No Gentle Possession

David looked slightly embarrassed. ‘It’s not that. It’s just that – well, her parents are always around. We never get any time alone. Not really alone, that is.’

Alexis looked amused. ‘Well, that’s what comes of doing things by the book.’

‘What do you mean? Coming here with her parents?’

‘More or less.’

‘They’d never have let her come away with me alone.’

‘Hard luck!’

‘I suppose you think in my position you’d have managed to persuade them.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘No, but you thought it.’ David lifted his shoulders dejectedly. ‘Hell, Alex, is it absolutely essential that you leave today?’

‘Absolutely, I’m afraid.’ Alexis finished his second cup of coffee looking idly through the restaurant window on to the groups of holidaymakers making their way towards the ski slopes. ‘I suppose I ought to go and see how they’re getting on with my packing. I shall be sorry to leave all this.’

David grimaced. ‘I half wish I was coming with you.’

Alexis’s lips lifted at his friend’s outburst, but then his attention was arrested by a sleek continental coach that was slowly progressing along the village street. He was suddenly reminded that the girl he had met last night in such unusual circumstances had said she and her group were leaving today. The coach was most probably for them.

‘Did you hear what I said?’

David’s irate tones brought his attention back to the present and he looked at him apologetically. ‘No. What did you say?’

‘I said I’d ring you once I got back to London.’

‘Oh, yes, yes. Fine.’ But Alexis was preoccupied. He rose abruptly to his feet. ‘I’ve got to get moving. What are your plans for this morning?’

David lay back in his chair shrugging. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been promising to take Rosemary on the nursery slopes for days. I guess I could do that.’

Alexis nodded, and then with a sense of compunction he patted David’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, man. But there’s nothing I can do.’ He paused. ‘Be seeing you, then.’

‘Yes. Sure.’

David nodded, managing a faint smile, but as Alex crossed the restaurant to reach the hall, he could see David’s dejected reflection in the long mirrors that flanked the swing glass doors.

The flight from Salzburg landed in the late afternoon. It had been delayed by bad weather conditions, and it was even snowing slightly at Heathrow as Alexis left the plane.

The formalities over with, he emerged from the reception lounge bent on finding the nearest bar and a stiff drink. He knew he was delaying the moment when he would have to take up his life again, but airports were those transient kind of places where one was in limbo, a condition he presently desired.

But as he climbed the stairs to the bar, a voice he recognized only too well, called: ‘Alex! Alex, where are you going?’

He halted reluctantly and turned, looking down into the well of the hall where a fur-clad feminine figure was waving vigorously at him. He hesitated only a moment, and then with resignation descended the stairs again. He knew perfectly well that had he pretended not to hear her and gone on to the bar, she would have followed him.

Reaching ground level, he turned up the collar of his sheepskin coat against the cold draught of air which swept through the hall, and said, in drawling tones: ‘Hello, Michelle. What are you doing here?’

Michelle Whitney smiled up at him warmly. She was an attractive woman of medium height, but wrapped in the expensive sables she looked particularly elegant. ‘Alex darling,’ she cried reprovingly. ‘Where else would I be? I’ve come to meet you, of course. Your father sent me. I’ve been waiting around for simply hours!’

Alexis considered her avid expression without enthusiasm. ‘That wasn’t necessary, Michelle. I’m quite capable of hiring a cab.’

Michelle raised her delicately plucked eyebrows. ‘What a greeting! It’s just as well I’m used to your boorishness, darling, or I’d feel quite hurt.’

Alexis’s lips were wry. ‘Is that possible?’ he queried mockingly, and was gratified to see her colour deepen.

‘Oh, you are a pig, Alex!’ she exclaimed heatedly. ‘I don’t know why I put up with it.’

‘Don’t you?’ He glanced round irritably. ‘Look, Michelle, I want a drink and as I’m perfectly certain that my father did not send you to meet me, in fact I don’t know how you got the information—’

‘I was there when your father phoned you last night!’

‘Okay, I’ll accept that. But now, I suggest you go home, and I’ll see you both later.’

Michelle wrapped her fur-clad arms closely about herself. ‘Why can’t I have a drink with you?’

‘Because I want to be alone.’

‘Alex, please!’

‘No.’ He half turned away and then looked back at her. ‘Don’t worry. Your little secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell the old man.’

