Capital Sins (12 page)

'You should
know by now that you can rely on me to keep things running smoothly in your
absence, Sam. No one's indispensable, you've said that enough times yourself.'

'So I
wasn't needed
... '

'Well,
there were one or two documents that needed your signature.'

He flicked
ash lazily, but she couldn't read his expression. 'You'll have to polish up on
your forgery then, Miss Delaney,
then
I won't be
needed at all. So I've nothing to worry about then ... no?' He heaved a sigh.
'Still, Sheila, I do worry.
All the time.
I worry
about my business, about my competitors just waiting for Jessop's to flounder,
and about my employees, as well. All those people trusting me, us, for a
living. Yet there's no one to worry about me, isn't it strange? Not a soul to
miss me when I'm absent... '

' ...
I
didn't say that, Sam. You know I miss you when you're off on your little
jaunts, however short they may be.' She eyed him reproachfully and he waved his
hand.

'Yeah, I
know you do.' He picked up his drink and, as he went out he looked back at her
over his shoulder, saying. 'I'm going through
The
Times.
Bring your meal when it's cooked, if you want to join me.'

As if she
didn't!

She mashed
the potatoes, adding butter, cream and black pepper the way she liked it. By
then the steak was ready also, and she garnished it with freshly-ground
peppercorns and cress. She heaped vegetables on to a plate, cut herself a wedge
from a crusty loaf she found in the bread basket, and carried the whole Jot
inside on a tray.

Samuel
sniffed appreciatively.
'Smells great.
So you can
cook, can you?'

'I have
many talents you don't even know about,' Sheila said loftily, balancing the
tray on her knees as she sat opposite him on the Chesterfield.

'I'm sure
you have.' and he turned the page of his newspaper. As she ate, Sheila thought
how homely it all was: their easy, bantering talk, their casual attitude with
each other, his reading the paper, a drink in his hand.

He caught
her eye. 'Good?' He indicated the tray with a jerk of his head.

'Very juicy.
I hadn't realised in the office how hungry I was.'

He lowered
the paper. 'Couldn't you delegate some of your work to that secretary of yours
... what's her name?'

Somehow,
Sheila got the impression that he knew very well what her name was, but she
said anyway, 'Sands. Constance Sands. But she's got enough to do at present,
and I don't want to lose such a good worker by giving her too much. She hasn't
been with us that long. Anyway, I can manage.'

'Independent woman.'
He crossed his long legs. 'How's she making out, this Sands girl?'

'She's very
bright and willing.' She forked potato into her mouth and swallowed. 'I've
become quite fond of her.'

'She's
extremely attractive to have around.'

She smiled.
'You've noticed, have you?'

'Bit
difficult not to, wouldn't you agree? We needed a touch of glamour, which
mimosa in a vase somehow couldn't supply in the same way.'

'Thanks.'

He looked
at her in surprise, hearing the edge of bitterness in her remark. He had only
been teasing, but realised he should've known better. Sheila had been very
irritable lately.

'I didn't
mean to imply that you weren't glamorous, Sheila,' he said awkwardly.

She held
his stare. 'I know what I am.' she said clearly, 'and a glamour puss I'm not.'
She smiled ruefully. 'I don't pretend I am.'

He looked
at her too sharp nose, pale complexion, the hollows in her cheeks, and her
large, colourless mouth, too wide in such a thin face. Her hair was an
indeterminate brown, but was well cut, usually falling against the side of her
cheeks in waves. He wasn't to know that she had to sleep in a tight hairnet to
keep it straight, and now it was still damp and had frizzed a little. Her one
apparent asset was her hands, which were long and white, slender and quite
graceful, but she didn't have much of a figure. She always dressed very well,
yet on no account could all her beautifully designed clothes make her bony legs
shapely, and her thin body more rounded and womanly, the way he liked women.
She was all straight up and down, Samuel thought, and although he knew it was
unkind, in his imagination compared her with her secretary.

He wondered
why he'd pretended to Sheila that he couldn't remember her secretary's name –
he hadn't fooled her in the slightest.

Constance
had made an impression on him when they'd first met, but it was when he'd seen
her trying on the new dress she'd bought that he realised how very desirable
she was. Helpless females, especially young and lovely ones, had always
appealed to him, but Connie had not only stirred his interest, he had actually
felt a surge in his groin when he'd accidentally touched her naked back. He'd
felt then that the chemistry could possibly work between them, but how was he
to go about it? She looked so pure and untouched. He couldn't come right out
with the proposition to bed her, she wasn't the type. God, each time she was
near, wearing those ridiculous short skirts and high boots, he wanted to press
himself against her, let her arouse him as he felt she could. Constance had
that indefinable quality that Monroe was famed for – a childish innocence
coupled with sensuality: an arresting combination. A sexy piece like her could
even work miracles. Jessop shifted in his chair.

Sheila
raised her eyes. She wore very little make-up, and had left her lashes alone.
Unfortunately for her, there weren't many and Samuel reckoned that a touch of
mascara, or even false eyelashes, would have aided her appearance a great deal.
She had yellowy-brown coloured eyes, he noticed, and now they were fixed on him
a little mournfully. Like a spaniel. Such big eyes...

'I didn't
mean to hurt your feelings, Sheila,' he said gently. 'I guess I'm tired. But
that's no excuse for taking you for granted, and not bothering to watch what
I'm saying when we're together.'

As you do
with other women?
she
wanted to ask him, but held her
tongue.

'I suppose
I can take that as a compliment, Sam,' she said instead.

'You're a
bloody godsend, if that helps,' he said heartily, wanting to make up for his
previous lack of chivalry. And then wished he hadn't said it quite so heartily.
Had he sounded pompous?

