Question of Love Read online

  A QUESTION OF LOVE

  BY

  MARINA OLIVER

  Pippa, an American, wants to prove to her protective family that she can stand on her own feet. She is reluctant to return to the States after a few months in England and do as they and her father's partner expect, marry the partner's son Frank.

  Defying Frank, she accepts a job in Minorca as secretarial assistant to a former film star who is planning to write his memoirs. These promise to be explosive, and both his last wife and his nephew Juan try to persuade him to abandon the idea.

  A Question of Love

  By Marina Oliver

  Copyright © 2012 Marina Oliver

  Smashwords Edition

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Cover Design by Debbie Oliver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  First print edition published under the pseudonym Bridget Thorn 1984 by Robert Hale.

  See details of other books by Marina Oliver at http:/www.marina-oliver.net

  AUTHOR NOTE

  Though less well known than its larger neighbour, Majorca, this Balearic island has great attractions, especially the archaeological remains and the beautiful bays and beaches. ISLAND QUEST is set in Majorca if you want to read about that island.

  A QUESTION OF LOVE

  BY MARINA OLIVER

  Chapter 1

  Pippa glanced at her watch and frowned. She was half an hour early for her interview. Then the first heavy drops of rain began to fall and she wished yet again that she had thought to bring an umbrella. She looked nervously at the gorgeously attired doormen at the imposing entrance to the hotel then suddenly made up her mind. Surely it would be possible for her to wait inside until it was time for her to meet her prospective employer.

  Bracing herself she crossed the forecourt and smiled in relief as one of the doormen, looking more like a retired admiral than a flunkey, opened the door and ushered her through. Somehow she had expected these English hotels to be like fortresses, admitting only the very wealthy or the famous with such ease.

  With growing confidence she approached the man seated behind an impressive reception desk.

  'I have an appointment with Mr Watson at eleven. Is there some place I can wait, please?'

  'Coffee lounge, ma'am, first floor. Turn right at the top of those stairs,' he added, and Pippa reminded herself that the English used the term ground floor for the first one. She grinned as she turned away. It was the first time she had been called ma'am, and somehow the term did not suit her petite figure. There was a huge mirror on the half landing and she paused momentarily, her deep brown eyes glinting in amusement as she silently addressed herself as 'Madam Dawson'. Then she stepped closer to the mirror to pat into place a stray curl, and scrutinise her appearance carefully.

  She nodded at length, satisfied. Her discreet dark green skirt and crisp white shirt, topped with a full length dark green coat, looked eminently suitable for the applicant for a confidential secretary's job. The plain black shoes and shoulder bag looked dull, but she had an instinct that anything more frivolous would mitigate against her chances of getting this job. And it was suddenly crucially important that she was accepted.

  She frowned slightly and stepped back from the mirror, and gasped as she collided with a man running lightly up the stairs.

  'Oh, I - I beg your pardon!' she exclaimed, hastily disentangling herself from the arm which he had instinctively thrown round her to prevent her from falling.

  She glanced up at him. He was tall, at least six foot, and had wide, powerful looking shoulders encased in a dark, beautifully cut jacket of fine, expensive tweed. He wore a white silk polo necked sweater and fawn cord pants, but it was his face that held Pippa's gaze.

  He was dark, almost swarthy. His hair was smooth and black, slightly long but well cut and immaculate. His eyes were narrowed as he looked down at Pippa, and were of a startlingly bright blue. A thin face, with high cheekbones and a narrow, almost delicately moulded nose. His lips, parted now to reveal even white teeth, were thin but well shaped. She judged him to be about thirty.

  'Madam can be forgiven for having become lost in the contemplation of such beauty,' he said smoothly, and with a slight bow stepped round her and continued up the stairs, running swiftly and easily and disappearing before Pippa's swift flush had risen from her neck to her cheeks.

  She swallowed, then giggled. She had been called madam twice within a few minutes. Yet he must have considered her vain to stand there apparently admiring her reflection, and for some reason that hurt, for she was not conceited about her looks.

  She did herself an injustice when she thought of herself as ordinary. Small and neat, her body was nonetheless shapely, slim and yet curvaceous at the right places. Her hair which she wore cut short was naturally curly. It was very dark but had a faintly auburn glow in certain lights. Big dark brown eyes gazed from beneath thick eyebrows which Pippa deplored, but which added considerably to the charm of her heart-shaped face. She had a small straight nose and full, generous lips which were usually curved in amusement, for Pippa enjoyed life and often found both herself and other people slightly ridiculous.

  Then she shrugged and continued up the stairs. She had just given her order for coffee when a voice behind her spoke.

  *

  'Pippa! Have you seen him yet?'

  She went rigid before slowly turning to face the young man who had spoken.

  'Frank! How did you know where I was?' she demanded.

  He hooked out a chair with his toe and sat facing her.

  'Dolores told me when I phoned the flat. Look, you can't just run away to the other side of the world because we had a row. Have you seen this fellow yet?'

