Roberta Leigh - Love in Store Page 3

  "Taken an interest in it?" she queried. "What do you mean?"

  "By giving us room to expand. Old Mr. Farrell didn't like this section at all. It was Mr. Zachary who believed that people—wealthy ones, I mean —were becoming interested in doing their own home improvements. He's been proved right, too. Yes, indeed he has. The more new things we can offer for sale, the more we'll expand."

  "You've got some wonderful gadgets. I've been admiring them."

  "We've Mr. Zachary to thank for it. He's doing all the buying himself. It's a mammoth task and I don't know how he finds the time."

  Samantha found it strange that Zachary Farrell should concern himself with buying for one of his departments and wondered if he were the sort of man who hated to delegate authority. He surely did not run the whole store this way? Even a man of formidable energy would find it impossible. But it would be unwise to question

  Mr. Carstair on this point, and she made a mental note to find out some other way.

  Larry gave her the answer when he came in search of her at midmorning to take her into the Health Bar for a fortifying fruit juice frappe.

  "Uncle John used to bring me here when I was a little girl," she said, feeling a pang of regret that such a treat would never again be hers. "It wasn't called a Health Bar then. Something more like Coffee Bar."

  "We had to move with the times," Larry said, "and this was Uncle John's big step forward. Mind you, it broke his heart to take out all the walnut paneling and install steel and glass. But Zachary insisted. He said if one were going to break with the old tradition, then it had to be a complete break." He sipped his guava juice and eyed a passing trolley of nut cakes and fruit tarts.

  "Where do the staff go for their mid-morning break?" she asked.

  "Not here," he assured her. "Zachary doesn't even like the Directors to come in here. The staff have their own canteen in a new building on the other side of the road. There is an underground passage to it so that you don't have to go outside. That's one reason why Zachary wants to buy the whole building across the way. He'd like to build a rooftop gallery to lead into it."

  "You sound as if you don't like the idea."

  "I don't. I think we're big enough."

  "What did Uncle John think?"

  "I don't know. Zachary only sprang this idea on the Board a few weeks ago. There'll be a fight over it."

  "I hope not." She was dismayed at the prospect. "I wouldn't want to veto something—or agree to it either—unless I knew exactly what I was doing."

  "You can always refuse to use your casting vote and leave me and Zachary to fight it out."

  "Yesterday you said you didn't fight."

  "That was yesterday," he smiled.

  "A character as strong as shifting sand," she murmured.

  "So my enemies say!" He pointed to her empty glass and, at her nod, ordered it to be refilled. "But I also said yesterday that I fight for the things I believe in. Right now I believe we should consolidate. Expansion can come later."

  "Talking of the word later, reminds me to be getting back to work." She rose hurriedly.

  "Don't be silly," Larry smiled. "You aren't one of the staff."

  "I told your cousin that I want to be treated as if I am."

  "More fool you. Once you let him start on the boss syndrome, he doesn't know where to stop."

  She forebore to tell him that his cousin had told Mr. Carstair to let her do exactly as she liked—a fact which had surprised her as much as she knew it would surprise Larry—and instead began to walk to the exit.

  "Unfortunately I'm not free for lunch," Larry said in her ear, "but I am quite free for dinner. I hope you are?"

  She hesitated, then nodded. There was no reason why she should not go out with him.

  "I'll call for you at eight," he continued. "What's your address?"

  She gave it to him and he wrote it down in a small fat notebook which, she was sure, was full of other girls' names. Even without being a Farrell, Larry would have no shortage of female company, for he was good-looking and markedly debonair. That was the exact word to describe his smoothly brushed light brown hair, his fair skin and twinkling brown eyes. Though she was tall, he topped her by six inches and had a body to which his well-cut suit did justice. Yes, Larry Farrell was a good-looking young man and he knew it.

  "Until eight," he said, and touched her lightly on the arm before leaving her.

  For the rest of the day she was kept busy serving customers and, in the brief moments of respite, examined the stock on display. The assistants were expected to know a great deal about the articles they were selling and lectures were given to explain some of the more elaborate mechanical objects. One such lecture was being held this evening, half an hour before the store closed, and Mr. Carstair suggested she might like to attend.

  At five o'clock she hurried along to the lecture hall, which turned out to be a large room with a dais and screen at one end. Here, a technician had fitted up the object he was going to talk about and he explained in detail how it worked. Tonight it was a drill and wood cutter, sufficiently light for a woman to use with ease. He was easy to follow and at the end of the lecture, when he paused to answer questions, Samantha asked him why the written instructions that came with the machine were so much more difficult to understand than his own explanation had been.

  "I don't know," he admitted, "but I have already taken it up with the firm and new instructions are being printed."

  "Do you think they could let us have them to put into existing stock?"

  "I will make a note of it," he promised.

  "And also to send out to those clients who have already bought one of these drills? Most of our clients have accounts here," she added, "so we'd have their addresses."

  He nodded again and she sat down, noticing that a few of the staff were eyeing her curiously. She wished she had not spoken up. Still, she was here to learn and if that meant asking questions, then so be it.

