His Lordships Daughter (8 page)

Phyllipa looked up, surprised. “So? You’re his secret love.”

Chuckling softly, she gazed at the ceiling. “What a coincidence! Mind you! His family and mine expect him and
me
to marry one another.”

“Yes, I’ve heard the story” June said, drily. “I also know that you are Lord Heminham’s daughter.”

Phyllipa sipped her drink.

“What bought all this on?”

“That Knightsbridge address of yours.”

Phyllipa chuckled. “I bet that made you jump to all the wrong conclusions. Panic stations, eh?”

“No! I knew there would be a rational explanation somewhere.” June glared “I did!”

Phyllipa didn’t say a word, just waited.

“Oh, alright then. Of course it was panic.” June giggled “For a moment I thought you were his posh bit on the side.”

“Posh, yes, but never on the side.” Phyllipa laughingly protested.

“Well, what would you have thought? So, during my lunch break, I went round to see Clive and he told me all about it.”

“Clive and I go way back.” Phyllipa said “Our families have always been pretty thick.”

“It’s Lord
Braseby
, Clive’s father. He’s nuts on merging both the families and presenting a united front. That sort of thing. It’s all to do with old money, blood line and strength.” Phyllipa explained
“These days, aristocracy isn’t that popular. We’re tolerated, but, between you and me, we survive under sufferance. The fact that my birth was a biological fluke doesn’t come into it. This is the age of “Sameness!”

June shuddered. “Urgh! How boring.”

“Exactly!”

“So why the job as a cleaner?”

“I just wanted to prove something to myself and the fact that my father laid a bet with me that I wouldn’t hold down a job for twelve months.” She looked at her friend, defiantly, then finished off her soda water.

“You don’t have to look at me like that!” June beckoned to the barman and ordered another round. “I think you have a lot of guts doing a thing like that. Can I ask what sort of a bet it is?”

“My grandmother’s necklace. Diamonds, sapphires and black pearls!”

“Wow! Some necklace.”

“
E
ven if I don’t win the bet I’ll still get it, but not until I am twenty five.” For a split second she stopped talking, a pensive look on her face. “But, it would be nice to work for something for a change.” For a few more seconds she mused again and June looked at her, expectantly. “But, of course, the main item is that if I lose the bet I get married within a year.”

“But, not to Clive?”

“Of course not!” Phyllipa assured her, in an overloud voice, “When I decide to settle down, it will be because I love someone and wish to spend the rest of life with them.
” She smiled. “But, I’m not expecting to lose the bet. I’ve taken certain precautions. What is it you business people call it? Oh, yes! I’m covering my back.” Picking up her drink, she laughed again as she swirled the ice around the glass. “As I have often said lately, I don’t know much about business but I do know a little about survival.”

June nodded, collected the shoes she had kicked off, then put them on her feet again. “And I suppose you also know that Steven Grant is crackers about you.”

“So?”

“I just thought I would tell you, that’s all. It is rather obvious.”

Phyllipa chose to ignore the probe. Looking at her watch, she got to her feet. “Huh! Look at the time, I’ve got to go. I’ve enjoyed our little chat. Oh, and by the way I picked up the Kristex contract this afternoon!”

Her friend looked at her, dumbfounded. “Say again.”

“I’ve got the Kristex contract.”

“Yes. That’s what I thought you said. Crikey! Does Steven know?”

Phyllipa shook her head. “I haven’t told him. The paper work will be in the post tomorrow morning.”

“All the years I have worked for SG Steven has been trying to get that. June explained. “
And
here you are just plonking it at his feet.” She thought for a moment
or two. “Connections, eh?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh, boy! You have made our esteemed employer extremely happy.”

Leaning over, she squeezed Phyllipa’s hand, then kissed her mouth. “I’ve been dying to do that ever since I first saw you.” She waited for her friend to object at the unexpected display of affection, but, Phyllipa taken by surprise just looked at her. It wasn’t just a friendly “Got to go” kiss, it lingered too much for that. But, it was rather nice. “I wonder if you would care to come to dinner at my flat, some evening?” she offered.

June nodded eagerly. “I would like that very much!”

Phyllipa smiled. “I’ll look in my diary and sort a date out.”

Chapter 8

Henry Inchcape-Gore sat in the library of his home, thinking about his daughter, Phyllipa. He had not seen a lot of her since she had decided to take a job and was missing her company, her laughing face and the continuous stream of arguments with him on all sorts of diverse subjects.

“Damn!” he said, as he opened his morning newspaper and became engrossed in it, only to be shattered by Bradford, his butler.

“Lord Braseby to see you, Sir!”

Hemingway frowned. He did not like to be disturbed by unsolicited people, whoever they were. Putting his paper down, he was rising to his feet when his guest entered
.

“Hope you don’t mind me popping in like this, Henry.” Lord Braseby said. “But there is a matter which I think we ought to discuss.”

“Oh?” his host said. “What could that be.” Pointing to a chair and inviting his caller to use it.

Bradford hovered with the Brandy decanter. He knew the visitors habits, and placing a glass in front of him, filled it.

Braseby looked at his watch.

“Well! It is a bit early, but I’ll just have a small one.” He said, picking up the glass and draining the contents.

Henry, the frown still in place, watched him. “So? What is so important?”

“Clive and Phyllipa!”

“What about Phyllipa and Clive?”

“I just wondered if you knew what stage their friendship was
at.
”

“From what I can gather,” Lord Hemingham explained, “They are just good friends.”

