She had just stopped short of saying 'nicest', but she couldn't have brought herself to utter such an untruth. Some of the people were all right, but the others were in danger of ruining it all.

  'Bonnard's has the best of everything—even queues.' That Zoltan —always trying to curry favour —much good it might do him. Lucien Bonnard's eyelids flickered and he looked as though he might have been amused if he hadn't had something more important on his mind.

  He seemed to be trying to think of something to say and Dorrie tried frantically to think of some bright remark to help him out, but her gaze drifted over his shoulder and she forgot him momentarily.

  'There you are — ' She turned triumphantly to the others. 'I told you she'd come!'

  Lucien Bonnard spun to face the door, almost as though he knew what she was talking about.

  She shouldn't have come. Lucy hesitated in the doorway, loath to advance into the expectant hush, yet equally unable to retreat because a glowering Sakim blocked her path.

  It was all his fault. She hadn't been going to come, she had determined against it. He needn't have used any of his arguments, but then he had flourished the most fatal one of all: he had forbidden her to come.

  That had done it! Without a backward glance, she had shrugged out of her sleeping-bag and marched straight to the staff entrance and the private lift to the executive floor, not even pausing long enough to fix her hair —not giving herself time to think.

  She had been aware that Sakim was following one short step behind her— and good enough for him! That was the right place for him. He needn't think she was going to walk three paces behind him. Forbid, indeed!

  Besides, as she would point out when she made her peace with him later, it was as well to check their line of retreat. Things might have changed since the last time she had been in here. People moved offices, doors might have been blocked off, whole areas could have been renovated and redesigned, rendering her memories useless. Although, really, it seemed that nothing had changed.

  Maggie and Lucien started forward as one, then halted abruptly, obviously unsure of the line they should take now that she had actually appeared.

  'There's the rest of our queue!' Dorrie came forward to take her by the hand. 'Come and meet Mr Bonnard, dear,' she said loudly. 'He's our host, you know.' More quietly, she added, 'I'm so pleased you changed your mind. You're right, you know, to come. It wouldn't have been proper if you hadn't.' She gave Sakim a cool nod, in no doubt as to where the problem lay.

  Peer pressure. That was part of it, Lucy recognized. Although once she would never have thought of this motley collection as her peers. Not until she had spent several months with Sakim's peers.

  Smiling gratefully, Lucy allowed Dorrie to capture her hand and lead her forward. That was the right line to take: they were all strangers, united momentarily by the whim of a kindly host —one they had never met before and would never see again.

  'How do you do?' She stared blankly and blandly into Lucien's eyes as Dorrie presented them, then moved aside so that Sakim could be introduced. Dorrie continued to do the honours, although noticeably more reluctantly.

  Lucy relinquished Lucy's flaccid hand and managed barely to touch Sakim's fingertips, while drawing Maggie forward to be introduced in her turn.

  The women eyed each other coldly—Maggie could look as blank as anyone when she put her mind to it. She hadn't lived in England all this time without learning how to put a touch of frost into her smile, either.

  Before they could speak, Tony Adair swept down on Lucy. 'Good girl, you came! You won't regret it.' He winked companionably at Lucien Bonnard. 'Have you seen the spread they've laid on for us? Just come and look!' Gently he plucked her away from Sakim.

  'Perhaps you'd be kind enough to help Miss Bone to a drink, Mr Adair,' Lucien said cordially. He hadn't missed the muffled growl of hatred from Sakim. Any wedge that might be driven between Lucinda and this —this barbarian—was to be encouraged.

  'I'll bet I know what you've got your eye on — ' Deftly, Dorrie blocked Sakim's path as he started after the pair. 'It's beautiful, isn't it? Don't you wish they had it in the Sale instead of the one you're after?'

  He gave her the look that made her wonder if he understood English at all, even though she'd heard him speaking it. He tried to sidestep her, but she moved with him, still blocking him, giving Lucy and Tony time to reach the table and begin a conversation.

  'The carpet,' she insisted. 'Isn't it the most perfect you've ever seen? I'll bet — ' she caught Lucien's approving eye —'I'll bet it's —it's a genuine antique,' she finished hastily, blushing.