  Shortly before five-thirty the lecture ended. The closing-time bell had not yet rung but she did not think it worth while to return to her department and went instead to collect her outdoor things from the staff cloakroom. Tomorrow she would bring in a pair of flat-heeled shoes. Standing in high-heeled ones had made her feet ache and she hoped Larry had only meant dinner when he had suggested it, and did not also have dancing in mind.

  Tiredly she made her way to the exit and was walking to the bus stop when a small dark car moved along the curb in time with her. She glanced at it, her step faltering as she recognized Zachary Farrell behind the wheel.

  "Get in," he ordered.

  Glancing round surreptitiously, she did so.

  "Why the guilty look?" he asked bluntly.

  "I thought it would look odd if any of the staff saw me getting into your car."

  "They are used to seeing girls getting into Larry's," he said, dryly, setting the car in motion again. "Where do you live?"

  "Near Harrod's."

  "Convenient for shopping." His voice was still dry.

  "I wouldn't shop there." Her tone matched his. "My loyalties belong entirely to Farrell's."

  "You also get a discount from us," he said.

  "Do I?" He shot her a look of suspicion and she controlled her temper. "I didn't know that, Mr. Farrell. Thanks for telling me. Does that apply to everything I buy?"

  "Everything—though the discounts vary. The family get a larger discount than anyone else."

  "The privilege of being a Farrell," she murmured.

  "The privilege of being able to run Farrell's," he corrected.

  "Do you see it as your life's work?" she asked.

  "Yes." His voice was curt. "We cater to a need and provide a service. I like the word service, Miss Byers, though in this day and age it seems to be going out of fashion. That's why I want to make sure Farrell's carries on. We serve the public and there is no shame in serving—as long as it is done with pride."

  Samantha was moved by the words, for they brought b
ack many memories. "When you speak in that way, it's like hearing Uncle John."

  "He brought me up."

  "I thought you grew up with Larry?"

  "Only for a few years. When Uncle Tony died—Larry's father—Larry, my mother, and I lived with Uncle John. He was our father figure. Or perhaps I should say my father figure."

  "Your father was Polish, wasn't he?"

  "You seem to know a lot about me." He swerved to avoid a car which had pulled out ahead of him without warning.

  "Only what people have told me," she replied defensively. "I didn't ask questions about you."

  "I wouldn't mind if you did. I'm prepared to go around asking questions about you. It is important that we understand each other."

  "To know isn't always to understand."

  "I hope it will be in our case." His hands gripped the wheel and she felt he was gearing himself to say more. "I would like to begin by having dinner with you tonight," he went on. "I'm sorry it's such short notice."

  "I'm afraid I'm not free. I—as a matter of fact I'm having dinner with Larry."

  "My quick-off-the-mark cousin," he said sarcastically.

  "He only preceded you by a few hours!"

  "I'm not criticizing him, merely making a comment."

  "I'm free tomorrow," she said, not wishing him to think she was showing any preference.

  "Unfortunately I'm not. Nor any other night this week."

  They were driving down Sloane Street and she directed him to her apartment, which was in an anonymous block off Lowndes Square.

  "Did you live here before you went to Ireland?" he asked.

  "Good heavens, no. You would never get my mother into anything except a house. We had a big rambling one in Maida Vale."

  "Uncle John said your home in Ireland is charming."

  "It is." She looked him full in the face. "You must come and visit us some time."

  "Is that a sometime invitation?" He saw her puzzlement and added, "Sometime never."

  "Oh no." She went pink. "It was a genuine invitation."

  His mouth lifted at the corners. Both corners this time, she noted, turning it into a real smile and making him look younger than his age.

  She stepped out of the car and, to her surprise, he got out with her, extending his hand to say good-by. It was the first time she had stood next to him, and in her high heels his eyes were only a couple of inches above hers. Yet because of his broad chest he gave an impression of greater height, though he was not more than five foot ten. She was also close enough to see the color of his eyes which, considering the darkness of his hair, were surprisingly light and a similar gray to her own. But his were more noticeable, being set in a swarthy-skinned face. She had always considered Poles to be fair by race and was curious to know more of his background.

  "Your expression gives away your thoughts." His voice was so deep that she had to strain to hear it, particularly since he had made no attempt to raise it above the noise of the rush hour traffic. But no doubt he rarely had the need to speak loudly; he looked as if he were used to people listening to him with attention.

  "I was thinking how dark you were," she said. "I mean considering you are half Polish."

  "The borders of Poland extend over a large , area," he said wryly. "My ethnic origins may not be pure Slav."

  "You are rather the way I remember Uncle John. When I was a child his hair was as black as yours."

  The man in front of her half smiled, then abruptly shook her hand and returned to his car. It seemed small for him, and she was surprised he did not drive a bigger one. Carefully he pulled out into the stream of traffic. He did not look around at her and she went into her apartment. Why hadn't he suggested another night for their dinner? Was he annoyed that she had not been free tonight? Curious to know with whom he was engaged for the rest of the week, she went into her bedroom and dropped her coat on a chair. That was something she was sure to learn from Larry. He was a garrulous man and, as his main topic of conversation was his cousin, she expected this evening to be an informative one.