  'Not yet, and Minorca is not exactly the other side of the world,' she pointed out calmly.

  'It will be when I'm back in California,' he said angrily. 'A bourbon for me,' he added as the waiter deposited the tray of coffee on the table.

  'I'm sorry, sir, the bar is not open,' the waiter replied. 'Will you have coffee?'

  Frank bit back his remark and nodded. 'These stupid bars dictating when you can drink!' he muttered as the man went away.

  'It's rather early in the day to be swigging bourbon!' Pippa replied sharply. 'Frank, we discussed this last night. I'm not coming straight home. I'm not ready to marry you yet.'

  'But why, it's been understood for years!'

  'It may have been what our fathers wanted, since they're cousins and partners and that would be a way of ensuring the business isn't split,' she said slowly, 'but I never agreed.'

  'But you came to England to see me,' he pointed out triumphantly.

  'I came for a long vacation after finishing college,' she said quickly. 'Dolores invited me, and as we'd been pen pals for years and never met it seemed a good opportunity. It was nice you were still here doing your course, but I didn't come only to see you.'

  'But why this sudden urge to get a job?'

  'I've never had one except casual jobs during vacations, and most of those Dad arranged with his friends. I want to prove I can get and hold
down a job on my own.'

  She watched him as he sat back, waiting as the new tray of coffee was placed before him, then she leant over and poured for them both. Muttering his thanks Frank lifted his cup and sat with it warming his hands. His fair hair hung over one eye, and his face was slightly flushed. He was good looking in a sporty, healthy way, and his long muscular legs in his normal jeans were those of an athlete.

  Why could she not accept his love? Pippa knew many of her college friends had envied her his devotion, his constant attention and willingness to escort her wherever she wished to go, but she felt stifled by it. She had known him all her life and the two families had often spent vacations together. Frank, two years older than she, had taught her to swim and to ski, to dance and drive, and had tried to teach her to love him. In this last he had failed although it had only been when he had left California to take a college course in London that she had realised it.

  Suddenly free to accept invitations from other men, she had realised with a shock that Frank meant little more to her than any of the casual dates who took her out. His kisses meant no more to her than those of anyone else, and she had developed a reluctance to marry without some greater feeling than that.

  'You could get a job in the States for a while,' he said suddenly. 'I wouldn't wish to hurry you, darling. I want to get started in the business before we get married.'

  'I've told you I can't marry you, Frank,' she said gently. 'It's not only wanting a job. That's separate. First, I don't love you as I'd want to love the man I married, and secondly, if I were at home, even if I went to Boston or Washington or New York, I'd still have Dad looking over my shoulder to make sure I was doing nothing wrong, and ready to leap in and protect me or rescue me if there was the slightest sign of any problem. I want to prove I can cope on my own and I'd never do that in the States.'

  'But Minorca!' he exclaimed. 'At least you could stay in England.'

  'It's not so easy to get a job here,' she pointed out, growing impatient. 'Besides, this one looks interesting although I haven't got it yet.'

  They argued for a while and then Pippa gasped as she saw the time.

  'Heavens, it's a minute to eleven! It won't make a good impression if I'm late. Sorry, Frank, I must run. I'll phone this evening, I promise.'

  *

  She hurried out of the coffee lounge and up another flight of stairs. The suite of rooms she was looking for was down the corridor to the right and she hurried anxiously along, scanning the numbers on the doors. She had almost reached the right one when Frank caught up with her and seized her arm.

  'Pippa! You can't do this! What will everyone say at home? They expected us to announce our engagement as soon as we got back. I'll not let you make a fool of me. It's been accepted for years that you're mine!'

  'I belong to no one but myself!' Pippa said, dangerously quiet. She rarely lost her temper but when she did it resembled, her mother had once laughingly said, a sudden unheralded explosion. There were a few moments of deathly calm and then the crack of thunder and lightning which annihilated everything in its way.

  'We need not get married straight away,' Frank said desperately, 'but I won't permit you to marry anyone else!'

  'You won't permit me? Just who do you think you are, Frank? You've no claim on me, no rights, and I shall marry just whoever I choose! If I want to marry a senile old man for his money there's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me! I'm going my own way from now on and whatever you may have thought I made you no promises! I will not go home with you! Now go away!'

  Breathing deeply she swung round and raised her hand to hammer on the door of the suite behind her, and once more collided with the man she had met on the stairs. Too furious to be embarrassed she muttered a brief apology, stepped past him and knocked on the door.

  It was opened immediately by a small dark-haired man.

  'Miss Dawson? Please come this way, Mr Watson is expecting you,' he said, his accent indicating he was neither English nor American.

  Closing the door on a still fuming Frank, he led the way into a big, plain but luxuriously furnished sitting room.

  'Please be seated, Miss Dawson. Mr Watson will be with you in a few moments.'

