The Spanish Groom
‘Security turned that up this morning. Regular financial checks are made on all staff,’ César informed her smoothly.
‘You’re sacking me,’ Dixie assumed sickly, swaying slightly.
Striding forward, César reached for a chair and planted it beside her. ‘Sit down, Miss Robinson.’
Dixie fumbled blindly down into the chair before her knees gave way beneath her. She was waiting for him to ask how such a junior employee could possibly have amassed debts amounting to such a staggering total. Indeed, in that instant of overwhelming shock and embarrassment, she was actually eager to explain how, through a series of awful misunderstandings and mishaps, such a situation had developed through no real fault of her own.
‘I have not the slightest interest in hearing a sob story,’ César Valverde delivered deflatingly as he lounged back against his desk again, his impossibly tall, lean and powerful length taking up a formidably relaxed pose.
‘But I want to explain—’
‘There is no need for you to explain anything. Debts of that nature are self-explanatory. You have a taste for living above your means and you like to party—’
Cringing at the knowledge that he knew about those shameful debts in her name, and her equally shameful inability to settle them, Dixie broke back into speech. ‘No, Mr Valverde. I—’
‘If you interrupt me again, I won’t offer you my assistance,’ César Valverde interposed with icy bite.
Struggling to understand that assurance, Dixie tipped back her wildly curly head and gaped at him. ‘Assistance?’ she stressed blankly.
‘I’m prepared to offer you another form of employment.’
In complete confusion, Dixie blinked.
‘But if you take on the role, it will entail a great deal of hard work and effort on your part.’
Sinking ever deeper into bewilderment, but ready to snatch at any prospect of continuing employment like a drowning swimmer snatches at a branch, Dixie nodded eagerly. ‘I’m not afraid of hard work, Mr Valverde.’
Obviously he was talking about demoting her. Where did you go from office junior? Dixie wondered frantically. Scrubbing the floors in the cafeteria kitchen?
César sent her a gleaming glance. ‘You’re really not in a position to turn my offer down.’
‘I know,’ Dixie acknowledged with total humility, suddenly starting to squirm at the reality of how much she had always disliked him. Evidently she had completely misjudged César Valverde’s character. Even though he had a legitimate excuse to sack her, he seemed to be willing to give her another chance. And if that meant scrubbing the canteen kitchen floor, she ought to say thank you from the bottom of her heart and get on with it.
‘Jasper hasn’t been well.’
The switch in subject disconcerted Dixie. Her strained face shadowed. ‘By what he’s said in his letters he still hasn’t quite got over that chest trouble he had in the spring.’
César looked grim. ‘His heart is weak.’
Dixie’s eyes prickled. That news was too much on top of all her other worries. Her stinging eyes overflowed and she dug into the pocket of her skirt to find a tissue. But the horrible news about Jasper did make sudden sense of César Valverde’s uncharacteristic tolerance, and his apparent willingness to allow her to remain in his employment by fixing her up with another job. He might not approve of her, or of her friendship with Jasper Dysart, but clearly he respected his godfather’s fondness for her. Presumably that was why he wasn’t going to kick her when she was already down.
‘At his age, Jasper can’t hope to go on for ever,’ César gritted, his unease with her emotional breakdown blatant and icily reproving.
Fighting to compose herself, Dixie blew her nose and sucked in a deep, steadying breath. ‘Will he be coming over to London this summer?’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
Then she would never see Jasper again, she registered on a powerful tide of pain and regret. The struggle to stay abreast of the debts Petra had left behind made a trip to Spain as out of reach as a trip to the moon.
‘It’s time we got down to business,’ César drawled with perceptible impatience. ‘I need a favour, and in return for that favour I’m prepared to settle your debts.’
‘Settle my debts…what favour?’ Dixie echoed, lost as to what he could possibly be talking about and stunned by the idea of him offering to pay off those appalling bills. A favour? What sort of favour? How could her staying employed in any capacity within the Valverde Mercantile Bank be any kind of a favour to César Valverde?
César moved restively away from the desk and strode over to the window, the clear light of early summer glittering over his luxuriant hair and hard, classic profile. ‘In all probability, Jasper doesn’t have long to live,’ he spelt out harshly. ‘His dearest wish has always been that I should marry. At this present time I have no intention of fulfilling that wish, but I would very much like to please him with a harmless fiction.’
