by Joan Hohl
Valerie had moved in with her grandparents, and, with an insolence foreign to her nature, refused to accept any financial aid from her mother. Within two weeks after her mother’s tearful departure, Valerie had dropped out of business school and had secured a position in the typing pool at J.T. Electronics.
And so it was that a scared, lonely, very young, but unrepentant Valerie walked through the wide doors of the steel and glass edifice that was the home office of J.T. Electronics—and found there a friend. It was Janet Peterson who had, eventually, brought about the reconciliation between Valerie and her mother.
From the day of their first meeting, which happened to be the second day of Valerie’s employment, Janet took Valerie under her wing. The friendship that developed between them surprised everyone, for they were complete opposites.
Janet was a walking advertisement for women’s lib. She didn’t talk about it. She didn’t bore or annoy people about it. She lived it. Yet, despite her rapid rise to an executive position in the firm, she had retained her femininity.
On the other hand, Valerie, at nineteen, had no real personal ambitions. She was a good worker. She was an accurate typist who had the potential of becoming an excellent secretary. But, at that point in her young life, her main concern was collecting her paycheck twice a month. Never would she have believed that one day she would be offered the position of personal secretary to the owner of the company. In fact, she had never so much as set eyes on the man who was her employer.
Valerie was soft, inside and out. Her eyes were soft. Her voice was soft. Her skin was soft. And her attitude to life had been to take the path of least resistance. Until her father’s illness had dampened her exuberance she had thought of life as a joyous adventure. Why not enjoy it to the full? His death, and the events that followed it, had wrought a change in her personality. Her gaiety had been overshadowed by resentment, her contentment with life had been poisoned by bitterness. Janet had been instrumental in helping her break these emotional chains.
Ten years her senior, Janet had become many things to Valerie. Besides being her best friend she was surrogate mother, mentor, and at times, the insistent echo of her own conscience.
Two months after meeting Janet, Valerie sat down and composed a letter of apology to her mother. Her mother had reciprocated, with great emotion, by return mail. The mending of the rift lifted a weight off Valerie’s shoulders. Free of the encumbrance, her laughing, soft-hearted nature surfaced once more.
During the months that followed, Valerie enjoyed herself enormously. She formed many new friendships in the office and was much sought after by her masculine colleagues for dates. Thus, when her grandmother informed her that when her grandfather retired at the end of the year they would like to follow the sun to Florida, she was able to accept the news philosophically. She would miss them, she assured her grandmother, but she could appreciate their desire to spend their retirement years in the sunshine.
Jonas Thorne had had his office complex erected on the outskirts of Philadelphia and for several weeks Valerie scoured the area for a small apartment. Although Janet had offered her her own extra bedroom, Valerie had declined, with thanks, claiming the urge to taste independence.
Meanwhile her grandparents had begun implementing their plans, and were scheduled to depart Pennsylvania in six weeks’ time. Beginning to feel a bit desperate, Valerie had put a deposit on a tiny apartment on the third floor of a rather rundown building in an area she had previously avoided.
That was her situation on entering the office a few days later and discovering a new notice to all departments, posted on the bulletin board. The notice informed all employees of the fact that J.T. Electronics would be opening business offices in Paris in the spring, and it contained a list of positions available to employees interested in working out of the country. The one prerequisite was that the applicant had to speak, read and write French.
For Valerie, the notice had seemed like the answer to her prayers. Her French was not only good, it was excellent. She had learned the language from her paternal grandfather, a Parisian whose family had left France just before the Second World War.
Valerie had been the only woman to apply, and after a brief interview with the personnel manager, she had been given the position of front desk receptionist in the new office. She had left the States nine weeks after her grandparents’ departure for Florida. During the weeks between her grandparents’ move and her own, she had stayed with Janet.
Now, seven years later, another man’s death had brought Janet to her rescue again.
Lifting her eyelids, Valerie studied her friend with admiration. Asleep Janet looked anything but the dynamic executive. The riot of curls that framed her face softened its contours, usually set in determination. The dark lashes that fanned her cheeks were long and full. And her mouth, in repose, had the soft, appealing curves of a young girl’s.
