was March 14th, and Laura had had no difficulty in making the association.
She rang the club first, guessing that as it was after six o’clock Jason was most likely to be there. If he was in Honolulu, of course, she reflected, crossing her fingers. There was no absolute guarantee. Just her own recollection of his movements, and the fervent hope that this trip to Hawaii had not been a fool’s errand.
A man answered, a man whose voice she didn’t recognise, and adopting her most confident tone, she asked to speak to Mr Montefiore. ‘It’s a personal matter of some urgency,’ she explained, hoping that by mentioning the personal nature of her call, the man would at least be curious.
‘Just a minute,’ he said, and the line went dead, indicating she assumed that she had been dealt with by a switchboard, and that her call was receiving more serious attention. Come on, come on, she urged impatiently, running first one, and then a second, moist palm over the knees of her trousers. Jason wasn’t the Pope, after all. What on earth could be taking so long?
‘Yes?’
Another male voice had taken the place of the switchboard attendant, and Laura tried to identify the brusque address. It wasn’t Jason, that much was certain, but there was something vaguely familiar about that clipped inquiry.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said again, swallowing her uncertainty. ‘I—er—I’d like to speak to Mr Montefiore, please. This—this is Laura Huyton.’
‘Laura!’ The voice definitely exhibited surprise now, and the warmer vowels gave her her first clue.
‘Phil?’ she ventured, and hearing his swift intake of breath: ‘Phil Logan? Yes, it’s me; Laura.’ She took a gulp of air. ‘Is Jason there?’
‘Where are you, Laura?’ Without answering, he turned the question against her. ‘You sound pretty close. Are you here, in Oahu?’
Laura hesitated, and then she replied resignedly, ‘Yes. I arrived a couple of hours ago. Phil, I need to speak to Jason urgently. If he’s there, I’d appreciate it if you’d get him to the ‘phone.’
There was silence for a few seconds, and then Logan spoke again. ‘Does Jason know you’re coming?’ he inquired, his tone almost imperceptibly cooler now. And at her swift denial, ‘What are you doing in Honolulu, Laura? I have to tell you—I don’t think Jason will agree to see you.’
Laura’s lips compressed. ‘What I’m doing here I’ll tell Jason, and no one else,’ she retorted. ‘Don’t you think you should at least give him a chance to refuse? It is important. You can tell him that.’
Again the silence stretched between them, and Laura could feel the nerves in her stomach tightening unpleasantly. She had eaten little since that morning, and the hollow feeling she was experiencing was partly due to her emptiness. But, she couldn’t deny a certain irritation at the attitude Phil Logan was adopting, and although she knew she had no right to expect anything of Jason, she resented being thwarted by one of his employees.
‘I can’t ask Jason to speak to you, because he isn’t here,’ Logan announced at length, and Laura expelled her breath on a sigh.
‘You mean—he’s at the apartment?’
‘Mr Montefiore doesn’t live in Honolulu any more, Laura,’ he responded reluctantly, his deliberate use of Jason’s surname creating a barrier even a fool could not overlook; and Laura was no fool. ‘He … er … if you’d like to give me the address of the hotel where you’re staying, and your ‘phone number, I’ll pass your message on. That’s the best I can do.’
Laura’s jaw quivered, and she clamped her teeth together to arrest the weakness. But it was anger, not emotion, that caused her breathing to quicken and the blood to run more thinly through her veins. How dare Phil Logan behave as if she was some pitiful hanger-on, desperate for a hand-out? she thought furiously. When had she ever treated him with anything less than courtesy, even when she had been living in Jason’s luxurious penthouse and Logan had been pulling beers in the nightclub bar?
‘Thanks,’ she said now, deciding there was no point in pursuing her frustration with him. ‘I’m staying at the Kapulani Reef Hotel. It’s on Haleiwa Avenue—’
‘I know where it is,’ responded Logan swiftly, evidently taking it down, and Laura contained her resentment at his tone.
‘Room 409,’ she added, just for good measure, and then rang off before he could make some comment about her choice of accommodation.
But with the receiver replaced on its cradle, Laura found that she was shaking. Somehow, she had never expected Jason’s employees to treat her like a pariah. Phil Logan had acted as if Jason had thrown her out, instead of the way it really was. Was that what Jason had told his men? That he had thrown her over?
Getting up from the bed, she walked nervously across to the open windows, rubbing her palms against the unexpectedly chilled flesh of her upper arms. So much for speaking to Jason tonight, she thought bitterly. He might not even get the message. If she didn’t hear from him within the next twenty-four hours, she would have to think of some other method of finding him. But how? Logan hadn’t even told her where he was living. He could be on the mainland for all she knew. Over two thousand miles away, and as remote as he had ever been.
She supposed she ought to go downstairs and find the coffee shop. Maybe, with something to eat and several cups of coffee inside her she would feel more capable of handling the situation. Right now, she had the horrible suspicion that her journey had been a waste of time, and she couldn’t help remembering that Pierce had threatened to fire her if she didn’t return within the week.
Stepping out on to the verandah, she rested her hands on the iron rail and looked down at the street below. There were few people walking, but there were plenty of cars using the connection between Kalakaua Avenue and Kapiolani Boulevard; long expensive limousines, driven by the more affluent members of the community, through to topless beach buggies, rattling along at a reckless pace.
But Laura hardly saw them. She was thinking about Pierce and his objections to her trip. Of course, he had not known before she left exactly what she would find in San Francisco, any more than she had. Even so, when she had ‘phoned him from Pamela’s apartment after her sister had been taken to the hospital, he had not shown a lot of sympathy. Pierce Carver was used to getting his own way, and that did not include losing his secretary at a significant point in his latest book.
Laura sighed. As the author of some fifteen novels, and popularly regarded as the doyen of psychological thrillers, Pierce would survive, whatever happened. Pamela might not. For the next few days, he would have to persevere with the dictaphone he had acquired some years ago, and if that was not satisfactory, he would no doubt make other arrangements. Whether those ‘arrangements’ would involve her dismissal, Laura could not be absolutely sure. Pierce was artistic and temperamental, and he tended to say things in anger he did not actually mean. Not that she considered herself indispensable, of course. No one was that. But she had worked for him for almost three years, and she knew his idiosyncrasies so well.
She remembered his dismay when she had told him about Pamela’s ‘phone call. ‘But you can’t just walk out on me, Laura,’ he had wailed. ‘We’re at the most crucial stage of the book. Whatever slough of despond your sister has got herself into cannot—simply cannot—be allowed to interfere with your obligations to me. Heavens, the girl’s not a child, is she? She’s over twenty-one. You’re her sister, not her mother!’
There