  She'd nearly said, 'I'll bet it cost a bomb' — and right in front of Lucien Bonnard, too.

  'Very nice.' Sakim glanced perfunctorily towards his feet before lifting his glowering eyes to focus with burning intensity on the couple who had escaped him. He moved again, but this time Lucien Bonnard was swifter.

  'You're interested in carpets?' he asked smoothly. 'The lady is correct, this one is an antique. Alas, I can never remember whether it's a Bokhara or not, nor eighteenth century or seventeenth. Perhaps you might identify it for me? It was an inheritance from my grandfather and his records were not always — '

  'Excuse me,' Sakim said firmly. 'I must speak to my friend.' He turned on his heel, marched in a wide circle around them and moved towards Lucy.

  'You know — ' Dorrie stared after him thoughtfully —'I don't believe he knows anything about carpets at all.'

  'Would that be so surprising?' Lucien asked.

  'Well . . . perhaps not.' Dorrie gave a nervous little laugh. 'It's just that he's queuing for the Persian carpet in the window. For his mother ... he says.' She discovered she now doubted that, as well. If he behaved the way he did to a sweet girl like Lucy Bone, was it likely that he was any nicer to his mother? She was beginning to suspect that Sakim had just enough wit to tell people what he thought they wanted to hear—but wasn't quite clever enough to keep them believing it. Probably, like Zoltan, he was buying to resell at a profit. At least Zoltan was honest about his intention. If Sakim had gauged the temper of the queue towards Zoltan, he had decided to lie about his own plans in order to get into their good graces.

  Or was he lying to try to impress Lucy?

  'I see how you could have made the mistake,' Maggie said. 'Of course it's a fallacy to think that someone is an expert on carpets just because he comes from that part of the world. You might as well expect all of us to be experts on heraldry or medieval monasteries just because there's so much of them around in England.'

  'I know.' Dorrie was uncomfortably aware that her face was still red and this conversation wasn't helping any. 'I'm sorry. I suppose the truth of the matter is that I just don't like that man and I suppose I'm looking for excuses to justify myself.'

  'He didn't appear,' Lucien said carefully, 'to be a particularly likeable person. Of course, I've just met him, whereas you've had the opportunity to study him for several days.'

  'That's a fact!' Dorrie rose to the bait. 'And I like him even less than you do. It's not that I'm prejudiced — ' She appealed to Lucien Bonnard— 'but I hate to see him with that nice young girl. She's far too good for him —and I'm sure he doesn't treat her properly.'

  'Indeed?' Lucien Bonnard looked unexpectedly grim. It emboldened her —or perhaps the cocktail she had chosen was stronger than she had thought —to confide in him further.

  'Now that nice young English boy is more her style, I'd say. And I'm not just saying it because he's English. But he's intelligent and ambitious, and friendly with it. He's going places, that lad, and good luck to him —he deserves it. He's altogether more her sort and — ' she lowered her voice —'he fancies her, I know. He says he'd like to film her, but there's more to it than that, I'll be bound!'

  'Indeed?' Lucien Bonnard looked across the room with new interest and was just in time to see Lucinda throw back her head and laugh unexpectedly at something the young man had said to her. But at that moment Sakim's hand fell on her arm and the laughter was abruptly silenced. The glimpse of the delightful girl he had known vanished and the sulky stranger was in her place once more. Tony Adair looked after her, crestfallen, as Sakim drew her away.

  'I just don't like him!' Unconsciously Dorrie echoed Lucien Bonnard's thought. 'I don't mind telling you, I've been doing everything I could to push her and Tony together and make her see how nasty Sakim really is. She's right behind me in the queue, you know, and I often have a chance to have a quiet word with her. And then, there's the times at the St Edmund's. Oh, I get my chance to slip a word in now and again — '

  She broke off in sudden confusion as she realized just how thoroughly she was monopolizing the conversation. Although Mr Bonnard was so polite that he was bending forward as though he were hanging on her every word. What must he be thinking of her?

  'Oh dear!' she said, blushing more furiously than ever. 'Just listen to me running on like this! You must think I'm a silly match-making old fool.'

