Capital Sins (2 page)

She had
been working as Samuel Jessop's private secretary for nearly five years, yet
her opulent surroundings, and the feeling of being part of the policy-making
process could still fill her with wonder, a sense of achievement. Even if her
social life was negligible, Sheila found compensation in the prestige that went
with her job.

The richly
woven, plum-coloured carpet muffled her light steps as she walked over to her
desk and removed the cover from the typewriter. There were fresh mimosa in the
crystal vase on her desk, and Sheila smiled indulgently as she thought what
trouble one of the messenger boys took to put them there each day when he
delivered the post. She had made an effort to be pleasant to the shy newcomer
on his first day at Jessop House six months before, as she did to all new employees
when their paths crossed but, even so, his adoring glances which he had then
and still now bestowed on her had surprised Sheila. She was unused to frank
admiration from the male sex (she didn't count those men who thought that by
charming her she would put in a good word on their behalf to Samuel Jessop) but
even if the messenger boy was only a pimply youth with carroty hair and
freckles, it was flattering to her ego.

She had
never kidded herself about her looks. She'd been a plain child and a gawky
schoolgirl, and now considered herself a very ordinary-looking woman of
twenty-six, in spite of her numerous chic French and Italian outfits. She had
worked hard at becoming a competent and efficient secretary, had been
determined to reach the top of the ladder in her career and, since she was
always cheerful, friendly and good-humoured as well, eventually had caught an
important eye and won the coveted position as personal assistant to Samuel
Jessop, founder and now chairman and managing director of the Jessop empire,
the largest and most successful property developers in the country.

Sheila knew
she had much to be grateful for, and most of the gratitude was personally
directed towards her employer. She hadn't been working for him long when her
father, a fairly successful businessman to whom she'd always been deeply
attached, had become bankrupt and had fallen heavily into debt. His health
began to fail and it seemed as if there was nobody to whom they could turn. His
old friends who might have helped didn't want to know and it was in desperation
that Sheila went to Jessop – not too proud to ask for help for her father.
Jessop was more than generous, himself dealing with her father's creditors,
paying off all debts and even sending him and Mrs Delaney on a cruise to
restore his health.

By his
actions, Jessop, purposely or not, had secured his secretary's loyalty for all
time, and there wasn't anything Sheila wouldn't do for him from then on. He was
a man dedicated to his work and consequently expected his staff to feel the
same way. She determined to be on call whenever she was needed; Jessop had only
to beckon. Her life revolved around her work. She had no time to think that her
social life might suffer, for this was what Sheila wanted. So single-minded was
she that she would have been content even had she occupied a less responsible
position. What she thought of as her success was all the more gratifying
because she acknowledged now that she hadn't been that bright at school or
received such high grades. She was redeemed from self-satisfaction by her
unselfish devotion. Her innate modesty saved her from becoming overbearing to
her associates, a temptation to which others, less diffident, might have
succumbed.

The huge
machine of the Jessop complex rolled smoothly and efficiently, needing little
oiling at its joints. A multi-million pound company, Jessop employed a dozen
high-powered executives to make up the team that ensured its progress. Wherever
the chief went, Sheila went. When he worked direct from Jessop House, Sheila
was at his side. In his absence, she conveyed his thoughts to his executives
and dealt as he would have done with the architects, contractors, surveyors and
many others who besieged him. She was as familiar with the promotion of
projects, advertising and public relations, as with basic day-to-day
management. Her boss had even shown his confidence in her by asking her to keep
an eye on a chain of shops that he'd acquired as part of a programme of
diversifying his interests.

Jessop
looked after all her comforts. He counted on her to arrange ceremonies,
openings, functions and the many cocktail parties held for business associates.
He always ensured she looked her best on such occasions, to the extent of
picking out a dress that caught his fancy and taking an interest in the way she
had her hair done. He took her with him on his business trips at home and
abroad. He drove himself and her hard while he was examining a project in a
strange city, using a suite in a good hotel as his base. When the telephone had
stopped ringing and the last caller had gone they would dine in the restaurant
and, with luck, would be left alone for a few hours to relax. They helped each
other shed the problems of the last few hours over a pre-dinner drink.

Sheila had
resisted falling in love with him.
telling
herself
that this was one situation she would avoid, even though he was still unmarried
at the age of thirty-five. But inevitably gratitude and loyalty had ripened
into a love that she knew was no mere infatuation. She had been 'in love'
during her adolescence like most of the girls in her class at school –
realising later as she grew older that 'crushes' and 'fancies' soon passed,
although it hurt just as much at the time, while love lingered or remained if
requited.

Once before
Sheila had experienced what real love was. She'd been in her late teens when
she'd met a soldier at a supper dance. They'd been seated next to each other,
so it had only been natural that they should talk. They'd had little in common
she'd realised, except youth, but she'd fallen for his dancing eyes and rough
charm. There were too many differences between them but these yielded to the
defiance of youth. After spending two wonderful days and nights together, they
had exchanged love letters when he'd been shipped abroad with his unit.
Hers, so neat and sentimental, his almost illiterate and blunt in
his adoration.
The exchange ended abruptly when he was killed in action.

She never
forgot him entirely; a man who resembled him ensured a second look from
her
,but
it didn't mean she
couldn't fall in love again.

She sensed
Jessop was a lonely man, because she was able to identify with his moods,
knowing too how lonely loneliness was. His office adjoined hers, and no one
could gain access to Samuel Jessop unless they went through Sheila Delaney
first – unless it was one of his girl friends.

He wasn't
dating any one woman in particular, and his relationships never lasted long. He
would even joke about them to Sheila sometimes, yet something in his manner told
her that they didn't satisfy him.

