An Unequal Partnership Read online

  'Kingston Air isn't going to come to a grinding halt because one member of staff has an attack of nerves on the Tannoy,' she said witheringly. She looked across to the line of check-in desks. A scarlet-faced girl in the blue and cream uniform of Kingston Air was standing self-consciously by the Tannoy. 'She's one of the summer temps,' Mike explained lightly. 'She only started on Monday.'

  'And is it your usual policy to place untrained, inexperienced and obviously incompetent staff alone on the check-in desk?'

  Mike felt her hackles rising in response to the sardonic voice, her antipathy towards the man with the chilling grey eyes increasing by the second. She longed to retaliate but was uncomfortably aware that his criticism was perfectly justified. Matthew would never have allowed one of the seasonal girls to be left unsupervised on the check-in desk until he had judged them sufficiently capable and confident.

  'Of course not,' she finally muttered, frowning. 'I haven't actually been down to the airport much over the last few weeks,' she continued rapidly. 'I've been...' She stopped in mid-sentence, appalled with herself. She sounded like a schoolgirl making excuses for not completing her homework. Why did she feel so defensive? Why did she once again have that urgent desire to justify herself to this arrogant male? She took a step away from him.

  'Shall we go through to the offices?' Swiftly, she began to walk around behind the check-in desks towards a door marked with the airline logo, and then paused as the Tannoy was switched on again. This time, to her relief, the announcement advising passengers of an indefinite delay to the departure of the next Alderney service due to adverse weather conditions was completed faultlessly. She flicked a glance over her shoulder. Not even Luke Duncan could hold her responsible for fog in the Channel Islands. Then her heart dropped as she listened to a second announcement. The flight to Dinard would also be late in departing. This time for technical reasons.

  She braced herself for some scathing comment but to her surprise Luke Duncan remained silent as he followed her down the carpeted corridor. At the far end lay the crew-room and the reservations and accounts offices, from where Mike could hear the reassuring hum of activity.

  She pushed open the door to the left, leading into the operations-room, and nearly walked out again. The air was thick with smoke despite the fact that, in deference to the wishes of the majority of the staff, Matthew had designated all the offices, except the crew-room, as non-smoking areas. Two half-eaten crew meals were discarded on top of a filing cabinet; overflowing ashtrays and dirty coffee-mugs were strewn everywhere, even spilling on to the carpet.

  The room was occupied by the duty officer, a fair man in his late twenties, who slouched behind a desk covered in paperwork. His collar was undone, his tie loosened at the neck, the sleeves of his crumpled shirt folded back carelessly on his arms.

  'Hello, Mike.' He gave a casual smile and then as he registered the figure looming behind the slim girl his manner and posture altered. His back stiffened, and one hand reached up to straighten his tie. 'Good morning, Mr Duncan.' The smile had vanished. 'I'm sorry about the mess,' he added quickly, 'but it's been chaotic this morning. The Alderney weather's been up and down like a Yo-Yo and now Echo November has developed a tech problem.'

  Mike nodded, not trusting herself to speak, knowing just how close she was to losing her temper. She wanted to yell at the fair man, order him to tidy up both the office and his own dishevelled appearance. His apology had done nothing to appease her anger. She'd recognised immediately that it had been directed at Luke Duncan as much as her, the duty officer responding instinctively to the other man's unmistakable air of authority. That Luke Duncan could command such instant respect aggravated her still further. But losing her temper would merely make her look foolish and neither, she admitted fairly, could the duty officer be held solely responsible for the state of the room. It would be far more diplomatic to have a private word with him later. She frowned. Wasn't she rather over-reacting to a few dirty coffee-mugs anyway? Would she have felt quite so angry if Luke Duncan hadn't been here to witness the disorder?

  She shot him a rapid glance. After giving the room a cursory inspection, he had moved across to the window and stood gazing out over the airfield. Puzzled, Mike's eyes rested on the broad shoulders. Wasn't he going to say anything at all? She'd mentally prepared herself for a barrage of searching questions when they arrived at the airport, and yet, except for his caustic comment about the check-in girl, he had kept his own counsel. He was quite deliberately assuming the role of silent observer, she realised with growing indignation and disquiet, in order to assess not merely the airline staff—but her!

