He spoke, gesturing with passionate intensity—the same intensity with which he approached life. Everything was related to the senses, to feeling, to instinct, to perception. Like now.
'No, you weren't wrong. I like working for you very much . . . you've been very kind.' A faint smile of amusement lit hazel eyes. 'But what about Kevin Matlock?' She had only glimpsed the untidy, bespectacled young man briefly, confined as he was to his hotel bed, but he had looked nice. She would hate to think she was doing him out of
his job.
'What about him? You do not imagine that I could function without additional assistance? I have several secretaries, although admittedly I shall be shedding most of them when Max takes over the chairmanship of Wilde's at the end of the month. He will inherit them, or rather disinherit them if I know my son's mania for efficiency.'
Sarah tensed inwardly. Would she never get used to the mention of that name? Thankfully Sir Richard didn't mention him often. She watched warily as the aristocratic figure leaned forward to pour himself another glass of champagne from the chilled bottle on the trolley.
'You seem surprised. Did he not mention his imminent elevation while he was here?' he continued casually.
'No. Tom did, Tom Forest. . . indirectly,' said Sarah, remembering that momentous conversation in the coffee bar.
'Ah yes, Tom. He gave me a report. He was very impressed with you ... as I am. I have been thinking along the lines of a personal assistant for some time—it is fate that brings us together, perhaps.'
Lately Sarah had regarded fate with a jaundiced eye.
'What would I be doing, in this job?'
'More or less what you have been doing for the past few days.'
'Oh.' Dare she mention her misgivings? She had no need to, for they were shrewdly analysed.
'Of course, I am limited here. My real work, my only work from now on, is designing, but on a scale which you may yet find difficult to appreciate. I travel the world in search of inspiration, I attend showings, receive clients, visit the factories that make my exclusive fabrics, entertain the rich and famous, all in the cause of fashion. I think you will find your job sufficiently challenging and certainly it will be educational. Why, in ten years' time you may be utilising the valuable experience you have acquired with me in the running of your own fashion empire.'
'As long as I don't aim for yours?' murmured Sarah, half laughingly, then quailed at his expression, fearing she had presumed too much.
'I believe Max has ambitions in that direction.' He smiled, with a brief gleam of maliciousness. 'Though you are quite welcome to fight it out, post-mortem. You might even beat him. Tom told me that you were quite capable of standing up for yourself
'But how can you know that I will—' Sarah began, returning to her best defence.
'Know? What is this obsession with knowing?' Sir Richard demanded, white-maned head tilting impatiently. 'I do not know that the designs of my hand will sell, but
I have confidence in my talent. I have confidence in you.' 'But—'
'Please,' he begged, setting down his crystal champagne glass with a frown. 'Do not begin all your sentences with the word 'but', it begins to grate.'
'I'm sorry, b—I mean, you must know many women capable of filling the position.'
'Capable, yes, but acceptable? There is a difference. I receive many requests it is true, but usually those who seek my employ have an ulterior motive. They wish to get into modelling, or design, or my bed.' He paused, on that startling note, giving Sarah a moment to realise that he was still, though elderly, an attractive man. 'Such motives inevitably lead to conflicts and I do not need the distraction. I do not want temperament—I have more than enough of that myself It was a relief to discover he had a sense of humour, that was the first time she had heard him being remotely humorous about himself. 'I want calmness and common sense, and intelligence, of course. Most important, I must have a woman who is not going to burst into tears every time I shout.'
'And you think I wouldn't?'
Hazel eyes narrowed. 'You have courage, and you are no sycophant.' He pursed his lips. 'Were you afraid of my
Sarah swallowed. 'Sometimes.'
'Hmm. He has a devil of a temper when roused.'
'That's what he said about you.'
He acknowledged it. 'But mine blows over as quickly as it occurs. Max is less flexible. He tries to be logical and life is not logical. I am logical only by accident.'
'Do . . .? Would . . .?' the burning question was difficult to phrase, but it had to be asked, even though she intended to turn down Sir Richard's offer. 'Does your son have much to do with the Salon?'
'Nothing at all.' Sir Richard clasped his hands over the ruffled white front of his shirt and smiled with self-satisfaction. 'I do not permit it. In fact we meet but rarely, and never socially. Max always was a solitary, secretive boy—' He pulled himself up. 'But we digress. I can see you wish to do some thinking—no!' when she would have protested, 'I insist. You may have until tomorrow to consider your answer. Now, pass me my cane and I will see you to the door.'
Sarah handed over the thin, ivory cane which rested against the trolley, noticing as she did so that Sir Richard seemed to be having some difficulty in rising. Walking across the room with him she could see that the cane wasn't the purely fashionable accessory she had first thought it to be.