Legend Of Lexandros. Anne Mather
was not coming up to town this evening and Dallas felt a carefree liveliness assail her as she walked to the telephone. Sometimes Charles was a little too overbearing.
The kiosk was already occupied, so she stood around stamping her feet to stop the chilling wind from piercing the warm quilted lining of the anorak, and then when the man emerged, she slid inside thankfully. It was March, but so cold it could have been January, and spring seemed a long way away.
Dallas rang the Dorchester, and inserted her money, and when the receptionist answered, a man this time, she felt relieved. At least she would not have the ignominy of asking the same questions to the same girl.
But when she asked for Mr Stavros, the man’s answers were practically the same as the girl’s had been. So deciding she might as well speak to the secretary, a Mr. Karantinos, she was put through to the suite.
A maid answered at first, and then she heard the accented tones of Stephanos Karantinos.
‘Oh … er … good evening,’ said Dallas, biting hard on her lip. ‘Would it be possible for me to speak to Mr. Stavros? It’s a personal matter.’
‘Mr. Stavros is changing for an evening engagement,’ replied Stephanos Karantinos. ‘Surely I can be of assistance. You say it is of a personal nature. In what way is this so?’ He was polite, but unyielding.
Dallas sighed. ‘It’s to do with Paris, Mr. Stavros’s son. He is at present going around with my sister Jane.’
‘Yes?’ The voice was clipped. ‘This is what you wish to speak to Mr. Stavros about?’
‘Yes. I … I … want it stopped!’
She was aware she had shocked the man, but in an amused way, for he burst out laughing, and she felt unreasonably angry.
‘It’s no laughing matter,’ she exclaimed hotly, and then heard the sound of voices as though someone else had joined him and was asking what the joke might be. There was more laughter, and then another voice reached her ears, a deep attractive voice, with barely a trace of accent.
‘Alexander Stavros speaking. To whom do I address myself?’ His tone was mocking, but Dallas was too relieved to be actually speaking to Stavros himself to care.
‘My name is Dallas Collins, Mr. Stavros,’ she answered shakily. ‘This … this is rather difficult for me, but my sister Jane works for your company in the London office, and she is at present infatuated with your son Paris. I want you, if you will, to use your influence to stop this affair before anything unfortunate happens.’
‘Unfortunate? For whom?’
‘For Jane, of course.’
‘Indeed?’ There was silence for a moment, and then he continued: ‘It seems to me, Miss Collins, that you are interfering in something which is actually no concern of yours.’
‘No concern? Jane is only seventeen. Our parents are dead, and I am legally her guardian!’
‘Paris is only eighteen, Miss Collins.’
Dallas sighed heavily. ‘I know that. Look, Mr. Stavros, I can quite see that this might sound rather ridiculous, but if you knew the circumstances …’ Her voice trailed away.
‘Calm yourself. Miss Collins. Things are never as bad as they seem.’ She could tell from his tone that he was not so amused now. ‘I am not satisfied that Paris could do your sister any harm, Miss Collins. He is an intelligent boy, not a moron!’ He seemed to be thinking for a few moments, and then he said: ‘I do not care to discuss my private affairs over the telephone. I have a dinner engagement, but I will cancel it. I suggest you come here to see me, Miss Collins, so that we may discuss this matter more fully.’
‘Oh, but …’ Dallas swallowed hard. ‘I … I couldn’t do that!’
‘Why not? This is not a clandestine meeting, Miss Collins. My secretary, Stephanos, will be present. No matter what you may think of my son, I can assure you I have no interest in you personally.’
His tone was arrogant and assured, and Dallas felt like banging the phone down and forgetting she had ever rung him. But she couldn’t do that so she said with ill grace: ‘All right, Mr. Stavros. But I can’t think of anything more to say.’
Alexander Stavros merely said: ‘I’ll expect you in fifteen minutes, yes? Or is that not long enough?’
‘I … I’ll do my best.’ Dallas rang off, and came out of the kiosk frowning deeply. Now what had she let herself in for?
A bus deposited her near the Dorchester hotel, and she approached its entrance with some trepidation. She wished she had had time to go home and change before this meeting, but Stavros’s arrogant command to be at the hotel in fifteen minutes had left no room for anything, although she was supremely conscious of the shortcomings of pants and an anorak as attire for an evening in the West End of London. Still, she argued with herself, she had no desire to impress the man. If he took a dislike to her, he might wish more readily to resolve the relationship between his son and her sister.
She approached the reception desk cautiously, aware of the curious eyes turned in her direction, and expecting every moment to be brought up short by the sound of an arresting voice. But nothing happened, and the receptionist himself had obviously been forewarned of her arrival because he treated her with respect, and asked her politely to wait while he rang the Stavros suite.
In a few minutes which actually seemed like aeons to Dallas, she was approached by a small, slim dark man with greying hair, and a kind and good-natured appearance. Dallas rose hastily to her feet. Was this Alexander Stavros, then? Heavens, she thought, at least he looks understanding, even though his appearance did not quite line up with her picture of him after hearing that arrogant voice over the phone.
But her expectations were doomed from the start. ‘Good evening, Miss Collins,’ he said, smiling. ‘My name is Stephanos Karantinos. I am secretary to Mr. Stavros.’
His secretary! Dallas sighed, and said: ‘I’m Dallas Collins, how do you do?’
‘Come,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘Mr. Stavros is waiting to see you.’
A lift transported them to the upper regions of the hotel, and Stephanos Karatinos looked rather strangely at Dallas.
‘Tell me, Miss Collins,’ he said, leaning against the wall of the lift as it glided silently upwards, ‘is your sister like you?’
Dallas shrugged. ‘I … I … well … in some ways.’
Stephanos Karantinos slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘Paris has good taste,’ he remarked, as casually as though they were discussing the weather, and Dallas turned bright red with embarrassment.
She was relieved when the lift halted and Stephanos straightened, and indicated she should precede him along the pile-carpeted corridor that confronted them. She was a mass of nerves and she hardly knew what to expect.
Double white doors admitted them to the suite of rooms taken over by the Stavros company, and Dallas paused on the cream-coloured pile carpet just inside the suite doors feeling hopelessly out of her depth. Stephanos Karantinos closed the doors, and crossed the short space which gave on to two shallow steps which separated the rest of this huge lounge from the entrance.
Dallas stared about her in astonishment. She had never, not even with her father, experienced such luxury—white leather chairs and scarlet drapes, Swedish wood and lots of low divans covered in rugs. She stood there in her pants and anorak feeling like the cat who went to look at the queen.
And as though to deepen this image a woman rose lazily from one of the divans at their entrance and stared across at Dallas mockingly, scarlet-tipped nails vivid against the black cigarette holder she was using.
Dallas’s eyes were drawn to her as she was the only other occupant of the room, and she wondered who the woman was. Her hair, very dark and sleek, was swept into a high knot on top of her head,