  'How long's the delay on the Dinard?' She addressed the duty officer more calmly than she felt.

  'The engineers estimate that it'll take a couple of hours to fix Echo November.'

  Mike resisted the temptation to call up the engineering section and establish the exact problem with the aircraft.

  'Have you issued the passengers with refreshment vouchers?' She hadn't meant to sound quite so brusque and officious.

  'They're being given out with the boarding cards.' She heard the note of resentment in the fair man's voice. 'Excuse me,' he murmured with exaggerated politeness as a telephone began to ring insistently.

  At the same moment a disembodied male voice floated over the company radio.

  'Sierra Tango to Kingston Air.'

  Mike hesitated for a second, realised that the duty officer was still occupied on the telephone, and crossed the office to the radio, but she was too late. A lean brown hand had picked up the transmitter.

  'Go ahead, Sierra Tango.' Luke Duncan's deep, assured voice was carried over the airways.

  'We'll be with you in five. Aircraft serviceable. Eighteen passengers, including one unaccompanied minor.'

  'That's copied OK, Sierra Tango. See you on the deck.'

  Mike listened to the familiar jargon, her eyes dark with ill-suppressed irritation as they rested on the harsh, unsmiling face. He'd virtually snatched the transmitter from her hand! Did he think she was completely ineffectual, that she was incapable of even answering the radio correctly?

  Frustration gnawing inside her, she watched the twenty-seater Twin Otter aircraft land and taxi down the runway towards the control tower. At least the Glasgow flight was on schedule, she thought ruefully.

  Two ground hostesses emerged from the arrivals lounge and sauntered casually across the tarmac to meet the incoming passengers. Neither girl, both long-serving members of staff, was wearing the regulation uniform hat or jacket. What was the matter with everyone today? Mike wondered in complete bewilderment. Why today, of all days, did the normally immaculate staff have to look so scruffy and unprofessional? Her eyebrows drew together. And why were two senior girls meeting a small domestic flight when one would have been perfectly adequate, leaving a young, inexperienced seasonal girl to cope single-handed with the busy check-in desk? And, for that matter, what was the duty officer doing alone in the operations room?

  'Where's Andrew?' she demanded shortly. She should have asked that question the moment she walked into the office. Andrew Simpson, the operations manager, had been Matthew's second-in-command since the airline started, and Mike hadn't had any reservations in leaving Kingston Air in his capable hands during her enforced absence. Until now. For the first time, she felt the stirrings of unease. Andrew should be here in this office, overseeing both the operations and the staff.

  'He's in the boardroom.' The duty officer shrugged. 'The meetings are tending to get longer and longer each day,' he added ambiguously, but leaving Mike in no doubt as to his meaning.

  Eyes reflecting her incredulity, she reached out for the telephone, her immediate reaction to confirm Andrew's whereabouts and summon him back to the office. Then, for the second time that morning, she hesitated, chewing her lower lip with uncharacteristic indecision, and slowly replaced the receiver. The last thing she wanted to do was confront Andrew in front of Luke Duncan. She was acutely conscious o
f the dark grey eyes exploring her troubled face and suddenly wished with all her being that Luke Duncan was on the other side of the world... anywhere but in this room, watching her as if she were a performing animal.

  'Would you like to come through to Math... my office, Mr Duncan?' she said coolly, her voice faltering only slightly.

  He acquiesced with a curt nod, the expression on his face far from reassuring as she led him across the corridor and into the small office. The furnishings, although comfortable and of a good quality, were functional rather than ostentatious. Black and white photographs of vintage cars, Matthew's second love, adorned the faded yellow walls. The office was still so redolent of her grandfather that Mike found herself tensing each time she entered it. Deliberately avoiding looking at the photographs, she walked across to a filing cabinet, extracted a folder and placed it on the polished table.

