Man with two Faces Read online

  Now, at twenty-two years of age, Rebecca had never been in love. She had been the only child of divorced parents, and had spent her early childhood being used as a pawn on the chessboard of misguided parenthood, and could only call her life her own on the decease of her one surviving parent when she was eighteen, and she had often wondered if her early upbringing had soured her expectations in the matrimonial lucky dip, for that was how she looked on it. Her mother had so often remarked with a self-pitying sigh, 'If only I'd had married dear Tony--but no, I wouldn't listen to my mother. I had to marry your father.' Rebecca had privately thought that there was no 'had to' about it. She had married her father because she had wanted to marry him, and that was all there was to it.

  In spite of the emotional gambits that had surrounded her early childhood, Rebecca had been fond of both her parents. She had learnt at an early stage how to combat each bitter tirade levelled at the absent partner, but had at times felt a little

  sorry for her mother, for there was no doubt that her father had a roving eye, and his handsome features and smooth manner had assured him of success wherever his attention had strayed.

  Rebecca had inherited her father's good looks and his colouring. Her lovely red-gold hair and wide sapphire-blue eyes framed in a heart-shaped face, with high cheekbones and delicate aristocratic nose, that had a habit of wrinkling in censorious fashion if she was displeased, had earned her the nickname of 'Duchess' among her companions.

  If she had spared herself the time to analyse her feelings where romance was concerned, she would have had to admit that the past had left its mark on her. Deep down she was terrified of involvement of any kind, but as yet that fear had not been put to the test. No man had attracted her attention, not in matters of the heart, and her obstinate refusal to take any besotted male seriously was, in her view, completely justified, for she did not encourage such devotion, only sheer perversity made them determined to storm the battlements. It had become a kind of game, and she knew that bets had been made on likely candidates, and this did not only include the teaching staff, but had permeated through to the students, who had cheerfully directed their energies away from the crowning of the central college spire with an unmentionable ,object to the melting of the snows within the breast of the Bursar's secretary.

  Had the students been younger, Rebecca's life would have been a great deal easier, but as most of them were around her own age, and in some cases

  older, it was particularly trying for her, 'and there were times when she had seriously considered joining her friend Barbara in the Agency. So far she had managed to cope, and the fact that she loved her job, was competent, and saw no reason why she should be forced to leave for such, in her mind, utterly senseless reasons, made her even more unapproachable.

  The end-of-term holidays also brought their crop of delicate sidestepping away from any involvement during the break with any member of staff, and innocent-sounding queries on what she intended to do with her time off period were met with equally vague-sounding replies. It was generally known that she spent part of her vacation with her friend in London, hence the two small errands she had undertaken to do for members of staff, but apart from that, her plans were kept to herself. Sometimes Barbara would take a week off from the Agency, even a fortnight, if things were slack, but Rebecca was never at a loss for entertainment. Many invitations were issued to her, but she accepted only those that ensured her freedom from involvement with a member of staff, or indeed anyone connected with the College.

  This year, however, she had decided to break the golden rule, and accept John Sanderson's ritual offer of a fortnight at his home in Berkshire. There were two reasons why she had broken the rules she had strictly adhered to in the past—one was that Sir George Sanderson's gatherings at his country seat always consisted of large parties. He didn't believe in doing things by half, and Rebecca could

  count on at least a dozen guests being included in the party, and as far as she was concerned there was safety in numbers.

  The second reason was that she knew the family through their daughter Laura, whom she had been at school with, and had retained the friendship even though Rebecca was now a working girl, and Laura a socialite, of whom nothing was expected other than that she make a good marriage, preferably with some young up-and coming politician.

  It had been a plea from Laura that had made her decide to accept the invitation. 'I haven't seen you for ages,' she had written, and, For goodness' sake come and rescue me. I shall die of boredom if you don't!'

  The note had made Rebecca smile, it was so characteristic of Laura, and she wondered how her father had got her to stay on for the house party, for Rebecca knew she made a point of avoiding them like the plague. She loathed intellectual gatherings, and as she had once said to Rebecca, `Having suffered a surfeit of them in my youth, I have no intention of putting up with them now. I shall probably marry a farmer who hates politicians and loves pigs. I'm quite fond of them myself, actually,' she had added with a wistful note in her voice.

  To be absolutely honest with herself, Rebecca was quite looking forward to the house party, and knew full well that the chances were that she would be urged to stay on for another week or so after the other guests had gone, and she was not averse to this. A few weeks' cosseting in the bosom of the

  very wealthy would come as a welcome break from the hard, if enjoyable, daily work routine. Breakfast in bed, if she so desired it, days of lolling about on the spacious lawns of Pinehurst. Tea taken in a shaded arbour, and nothing to worry about except dressing for dinner, and even that was not strictly adhered to. Sir George's guests were more concerned with the state of the country than with the vagaries of fashion.

