Deception and Desire (23 page)

‘But in the meantime keep your drawings for your replacement idea under lock and key,' Don warned her.

‘What is this replacement idea of yours, Dinah?' Jayne asked, her eyes sharp.

‘Dinah has had an inspiration for a way to compensate for the Reubens fiasco – a range of luggage of which the bags are just a part.' In his anxiety to console her Don had obviously forgotten his earlier misgivings. ‘But if Reubens really do have a spy in the camp we'd do well to keep any mention of it between ourselves for the moment. We don't want them stealing this idea as well.'

‘They wouldn't dare,' Steve said decisively. ‘Luggage would be much too big a venture for them.'

‘How do you know?'

‘I've been doing some homework. Oh, they're bold and they want to eat into our share of the market. But I doubt that at their stage of the game they have the facility to branch out that we have.'

Drew chortled again. He seemed to be finding the whole thing outrageously amusing. Jayne silenced him with a furious glance.

‘How will you go about finding out who the mole is?' Don asked. ‘We need to know fast or none of our future plans can be regarded as safe.'

‘There are ways.' Steve was refusing to be rattled. He passed a cup of coffee to Maggie and another to Dinah as he spoke. ‘The first thing is to check the credentials of everyone who has joined the company recently. Everyone who had access to the designs, that is. If that doesn't throw anything up then I shall set a trap.'

‘This sounds like something straight out of a James Bond film,' Drew said lightly. ‘What sort of a trap, Steve?'

‘I think I shall keep the details of that to myself.'

‘Which means you haven't a clue. And just for the record, dear boy, who will be checking your credentials? You are quite new on the scene yourself, aren't you?'

‘This isn't a joking matter, Drew!' Don snapped, but Steve merely shrugged elegantly.

‘You're quite right, Drew – as far as it goes I suppose I could be a candidate. But I'd hardly be likely to cheat my own mother's company. And in case you are in any doubt, the fashion-world contacts that can be made on an oil rig are zilch.'

‘That was a preposterous thing to say, Drew,' Dinah said. She sounded close to tears. ‘But then the whole thing is preposterous. Vandina employees are like a family to me. I just don't know who could do such a dreadful thing.'

‘I should have thought it was obvious,' Jayne said.

They all turned to look at her, reclining in one of the squashy chairs, endless legs crossed with elegant grace in front of her. She smiled, looking from one to the other of them as if relishing the attention.

‘Who?' Dinah asked sharply.

Jayne reached across to set her empty coffee cup down on the low rattan table, then stretched lazily.

‘Well, Ros, of course.'

There was a moment's startled silence. Then Dinah echoed: ‘Ros!'

‘Ros. Wouldn't you agree she's the most likely candidate? She had the opportunity, she had the contacts, and she's missing!'

Maggie had begun to tremble with shock and fury.

‘That is a terrible thing to suggest!' she blazed. ‘ It was Ros who suspected a mole in the first place!'

‘We have only your word for that.'

‘And Dinah's secretary. Ask her if you don't believe me.'

‘So Liz is in on this too.' Jayne's eyes narrowed. ‘But perhaps Ros was just covering herself. She knew industrial spying was bound to be a runner once Reubens went public with our designs. What better way to place herself above suspicion than to plant the idea that she had already smelled a rat?'

Dinah was becoming more and more upset.

‘I can't believe that Ros …'

Jayne shrugged. ‘What you choose to believe, Dinah, is neither here nor there. And I repeat – where is she now?'

‘She's missing!' Maggie cried.

‘Exactly. And
you
are here. Why? I ask myself. Have you come to take up where she left off?'

Maggie glared at the strikingly attractive face, rendered speechless by the vitriol in the allegation, and Steve intervened swiftly.

‘I think this is all getting a little bit out of hand. I suggest we drop the subject – all this wild speculation is getting us nowhere. As I said, I'll begin investigations tomorrow but until we have something definite to go on we keep this entire conversation where it belongs – between ourselves. Now, how about a game of charades?'