'At least
it's good to know that I'm appreciated in my work, even if there's nothing
stunning about my appearance,' she went on. I'm sounding self -pitying again,
she thought. Cut it out!

'You've got
a remarkable voice,' he said helpfully, quite serious. 'It's got a kind of
musical quality in it that would never grate on a man's nerves, the way some
women's do.'

'You mean
to say that I'll pass as an attractive female as long as I'm heard but not
seen? I'll remember that.'

He smiled
back at her and the silence that ensued was comfortable again. Sheila twirled
the stem of her glass in her fingers and watched the gold liquid splash around.
She tipped back her head and drained it in a quick motion. She paused, her expression
regretful.

'My clothes
will be dry now, I expect,' she said lightly. 'I'd better be off home before it
occurs to you to take advantage of my presence and I end up with some extra
work that I hadn't bargained for.' She laughed,
then
stopped as he looked at her in a way that made her heart thump.

'You don't
have to go now if you don't want to, Sheila,' he said quietly. 'I feel an urge
to talk tonight. Couldn't you stay just a while longer?' His eyes were pleading
suddenly and she recognised the loneliness behind them which he hid so well so
often.

'Of course
I can, Sam. Don't beg, just ask.' She thought of the woman he might have been
with only a short while earlier, and couldn't resist a self-congratulatory
smile of satisfaction. Whatever his needs, she would supply them if she were
able.

'I guess
you're feeling a bit lonesome by yourself this evening,' she said.

He stood up
to pace around the room.
'This evening ... all evenings.
I see a line of long, lonely nights stretching out before me.' He turned
abruptly and gave a curt laugh. 'I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound sorry for
myself.'

She was
afraid her suspicions about him might be correct, but she ignored her fears as
she said quickly, 'But you've had many girl friends, Sam.
Known
so many women who would cut off their right arm for you if you only asked.'

He didn't
seem to have heard her. 'I need someone understanding, someone who can help me
... help me to relax more. Oh, sure I've known women, had women, if you can
call it that... '

She let out
a deep, thankful sigh. He wasn't
homosexuaL

' ... But
why should they stay with me when I can't give them anything!' He poured
himself another drink. 'Why should I keep them when they can't give me anything
... what I
want!
'

One fear
having been stilled, Sheila looked mystified. He looked so angry, sounded so
frustrated.

'What do
you mean by anything?' she asked, knowing she must sound as baffled as she
felt.

'Sons.
A boy.
Children.'

'So what's
stopping you ... '
Her
eyes widened as a horrible
thought struck her, and she stared at him aghast. 'You're not ... not sterile
are you, Sam?'

He made a
choking sound and flopped down beside her on the couch. Reaching over to the
table, he hooked from the box there a cigarette that he jammed between his
lips. As Sheila swiped at the lighter and held it for him, he ran his hands
through his thick hair, and she saw that they trembled.

Pity for
him welled up inside her. 'I think I understand now,' she said softly, gazing
into his eyes steadily, as if to make him aware of it.

Yet he
glared at her balefully, smoke pouring from his nostrils in a stream. 'No, you
don't understand a damn thing. You've got it all wrong,' he said angrily.

She
stretched for his hand. 'You can still be happy by marrying and adopting
children, the boy you want so badly.'

He pulled
away, his face harsh. 'Why the bloody hell should I adopt children when J can
have my own!'

'But ... I
thought
... '

'You
thought wrong! I'm not sterile! I've seen doctors, specialists, all the top
consultants, and there's nothing medically wrong with me! There's no reason why
I shouldn't be able to father sons!' He buried his face in his hands. 'The fact
is, Sheila, I'm impotent!'

She watched
him, unable for a second to think clearly. Then she said helplessly, 'Sam. it's
a terrible thing to have happened to a man like you, but it's not the end of
the world. Oh, I don't mean to sound trite and make
cliches
that won't do any good but all the same, it's true, however ineffective it may
sound. Marry, Sam, and adopt kids.'

'What woman
would marry a guy like me in her right mind? No,
dammit
.
no
! And J won't adopt when I can have my own. Not
until I know for sure that I'm useless as a man!' He sighed with such anguish
that Sheila was moved to put her arms around his neck.

'Let me try
to help you.'

He jerked
his face away. 'Don't be a fool!'

'Sam, I ...
I love you.' She tightened her arms around him, forcing
him
to face her.
'You must realise that I do. Have done for ages.'

His
expression softened. 'I know, Sheila, and I like you very much, and respect
you. But I don't know
,
there's not much point in my
loving a woman when both of us would end up hurt, and hating each other. I
wouldn't blame any girl for turning against me, since all I can offer is
friendship, and that isn't good enough, for her or me.'

'I don't
believe that, and besides, I'm not any woman,' she said vehemently. 'And if
that was all you could ever give me, I'd willingly take just your friendship. I
wouldn't care.'

'But
I
would, I'd care! I couldn't stand the snide remarks, the sniggers, all the
whispers behind my back wondering why me, Samuel Jessop, had to adopt other
people's kids, and then asking each other what was wrong with me, then some
woman from my past letting on that I was weak, unable to excite even myself ...
'

Sheila was
almost in tears. 'Don't be so proud, Sam.'

'Why
shouldn't I be? After all, all I have is my pride and self respect, even if I
have no pride in being a man!' He almost choked as he spoke, and Sheila pulled
his cheek down to hers fiercely, as if she would assume the burden of his
problem.

'We'll work
something out,' she said consolingly. 'I'm not asking you to marry me, but
perhaps I could move in. You wouldn't be lonely then and I could take care of
you, just comfort you. I know I can make you happy, if you'll only let me.'