Capital Sins Read Free Page A

married again; the
profits of his company soared.
    Before
long, rumours grew that Martin Jessop's beautiful young wife was giving her
husband the runaround but, for Jessop senior, divorce
was out Of the question. He dreaded the thought of scandal, believing his
reputation would be hurt and his business damaged. He could imagine people
saying, 'If he can't manage his wife, how can he manage his business?' So he
swallowed his pride, hushed up his wife's affaires and poured himself
into his company. It prospered and he began to prepare his son to take over the
kingdom.
    As Samuel
grew up, his father began to waste away and soon no one would have recognised
the once strong, ruggedly handsome man in the shrivelled, emaciated skeleton he
became. If cancer hadn't devoured him, the shame of his second marriage would
have. However, he still had his wits about him and in an uncontestable will left enough. for his wife to live on when he
died, Samuel at the age of twenty-three, inherited the business and the bulk of
his estate.
    'Get
married soon,' the old man had whispered from cracked lips, his wizened, almost
transparent hands scrabbling feverishly on the counterpane. 'Don't make the
same mistake as me. Make lots of sons, Samuel... see that the name of Jessop
isn't forgotten.'
    Sheila had
heard the story often, first from gossiping employees and later from Samuel
himself. She had wanted to ask him why, in that case, he hadn't married – but
hadn't dared. Their relationship was based on comradeship and mutual respect,
so Sheila hid what other feelings she had for him, hoping that he would make
the first move towards her. She'd been waiting a long time, but hadn't given up
hope and learned to contain it under a constant mask of cheerfulness and
helpfulness when he was around.
    Arousing
herself from her reveries she glanced at her watch, a platinum one that Jessop
had given her the previous Christmas. It was a quarter past nine and time to
stop daydreaming. There were a dozen things to be done, and she had someone
coming for an interview, applying for the post of her assistant, in ten
minutes.

 
    Connie
glanced up at the entrance and tried not to be awed at the impressive reception
hall she could see through glass doors; they opened at her approach with a gasp
of air and shut as majestically behind her.
    It is like
the lobby of a luxurious hotel, Connie thought as she stared around, wondering
where she was supposed to go. She looked again at the slip of paper she held on
which the matron had typed, 'Nine twenty-five, ask for Miss Delaney, Jessop
House, Jessop and Company.' Nine twenty-five, Connie mused, what an odd time
for an interview. Not nine-fifteen, or half-past, but twenty-five past.
Perhaps, she wondered, this Miss Delaney is so busy she has only five minutes
for me; the lady probably times everything to the split second. God, I don't
know if I could ever work for a precise-sounding woman like her – clocking in
and out as if at a factory. She had half a mind to turn tail and run before
something awful happened, something she'd regret long after. Connie wondered if
she were sufficiently well dressed. Everyone she saw looked so smart and
sophisticated, so confident of themselves , she
observed enviously. She fought off a mounting sense of insecurity, curbed the
impulse to flee. Where would I go? Back to matron admitting I'd failed so soon?
She lifted her chin resolutely. I'm as good as them. I may be younger, but take
away their smart clothes and we're all the same. She giggled nervously but,
clenching her hands so that her nails dug sharply into her palms, Connie walked
over to a long desk that stretched almost twenty feet along one wall, behind
which was a hive of activity. The carpet across which she strode with such
determination was a sunny marigold colour, and its appearance was attractive
enough to make her pause in admiration. She was soon startled back to attention
when a nasal voice twanged: 'May I help you,