she did not think it was and the young man's next words proved her to be right.

  "I would like to do more," he said, "but Zack won't let me. Anyway, if I make any decision without his approval, he overrides it—even if he subsequently gives in. He loves to make out that he's the boss."

  "But you are both equal," she said.

  "I know. But I like a quiet life. Arguments consume too much of one's energy."

  "If Uncle John had wanted your cousin to be in charge," she said, "he would have given him control. Doesn't that make you want to stand up for yourself and your own ideas?"

  "Occasionally," Larry Farrell admitted. "But I lack the determination to fight."

  "Don't you care what happens to the store?"

  "Of course I do. But unlike Zachary and my uncle, I have always thought there are other things equally as important. Things like enjoying one's life and working in a job that means something to you." He hesitated. "From which you may gather that my ambitions don't lie in Farrell's of Piccadilly."

  She nodded and waited for him to say more. Before he could do so, a middle-aged secretary came in with coffee and biscuits.

  "Mrs. Evans, you must be psychic!" As she set down the tray he introduced her to Samantha. "You had better arrange for Miss Byers to have an office. Mr. Zachary's old one, I think."

  "I had better check with Mr. Zachary first."

  "There's no need to do that. He won't be going back to it now."

  Mrs. Evans looked unconvinced but did not demur, though Samantha was sure she still intended to obtain Zachary Farrell's permission before doing anything about it.

  "Will I need an office?" she asked Larry.

  "Naturally. As a working director you will be expected to have one."

  "Are there only the three of us?"

  "We have a large Board of Directors," he replied, "but our votes are the only ones that count in any policy-making decisions concerning the running of the store. Hence your importance to Cousin Zachary."

  "And to you too," she added. "I don't believe you are as easygoing as you pretend."

  "I'm not easygoing in the things that matter to me," he smiled. "Besides which I never fight if I know I can't win. And no one could win against Uncle John or Zack. But now that it's you and me—"

  "You and me and your cousin," she intervened quickly. "I'm neutral, Mr. Farrell. Please remember that."

  She had asserted to her mother and to Jackie that she intended to be unbiased and form her own opinions of these two men, and though she had already started to form one of Zachary Farrell, she refused to let it solidify into anything as strong as dislike. After all, some people do not come out well at a first meeting, especially if they are on the defensive, as he had obviously been. She could not blame him for it either. In his position she might well have felt the same. As for Larry Farrell… his charm was meaningless and merely indicated that he was better at simulating than his cousin. No, she must tread the middle path for much longer before going down one side or the other. If she ever did.

  It was not until she was standing outside the store with him, while the commissionaire flagged down a taxi, that she saw the charm in full operation.

  "As you've been living in Ireland so long, you won't have a home in London, will you? So why not let Farrell's find you an apartment? We have our own real estate agency."

  "I'm taking over a friend's place. I've been very lucky."

  "I'm glad." He smiled. "I assume the telephone isn't in your name?"

  "You assume right." She climbed into the taxi and he grinned at her through the open window.

  "Until tomorrow, Samantha. I'll be down to see you once you've settled in."

  "What exactly will I have to do?" she asked.

  "Just learn how the department is run. The department manager will tell you all about it."

  As the taxi drew out into the stream of traffic, Samantha realized that if she worked in the store incognito, she would be judged on merit alone. And as she was totally without experience, merit might be a long time coming. Zachary Farrell knew this, of course, and no doubt intended to make her sojourn at the store as uncomfortable as he could. How bitterly he resented her having a controlling block of shares and how foolish of him to show his resentment so blatantly. Still, had he been charming she would have suspected him of Machiavellian subtlety. She half smiled. Subtlety was not his forte. The way he had behaved this morning had proved that beyond all doubt. But at least she knew where she stood with him and, as her mother frequently said, it was better to know where the devil was, than to try and guess where he might be hiding.

  CHAPTER THREE />
  At a quarter to nine the next morning Samantha presented herself at the front entrance of Farrell's. The door was locked and a uniformed man inside looked at her oddly and pointed to the left. After a few seconds' thought, she correctly interpreted this as being a signal to another entrance. Naturally there would be a separate one for the staff. It had been stupid of her not to have known.

  She hurried along the pavement. Farrell's occupied an entire block and by the time she found the right door it was exactly nine o'clock. Even then it took her a few more moments to reach the lower ground floor and the Hardware Section, which seemed to be a vast one. Assistants were already removing covers from some of the counters and putting loose cash in the various tills. Samantha looked around her uncertainly, not sure if any of them was the manager and wondering how soon he would put in an appearance.

  "You're new here, aren't you?" A young man came up to her. He wore a dark suit and had the Farrell badge in his lapel.

  She nodded. "I'm waiting to see the manager of the department."

  "He isn't due in until nine-thirty. I'm his assistant. Maybe I can help you?"

  She was sure Zachary Farrell had not spoken to him about her and she shook her head. "I'll wait for the manager."

  Disappointed, he went away, and unwilling to remain the focal point of interested male stares, she wandered around the floor. Half of it was given over to a large Do-It-Yourself section. This surprised her, for Farrell's had the reputation of being highly priced with a wealthy clientele. Then she noticed that many of the products sold were foreign and expensive and not to be found in any other shop in London. It seemed that even in Do-It-Yourself, Farrell's went in for the best. She thought it was a good idea to have this sort of section, for these days everyone was interested in cutting costs, no matter how rich they were.

  "Miss Byers?" A middle-aged man was bearing down on her, hand extended. "I'm Mr. Carstair. Mr. Farrell has spoken to me about you. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you arrived, but I didn't expect you as early as this."

  "I was told staff had to be herd by a quarter to nine."

  "That wouldn't apply to you, Miss Byers," he said hastily, lowering his voice. "Mr. Farrell has explained to me about the book you're planning to write and I'm delighted you wish to get firsthand experience. So many authors rely on their imagination when it comes to facts! Hardware is an excellent place to begin. Until recently it was the most underestimated section in the store. But since Mr. Farrell has taken an interest in us, our turnover has trebled."