  With Laura present, Rebecca knew she would be able to counteract any well-laid scheme thought up by her brother to inveigle her into accepting his proposal.It was not so much that Laura thought her brother dull, but that she was very fond of Rebecca, and had once warned her, 'Don't get involved with John. I know he's good-looking, but honestly, he's a Sanderson through and through. He'll smother you, and you won't be able to call your life your own—and besides, I'll never forgive you,' she had added with a twinkle in her eye.

  All this went through Rebecca's mind as she unpacked her suitcase in the spare bedroom in Barbara's flat. Barbara had gone back to the bureau after lunch in high spirits, certain that her worries had been solved, and leaving Rebecca feeling intensely annoyed with herself for having been talked into taking on such a task and having to spend the first week of her well-earned holiday in the company of what sounded like a thoroughly disagreeable man.

  When she reached the end of her unpacking and hung up the last dress in the wardrobe, she wondered vaguely what she should wear for duty

  the following day. She had not envisaged herself sitting at an office desk and typing reams—she stopped in thought; what sort of stories did Janus Leon write? she wondered, and wished she had read one of them. She would then be prepared for whatever literary treat lay in store for her. She frowned. She hoped it was literary, and not one of the more lurid representations of the art. She gave a slight shudder. If Barbara had let her in for that, she would never forgive her! In which case, Margaret Morton would just have to join the bureau a little sooner than anticipated!

  Her eyes then fell upon her blue woollen dress. It was absolutely plain and of a soft sea-blue, and a particular favourite of hers, but not a dress for office wear, for in spite of its simplicity it was elegant, and like most of Rebecca's clothes was expensive, and chosen with care for long-range use. She had inherited a small legacy from her father, but with the future in mind, she had drawn frugally from this account, and usually saved some of her salary to pay for the more expensive items in her wardrobe.

  After another quick survey of her wardrobe, she had to settle for the blue. There was nothing else she could possibly wear. She had packed with the intention of getting a tan in the shortest possible time, and her other dresses were either halter-tops o
r light summery concoctions suitable for lounging about on the lawns of Pinehurst, but would still look eminently respectable for tea in the drawing-room if the weather turned against them.

  After the girls had dined out that evening, they

  returned to the flat for a cosy evening of chat, and Rebecca was able to satisfy her curiosity about Janus Leon's work in order to prepare herself for the morrow.

  On her query, Barbara expressed surprise that Rebecca had not heard of the celebrated author. `He writes adventure-cum-detective stories, all set in the Australian bush. His backgrounds are authentic, of course. I did tell you that he's an Australian, didn't I?' she asked the partially relieved Rebecca, who began to feel that it mightn't be so bad after all; at least her earlier fears had been laid to rest. 'Unlike other authors, he didn't needs to go abroad to make his name,' continued Barbara, 'he's just as popular in his own country as he is here.' She gave Rebecca a wry smile. 'You know, it just shows how shut off you become in that university of yours,' she wagged her head impishly at her. 'You know what they say about too much learning,' she teased Rebecca lightly.

  `Oh, bosh!' Rebecca replied with a grin. It suits me, anyway,' then she stared at her slim sandaled feet. 'Although,' she conceded slowly, 'I must admit you have a point there, outside events rarely intrude upon our hallowed existence—not that I want them to,' she added quickly, 'but it is another world.'

  `There you are, then,' Barbara answered knowingly, 'and if you don't watch out, life will have passed you by. I can see you now,' she went on warningly, but the twinkle in her eye belied her words, 'with that glorious hair speckled with grey, and twisted into a hideous bun.' Her eyes swept

  over Rebecca's slight figure. 'You're just right now, but you'll get plumper with all that sitting about you do. You'll probably end up making history by becoming the first woman bursar ' At this point she had to duck hastily to avoid the cushion Rebecca hurled at her.

  Before Rebecca fell asleep that night, her thoughts went back over Barbara's words. She knew she had only been teasing her, but her lighthearted prediction had not been all that far off the mark, and it had echoed Rebecca's own thoughts on the matter.

  There was no doubt about it, she thought drowsily before she fell asleep. She would have to make a move one day out of the cloying but eminently satisfying atmosphere of university life. If she didn't, Barbara's prediction would almost certainly come true.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE following morning Rebecca made her not very enthusiastic way to the Royal Victoria, a small but very exclusive hotel in a secluded square in Mayfair, and after being given a very close scrutiny by the desk clerk before he informed their celebrated guest that a secretary had arrived, and requesting permission to send her up, Rebecca found herself in the lift and being borne towards her destination.

  Her first impression of Janus Leon was of a tall and ruggedly handsome man. His brown hair made no concession to fashion and was cut fairly short, a welcome change for Rebecca after the somewhat mixed batch of styles of the college students. But it was his eyes that held the attention. She had never seen eyes of such a piercing blue and that seemed to look right through her, although he had only seemed to glance at her before striding through to the bedroom that was being used as an office, and leaving Rebecca to follow after him feeling like something that had inadvertently wandered into his domain and must now be put to good use.