A harmless fiction? Dixie’s bemusement increased as she strained to grasp his meaning.
‘And that is where you come in,’ César informed her drily. ‘Jasper likes you. He’s very shy with your sex, and as a result he only warms to a certain type of woman. Your type. Jasper would be overjoyed if I announced that we had got engaged.’
‘We…?’ Dixie whispered weakly, certain she had missed a connecting link somewhere in that speech and beginning to stand up, as if by rising from the chair she might comprehend something that she couldn’t follow while still sitting.
César wheeled round, a forbidding cast to his lean features. ‘Your job would be to pretend that you’re engaged to me. It would be a private arrangement between us. You would play the role solely for Jasper’s benefit in Spain.’
A curious whirring sound reverberated in Dixie’s eardrums. Her lungs seemed suddenly empty of oxygen. Disbelief paralysing her, she gazed wide-eyed across the room at César Valverde. ‘You can’t be serious… Me,’ she stressed helplessly, ‘pretend to be engaged to…to you?’
‘Jasper will be convinced. People are always keen to believe what they want to believe,’ César asserted with rich cynicism.
As yet uncertain that this weird conversation was actually taking place, Dixie moved her head in a negative motion. ‘But nobody would believe that…that you and I…’ A betraying tide of colour slowly washed up her throat into her cheeks. ‘I mean, it’s just so unbelievable!’
‘That’s where your upcoming hard work and effort will pay off.’ Once again César studied her with that curious considering frown he had worn earlier. ‘I intend to make this charade as credible as possible. Jasper may be naive, but he’s no fool. Only when I’ve finished transforming you into a slim, elegant Dixie Mark Two will Jasper be truly convinced.’
It crossed Dixie’s mind that César Valverde had been at the booze. A slim Dixie Mark Two? She snatched in a short, sustaining breath. ‘Mr Valverde, I—’
‘Yes, I expect you’re very grateful,’ César dismissed arrogantly, a scornful light in his brilliant dark eyes as he surveyed her. ‘In fact I imagine you can hardly credit your good luck—’
‘My good luck?’ Dixie broke in shakily, wondering how any male so famed for his perception could be so wildly off course when it came to reading her reactions.
‘An image makeover, a new wardrobe, all your debts paid and an all-expenses-paid trip to Spain?’ César enumerated with cool exactitude. ‘It’s more than good luck…from where you’re standing now, it’s the equivalent of striking oil in the desert wastes! And you don’t deserve it. Believe me, if I had an alternative choice of fiancée available you’d have been fired first thing this morning!’
‘I was the only choice, wasn’t I?’ Dixie gathered in a wobbly voice. ‘Your type,’ he had said minutes ago, the only woman liked by Jasper that César Valverde knew. A slim Dixie Mark Two? How dared he get as personal as that? Didn’t he even appreciate that she had feelings that could be hurt? But then why should he care, standing there all lean and fit and perfect, probably never having had to watch his appetite once in his entire spoilt rotten life!
‘That’s irrelevant. By the way, I want this arrangement of ours to stay under wraps.’ César scanned her with threatening dark eyes. ‘Do you understand the concept of keeping a secret, Dixie?’
Locked to those spectacular dark eyes, Dixie felt oddly dizzy and out of breath. ‘A secret?’
‘It’s quite simple. If you open your mouth to another living soul about this deal, I’ll bury you,’ César Valverde murmured with chilling bite.
Dixie blenched. ‘That’s not very funny.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be. It was a warning. And you’ve been in here long enough. As soon as you walk out of this office, you can clear your desk and go home. I’ll be in touch this evening so that we can work out the finer details.’
Dixie lifted her chin, her rarely roused temper rising at the arrogance with which he simply assumed that she would do whatever he told her to do, no matter how immoral or unpleasant it might be. ‘Whatever decision I make, I can now consider myself fired…isn’t that right?’
‘Wow, quick on the uptake,’ César derided smoothly. ‘Too dumb to safely operate anything with a plug attached, but reads Nietzsche and Plato in her spare time. According to Jasper, you have a remarkable brain. And yet you never do anything with it. You certainly never dreamt of bringing it into work with you—’
Her lashes fluttered over huge violet eyes. ‘I beg your—?’