Michelle pursed her lips. ‘There are times when I hate you, Alex!’

‘Good. That’s a healthy emotion.’

‘All my emotions towards you are healthy, Alex.’ She put a tentative hand on his arm.

Alex looked down at that soft-gloved hand, and then into her face, and with a muffled gasp she released him. ‘I still don’t see why we can’t have a drink together. I am your stepmother, after all.’

‘Yes. Unfortunately I’m aware of that,’ retorted Alexis, brutally. ‘G’-bye, Michelle. I’ll see you later, at home.’

Without another word, he swung back up the stairs, and didn’t look back, not even as he walked along the gallery.

Alexis’s apartment was the penthouse of a tall block near Hyde Park, and Blake, his manservant, welcomed him home warmly some two hours later. As Alexis shed his coat in the hall of the apartment Blake said: ‘Your father’s been on the phone for you, sir. Several times. I told him you hadn’t arrived back yet, but I’m not sure he believed me. He said he had telephoned the airport, and he knew your plane had landed some time ago.’

Alexis grimaced, and unfastening his tie, he walked ahead into the wide, attractive lounge. This was a room that always gave him pleasure and he looked about him with enjoyment, appreciating its comfortable elegance. There was a turquoise carpet underfoot, patterned in shades of blue and green, while the long settee and armchairs were natural-coloured, soft, buttoned leather. He was lucky enough to be able to afford all the luxurious accoutrements to modern living, but the massive television was seldom turned on, and in recent years his interest in the hi-fi equipment, which had once fascinated him, had dwindled.

Now Blake came behind him, carrying his suitcase. ‘Have you had dinner, sir?’ he asked.

Alexis turned from switching on a tall standard lamp, that had an exquisitely hand-painted shade, and frowned. ‘No, I’ve not eaten. I had a couple of drinks at the airport, that’s all.’ He took off the jacket of his suit and slung it carelessly over the back of a chair. ‘But don’t bother with anything for me. I’ll eat at Falcons.’ Falcons was the name of his father’s house at Maidenhead.

‘Are you sure, sir? It’s no trouble.’

Alexis smiled. ‘No, I know. Thanks all the same. But I need a shower, and quite honestly hunger is not one of the things that’s troubling me at the moment.’

Blake nodded politely. ‘Did you have a good holiday, sir?’

Alexis considered before replying. ‘Yes, I suppose you could say that,’ he conceded grudingly. ‘By the way, make me some coffee, will you, and I’ll have it after I’m dressed again. It won’t do to arrive smelling too strongly of alcohol.’

Blake allowed himself a smile at that. He was rather a solemn-faced individual, and as he was inclined to stockiness and was going bald, he did not at first strike one as being particularly amiable. But in fact, he had been with Alexis for six years now, and Alexis was well aware of the sharp sense of humour he possessed. Now, he collected Alexis’s casually strewn jacket before disappearing through a door into the kitchen, and Alexis walked across to his bedroom.

In the shower, Alexis contemplated the evening ahead without pleasure. How much more enjoyable it would have been to arrive home and have nothing more pressing to do than lounge on the couch in front of the television all evening. Such a prospect attracted him. It was strange that someone who should become so easily bored with the so-called fleshpots, should find the idea of simply behaving like any one of another hundred million people so desirable.

He examined his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he dried himself and was relieved to see that the past couple of weeks of exertion had successfully dispersed the faint thickening of his waistline that had been present before he left. Now there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on his lean body, and the outline of his rib cage was coated only with muscle.

He dressed soberly in a charcoal grey lounge suit, to fit the occasion, he thought without humour, and drove down to Maidenhead, reaching his father’s house just before eight o’clock. Falcons faced the river, and in summer it was very pleasant to sit in the garden, watching the pageant of craft on the water. But in the middle of January, it had no such connotations, and although Alexis had spent part of his childhood here, he found the sight of the bare trees and the frozen, snow-covered gardens rather depressing.

Searle, his father’s manservant, admitted him. Once Searle had had the title of butler, but in these days of shortages of staff, his duties encompassed so many other things, that such an appellation would have sounded pretentious. However, the old man seemed not to mind, and he welcomed Alexis warmly.

‘It’s good to see you again, sir,’ he exclaimed, taking his overcoat.

‘How are you, Searle?’ Alexis bestowed one of his rare warm smiles upon him.

