The Latin Affair. Sophie Weston
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scanned her memory. Nothing. She said so. ‘But he’s not going to bully Sally.’
‘Kid-gloves time,’ advised Caroline, surrendering the phone.
Nicky knew the warning tone was justified. She squared her shoulders and tried to remember the bit in her management course about dealing with difficult clients.
‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting—’ she began, uncharacteristically soothing.
‘Then don’t.’ It was impatient and very male. At once she knew why Sally had not been able to calm him down. Mr Tremain did not want to be calmed down. Mr Tremain wanted blood.
And, true to form, it made Nicky want to fight right back. She curbed her combative instinct but it was a close-run thing.
‘How can I—’
He did not let her finish. ‘Where’s de Vries?’
‘—help you?’ Sweet reason was not paying off. Well, then, she would give him a taste of her real reaction to a man who interrupted her twice. ‘What can I do for you?’ she finished, the frost showing.
Caroline did not go. Instead she propped herself up against a drawer of files and waited, prepared to be amused.
Mr Tremain was not impressed by Nicky’s chilly formality. ‘You can get me de Vries,’ he said grimly. ‘Now.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not poss—’
‘Now.’
Nicky could feel her fuse shortening. Caroline grinned. Nicky frowned her down and raised her voice. ‘If you would just let me finish—’
‘I haven’t got time to waste talking to lieutenants.’ Even allowing for the distortion of the telephone, the dismissive tone was an insult. Nicky’s fuse suddenly became very short indeed. And her frost dissolved into simple temper.
‘Then try listening,’ she flashed. ‘Martin de Vries is not here. I can ask him to call you when he gets back or you can talk to me now. Your choice. Frankly I don’t care which—but make up your mind. I haven’t got time to waste either.’
Across the office, Caroline raised her eyebrows. Oh, hell, thought Nicky, remembering the management course too late.
But at least her outburst seemed to give Tremain pause.
He said slowly, ‘Work closely with de Vries, do you?’
Nicky was all dignity. ‘Of course.’
‘So you’re fully briefed on everything that’s gone wrong with the blasted kitchen he sold me?’
‘Well, I would have to look at the file…’
‘And of course you’re empowered to agree on compensation?’ he went on sweetly.
Nicky knew quite well what he was doing. Silently she ground her teeth.
‘I would have to consult Mr de Vries,’ she conceded stiffly.
‘Quite.’ His tone was suddenly a lot less sweet. ‘So let’s stop playing games. We both know de Vries is ducking and weaving. Cut the feeble excuses, dig him out of wherever he’s hiding and put him on the line now.’
If Nicky did not like being dismissed, she positively hated being patronised.
She yelled, ‘I do not play games. I do not tell lies. And Martin isn’t here.’
And banged the phone down.
Caroline gave her a slow, mocking hand-clap. ‘That showed him.’
Nicky was steaming. ‘So it should. Bully,’ she threw at the phone, as if the man were there in person.
‘Esteban Tremain must be shivering in his shoes,’ murmured Caroline.
‘Quite right too,’ Nicky announced, militant. ‘He shouldn’t have tried to bully Sally. And he shouldn’t have talked to me like that I haven’t got the time to take a lot of rubbish from people who don’t listen. It’s too close to lunchtime.’
She glanced at her watch as she spoke. She had a date with her brother and Ben had been known to leave a restaurant if people kept him waiting.
‘Tell that to Martin when you explain how you handled his biggest problem client,’ Caroline said with feeling.
Nicky stared. ‘Biggest problem client? What are you talking about?’
‘You mean you don’t know who Esteban Tremain is?’
‘Never met the man in my life,’ said Nicky, adding darkly, ‘And, on present showing, I’ll be quite happy if that’s the way it stays.’
‘Stately home?’ prompted Caroline. ‘Cornwall? Try, gorgeous.’
‘Oh, please!’
‘You can’t have forgotten him. A Savile Row suit with muscles. When he came in to the showroom every woman in the place wandered by for a look.’
Nicky shook her head. ‘None of us is that sex-starved,’ she protested, trying not to laugh. ‘What is he? A film star?’
Caroline said in a practical tone, ‘No. Just tall, dark and smouldering with sex appeal. And threatening to sue Martin for every penny he’s got’.
‘What?’
She cocked a mocking eyebrow. ‘Come on, Nicky. The kitchen at Hallam Hall must have cost us more grief than any other contract this year.’
‘Hallam Hall!’ gasped Nicky, enlightened at last.
Now she knew exactly who Esteban Tremain was. And how much he could cost Springdown Kitchens if he put his mind to it.
‘Oh, my Lord,’ she said. ‘Get the file into my office now.’
Caroline ran.
Esteban Tremain looked at the suddenly buzzing telephone with disbelief. Nobody cut him off. Nobody. He began to punch buttons savagely. The door opened. ‘Er—’ said his secretary.
One glance was enough to tell her that he was in a temper. She did not think much of Francesca Moran’s chances of getting in to see him when he looked like that.
Esteban glared at her across the telephone.
‘What?’
‘Miss Moran,’ said Anne fast. Her tone was strictly neutral. ‘She’s been shopping. She wondered if you would like to take her to lunch.’
Esteban breathed hard.
Anne held her breath. When she’d come to work for him three years ago there had been plenty of people to warn her that Esteban would be impossible. He was a heart-breaker; he was a workaholic; he had a fiendish temper. She had learned that it was all true. Only he did not take any of it out on his secretary. Normally…
With an angry exclamation, he threw the telephone from him and flung out of his chair. Anne quietly restored the telephone to its cradle and waited.
Esteban strode up to the floor-length window. He thrust his hands into his pockets and glared out at the rain-lashed lawns. A muscle worked in his cheek.
Esteban wrestled with his temper. None of this was Anne’s fault, he reminded himself. He gave an explosive sigh and swung back to the room.
‘My regrets to Francesca,’ he said rapidly, not sounding regretful at all. ‘Anything else?’
Anne, the perfect secretary, did not protest. She just said carefully, ‘I’ll go along and tell her you’re too busy to see her, shall I?’
There was a small, sizzling pause.
‘She’s here?’
‘I’m