‘How very apt!' Drew murmured. He was obviously enjoying the scene, much as an ancient Roman might have enjoyed watching gladiators fighting to the death in the arena. But the others showed little enthusiasm for the idea.

‘Count me out,' Don said firmly. Dinah, still playing nervously with the chain around her neck, said nothing at all.

‘I really think I would like to go home,' Maggie said. She was shaking with anger and her head had begun to throb dully again. ‘Could I use the telephone to call a taxi, please?'

Dinah, standing motionless, seemed oblivious of anything that was being said, but Steve smiled with the same easy charm, totally ignoring the fact that anything untoward had happened.

‘You'll do no such thing. I've given Richards the rest of the evening off. But you are my guest. I'll drive you myself.'

He ushered her into the hall, an arm lightly about her waist and the last thing Maggie was aware of as they went out through the door was Jayne, watching them with what was now undisguised hostility.

‘Don't take too much notice of Jayne,' Steve said when they were installed in his low-slung Jaguar. ‘She likes nothing better than causing a sensation.'

‘I could see that,' Maggie retorted, ‘but it was unforgivable of her all the same.'

Steve swung the car around a bend, then glanced sideways at her.

‘What made you raise the subject of an industrial spy with my mother?'

‘It was something I'd stumbled on. Perhaps it was wrong of me and I'm sorry if I upset her …'

‘When you know Dinah better you'll realise she does tend to find contact with reality distressing,' he interjected. ‘She prefers to cocoon herself in her dream world where the Touch of the Country equals luxury.'

Maggie let the comment pass. She did not want to become embroiled in a discussion just now on what made Dinah's tortured genius tick.

‘I'm afraid the only thing that really matters to me at the moment is finding out what has happened to Ros,' she said. ‘She is my sister – and I'm very worried about her.'

‘Forgive me.' He extracted a cigarette from a pack of Camels lying in the well of the Jaguar and lit it with the dashboard cigarette lighter. ‘ Forgive me; but why do you think something has happened to her?'

‘Lots of reasons.'

‘Which are?'

‘Oh, I don't want to go through all of them now.'

‘And what exactly do you think has happened to her? No, don't answer that. It's obvious. You think she has been murdered.'

Maggie shivered violently at the bald statement.

‘Look,' he said easily. ‘I know you were offended by what Jayne said, and I must confess she didn't put it very tactfully. But I have to say it seems a lot more likely than that she has been murdered.'

‘Not you too!' Maggie flared.

‘I know, I know,' he soothed her. ‘But look at it logically. The facts do fit awfully well.'

‘And I suppose like Jayne you think I am here to carry on where she left off.'

He blew smoke, wound down the window and tossed the butt out.

‘Actually no, I don't think that. I think you are a very nice, very uncomplicated person and you couldn't be dishonest or deceitful if you tried.'

‘Implying Ros could.'

‘Implying nothing. But just ask yourself, Maggie, how well do you know your sister? Oh yes, you grew up together, of course. But you've been abroad for … how long? Three years? Four? A lot can happen in that time. People can change, their priorities and perspectives, almost everything about them. Maybe the Ros you used to know couldn't have done such a thing. But maybe she doesn't exist any more.'

They had reached the cottage now. Steve swung the Jag on to the turnaround.

‘I'm sorry if this evening didn't turn out as you'd hoped.' He got out, coming around to open the passenger door for her. ‘I know you're worried, Maggie, and I wish I could help. In fact, if I think of anything at all I'll let you know.'

He helped her out of the car, and it seemed that his fingers lingered on her arm a moment or two longer than was necessary.

‘Perhaps we should keep in touch anyway.'

Something in the tone of his voice – a little too deliberately casual – and the continued pressure of his hand on her arm set warning bells jangling for Maggie.

She might have been a married woman for three years now, but she still recognised a pass when she saw one. Steve had been making a play for her all evening, in a very sophisticated, laid-back way it was true, but making a play for her none the less. Dinah had noticed it and so, she thought, had the bitchy, self-confident Jayne. Complications of this sort were the very last thing Maggie needed, and yet … Steve was her only means of maintaining contact with Vandina. If Ros's disappearance was connected in any way with her work then perhaps playing along with him was the best chance she had of learning the truth.