‘Can’t grumble, sir. Mr. Howard’s waiting for you in the library.’

‘Has my father had dinner?’

‘Not yet, sir. He’s been waiting for you.’

‘Good.’ Alexis found that the drive had awakened his appetite. ‘Thank you, Searle.’

He crossed the hall to double panelled doors, and taking a handle in each hand, he swung them open and stepped into the book-lined room which his father used as his study.

Howard Whitney was seated behind his desk, and he looked up dourly as Alexis closed the doors behind him and leaned back against them, surveying the room thoroughly.

‘So you’ve finally decided to appear!’ he remarked grimly. ‘Not before time!’

Howard Whitney’s voice still had traces of his northern ancestry that no amount of southern intonation could entirely dispel. He rose from his desk to face his son, and in his dark evening clothes he was quite impressive, big and broad and physically dominating.

But Alexis was never dominated. He was as tall as his father and although he was leaner, it was a leanness of muscle and sinew that was far tougher than his father’s loose flesh.

‘I got held up,’ he said now. ‘Besides, I don’t see why I should account to you for my movements. I’m not a boy.’

‘No, you’re not!’ muttered Howard, reaching for a cigar, but refraining to offer one to Alexis. ‘If you were, you wouldn’t create the kind of mess we’re in at the moment.’

‘What do you mean?’ Alexis moved away from the door.

‘I mean Janie Knight, Alex.’

Alexis frowned. ‘I seem to have missed something along the way. As I recall it, last night we were discussing Frank Knight, not Janie.’

‘It’s all the same thing,’ retorted Howard. ‘My God, what is there about you that makes a woman like Janie Knight prepared to go to any lengths to get you back?’

Alexis glanced across at the tray of drinks on a side table. ‘Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning,’ he advised dryly. ‘Do you mind if I have a drink?’

‘Help yourself!’ said Howard Whitney irritably, and Alexis poured himself a generous measure of Scotch. ‘Go on!’ he said.

Howard shuffled the papers on his desk. ‘I wish to God you’d never got involved with her!’

Alexis swallowed half his drink, surveying the remainder in his glass thoughtfully. ‘It was your idea,’ he pointed out.

Howard clenched his fists. ‘Do you think I’m likely to forget that?’

‘Well?’

‘Knight left a note – a suicide note.’

‘I see.’ Alexis was beginning to understand. ‘Where is it? Have the press got it?’

‘Nothing so simple, Janie’s got it. When the night watchman phoned her about Knight’s attempted suicide, she was first on the scene, before the ambulance or the police. She took the note, and she still has it.’

‘You mean she’s attempting blackmail?’ Alexis frowned. ‘What does it say, for God’s sake?’

His father heaved a deep sigh. There were lines of strain around his mouth and it was obvious he was most disturbed. ‘Well, he mentions the difficulties his company has got into, and how he can see no future short of selling out to a larger corporation. He apparently owes money all over the city.’

‘But that’s not what’s worrying you, is it?’ Alexis was impatient.

‘No. No, he goes on to say that – he knows his wife is being unfaithful to him, and that she’s – the mistress of the son of the man who has been systematically trying to ruin him!’

Alexis finished his Scotch and replaced the glass on the tray, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. For a few minutes he said nothing, and then, when his father was beginning to get agitated, he asked: ‘Have you seen this letter?’

Howard Whitney frowned. ‘What kind of a fool do you think I am? Of course I’ve seen the letter.’

‘When?’

‘Yesterday evening. In my office.’

‘You mean Janie Knight walked into your office with the actual letter her husband wrote?’ Alexis gave his father an old-fashioned look. ‘Wasn’t she afraid you’d take it from her?’

Howard sighed. ‘She wasn’t alone.’

‘You mean someone else knows about this?’

‘Yes. That chap Lorrimer – her lawyer.’

‘Philip Lorrimer?’ Alexis shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him!’

‘Maybe not, but there it is.’

‘But how can you be sure the letter was written by Knight?’

‘If it wasn’t, it’s a damn good facsimile. Good enough to fool me!’

‘But not good enough to fool a handwriting expert.’

‘My God, Alex, what good is that? Even if the whole thing is a hoax, even if we take them to court and prove it’s a hoax, it’s going to cause a God-awful stink, and that’s something I could do without right now.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Alexis was bitter. ‘It wouldn’t do to jeopardize your knighthood for services to industry, would it? That’s quite a pun, isn’t it?’