  Larry arrived promptly, his expressive face showing appreciation of her appearance. Yet she knew that had she looked like the back of a bus he would still have been charming to her and taken her out. It's the voting shares I hold, that he would like to hold, she thought with amusement, and warned herself to remember this. Yet she did not care if his liking for her was not genuine. He was a good-looking escort, but she could never be serious about him. It was strange how clearly she knew this. The certainty of it made her wonder what mechanism in one person could trigger off a response in another, so that you could tell, almost from the word go, that a deeper emotion would result.

  Yet so far, no one had triggered an emotional response in her. She had time to spare, of course, but she still felt she was missing out on something. Perhaps it was because many of her friends were already married and Jackie, her closest one, had been seriously in love for two years. But nothing had come of Jackie's love; that was one more thing to remember.

  As she had anticipated, Larry took her to an excellent restaurant. Champagne was already on ice and it was opened for them as soon as they sat down.

  "What are we celebrating?" she asked.

  "Our first dinner together. The first of many."

  She drank to the toast, aware of the women in the room who were looking in their direction and no doubt envying her the good-looking man who was making it plain he had eyes for no one except herself.

  Larry was an attentive escort and a master in the art of the subtle compliment. Many of them he left half said, completing them with his eyes and, when they danced, he held her close enough to show he would have liked to hold her closer still, indicating—by the fact that he did not do so —that he also held her in respect. Larry was obviously expert at making a girl feel great.

  To her surprise he did not refer to his cousin until they were sipping their coffee, and only did so then because she brought his name into the conversation by saying he had asked her to dine with him that night.

  "I bet his nose was out of joint when you refused," Larry grinned. "I'm glad I beat him to it."

  "I hope you're not taking me out just to spite your cousin?" she mocked. "I suspect an element of competition between the two of you."

  "Zachary's girl friends aren't my type."

  "I can't imagine him having any. He seems too serious."

  "He's still a man!" Larry grinned. "He's a love 'em and leave 'em man."

  "Like you," she added.

  "Am I?" He put on a pained expression though his eyes were twinkling.

  "You know you are. That's one of the nice things about you. You flirt but you make it obvious you're flirting. If a girl allows herself to get serious over you, she'll only have herself to blame."

  "You seem to have formed a pretty definite opinion of my character on a couple of short meetings," he said. "Or am I so easy to read?" He held up his hand. "Don't answer that. Whatever you say, I'm bound not to like it!"

  She shrugged acceptance of this. "Haven't you or your cousin wanted to get married?"

  "Speaking for myself, no. Until now I never felt the need. I think Zachary has felt the same way, though if he goes on seeing Marie he'll have to make up his mind one way or the other."

  "Is she his latest?"

  "His latest and longest. They've been together for two years so he must be pretty serious about her. Normally they come and go with him— the way they have with me."

  "Don't you get tired of playing the field?"

  He laughed. "What a question to ask a man!"

  "I don't see why," she persisted. "Surely there comes a time when you only want to be with one particular woman?"

  "You mean when the possessive instinct takes over and you can't rest until you've made the girl legally yours?"

  She sipped her champagne. "You make it sound very physical."

  "It is. That's why most marriages take place: because of a man's desire to keep other men away f
rom his own pot of honey! Women marry for different reasons," he added. "Either they are scared of losing their looks and being left old and alone, or they are worried about their earning power and have a need for security. Sometimes it's a combination of both."

  "I could argue with you on this subject all night," she said crossly.

  "What a waste of a night!"

  "Does your cousin think the way you do?" she asked.

  "I guess so. It isn't something we've discussed. Old Zack's not very communicative, you know. He plays his cards so close to his chest that sometimes I don't think he even lets himself see them! He was like that even as a kid."

  "Were you resentful when you went to live with him?"

  Larry shook his head. "He's four years older than me and that gave him the advantage of knowing a lot of things I didn't. He taught me how to row and to dive and during our school holidays he'd always let me tag after him."

  "So you really did grow up like brothers?"

  "I guess so. I've never given it much thought."

  Samantha knew he was being truthful and decided that his attitude to his cousin was his most likable characteristic. Other boys might have been jealous at having to share another child's home, yet apparently Larry did not feel that way. Such an attitude stemmed from a deep-rooted sense of security which could either have come from his parents or from his own belief in himself. From what she knew of him, she judged it to be a bit of both.

  "Did you grow up knowing you would inherit Farrell's?" she asked.

  "It was something we took for granted, though I think that deep down I always thought it would be Zachary's. His mother was Uncle John's twin sister, so by right of inheritance it should have been his."

  "Your uncle obviously didn't think so."

  "I know. He was scrupulously fair. He never differentiated between us. It was the only time when his business acumen let him down!" Larry saw her startled look and raised his eyebrows in a wry movement. "Businesswise, Zachary is way ahead of me. If my uncle had let his head rule his heart, he would have given Zachary control. But he was so determined not to show favoritism that he brought you into the picture instead."