Braseby rubbed his hands together. “That sounds promising. “Er…Er… I don’t suppose they have discussed any wedding plans with you, have they?” he asked, rather hesitantly.

His host frowned. “Of course not, as I said, they are just good friends.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Braseby asked, looking at the decanter in the butler’s hand.

“My daughter doesn’t take too kindly being ordered to marry someone she doesn’t love.”

Bradford moved, filling the empty brandy glass.

“Clive will do as he is told.! His father retorted,
truculently

“Phyllipa won’t.”

“I would like to see them settled.” Braseby went on, emptying his glass.

“So would I.” Henry agreed “But it doesn’t look like it is going to be to one another.” Hu shrugged his shoulders. “Mind you! I don’t see much of my daughter these days, not since she took a job.”

“Took a job?” Braseby enquired. “What sport of a job?”

“She works in a packaging company. SG something or other.” Henry peered over the rim of his spectacles at his guest. “And, she likes it, can you believe it! She likes it.”

Braseby shook his head. “Funny
creature’s
women!” he reflected, looking hopefully at his empty glass but the butler had gone, taking the decanter with him. “I’ll never understand them.” He scuffled his thinning hair with an impatient hand. “Bloody children! They should be made to do as they are told. The same as we were.”

“That was a long time ago.” His host reminded him. “That way of doing things is dead and buried. It’s gone. This is the twenty first century and people believe in choices.”

“I’m quite aware of the date.” Braseby snapped. “
But
, we are talking family here.” He looked around him as if looking for a vast audience. “It has always been family first and the rest nowhere, and it is important that we stand together on this one, Henry! You know the old maxim as well as I, divided we fall and that will be that!”

Lord Hemingham looked at visitor. “Yes.” He
murmured
, almost absentmindedly…..”And that will be that.” Picking up his newspaper again, he carried on reading.

Braseby frowned. His shrewdness told him something was amiss with his ideas for Clive and Phyllipa, and Henry had just, more or less, confirmed it. “And that will be that!” he echoed and was now silently dismissing him like a bloody servant. He rose from his chair. “Well! I can see you are not going to do anything about it.” He waited a while, staring at Henry, expecting him to say something, but his host, immersed in his paper failed to turn his head. “So, I’ll see what I can do!”

The butler silently appeared ready to show him out, but Lord Braseby abruptly turned on his heel and stalked from the room. “I’ll think of something!” he snarled. “Bank on it!”

Phyllipa eased her car on to the motorway. The lanes were crawling with traffic and her indicators were continually active as the powerful car overtook its competitors. Adjusting the Aston Martin to the speed of the arterial, she kept it there until turning off at a junction and the hum of the motorway was dying down.

Ten minutes later she was sitting at her desk, studying some technical data when the Managing Director walked into the office and plonked a bottle of champagne and two glasses on her desk.

“I owe you an apology.” He said graciously. “I don’t know how you did it and I don’t suppose you are going to tell me how you did it, but you did it.”

Phyllipa smiled. “Would you mind running that by me once again.”

Steven laughed
“Yes, I suppose it did sound a trifle garbled. But, the contract was in this morning’s post.”

“Oh, ye of little faith….!” Phyllipa quoted, looking into his face.

“O.K I admit it. I deserve everything you throw at me and I’m hoping you will accept my abject offering.” His strong fingers worked the cork from the bottle and quickly filled the glasses. Handing one to Phyllipa he proposed a toast. “To beautiful women, wherever they may work.”

“I’ll go with that.” Declared his Trouble-Shooter, happily sipping the golden liquid.

“I thought you had gone off champagne.” Steven mused.

“No! I didn’t say that. I said I wouldn’t buy any.”

“If I remember correctly, you said it was a question of principal and you preferred not to drink it.” He persisted.

Phyllipa frowned and sipped her wine again. She knew her boss was only pulling her leg but she couldn’t let him win anything verbally. “I know quite a lot about champagne.” She explained, modestly. “This is a good one. It’s a soft medium sweet, Louis Roederer.” Taking another sip, she hesitated. “Er… 82, I should think. How long have you had it?”

Steven looked at the labelling on the bottle. “You’re dead right. That is exactly what it says here.”

“How long have you had it?” she asked again.

“I’m only guessing, but, about twelve months I should think.”

“Ah!” Phyllipa said. “That would have been before I bought my principle into play. The price has gone up twice since then.” Her eyes stared mockingly into his
. “So in answer to your enquiry.” She concluded.

“I get your drift, Ms
Gore.” Steven cut her off, drily.

“Anything pre-principle.” She continued ignoring his interruption. “I will drink, but post-principle is out. It’s too expensive.”

For a few seconds he went quiet and just gazed at her. He had only been having a little bit of fun, but if the exchange had been serious he got the feeling he would have lost the round by a mile. Picking up the bottle he topped their glasses up. “I’d like to thank you properly for what you have done.”

Phyllipa’s eyes twinkled. “Forgive me if I seem labour to this point, but you kept telling me I wouldn’t or couldn’t get it.” She shook her head. “I gave you word on this and I don’t like to be challenged. It is very important to me!”

“O.K but, in my defence Phyllipa, I still don’t know who you are, you are still a stranger who applied and got the job as a cleaner.”

“Only because the position of MD wasn’t vacant.”

He pressed his hands together as if in a prayer. “I still don’t know anything about you.”

“Do you want to?”