Emma Darcy: Climax Of Passion

The stranger said nothing. The black blaze of his eyes would have incinerated most people but his target was cocooned in self-importance. He lifted a hand. Amanda prayed for more time. The hand moved up to shoulder height as though he intended to slap it onto the counter. But it did not descend.

A man loitering near the fountain moved abruptly into a brisk walk towards the desk. He wore a black suit and carried a black leather attaché case. Amanda recognised him as a guest who had booked in two days ago, a Mr Kozim from Bejos, a rather portly, middle-aged man, darker in skin tone than the stranger in front of her and more obviously of Middle Eastern origins.

He came to a halt beside the stranger who then lowered his hand but did not so much as glance at the man who had responded to his signal. Mr Kozim placed his attaché case on the desk, opened it, removed a typed page with the letterhead of the Oasis chain, and passed it to Charles Arnold.

‘For legal purposes you will find that document is signed by Jebel Haffa,’ the stranger stated bitingly. ‘I hope you will recognise his signature.’

Charles Arnold began sputtering. ‘What is the meaning of this? It can’t be...’

‘It means that as of this moment you are relieved of your duties as assistant manager of this hotel,’ came the hard, relentless reply. ‘You are no longer employed here. You have no further involvement with the Oasis chain.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Charles Arnold blustered. ‘I’m calling the general manager.’

‘That would be expedient.’

Amanda reached for the phone. Charles Arnold beat her to it. This call was too important to be entrusted to a menial like Amanda.

Charles Arnold protested his fate in acrimonious terms.

Amanda’s mind whirled.

Charles Arnold had given her hell. He had fabricated a complaint against her. He had harassed and hounded her, belittled and demeaned her, persecuted her to the limits of endurance.

The stranger had told her not to do it.

She ignored the order.

Amanda’s need to even the score between herself and Charles Arnold was a stronger force.

She pressed the Enter key.

She turned to face Charles Arnold directly, her gaze level, her voice level, her manner civil and courteous, her bearing reserved, dignified and aloof.

‘You wanted these figures, sir,’ she said evenly. ‘For your promotion, sir.’

‘You dumb stupid blonde bitch!’ Charles Arnold snorted like a chained killer dog deprived of its prey.

‘I’m sorry I’m a dumb stupid blonde bitch, sir,’ she said, taking intense pride in appearing totally unruffled. There was no way Charles Arnold could ever hurt her again. She had given him the coup de grâce . There would be no festering wounds left over from this encounter. She would not spend any more nights blistering over her resentments at his petty tyranny.

She turned slowly towards the stranger and caught the look in his eyes. It took her breath away. She had seen desire before in men’s eyes. Occasionally she had seen lust. She had never before confronted a message of such blazing conviction. I want you , his eyes said. I’ll have you. And what I have I keep .

She saw it, felt it, yet it was over in an instant. A shutter snapped closed. The blaze was gone, replaced by impenetrable darkness.

The muscles of her stomach clenched. Her thighs tightened in response. Her eyelids dropped fractionally as his own had done previously, but her facade of cool composure did not falter.

The stranger and Mr Kozim ignored every word uttered by Charles Arnold. Like water off a duck’s back, Amanda thought. Xa Shiraq’s hatchet man and his secretary had probably arranged this scene long before it was enacted.

She felt no sympathy for Charles Arnold. After his persecution of her, he deserved none. She was relieved at his removal from the staff.

The general manager made his entrance, coming in behind the front desk to line up beside his chief assistant and lend authoritative support. ‘What is the problem?’ he demanded in frowning inquiry.

‘Did you employ this man?’ Mr Kozim asked, pointing at Charles Arnold.

‘I most certainly did,’ the manager replied happily.

‘Here is an official letter, relieving you of your position and responsibilities within the Oasis chain,’ Mr Kozim said affably. He reached inside his briefcase, scanned the contents of a letter, and passed it to the general manager. ‘You will note it is signed by Jebel Haffa,’ Mr Kozim added idly.

‘You...you can’t do this...’ The words stuttered out.

‘It’s done,’ the voice of the stranger cut in peremptorily.

‘But you have no senior management left...you’ll need us.’

‘It has been taken care of. Miss Buchanan...’ His gaze swung to her.

Amanda was astonished. ‘You know my name.’

‘I know everything ,’ he said with becoming modesty, ‘that is important to me.’

Amanda pulled herself together. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said with becoming deference. ‘I’m sure you do.’

‘Miss Buchanan, there is a letter for you.’ The stranger nodded to Mr Kozim whose hand dived into the attaché case.

Amanda’s heart sank. The fabricated complaint had served its purpose. Her future plans were shattered, her goals more unattainable than ever.

She noted the triumphant smirk on Charles Arnold’s face. Despite his immense chagrin at his own predicament, nothing diluted his pleasure in bringing someone else down.

She forced herself to take the letter. Her hands felt nerveless, divorced from her body. The words printed on the page were scrambled and incomprehensible. She concentrated her attention, and deciphered what was written.

By the order of Xa Shiraq, Miss Amanda Buchanan is appointed general manager of the Oasis Hotel at Fisa, commencing at 3 o’clock on...

The date followed, and beneath the date was the signature of Jebel Haffa.

Her hand trembled at the import of that briefly stated command. Her eyes flew to the wall clock. It was exactly three o’clock. Clockwork precision. A little masterpiece of organisation and planning, everything accounted for.

‘Your new assistants will arrive within the hour.’

Her gaze swung back to the man who served Xa Shiraq with such unswerving commitment to his orders. He did not ask her whether she would take the job. He knew she would.

‘Kozim, you will accompany these two gentlemen to their respective offices in order to clear their desks,’ was his next command.

Amanda watched them go, their numb disbelief equalled only by her own.

‘You have two minutes to effect a temporary reorganisation.’ This command was directed at her, galvanising her attention. The black eyes glinted with unyielding purpose. ‘Then you will escort me to the Presidential Suite.’

‘Very well, sir,’ Amanda said with all the aplomb she could muster. She had to think quickly. The front desk had to be restaffed. The rest could wait.

She dialled the office secretary. ‘Please come and fill in at the front desk,’ she commanded. The man in front of her, listening to what was going on, was ruthless.

She met resistance. ‘That’s not in my job description.’

‘If you’re not here in one minute you won’t have a job.’

‘Mr Arnold said...’

‘Mr Arnold has been relieved of all duties.’

Amanda put the receiver down. Next was housekeeping. She organised butler service for the Presidential Suite. She commandeered an affable young waiter for the front desk in case the secretary didn’t turn up.

There was something else she had to do. She had to find out the name of the man in front of her, and what his connection was to Xa Shiraq.

Amanda headed for the computer. ‘What name will I use for your reservation, sir?’ she asked sweetly.