‘Shut up, Alex! If it wasn’t for you there’d be no mess.’

‘What do you mean?’ Alexis was indignant. ‘I wasn’t responsible for buying up the shares in Knight’s company – you were.’

‘I know it, I know it. But don’t you see, if Janie Knight wasn’t so infatuated with you, she’d never have contacted me the way she did. She’d have been just as eager to hush up a scandal as I am.’

‘So what’s the deal?’ Alexis was wary.

‘It’s quite simple really. She wants you back again.’

‘You can’t be serious!’ Alexis was half amused.

‘Can’t I?’ But Howard was not joking. ‘She said you love her – you love one another! You only gave her up because Knight’s company was practically ruined, and I told you to do so.’

‘Nobody tells me what to do,’ muttered Alexis grimly.

His father made a frustrated gesture. ‘I did tell her that, but to no avail, I’m afraid. You must have done your job well. I only asked for information – not recruits!’

But Alexis was not amused. ‘Well, whatever her terms, they’re unacceptable.’

‘I was afraid you’d say that. Alex—’

‘No, Howard! Not now – not ever!’

Howard sank down wearily into his chair. ‘She’ll give it to the press.’

‘If there is a letter. Personally, I have my doubts. It’s too convenient. Anyway, let her do it. I know who’ll come off worst in the long run. Besides, what she did, she did for herself, not for me.’

Howard shook his head. ‘And what do you intend to do?’

‘Me? About this? Nothing.’

Howard riffled through his papers. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you returned to Austria. With you out of the way, I might be able to salvage something from the mess.’

‘I do not intend to return to Austria!’ stated Alexis coldly. ‘Quite honestly, I’m sick of the whole bloody round of social back-stabbing. Particularly when there are women involved!’

His father looked up in surprise. ‘What’s got into you?’

Alexis shook his head, and at that moment Michelle Whitney chose to appear. In a long gown of pale green slipper satin that showed off her rounded figure to advantage she was very attractive, and her eyes slid greedily over Alexis’s deeply tanned skin before moving on to her husband.

‘Aren’t you nearly finished, darling?’ she asked, perching on a corner of Howard’s desk and running her fingers down his cheek, looking deliberately in Alexis’s direction as she did so. ‘I’m dying of hunger.’

Howard rose, flexing his back muscles tiredly. ‘Yes, we’re finished, my dear.’

Michelle’s eyes flickered towards her stepson. ‘Hello, Alex. It’s good to see you back again. Did you enjoy your holiday?’

Alexis inclined his head. ‘Very much, thank you.’

‘You can tell Searle to start serving now,’ went on Howard, and Michelle slid off the desk. But although she looked once more at Alexis he seemed to find the pattern of the carpet more than absorbing and she was forced to look away.

After she had gone, Howard turned to his son, and frowned. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘Did you mean what you said just now? About being sick of playing around?’

Alexis was cautious. ‘Why?’

‘Well, old Jeff Pierce retired last week and so far they’ve not got anyone to take his job.’

‘Jeff Pierce?’ Alexis stared at his father. ‘You mean – the manager at Wakeley?’

‘That’s right.’ Howard was watching his son’s reactions closely. ‘How does it strike you? Being section manager in a woollen mill?’

Alexis ran a hand round the back of his neck. His father’s suggestion had left him temporarily stunned. It was something he had never even contemplated. He had worked in the company offices in London, of course, he had even taken a degree in economics at university, but to actually enter into the practical side of the business was something entirely different.

‘But I know nothing about wool!’

‘You don’t have to. Business acumen is what’s needed.’

‘I suppose it would get me out of the way just as effectively,’ he remarked dryly.

His father looked embarrassed. ‘You did say you were sick of the same old round,’ he defended himself.

‘Yes, I did say that.’ Alexis was thoughtful. ‘But this! This is something else.’

‘Don’t you think you’ll be able to do it? I’m not putting you in sole charge of the mill, you know. You’ll have to answer to Jim Summerton if anything goes wrong, just as John McMullen does.’

Alexis gave a wry smile. ‘Thank you for your confidence.’

‘No, seriously though, Alex, what do you think?’

Alexis allowed his hand to fall to his side. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t. I’d have to give the matter some thought.’

