Peacock's Walk by Jane Corrie

fairness she knew he did not warrant the 'playboy' charge that Tony had levelled against him. Although Malcolm's friendship with Mark had turned to emnity because of Mark's interest in her, Malcolm had always respected Mark's business acumen, and had sought his advice on many occasions in the past. Not every business handed down from father to son flourished so successfully as Chanter Enterprises had—not without a certain amount of hard work, for what
     
    was once a moderately successful hotel had become one of many.
    At nine-fifteen, Jenny rang through to reception, and trying to keep the annoyance she felt at having to seek information on her new boss's movements, asked Rose if she had seen anything of Mr Chanter.
    Rose gave a chatty, 'Oh, he's out, Miss Grange. I only know because I met him on his way out when I arrived.' There was a short pause before she added helpfully, 'Perhaps something came up. He didn't leave any message that I know of.'
    Jenny thanked her and replaced the receiver carefully, only just managing not to slam it down. It was not Rose's fault that Mark Chanter had not seen fit to advise them of his movements.
    Her baleful look left the receiver and swept over the desk, for she had to use the phone on Mark's desk as it was the only one in the room. Her glare rested on the back of the photograph in front of her, and without a second thought she turned it towards her, fully expecting to see the face of some anonymous beauty that had caught his eye. Her eyes widened in surprise as she stared at her own image.
    Her surprise soon gave way to incredulity, then puzzlement, for she well remembered when the photograph had been taken, and the occasion. It had been taken by Malcolm, who had caught her laughing at some quip made by her father during an inspection of part of the hotel grounds that Malcolm had in mind to use for the building of a few chalets, to cope with the overflow of guests during the peak season.
     
    Jenny's frown deepened as she replaced the photograph with hands that trembled slightly. The snap had been such a good one that Malcolm had had an enlargement made, and as far as Jenny knew, it had remained his property. She simply could not see Malcolm giving it to Mark, even though the snap had been taken a year before she met Mark.
    As she did not know the answer, or the reason why he should have the photograph in such a prominent position, she pushed the disturbing question out of her mind for the time being, and dwelt on the memories the photograph had evoked.
    There had been no clouds on her horizon then, and no Prince Charming, as she had once regarded Mark Chanter. Her existence had been one of calm acceptance and happiness—for she had been happy, she thought wistfully. Malcolm had never seemed an employer to either her father or her, for he had grown up with Jenny, and in many ways had been closer to Mr Grange than to his own father, who, inclined to rheumatics, had been a follower of the sun, and had hated the damp English climate.
    Her gaze went back to the laughing girl in the photograph, who now seemed a stranger to her. It was hard to imagine that she had once been as gay and as carefree as that picture depicted. She sighed on the thought that less than two years after the photograph had been taken she had lost not only her father, but Malcolm too.
    After the loss of two such dear people in her life, Jenny thought she had the answer as to why Mark Chanter had failed to capture her heart. She had
     
    nothing more to give; all emotion had been drained out of her before a lasting link had been formed. It had been a wonderful, exhilarating period in her life while the attraction had lasted, but she had always had the curious feeling that she would have to wake up some time, and the death of her father had been the forerunner of her awakening.
    Jenny had never known exactly what her father had thought of Mark. He had always made him very welcome, as indeed he had done to any of