  He disappeared through another door and Pippa sank into a deep low leather chair. Thank goodness she had a few moments to calm herself. She had rarely had rows with Frank and to do so upset her, for he was undoubtedly fond of her. Did he love her? Was it what she thought of as love or was it nearer the same calm affection she had for him? He was possessive and kind and thoughtful, but rarely passionate. He had attempted to caress her intimately only a few times, and had always drawn back when she had repulsed him. Did that indicate lack of desire or gentlemanly consideration, she mused.

  *

  Before she could decide a question which she had often fruitlessly asked herself before, the other door opened and a tall, elderly man entered.

  As he greeted her courteously Pippa studied him with interest. Although his white hair was receding from his high forehead and he was inclined to excess weight, he was still exceptionally goodlooking, and his blue eyes were still bright and sharp. To her surprise he spoke with an American accent similar to her own.

  'I had not realised that you came from the States,' she said impulsively. 'California?'

  'I spent a great deal of time there,' he replied. 'Please sit over here by the window, Miss Dawson. I had the advantage, as my valet told me you were an American after he spoke to you on the telephone yesterday. Why do you want to bury yourself on a small Mediterranean island?' he added abruptly.

  'I don't especially, but it would be interesting for a short time and your ad said a temporary job. I've never been out of the States before, so anywhere would be new and exciting,' she added thoughtfully.

  'You can type, and you are intelligent?' he demanded.

  Pippa raised her eyebrows. 'I can type,' she said slowly. 'I can judge that by results. It's not so easy to be sure I'm intelligent, though I hope I am!'

  'Shorthand?'

  'I'm afraid not. I didn't do a straight secretarial course, just added typing during my spare time at college. The ad didn't ask for it,' she explained, a tinge of regret in her voice.

  'It doesn't matter if you can transcribe direct from tapes. Let me explain the situation. For some years now I have been taping reminiscences with a view to publishing my memoirs. I have other notes in various notebooks, all out of any sort of order. I want someone to type them all up and then help me sort them into a sensible order. Could you do it?'

  'It sounds quite a job,' Pippa commented before she could stop herself, and then bit her lip and looked at him dubiously. He was laughing and she relaxed and grinned back at him.

  'It will be. Does it sound interesting?'

  'Yes, and I think I could cope. I've done a great deal of audio typing during vacations. I worked for my father mostly.'

  'Dawson? The law firm in L.A.?' She nodded.

  'Then you can be discreet as well, I presume? These memoirs are dynamite, I don't want snippets getting into the press before everything is ready.'

  'I can be trusted, Mr Watson.'

  'You would live in my villa. I have a Spanish couple there who cook and clean and drive me about. It's fairly isolated, but there's a pool and boats if that interests you, and I have a few acquaintances living on the island. No doubt you would soon acquire an escort. Otherwise there is little to do apart from look at prehistoric ruins, and there are plenty of them about. I would expect the job to last six months or so.' He mentioned a monthly salary which made Pippa blink in surprise. Apart from the fact that she would have no living expenses it was higher than her father's personal secretary received.

  'I'm only a beginner,' she said doubtfully. 'Do you think I'm worth that? And don't you want to take some references?'

  'I'm paying you for confidentiality,' he replied brusquely. 'As for references, I never trust them. I think I'm a better judge of people than most. The job is you
rs if you want it. I would like to start at the end of next week.'

  'Yes please. And thank you,' Pippa said firmly, casting the last lingering doubts about Frank behind her.

  Mr Watson wrote swiftly on a sheet of paper from his pocket book.

  'Here is the address and the phone number. I'm going back this weekend. Come out next Friday or Saturday, ring to let me know the time your plane arrives and I'll have Luis meet you at Mahon.' He pulled out a cheque book and wrote swiftly. 'Here, that should cover your air fare, use the rest to get clothes or books to amuse you. Goodbye, Miss Dawson, I look forward to a happy collaboration.'

  *

  Before she could fully take in the fact that, unaided, she had landed herself a plum job with a huge salary Pippa found herself outside the suite, the cheque and the paper with the address clutched in her hand, her head still reeling from the suddenness of it all.

  A few minutes later, totally unaware of how she had found her way there, she was standing outside the hotel entrance. She came back to earth at the sound of Frank's voice.

  'Pippa!' he said pleadingly. 'Darling, we must talk. Come and have lunch with me.'

  Pippa blinked and looked at him, then slowly shook her head.

  'It's no good, Frank. It never was, I think.'

  'Don't say that. You're just angry with me and it's true I have no right to interfere, but I can't bear to lose you again. It has been bad enough being in London without you. I was so thrilled when you came here. I thought everything was settled, that you were happy about it and eager to see me again.'

  Pippa sighed.

  'OK, Frank, we'll have lunch but it won't alter my decision about the job. I've accepted it,' she said flatly.

  As they walked along to a quiet restaurant Frank knew, she wondered miserably whether, spurred on by her unusual bout of temper, she had been unfair to Frank. She had never previously given him reason to doubt her willingness to marry him. This morning's row had been a continuation of the one last night, when she had first voiced her doubts. It must have been a shock to him.