‘I realize that. But it does – appeal to you, doesn’t it?’ Howard looked at him searchingly and Alexis raised his eyebrows.

‘It’s a challenge,’ he conceded at last. ‘It’s a long time since I visited Wakeley. Must be six – maybe seven years. While I was at university, I guess. I remember going to see old John McMullen …’

Howard nodded vigorously. ‘That’s right.’ He paused. ‘To think – we used to live in Wakeley. Must be all of twenty years ago.’ He shook his head. ‘That house your mother liked so much – I wonder if it’s still standing.’

Alexis’s jaw hardened. ‘Yes. Well, that’s another story, isn’t it, Howard?’

His father breathed hard down his nose. ‘You won’t ever let me forget, will you, Alex?’ he muttered, and looked up to find Michelle standing by the door.

‘Forget what, darling?’ she queried silkily, looking from one to the other of them curiously. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

Howard walked round the desk to join his wife, glancing at his son with scarcely concealed appeal. ‘Yes, we’re coming, Michelle.’ He tucked her hand through his arm. ‘And what delicacy have you had prepared for us this evening?’

Alexis followed them through to the dining-room, but he was preoccupied with what he and his father had been discussing, and he sensed Michelle’s impatience that she had been excluded from their discussions.

CHAPTER TWO

KAREN could hear her father’s voice raised in anger as she entered the house, and a frown came to mar her wide brow. It was unusual to hear Daniel Sinclair so heated about anything, and dropping the pile of exercise books she had brought home to mark on to the hall table, she pushed open the door and entered the living-room.

Her parents were standing on the hearth before the roaring fire. The room had a cosy lived-in warmth which was presently belied by the coldness of her father’s expression. Karen looked at them both questioningly, noting her mother’s worried frown, and then said:

‘So what’s happened? I could hear you shouting half-way down the street, Pop!’

‘Don’t call me Pop!’ muttered her father irritably. ‘And I wasn’t shouting. I was merely exhibiting my frustration, that’s all.’

Karen dropped down into an armchair near the fire, holding out her cold hands to the flames. ‘What have you got to feel frustrated about?’ she asked, a trace of humour about her mouth.

Daniel Sinclair reached for his pipe off the mantelshelf and put it between his teeth with obvious intolerance. ‘I have my reasons!’

Karen made a move, and looked at her mother. ‘What’s happened? Have I done something?’

‘No, of course not.’ Laura Sinclair shook her head, and gave her husband an impatient look. Then she turned her attention to her daughter. ‘You look frozen! Didn’t you get a lift home?’

Karen shook her head. ‘No. Ray had to go into Wakefield, so I said there was no point in him coming out of his way in weather like this. It’s snowing again, you know. I caught the bus, but it was late as usual.’

Her mother listened, nodding, but Karen could tell her thoughts were still occupied with her husband’s affairs. ‘I thought you were later than usual,’ she said, glancing at the clock. ‘The meal won’t take long. It’s a chicken casserole. Are you hungry?’

‘Ravenous!’ Karen smiled, and then made a puzzled gesture towards her father. ‘What’s going on? Why was Daddy so upset when I came in?’ She paused. ‘The – the mill’s not closing down or anything, is it?’

Daniel Sinclair turned on her. ‘Now why should you think a thing like that?’ he demanded aggressively.

Karen was taken aback. ‘No reason, Pop. It’s not, is it?’

‘No, of course not.’ Her father chewed irritably at the end of his pipe.

Karen sighed with relief. With so many firms closing down it had been a very real possibility. ‘So what is it?’

‘Jeff Pierce’s job has been filled!’ snapped her father.

Karen digested this before saying any more. ‘And – and you’ve not been considered?’

‘Damn right!’ Daniel snorted angrily. ‘It’s a disgrace!’

Karen hesitated. ‘Ian Halliday hasn’t got it, has he?’ Halliday was her father’s assistant.

‘No. I could almost wish he had.’

Karen sighed. ‘Then who has got it?’ She couldn’t think of anyone else with the qualifications.

‘Only that playboy son of Howard Whitney’s, who’s always getting his name into the papers for one fool thing after another!’

Karen felt some of the colour draining out of her cheeks, and hastily covered them with her palms, her elbows resting on her knees. She didn’t want her parents to notice her sudden sense of shock. ‘Not – not Alexis Whitney?’ she murmured, controlling the tremor in her voice.