After a
long, tiring day at work, they often had a quiet drink together in the confines
of his own magnificent office, really a suite, and she used to tell him about
herself – about her lonely childhood as an only child, and her over-protective
mother who had almost made Sheila too shy even to mix with girls of her own
age. How she'd conquered a stammer and later her
timidness
and learned to be independent. Jessop always appeared genuinely interested, he
seemed willing enough to talk and was always very friendly to her, although
others found him remote. So, encouraged, she had tried to get him to talk about
his own background, but this was one area of his life about which he was
reticent.

Samuel
Jessop was good-looking in a way that wasn't instantly apparent but which grew
on acquaintance. He had a justifiable reputation of being shrewd in matters of
business and high finance (he'd earned the nickname of 'Mr All-Sorts' from
financial newspaper writers because of his uncanny ability to sense when
disasters were looming, and to avoid them in time, or diversify into other
areas) and was ambitious to climb even higher. Like Sheila, he was an only
child, but his mother had died giving birth to him. His father, after having
served in the army during the war, had bought a ramshackle boarding house on
the coast with the gratuity he received when the war ended. This house he
reconstructed into
flatlets
and then he became an
estate agent. He prospered and turned to property development, starting Jessop
& Co with his first wife. A year after her death he married again; the
profits of his company soared.

Before
long, rumours grew that Martin Jessop's beautiful young wife was giving her
husband the
runaround
but, for Jessop senior, divorce
was out Of the question. He dreaded the thought of scandal, believing his
reputation would be hurt and his business damaged. He could imagine people
saying, 'If he can't manage his wife, how can he manage his business?' So he
swallowed his pride, hushed up his wife's
affaires
and poured himself
into his company. It prospered and he began to prepare his son to take over the
kingdom.

As Samuel
grew up, his father began to waste away and soon no one would have recognised
the once strong, ruggedly handsome man in the shrivelled, emaciated skeleton he
became. If cancer hadn't devoured him, the shame of his second marriage would
have. However, he still had his wits about him and in an
uncontestable
will left enough.
for
his wife to live on when he
died, Samuel at the age of twenty-three, inherited the business and the bulk of
his estate.

'Get
married soon,' the old man had whispered from cracked lips, his wizened, almost
transparent hands scrabbling feverishly on the counterpane. 'Don't make the
same mistake as me. Make lots of sons, Samuel... see that the name of Jessop
isn't forgotten.'

Sheila had
heard the story often, first from gossiping employees and later from Samuel
himself. She had wanted to ask him why, in that case, he hadn't married – but
hadn't dared. Their relationship was based on comradeship and mutual respect,
so Sheila hid what other feelings she had for him, hoping that he would make
the first move towards her. She'd been waiting a long time, but hadn't given up
hope and learned to contain it under a constant mask of cheerfulness and
helpfulness when he was around.

Arousing
herself from her reveries she glanced at her watch, a platinum one that Jessop
had given her the previous Christmas. It was a quarter past nine and time to
stop daydreaming. There were a dozen things to be done, and she had someone
coming for an interview, applying for the post of her assistant, in ten
minutes.

Connie
glanced up at the entrance and tried not to be awed at the impressive reception
hall she could see through glass doors; they opened at her approach with a gasp
of air and shut as majestically behind her.

It is like
the lobby of a luxurious hotel, Connie thought as she stared around, wondering
where she was supposed to go. She looked again at the slip of paper she held on
which the matron had typed, 'Nine twenty-five, ask for Miss Delaney, Jessop
House, Jessop and Company.' Nine twenty-five, Connie mused, what an odd time
for an interview. Not nine-fifteen, or half-past, but twenty-five past.
Perhaps, she wondered, this Miss Delaney is so busy she has only five minutes
for me; the lady probably times everything to the split second. God, I don't
know if I could ever work for a precise-sounding woman like her – clocking in
and out as if at a factory. She had half a mind to turn tail and run before
something awful happened, something she'd regret long after. Connie wondered if
she were sufficiently well dressed. Everyone she saw looked so smart and
sophisticated, so confident of
themselves
, she
observed enviously. She fought off a mounting sense of insecurity, curbed the
impulse to flee. Where would I go? Back to matron admitting I'd failed so soon?
She lifted her chin resolutely. I'm as good as them. I may be younger, but take
away their smart clothes and we're all the same. She giggled nervously but,
clenching her hands so that her nails dug sharply into her palms, Connie walked
over to a long desk that stretched almost twenty feet along one wall, behind
which was a hive of activity. The carpet across which she strode with such
determination was a sunny marigold colour, and its appearance was attractive
enough to make her pause in admiration. She was soon startled back to attention
when a nasal voice twanged: 'May I help you, Miss?'

Connie
stared into the carved face of a peroxide blonde with enormous breasts that
jutted impudently under a tight-fitting black jumper. Taken aback, Connie
gulped foolishly, then said shyly, '
Er
, I've got an
appointment.'

'With
whom?' the voice droned.

'Miss
Delaney.'

'Ah.' The
blonde nodded as if the news had some significance.

'I hope I'm
not late,' Connie began worriedly, but the receptionist wasn't listening.

'Top floor,
dearie
, ask for Miss Jacks.' She pointed a silver
talon in the direction of the lift.

'But my
appointment's with Miss Delaney...'

'You have
to check with Miss Jacks first,' the blonde said with heavy weariness.

'I see.
Thank you.'

Connie went
over to the lift, waited with a dozen other people, and when it arrived, told
the chirpy young lift attendant which floor she wanted.