  'The passenger figures for last month,' she explained briskly. 'They're up on last year.' She paused. Luke Duncan had made no move to pick up the folder, but remained standing, arms folded imperiously across his broad chest, gazing directly at her with narrowed, ominous eyes.

  'The boardroom, Miss Harrington?' he enquired with deceptive softness.

  Mike gave up the pretence and sat down on a wooden chair by the table, instantly regretting it as it meant she had to crane her neck to look up at him. Unconsciously her fingers flicked the edge of the folder.

  'It's the staff euphemism for the airport social club,' she finally admitted reluctantly. He had suspected as much anyway, she was certain.

  'Were you aware that Andrew Simpson patronised it while officially on duty?'

  'Of course not,' she muttered unhappily.

  'His employment will obviously have to be terminated.'

  'What?' Mike jerked her head up, appalled by the total lack of emotion and compassion in the cold, clipped voice. 'You want to fire Andrew? Without even asking for an explanation? We don't even know for certain that he is in the club.'

  'The whereabouts of Andrew Simpson at this precise moment is hardly the issue. He is paid a generous salary to run the operational side of Kingston Air and supervise the staff. He is clearly doing neither.'

  Mike suddenly felt icily calm. 'Andrew has been with the airline for over twenty years. He's always been efficient and competent. You can't sack him for one lapse.' She almost laughed as the full realisation of her words dawned. Luke Duncan couldn't do anything without her consent. Any decision would have to be a joint one. 'I won't even consider firing Andrew,' she stated coolly.

  'Your loyalty is touching. It's a shame that neither Andrew nor the rest of the staff appear to feel the same degree of loyalty towards you, Miss Harrington.'

  Mike's eyes didn't waver from his face—her expression remained determinedly impassive. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much those words had hurt. And, worse of all, they were completely true. How could she have been so hopelessly egotistical as to assume that the staff would automatically accord her the same respect, loyalty and affection as they had Matthew? She'd called a staff meeting shortly after his death and explained to the staff that, while she knew she could never emulate her grandfather, she intended to continue running the airline exactly as he would have done. She'd wanted to reassure the staff that their jobs were safe—and she'd probably done the exact opposite. Doubtless they had as little faith in her ability to manage Kingston Air as Luke Duncan patently did.

  'So what action do you propose that we should take against Andrew?'

  The quiet, almost conversational voice, the use of the plural, made her instantly suspicious. He wasn't interested in her opinion.

  'Or shall we simply ignore the problem? Forget it? Hope it simply resolves itself?'

  His eyes taunted her and to her chagrin Mike felt herself flushing. Deep down she had the sneaking suspicion that, left to herself, that was precisely what she would have done.

  'I shall talk to Andrew,' she said squarely, with far more confidence than she felt. What on earth would she say to the man who had been her grandfather's close friend and colleague for two decades, whose airline knowledge so greatly exceeded her own? She'd never imagined having to deal with a situation like this. She'd been relying on Andrew for support and advice, had envisaged them working together as a team, with Luke Duncan a shadowy figure in the background.

  'Where does that door lead to?'

  Rapidly, she collected her troubled thoughts, totally disconcerted by the seemingly inconsequential question. Frowning with puzzlement, she followed his gaze.

  'To the old reservations-room. It was too small once the computers were installed. It's just used as storage space now.'

  She watched as he strode across the carpet, flung open the interconnecting door and surveyed the assortment of cardboard boxes piled up on the dusty floor of the inner room.

  'Would you arrange to have this cleared out and cleaned up as soon as possible?' he ordered over his shoulder.

  'I'll get my mop and duster out straight away,' Mike murmured drily. Evidently 'please' was not a word with which Luke Duncan was familiar. 'Am I permitted to know why? Or do you simply have an obsession about cleanliness?'

  He turned round, filling the doorway. 'I'll have the necessary furniture sent down from London,' he continued as if she hadn't spoken.

  Mike stared at him blankly for a moment and then comprehension dawned. 'You're planning to come down to the airport full-time? To use that room as your office?' Oh, God, no. She couldn't stand it. She'd be under constant surveillance.