‘But then that’s because you’re a lazy, disorganised lump, who contrives to hide behind the front of being a brick short of the full load! Only around me you won’t get away with that kind of nonsense!’
Disbelief roared through Dixie as she reeled from the full impact of that derisive attack, even though on another level she longed to question him about Jasper having said that she had a remarkable brain. However, anger abruptly overpowered that brief spark of surprised pleasure and curiosity. ‘If I can consider myself fired, then I’m free to tell you exactly what I think of you too!’
César gave her a wolfish half-smile of encouragement. ‘I’m enjoying this. The office doormat suddenly discovers backbone. Make my day… Only be warned—I will respond in kind.’
Teeth almost chattering with the force of her disturbed emotions, Dixie drew herself up to her full unimpressive height and hissed, ‘You have to be the most unscrupulous, selfish human being I have ever met! Doesn’t it even occur to you that I might have some moral objection to cruelly deceiving a sweet old man, who deserves better from a male he loves like a son?’
‘You’re right. That thought didn’t occur to me,’ César confessed, without a shade of discomfiture or remorse. ‘Considering that you’re currently on the brink of being taken to court for obtaining goods and services by fraudulent deception, I’m not remotely impressed by the sound of your moral scruples!’
Dixie shrank and turned white. ‘Taken to c-court?’ she stammered, aghast, her eyes nailed to him in the hope that she had somehow misunderstood.
CHAPTER TWO
‘DIO MIO…’ César raised a winging ebony brow to challenge Dixie’s stricken expression. ‘Didn’t you read that printout I gave you either? The interior designer, Leticia Zane, has instigated proceedings. Did you expect her to be sympathetic towards a client who took advantage of her services without the slightest hope of being able to pay for them?’
Numbly, Dixie shook her pounding head, her stomach curdling. ‘But I haven’t got any more money to give Miss Zane…I’ve already offered instalments.’
César Valverde shifted a broad shoulder in an unfeeling shrug. ‘The lady may well have decided to make a public spectacle of you to deter other clients who are reluctant to settle up. You’re a good choice—’
‘A good choice?’ Dixie parroted, scarcely believing her ears.
‘You don’t have socially prominent friends likely to take offence on your behalf and damage her business prospects.’
‘But…but a court prosecution.’ Dixie squeezed out those words, breathless with horror, utterly appalled by what he was spelling out to her. Her own naivety hit her hard. She stared down at the printout, belatedly reading the small type beneath the debt to Leticia Zane’s firm. ‘Prosecution pending’, it said. Her blood ran cold with fear and incredulity. The interior designer knew very well that all the work on her sister’s apartment had been done at Petra’s behest. Dixie had merely been the mouthpiece who’d passed on the instructions.
‘Delusions of grandeur have a price, like everything else,’ César Valverde sighed.
‘I can’t think straight,’ Dixie mumbled sickly.
‘Sharpen up. I haven’t got all day to wait for an answer that is already staring you in the face,’ César breathed with callous cool.
Dixie gave him a speaking glance from tear-filled eyes and fumbled with the crushed tissue still clutched between her shaking fingers. ‘I just couldn’t deceive Jasper like that, Mr Valverde. I couldn’t live with lying to him. It would be absolutely wrong!’
‘You’re being selfish and shortsighted,’ César drawled crushingly, dealing her a look of hostile reproach. ‘Getting engaged to you is the one thing that I can do to make Jasper happy. What right have you to say that it would be wrong or immoral?’
‘Lies are always wrong!’ Dixie sobbed helplessly, and turned away from him in embarrassment.
‘Jasper won’t ever know it was a lie. He’ll be delighted. I plan to leave you with him in Spain for a few weeks…assuming he’s well enough for me to leave, even temporarily,’ César adjusted flatly.
‘I couldn’t…I just couldn’t!’ Dixie gasped strickenly, already plotting a weaving path towards the door, barely able to see through her falling tears but determined not to be swayed by his specious arguments. ‘And it’s wicked of you to call me selfish. How can you do that?’
‘For Jasper’s sake…easily. I’ll call on you tonight to get your final answer. I think you’ll have seen sense by then.’