  His voice was low and resonant, with a (pure English accent, and Rebecca knew a spurt of surprise, for she had not unnaturally expected an Australian accent. 'I think you'll find everything you need,' he said, as he nodded towards a desk placed against the window to gain as much light as was possible, and then subjected her to a hard brief impersonal scrutiny, his blue gaze narrowing as he took in her dress after she had taken her light raincoat off in preparation to starting work. 'You do know how to manage these machines, don't you?' he asked suspiciously, 'because if you don't, say so now—I've wasted enough time lately on so-called secretarial help.'

  Rebecca's fine eyebrows went up at this rather uncalled-for condemnation of Barbara's staff, and she was in complete sympathy with those who had failed to come up to his exacting standards. The wretched man had only himself to blame. Had he been more understanding, he would have got better

  results. Bullying tactics never worked and invariably produced mistakes, and she wondered why he used an agency in the first place. A man as successful as he was supposed to be ought to have a private secretary, only she couldn't imagine anyone taking the job on. Good secretaries were never at a loss for work and didn't have to join the slave trade to make a living.

  All this went through her mind as her eyes met his fierce blue stare. 'I do not envisage any problems,' she said quietly, in the tone of voice that spoke of capability. 'If you would just leave things to me and let me get on in my own time, I think you will find my work satisfactory,' she ended, indicating plainly that she saw no reason for his presence, particularly if he meant to take such a belligerent attitude.

  The thin line of his firm lips showed Rebecca that he had got the message and did not like it at all. He was not used to someone else taking the initiative. 'I take it you won't mind if I occasionally look in on you, will you?' he asked sarcastically. 'I know miracles sometimes happen, but you must forgive my scepticism. You don't,' he added meaningly, 'look the part,' his gaze wandered over her expensive dress, 'and if you're as capable as you apparently seem to think you are, then what the devil are you doing in an agency? Or are you only working for pin money?' His gaze went straight to her hands now resting on the top of the desk patiently waiting to start work, and Rebecca knew he was looking for a wedding ring. Many young married women took on agency work because it

  .did not tie them to regular hours as a permanent job did. 'Not married, or engaged, I see,' he commented.

  Rebecca had no intention of entering upon any personal conversation with him, and she highly resented his insolence. She knew he was baiting her. She had annoyed him, and he was getting his own back—it was as simple as that, but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had annoyed her. She counteracted this by giving him a sweet synthetic smile; she had had plenty of practice in dealing with this type of situation in the past and it held her in good stead now. 'I understood from Miss Basnett that you like two carbons,' she said sweetly, as she selected two sheets of copy paper and then put the carbons between them, and with the same slow deliberation placed the thicker sheet on top and put them in the typewriter, then without even glancing at him, switched on the dictating machine.

  When she next glanced up, she saw that he had gone, but even after his departure she could still feel the rapier glance he had thrown her before he left her to get on with the work. It was as well, she thought lightly, that she was competent, and that Barbara had given her a good grounding on how it should be set out, although she had the rest of the manuscript to use as a guide had she been in any doubt, for there was no doubt that she had made an enemy of Janus Leon, who simply was not used to finding himself on the wrong end of an exchange of personalities.

  It was also as well, she thought darkly, that she

  had had previous experience in preparing work for publication, although that had consisted of various theses submitted by the dons to further the cause of education.

  By the end of the morning, Rebecca was well into the tenth chapter, and had not e'en noticed the passing of time. A tray of coffee had been brought in to her around ten-thirty, by a member of the hotel staff, and this had surprised her, for she could not see the sarcastic Janus Leon ordering her any refreshment, but evidently someone had, and although she did not take a break at this time, she drank the coffee while she worked, a practice that was normal to her during work at the college.

  Whatever else Janus Leon was, there was no denying his skill as a writer, and Rebecca was fair enough to acknowledge this salient fact, and was soon caught up in the story as it unfolded into the written word on the ty
pescript before her.

  As her previous work in this field had been purely of a scholastic nature, she found the work eminently satisfying, and thought with a slight pang of depression that she would find her old job even more of a dull chore when she returned to it, but cheered herself up with the thought of at least having a good relationship with her superiors who were almost apologetic when giving her what were, after all was said and done, her normal duties.

  She saw no more of Janus Leon that morning, and considered this a victory. It only needed a firm hand, she told herself, and the experience to deal with that type of bullying man.

  When she returned from lunch, however, she

  found to her annoyance that although he had made a point of keeping his distance, he had kept a wary eye on her work, for she found two more tapes on her desk, and a message to the effect that if an Alan Sinclair rang up she was to ask him to call on Mr Leon at ten the following day.

  Rebecca's lips folded in annoyance as she read this cryptic message, noting that he had not added a 'thank you' for doing work other than that she had been taken on to do. Answering the telephone and making appointments came under 'the duties of a private secretary, and what if this. Sinclair person couldn't make the stated time? Was she expected to hunt around for his personal diary and suggest another time? She intended to do nothing of the sort. She was there to type his novel, and couldn't be expected to get on with her work if she had to chase around on other duties. If the time was unsuitable she would ask the man to ring back again and have a word with Janus Leon.