  'On the contrary,' Lucien Bonnard said warmly. 'I think you're absolutely wonderful.'

  Curiously enough, he seemed to mean it.

  CHAPTER 17

  'Well,' Maggie said philosophically, surveying the wreckage of the buffet, 'You win some, you lose some. I think we could call it a draw on this one. You didn't get to talk to Lucinda alone, but you sure struck a gold-mine of information in the old duck next to her.'

  'Very true,' Lucien agreed. 'In fact, my only regret is that I was unable to speak as long—and as freely—as I would have liked with Mrs Witson. She seemed a very perspicacious woman.'

  'You mean, she was on our side,' Maggie corrected. 'Even though she didn't know it. Long may she rave! And may Lucinda listen to her. Sometimes a stranger can get through when those nearest and dearest aren't able to.'

  'I may be Lucinda's nearest,' Lucien said drily, 'but I doubt that I'm her dearest.'

  'Lucien — ' Maggie wrapped her arms around him, willing him not to pull away. He was always half a stranger to her after an encounter with his daughter. Perhaps that was the reason she could not wholeheartedly wish him well in his ambition to draw Lucinda back into the bosom of the family. That family was irrevocably dissolved now; her own family not yet started. Perhaps there must always be an element of rivalry between the two. Perhaps this was something Lucinda had recognised earlier—and far more clearly —than she had.

  'So near and yet so far,' Lucien brooded. 'Which was precisely what my darling daughter intended to convey to me. We still have no indication why she's really waiting out there in the queue.'

  'We tried.' Maggie's arms fell away. And we failed. What kind of consolation would that be to Lucien when whatever scandal Lucinda was plotting broke over him.

  She shuddered abruptly. Someone walked over my grave. And I know who'd like to dance on it!

  She could not dismiss the look of implacable enmity the girl had given her just before turning away. She was marked down as the Wicked Stepmother in a totally unfair assessment. Lucinda had never given her a chance, never really spoken to her. It was so damnably unfair. She was willing to bend over backwards to be friends with the girl, why wouldn't Lucinda unbend just a little herself?

  'Yes,' Lucien said wearily. 'We tried.'

  Maggie glanced at him quickly, realizing that he had been berating himself silently, just as she had been.

  Congratulations, Lucinda! You've succeeded in making everyone miserable again. And that's the reason you're out there, isn't it? . . . One of the reasons . . .

  'Look, Lucien.' Maggie repressed the memory of those hate-filled eyes. 'She isn't totally hostile. Not to you. She proved that by coming to the party—'

  'She didn't stay long.'

  'Well, what did you expect her to do —lead the Hokey-Cokey?' Maggie bit down on her anger, apologizing immediately. 'I'm sorry, Lucien. I didn't mean — '

  'You're upset,' he said. 'So am I. She always has this effect on us. Sometimes I think she wants to set us quarrelling between ourselves.'

  At least he understood that much. He wasn't completely blinded by his daughter's stratagems. In his own way he was apologizing, too.

  'Anyway, the others enjoyed the party.' She met him half way.

  'The food was excellent, wasn't it?'

  'How would you know? You barely touched it.' She looked at his drawn face with concern. 'Let me get you something now. Even with all they ate, there's still plenty left. The chef outdid himself with the Boeuf Stroganoff.'

  'I'm not hungry.' Lucien shook his head. 'Thank you.'

  'Look, Lucien,' she said helpfully. 'It might not be so bad. Figure it this way: we've got a full staff of Security people and extra ones hired for the duration of the Sale. We can have a couple of our own Security people standing by to spot her and tag after her as soon as she comes through the door. They can stay with her and, if she starts anything, they can just close in on her and spirit her behind the scenes quietly before she has a chance to make any sort of scene. I know you don't like the idea of having your own daughter spied on in your own store. But you've got to be practical.'

  'Maggie — ' he sank into his chair and leaned back, closing his eyes, refusing to look at her— 'Maggie, I believe I would like something to eat. Organize it for me, would you, please?'

  Maggie—leave me!