Dixie hauled open the door with a trembling hand and shot him an angry, accusing glance. ‘Go to hell!’ she launched thickly as she walked out.
Only as she shut the door behind her did she notice the little gathering of staff standing with dropped jaws further down the corridor.
‘Are you OK, Dixie?’ Bruce Gregory enquired kindly.
One of the directors put his arm round her in a very paternal way to walk her away. ‘We’ll get you sorted out with a job some place else.’
‘Not in a bank,’ someone whispered ruefully.
‘Ever thought of cooking for a living?’ another voice asked brightly. ‘You’re a great cook.’
‘A restaurant kitchen could be very stressful, though.’
‘And I drop things,’ Dixie muttered, a sense of being a total failure creeping over her.
‘Imagine you telling César to go to hell!’ the director remarked bracingly.
‘But he’ll never let Human Resources give her a decent reference now,’ Bruce groaned as the older man slotted her into a seat in the office she shared with a couple of the secretaries. Just about everybody on the whole floor seemed to crowd around her then.
‘He tried to blackmail me,’ Dixie mumbled sickly.
‘Say that again…’ someone breathed.
Dixie reddened, and then turned very pale with fright at what she had almost revealed in her distress and buttoned her mouth. ‘Don’t mind me…I don’t know what I’m s-saying,’ she stammered fearfully.
And she registered then that her brain was in a state of complete flux. What César Valverde had suggested already seemed completely unreal, a figment of her own fevered imagination. A fake engagement to please Jasper? A fantasy slim Dixie Mark Two, united even in pretence with César’s icy sophistication? Did blue moons come up in pairs?
‘I don’t know what we’re going to do for a laugh around here now,’ someone lamented.
‘You’ll have to get your goldfish out of the fountain…wasn’t the ideal environment for them anyway. César raised Cain when he saw you out there feeding them,’ Bruce reminded her ruefully.
‘There’s only one now, and I don’t even have an aquarium!’ Dixie sobbed, because it felt like absolutely the last straw. To take her goldfish out of the fountain below César Valverde’s office and never, ever come back into the building? Suddenly she felt completely bereft and cut adrift.
Across the room, her desk was being cleared for her. One carrier bag grew into three as books, knitting, fish food and sundry items were removed from the crammed drawers. Tissues were supplied and a glass of water was pressed on her.
‘We’re all going to really miss you, Dixie…so we had a lot of fun.’ She was mortified when a large fat envelope was thrust by Bruce into her shoulder bag. She realised then that everyone had known even before she did that she was getting fired, and had been waiting to comfort her.
‘I’ll give you a lift home with your bags,’ Bruce volunteered.
The chipped china jardinière was filched from beneath the dying cactus on her desk, and the goldfish she had found abandoned at the bus stop in a plastic bag removed with some difficulty from the fountain and temporarily rehoused.
‘I just can’t get over how kind everyone’s been,’ Dixie confided as she climbed into Bruce’s car in the basement car park.
She clutched the planter with careful hands, gazing down at the single handsome goldfish she had secretly christened, César. He had eaten his original companion, and even the one she’d actually bought for him, fearing that he would be lonely. César the fish was up near the surface, patrolling with fast flicks of his tail. Dixie gave him a loving and abstracted smile.
‘César can be a real bastard. But the guy’s a complete genius. You can’t expect him to be human too. Try not to think about it. Go round and do Scott’s washing…or whatever,’ Bruce advised, striving to be upbeat. ‘That always seems to give you a lift.’
Yes, it did, she acknowledged ruefully, only this evening she would be waiting tables. But doing anything for Scott gave her the feeling that she had some small personal stake in his busy life. And in the right mood, if Scott didn’t have a hot date or wasn’t eating out, he might suggest that she cooked some supper and stayed to eat with him. She lived for those infrequent invitations.
‘You were in with César a very long time,’ Bruce commented abruptly.
‘We talked a little about Jasper.’
‘Dixie…why did you say César tried to blackmail you?’
‘I must’ve been trying to make a silly joke…’
Bruce sent her scared face a covert appraisal. ‘He never did approve of your friendship with the old man. Can’t think why.’
