As she sat down, Smyth spread a napkin across her knees.
‘I understand, madam. You are a perfectionist.’
She looked at him and smiled.
‘And so are you, Smyth.’
He bowed and moved to the door, then paused.
‘I regret to tell you I will be unable to go with you to the concert.’
Shannon, who was beginning the meal, put down her fork and looked up sharply.
‘But why?’
‘Mr Jamison requires dinner tonight at eight o’clock.’
They looked at each other.
Shannon felt a cold clutch of loneliness. She had looked forward so much to having Smyth with her. To have him greet her after the concert. How good it would have been to have him drive her home and to hear his opinion of her performance.
She felt sick with disappointment: so sick the shrimp and lobster salad became repulsive to her.
‘I am very, very sorry, Smyth.’
‘I am sorry too, madam,’ and, with a bow, Smyth left the room.
Shannon got to her feet and began to move around the large, sunlit room.
This can’t go on, she thought. Sherry and I must separate. I know he hates me. I can feel it. My love for him is draining away. Oh, God! Why can’t I give him a son? We must separate!
While she was pacing up and down, Jamison was in a telephone booth, talking to Tarnia.
As usual, she sounded a little breathless, but the sound of her voice gave Jamison a great lift.
‘How about dinner tonight?’ he asked, after their greetings were over.
‘Why, yes. I’d love it.’
‘Fine! Suppose we meet at the Stone Crab at eight thirty. Would that be all right?’
The Stone Crab restaurant was a small discreet fish restaurant situated some five miles outside Paradise City where neither Jamison nor Tarnia was likely to run into people they knew.
‘I’ll be there, Sherry.’
‘Be seeing you, darling,’ and Jamison hung up. He drew in a deep breath. There was much careful thinking to be done. This would be his one and only chance to convince Tarnia that they would soon be able to get married.
He spent the rest of the afternoon in the almost deserted, comfortable lounge of the Athletic Club. He sat in a deep chair in a far corner and no one approached him. He considered his future, thought of Lucan and made up his mind what he would tell Tarnia when they met that evening. Finally, satisfied that he had his thinking right, he went into the Bridge room and played three rubbers with elderly members, playing badly while he kept thinking of Tarnia.
He returned to his villa soon after 20.00.
Smyth had seen Shannon off in her car to the concert, and had prepared a plate of cold cuts for Jamison.
Knowing how anxious Conklin was to have the evening off, Smyth said as he opened the front door for Jamison, ‘Good-evening, sir. Do you wish Conklin to return the rented car?’
‘No. Tell him to garage the car.’
‘Very good, sir. Will you be needing Conklin tonight?’
‘How the hell do I know?’ Jamison snapped. ‘Hasn’t he anything to do?’ And he started for the stairs.
‘Your supper-tray is ready, sir. Should I serve it in the study?’
‘Supper-tray I’ll be dining out!’ Jamison barked, and went up the stairs and to his bedroom.
At that moment, Smyth, furious, was about to face Jamison and give his notice. He had had enough of this selfish, inconsiderate man, then he thought of Shannon. As long as she remained, then he would remain. He suppressed his feelings and returned to the kitchen.
Changing quickly, Jamison came down the stairs to the lobby.
‘I want the Rolls!’ he shouted. ‘Hurry up!’
Smyth appeared.
‘In two minutes, sir,’ he said. ‘Will you be requiring me tonight?’
Jamison glared at him.
‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded. ‘You’re paid to give service. I may need you. Busy yourself!’
‘Very good, sir,’ Smyth said, realizing his last hope of rushing to the concert had faded.
A few minutes later, Jamison drove away in the Rolls.
At 20.50, he left the Rolls in a dark place near the Stone Crab, then entered the restaurant to be greeted by Mario, the Maītre d’hoteclass="underline" a short, fat man with a constant smile. Mario immediately recognized Jamison, who had been before.
‘My great pleasure, Mr Jamison,’ he said.
Jamison nodded coldly. He didn’t believe in being familiar with maītre d’s nor waiters.
‘A quiet table for two,’ he said.
‘Certainly, sir.’
The restaurant only catered for forty people. Each table was so arranged that other diners could not observe their fellow diners.
Mario led the way to a table at the far end of the room, by the big open window, overlooking the sea.
As Jamison sat down, he said, ‘As soon as my guest arrives, serve two very dry vodka martinis.’
‘Certainly, sir.’ With a little flourish Mario went away.
From experience, Jamison knew Tarnia was always late, and that was the reason why he had also arrived late.
At 21.15, Tarnia came to the table. Jamison, seeing her coming, was standing. Their greeting was carefuclass="underline" just smiles and a quick handshake. If there was anyone to report their meeting, it would seem like two people on a business deal.
A waiter appeared and set the martinis before them.
‘You arrange everything so beautifully,’ Tarnia said. ‘It’s wonderful to see you again.’
Jamison regarded her. What a woman! he thought. Her white trouser suit with a touch of scarlet at the throat was so chic. Her glossy hair and her beauty seemed to light up the dimly lit restaurant.
‘And I can tell you how marvellous it is for me to see you again. I suppose you are very, very busy?’
‘As always.’ She paused as Mario presented the menus. She scarcely glanced at hers. ‘You choose, Sherry.’
‘Hungry?’
‘Hmm. I’ve been so busy. I didn’t have lunch.’
‘Then let’s start with crab and go on to the paella. It’s good here.’
‘Lovely.’
They waited until Mario had gone away, then Jamison said gently, ‘You look marvellous, Tarnia. Every time I see you, you pull at my heart-strings.’
She smiled.
‘Thank you. And you? You have a marvellous tan.’
‘Oh, golf. That’s all I seem to do, except business, and think of you.’
The dressed crab was served.
‘This looks wonderful,’ Tarnia said and began to eat.
Jamison had no appetite. He picked at the food. His mind was concentrating on the moment when he would have to talk seriously to Tarnia.
For several minutes, they ate in silence. Every now and then, Jamison glanced at her, aware that she was a little tense. He waited until the waiter had cleared the dishes, then he said, ‘Something up, Tarnia?’
‘You always know, don’t you?’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Yes. I had a telephone call this afternoon from Rome. Guiseppi has invited me to show my collection at his show. It is a marvellous opportunity. He wants me to fly there the day after tomorrow. It’s an opportunity too good to miss.’
Before Jamison could reply, the paella was served, he was grateful for the delay. His mind worked quickly. This could be the solution to the problem that had been worrying him.
‘Will you be away long?’ he asked.
‘At least two weeks. I hope you don’t mind, Sherry, but you must see I can’t miss such an opportunity. To show my designs to Guiseppi… well!’
‘It could be longer than two weeks?’ He was probing now.
‘I suppose it could. I’ll fly out with my designs. The actual show isn’t until the end of next week. There will be all kinds of things to discuss.’
‘Three weeks?’
‘Sherry, don’t try to tie me down.’ She smiled at him. ‘Yes, it could even be three weeks.’