  'Of course.' She put on a bright smile, even though he wasn't looking and held it until the door closed behind her. The corridor was deserted as she crossed it quickly and went into the Boardroom where the remains of the party had not yet been cleared away.

  She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, looking around the room to make sure it was empty. It was. She let the bright frozen smile dissolve and fumbled for her handkerchief.

  'Wasn't it lovely?' Dorrie sighed ecstatically. 'Wasn't it a perfect dream? I always said, there never was a store like Bonnard's! Just imagine them doing all that for us!'

  'Us and their hundredth anniversary,' Zoltan said. 'It is good public relations for them, They hope we will go away and tell everyone about it and it will spread goodwill for the store.'

  'I certainly will tell everyone,' Dorrie said. 'They deserve all the goodwill they get.'

  Lucy Bone made a curious noise deep in her throat, not quite a sob, nor a snort, nor a laugh. Dorrie decided to ignore it. The girl had come, after all, even though she hadn't lingered, and she'd brought her ghastly boy-friend along with her so that there'd be one hundred per cent attendance from the queue and honour was satisfied. Lucy Bone had made the effort, she was entitled to her own opinion.

  It was too bad that her unpleasant boy-friend was still sulking, but it had to be admitted that his silences were preferable to his attempts at conversation. Nose out of joint, probably, because Lucy had spent so much time talking with Tony Adair—and had seemed to enjoy it.

  'I'll not only tell all my friends about it,' Janice called over to Dorrie. 'From now on, I'll keep special watch to see what other stores have centenaries coming up.'

  'I wouldn't bother if I were you,' Lucy Bone said. 'This isn't likely to happen again.'

  'That's right,' Dorrie said. 'Not every store is Bonnard's. They do things proper here.'

  'That's a fantastic collection of medals and honours they have,' Tony Adair said enthusiastically. 'Mr Bonnard has promised to let me film them next week before they go on public display in February. He says that if it turns out well, they may use some of the stills for publicity.'

  'That's wonderful,' Dorrie said. 'I noticed you having a nice long talk with him after — ' She broke off abruptly. She couldn't say 'after Lucy left', that would betray how closely she had been watching.

  'Perhaps he'll let you do some more filming in the store,' she substituted hastily. 'You were telling me you'd love to film the Boardroom.'

  'I told him that, too,' Tony said. 'And he said we'd talk about it. I tried to plant the idea that a short documentary about Bonnard's would be a good project for Centenary Year. Lots of businesses sponsor documentaries about their firms or products. I know I could do a good one and —'he grinned —'it would make a change from pestering the National Film Finance Corporation for grants. It would be bliss to have a commercial sponsor.'

  'I wouldn't build too many hopes on it,' Lucy Bone warned.

  'He meant it,' Tony said. 'He was definitely interested. I can tell.' He grinned wryly. 'I've talked to too many who weren't.'

  'He might have been interested,' Lucy said. 'But a lot of things can happen — "

  'You may be right.' Tony Adair laughed. 'But getting them interested is the hardest part. You're halfway there, once they are.'

  'I am thirsty.' Sakim rose from his heels abruptly and loomed between them, frowning down at Lucy.

  Spoilsport! Dorrie looked at him with disfavour. Not that he'd care, even if he noticed. But the hint of romance reminded her.

  'Perhaps they'll let you film the wedding,' she said.

  'Wedding?' Tony's eyes brightened with interest. 'Whose?'

  'Mr Bonnard and that nice American lady. Didn't you hear the waitress telling us? They're getting married right after the Sale. Everybody's very happy for them, they make such a lovely couple. Him so distinguished-looking and her so— Oh!' She broke off in pain, drawing up her foot.

  'I'm sorry,' Lucy apologized perfunctorily. She had risen in such haste that she had stumbled and trodden on the woman. At least, it had stopped her senseless monologue.

  'I'm thirsty, too.' Lucy turned to Sakim. 'Let's get out of here and find something to drink.'

  Where had it all gone wrong?

  Lucien Bonnard had asked himself the question a thousand times.

  Bonnard's —both as a store and as a family —had been riding high for so long that it had seemed as though they could weather any storm. Inextricably bound together, it had seemed as though they could never sink.

 

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