With an effort she forced herself to smile.

‘That's kind of you. Maybe we should.'

‘Good. I'd like the opportunity to redeem myself after dropping you into what turned out to be a less than successful evening. Can I phone you?'

‘Yes,' she said.

As she unlocked the door of the cottage she heard the church clock striking eleven, the chimes carrying clearly across the valley on the still evening air.

Mike, she thought. I must let Mike know what has happened. Ring at any time, he had said, and eleven wasn't late.

She reached for the telephone, dialling the number he had given her and waiting with barely concealed impatience to hear his voice. But there was only the hollow sound of the bell ringing with relentless regularity.

She let it ring and ring, feeling a sense of urgency and desolation build up inside her and it was only when she heard the click of the automatic cut-off and the resumption of the dialling tone that she realised just how much she had wanted to speak to him.

The realisation frightened her a little, because she was uncomfortably sure that the longing was not entirely the desire to share the details of what had happened tonight. Or perhaps it was exactly that.

She was beginning to want to share with Mike a little too much.

When all her guests had left, Dinah poured herself a large tumbler of Glenfiddich, added some ice cubes, and carried it into the study.

Whenever she was worried or upset there was nowhere she wanted to be so much as here in the room that reminded her so of Van. In his lifetime he had been her support and strength; now that he was no longer with her she drew comfort from the tangible effects he had left behind. He was still here, she felt, something of the powerful essence of him had impregnated the very walls so that she felt he was close, close enough almost to reach out and touch, close enough to curl up in his arms as she had used to do. Here in the comforting stillness she could hear his voice, vibrant and strong, inspiring confidence because it reflected his own supreme belief in himself.

Had Van ever been afraid? Had he ever entertained doubts about the wisdom of his actions or his ability to overcome any obstacle that might be placed in his way? If so he had never showed them. Whatever the problem Van had known how to deal with it. He would certainly have known how to deal with this latest crisis.

Dinah sipped her whisky, hoping that the smooth ice-cold fire would calm her nerves but feeling only sickness as it hit her stomach.

She hated conflict and uncertainty, hated the feeling of betrayal that came from knowing that someone in her employ was less than loyal. It upset her to the core of her being, unsettling her precarious self-confidence, so that she shook physically, and she knew she would be awake half the night while the arguments raced around inside her head. She hadn't wanted to believe that someone she knew and trusted could do this; even when the evidence was there before her very eyes she had tried to dismiss it, as if by refusing to acknowledge it she could make it go away. But now with all the arguments ringing in her ears she could no longer deny the very real possibility that there was indeed someone at Vandina who was not who they seemed to be, someone who was working principally not for her but for her rival, Reubens.

It happened all the time in business, of course; she knew that with the part of her brain that could still think logically. But knowing it did not help. Because Vandina was an extension of herself she took the betrayal personally and was desperately hurt by it.

As a businesswoman it was her Achilles' heel, this inability to separate herself from the wheeling and dealing, the decisions that had to be made for the good of the company, the cut and thrust of the rat race. That was what Van had been so good at: he had cushioned her from it, removed all the worries and left her free to concentrate on her artistic vision – though there had been times when he had questioned even that, so that she wondered not simply whether Vandina would ever have existed without him (she knew it would not) but whether she herself was not something he had fashioned and created.

Oh Van, I miss you so dreadfully! she thought. I have to hold it all together for your sake and I don't know if I can do it.

But at least she was not quite alone. At least now she had Steve.

At the thought of him the warmth generated by the whisky began at last to creep through her veins. Thank God for Steve! He wasn't ready to take over the reins yet, he didn't know enough about the business, but already she could sense in him the same steely single-mindedness that had been Van's strength, and it both comforted her and excited her oddly to know that she had given birth to a man such as him. Soon, she thought, soon I will be able to lay my worries on his shoulders as I used to lay them on Van's.