The Daughters of Nightsong. V. J. Banis
like this between them, bitter words, accusations, insults, threats.
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Dinner almost every night at Claridge’s, the opera, that opening at the California Theatre on Bush Street, even taking in the vaudeville show at the Emporium.”
Lydia gasped. “You’ve been spying on me.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he said, but it was true. He had hired that odious detective, Ramsey, when Andrieux packed up and left with little or no explanation. “People talk. You haven’t been exactly discreet.”
“You should talk of discretion,” she charged. “I have no apologies for taking on Raymond, especially when I found out you hired him just to keep him away from my company. My chemist found him in Paris originally and then Monsieur Andrieux disappeared mysteriously, I understand, only to reappear just as mysteriously at P.M. Cosmetics. You knew he was the only Nez capable of duplicating Nightsong and you tried to secret him away from me. You’re contemptible.”
He surprised her by laughing. “And what in hell did you expect me to do, take him by the hand and lead him to you?” He planted his feet firmly and said. “Look, Lydia, I know perfectly well that when Nightsong goes on the market you’re going to make bushels of money, which means stiffer competition for me. I don’t mind the competition so much as I mind what all that money is going to do to you.”
“And what will it do to me?”
“You’re a woman. You don’t know how to handle a company as big as the one you’ll wind up with. It takes a man to handle that kind of an operation.”
“Too bad you aren’t peddling egotism, you’d make a fortune.”
“But it’s true. Even if you do find yourself capable of running a huge corporation, what kind of reliable, self-respecting executives would work for a woman?”
“Raymond Andrieux doesn’t seem to find working for a woman so demeaning.”
“Not all of your key men are going to be interested in sleeping with you.”
If he had been within reach she would have slapped his face. Her temper flared out of control. “Get out of here before I really tell you what I think of you.” She was glad to see she had provoked a glaze of pain in his eyes, but it quickly disappeared. Peter MacNair was not the kind of man who showed he could be hurt.
“I know perfectly well what you think of me, Lydia, and all of it is wrong!”
Their eyes met and held. Peter looked at her, her skin like alabaster with a glow that seemed lighted from within, her eyes bold and flashing. Her figure was still superb, the waist tiny, the breasts and hips lusciously fuller and rounder, a feast for any man’s eyes and something more as well.
He had a sudden urge to seize her in his arms, to tear the clothes from her lovely body and make wild, passionate love to her right here on the floor. It was an effort of will that restrained him from doing exactly that. He knew if he closed his eyes he would again see her naked, her long legs and arms spread wide, her ripe, full breasts trembling with the force of her breath.
But it wasn’t only her beauty that he wanted. She had the Empress’s perfume. He longed to possess them both, but thus far he had failed miserably. He clenched his fists as he told himself that he wasn’t finished with her yet.
Still, it was not only her loveliness that made his blood race, there was something more, something deeper, more difficult to put his finger on. Despite her independence, despite the intelligence and courage she must have had in order to find her way out from under the all-seeing evil eye of the treacherous Dowager Empress, he found Lydia had a touching vulnerability that made him feel oddly as if he wanted to protect her, especially against unscrupulous men like himself.
Peter said, “What I told you about my behavior in China was the truth, Lydia, whether you want to believe it or not.”
Their eyes held. He looked at her, wanting never to look away, afraid that this might well be the last time he’d ever look at her again.
With a great effort he unfixed his gaze, turned slowly and walked out of her office.
CHAPTER FOUR
Raymond Andrieux took off his sleeve guards and visor and got up from the stool beside the lab table. He picked up the Sung Dynasty vial and replaced it in the safe, smiling smugly to himself. A more unscrupulous man would have no compunctions about leaving the beautiful Lydia Nightsong and making his own fortune by reproducing her tantalizing perfume.
He had no such ambitions—yet. All his life he’d been lazy and it was much more interesting to spend other people’s money than spend his own. Depleting one’s own financial reserves only resulted in poverty, while depleting another’s money gave him greater security.
He had been left a bit of money when his father died, but he was too selfish to touch any of it. Instead, he spent the funds belonging to his father’s cosmetic firm, running it into ruin. It made little difference to Raymond because the company belonged to the estate executors, not to him, so what did he care about their money? It wasn’t his fault that they had put him in charge in order to retain the family firm name.
Raymond had luck and courage and always prided himself on being clever. It didn’t require much energy to be crafty; all he found necessary was a simple disregard for everyone else and a quick mind for opportunity.
He was not called Le Nez for nothing, either. Not only did he have a nose for scents, he had a nose for people as well, and especially for women. It was a talent he liked boasting about. He could tell if a woman had something weak in her makeup; just by getting close to her he knew just what temptation she couldn’t resist.
Lydia Nightsong was a determined woman whose purpose was to try and buy her daughter’s affection. In the week or so that he’d spent with them he was quick to see April’s dislike of her mother and Lydia’s obsession with trying to impress her child with her success.
And there was something else about Lydia which he had yet to figure out. Raymond had known many women who wanted wealth because of the luxuries it provided; Lydia didn’t seem to enjoy the affluence in which she lived. She wore handsome jewels but could afford better. She made do with a maid and a housekeeper when she could easily afford three times as many servants. So it wasn’t a love of money that drove her, and it wasn’t only her daughter she wanted to impress. There was some other underlying reason for this compulsion to duplicate Nightsong and Raymond was sure it wasn’t the fortune it would make.
He glanced at the locked safe and then at the beaker resting on the laboratory table. He’d succeeded in copying the Empress’s fragrance but he didn’t intend telling Lydia just yet. There were a few things he had to find out about her and then there was the price to be settled upon. She’d promised him anything and money did not seem enough.
When they were finishing their coffee in Lydia’s drawing room Raymond helped himself to a balloon of brandy and said, “I’m getting very near to the duplication.”
Lydia’s cup clattered on its saucer. “Oh, Raymond, how wonderful. When?”
“Very soon, I think.” He carried his glass back to the velvet settee and settled himself across from her, stretching his long, trim legs out in front of him. He was disappointed when her eyes didn’t move over him. He knew he was extremely handsome and woman constantly admired him. Yet, for all their secret love-making he always got the impression that Lydia was envisioning herself with someone else.
He felt annoyed when she lowered her eyes and got up to refill her coffee cup.
“We haven’t agreed upon my price, you realize.”
Lydia came back and sat down. “As I told you, Raymond, you have but to name a figure. It was agreed that I would pay you whatever you asked.”
Her heart was pounding faster as she saw the way he was looking at her.