  'First prize, Miss Harrington.' He glanced at his wristwatch and moved back across the office to the outer door. 'And now I have business in London to attend to. Good day.'

  'But when...? Mr Duncan!' Mike rose to her feet in protest and then slumped back weakly in her chair as she heard the sound of brisk, purposeful footsteps retreating down the corridor. Never in her life had she encountered such an infuriating, impossibly rude, exasperating man. How dared he simply walk out on her like that? When exactly did he intend taking up his position at the airport? He hadn't even checked to see if she wanted a lift back to Rakers', she remembered, aggrieved. She leant back in her chair and surveyed the heavy glass paperweight on the desk.

  How immensely satisfying it would be to pick that up and hurl it against the wall with all her strength. And how utterly childish. Slowly and unwillingly she began to grin. The morning had been like something from a television farce. Everything that could conceivably go wrong had in fact done so, even down to Andrew's inexplicable behaviour. Was it any wonder that Luke Duncan had decided that he had no option other than to take a more active role in protecting his business interest?

  Wryly, she recalled her earlier naive and optimistic assumption that Kingston Air virtually ran itself. Clearly nothing could be further from the truth. Like any other business, to succeed it required strong, experienced leadership which at present she was unqualified to provide. Whether she liked it or not, as much as she loathed having to admit it, right now Kingston Air needed Luke Duncan at its helm.

  She rose to her feet and walked across to survey the adjoining room. It was going to take more than a few pieces of furniture to transfer this room into the kind of luxurious, prestigious office that Luke Duncan must be accustomed to. He was doubtlessly used to having an army of secretaries scurrying around after him. Kingston Air boasted one middle-aged woman who came into the office three times a week. She sighed. How long was he proposing to stay at the airport—surely, with all his other commitments, it must only be a temporary measure? Until he had deemed her competent enough to be left on her own? Or until he had made life so unbearable for her that she gave in and sold out?

  She walked across to the window and ran a finger over the dusty sill. Somehow she was going to have to overcome her aversion to him and establish at least some semblance of a working relationship. It would be an impossible situation and detrimental to Kingston Air if they were to be at constant loggerheads, conti
nually sniping at each other.

  To be honest, she admitted, she'd been predisposed to dislike Luke Duncan before she'd even met him, influenced by articles she'd read about him in the Press, picturing him as a hard-headed womaniser. But she hadn't expected her reaction to him to be quite so strong. Neither was her preconceived idea of him completely accurate. She'd envisaged that he'd at least try and conceal his tough cynicism beneath a veneer of sophistication and superficial charm. She'd been prepared for him to try and smooth talk her into selling her shares, try and soft soap her with insincere flattery. Yet instead he had been blunt, abrasive and downright offensive. It was that combination of raw, aggressive maleness and arrogant confidence that antagonised her so much, and had sparked off something inside her the moment that she'd laid eyes on him... last night.

  The moon had been obscured by a blanket of dark cloud as she'd driven along the deserted road, rain lashing against the windscreen. She'd been late leaving London and her thoughts were beginning to stray longingly to the hot meal and comfortable bed that awaited her arrival at Rakers' Moon. She was glad she'd remembered to call John and tell him of her change in plans, a change that had been necessitated by the impending arrival of Luke Duncan the following morning. How much easier it would have been to meet him in London, she thought irritably, and save herself this long arduous journey at night. But by the time she'd received the curt message on her answerphone it had been too late to contact Luke Duncan's London office and rearrange the venue. Part of her had been tempted to simply ignore the message, but then that would just be postponing the inevitable confrontation.

  She sighed, disgruntled, and then frowned, instantly alert as she saw the car drawn up on the verge ahead. She touched her brakes lightly. What a filthy night for anyone to break down, she thought with a rush of sympathy, torn between the instinctive desire to stop and help, and the dictates of caution which urged her to drive on. Compromising, she pulled up, but kept the engine revving, prepared to draw away instantly should the need arise.