As soon as Bruce had carried her bags upstairs for her, he left to speed back to the office, long hours being a feature of his highly paid employment. Dixie unlocked the door of her flat. She transferred César the fish into a large glass mixing bowl and fed him, setting him next to the window in the hope that a view of the pigeons on the roof opposite would keep him entertained.
Locking up again, she went down the street to call in on a neighbour she often babysat for at weekends. In return the older woman kept her Jack Russell dog, Spike, during the day.
She took Spike for a quick walk in the park, and then nervously carried him back up to her flat for the night. She wasn’t allowed to keep pets, but she had never had any bother sneaking Spike in after it got dark. Now that the light nights had arrived, she was really scared that she would be seen.
How on earth had her life got into such a terrible, frightening mess? she asked herself in a daze as she watched Spike wolf down his dinner. The future had looked so promising when she had first come up to London to share Petra’s spacious apartment, certainly a lot brighter than it had seemed for many years beforehand…
Dixie’s mother had died when she was five and her father had remarried the following year. It was hard to recall even now that Petra wasn’t really her true sister but actually her stepsister—the daughter of her father’s second wife, Muriel. Already a teenager, Petra had had little interest in a child seven years younger, but Dixie had always longed for a big sister and had adored blonde and beautiful Petra. At seventeen, Petra had left home on her first modelling assignment.
A year later, Dixie’s father had died of a heart attack, and the year after that Muriel had shown the first symptoms of what was to prove to be a long, debilitating terminal illness. Dixie had never managed to pass any exams because she had been forced to miss so much school. Whenever Muriel’s health had been particularly bad, Dixie had had to stay at home to see to her needs. She had left school at sixteen.
Over the following four years, Petra had sent money home regularly but the demands of a career which took her all over the world had made it impossible for her to visit much. A year ago, Muriel Robinson had passed away, and Dixie had more or less invited herself up to London to stay with Petra. Used to living alone, Petra had understandably not been too keen on the arrangement at first, but had soon appreciated that Dixie could look after her apartment when she herself was abroad.
For her own convenience, Petra had opened a household account in both their names, and paid in sufficient money to cover her bills, so that Dixie could easily pay them for her. And when, soon afterwards, Dixie had started work at Valverde Mercantile, she had had her entire salary paid into the same account.
Dixie had frequently ordered expensive food and alcohol for Petra’s lavish parties. In the same way she had dealt with Leticia Zane, after the interior designer’s initial meeting with Petra, ensuring that all the costly redecoration was done in exactly the way her sister wished.
And then, about three months ago, Petra had suddenly announced that she was leaving the UK. Giving up the lease on her apartment, she had packed her bags and flown to Los Angeles. Dixie had moved into the flat. But within weeks the demands for payment had begun rolling in from her sister’s creditors. Dixie had discovered that the joint account was not only empty of her own savings but also overdrawn. Only after the deputy bank manager had patiently explained it to her had Dixie understood that she herself could be held liable for Petra’s unpaid bills.
She had immediately phoned her sister. After admitting that she was broke, but promising to help as soon as she could, Petra had rather drily reminded Dixie of all the money she had generously sent over the years that Dixie had been nursing her mother, Muriel. And Dixie had felt really guilty, because tough as those years had been they would have been intolerable without Petra’s financial assistance.
But the next time Dixie had phoned that same number she had been told that Petra had moved on without leaving a forwarding address. That had been two months ago, and since then she hadn’t heard a word from her sister.
The awful fear that Petra had not the slightest intention of getting in touch again, or of trying to satisfy her creditors, was now beginning to haunt Dixie. She felt so disloyal, thinking about Petra that way. Yet in her heart of hearts she was facing up to the harsh fact that her glamorous stepsister invariably put her own needs first.
And Dixie was terrified of being taken to court and appalled by the reality that she had no way of settling those dreadful bills. That was so unfair to the creditors concerned, and César Valverde had offered to pay them…
‘CAN I JUST RUN OVER this again?’ Dixie asked the table of customers anxiously. ‘That’s one cheeseburger with pickles, one without dressing, a double—’
‘How many times do we have to go over this?’ one of the teenagers groaned. ‘A double hamburger with pickles, a single cheeseburger without…’
Pink with embarrassment, Dixie hurried to amend her notebook as the girl ran through the entire order again. Beneath the jaundiced eye of the manager, Dixie thrust the order over the counter.