But those lips had not been soft a week ago. Her mouth set grimly, her eyes sharply assessing, Janet had circled Valerie while she made a visual examination of her person.
“Good, God, Val, you do look a mess,” Janet had scolded gently. “I can see we are going to have a very busy week.” Reaching out, she lifted Valerie’s loose over-blouse to reveal the unsnapped waistband of her jeans.
“How much weight have you gained?” she’d asked flatly.
“I don’t know.” Valerie had shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“If all your clothes fit like these jeans—yes,” Janet answered sharply. “Do they?”
“Well—everything I’ve worn lately has felt a little snug,” Valerie admitted.
“And what size is everything you’ve worn lately?” Janet demanded.
“Threes, mostly.”
“I think you have graduated to a five,” Janet decreed. “We are going shopping first thing tomorrow morning.”
The following morning had been the start of a six-day marathon.
In the dressing room of an elegant shop, stripped to newly purchased lacy panties and bra, Valerie submitted to Janet’s smiling survey of her figure. “Well, the jeune-fille look is gone.” Janet’s smile had deepened as her eyes met Valerie’s in the mirror. “But, cherie, the mature woman, as they used to say where I come from—” her smile stretched into a grin, “ain’t half bad.”
The evidence before Valerie’s eyes confirmed Janet’s observation. The young girl look was definitely gone. The diet of quick-to-put-together meals, heavy on starch, that she’d been existing on for months, had filled out her formerly sylphlike figure.
“It’s a good thing I came when I did,” Janet had stated, her eyes following Valerie’s over the appealing shape reflected in the mirror. “Another few weeks of French bread sandwiches and pastry, and your figure would have been too voluptuous.”
Perusing her new figure with detachment, Valerie had to agree with Janet’s judgment. Her breasts, though not very large, were full, and owed none of their height to the lacy scrap of material covering them. Her waist, though no longer a twenty-inch span, was still narrow. And, although her hips had flared to a mature roundness, her stomach was still flat, while her slim, shapely legs gave a false illusion of length. Yes, she concurred indifferently, her more mature look was not half bad.
The shopping binge that Janet had initiated all but wiped out Valerie’s bank balance. Then, added to the total for clothes, there was the cost of several hair treatments, facials and a manicure. When Valerie took a final reckoning, she was astounded. She had the French equivalent of exactly seventy-two dollars and nine cents left.
“Don’t worry about it,” Janet had advised with a careless wave of her slim hand. “I’ll talk to Jonas. I’m sure he’ll be willing to give you an advance until you get squared away.”
Now, having met Jonas Thorne at last, Valerie decided she wanted no advance from him. As a matter of fact, she wanted nothing from the man. Certainly not the position of private secretary that Janet had talked him into giving her.
Mo
ving her head fractionally, she let her narrowed gaze hone in on the object of her unsettling thoughts. He appeared to be asleep, yet even in repose, his face had lost none of its hardness. Valerie shivered with a chill that feathered down her spine. What a frightening specimen he was. And what satisfaction it would give her to be able to tell him exactly what he could do with his job.
But she wouldn’t tell him, and she knew it. She was not concerned for herself; she could always find a job elsewhere. She was concerned for Janet, though. Valerie felt certain that if she in any way aroused his displeasure, Jonas Thorne would ruthlessly put an end to Janet’s career.
Antagonism, hot and strong, surged through Valerie’s mind. The intensity of the emotion shocked her, and Valerie closed her eyes completely to shut out his harsh visage. Never before in her life had she reacted to anyone so strongly—or so adversely. But then, she had never encountered anyone quite so coldly unemotional before, either. Jonas Thorne was so, so—inhuman—the unkind appellation jumped into her mind.
The idea of working with him, day after day, five days every week, was an unpalatable one. She would very likely suffer a severe case of frostbite before the first week was over! The mildly humorous thought was almost as shocking to Valerie as her earlier antagonistic feelings had been.
With a sigh of acceptance, she faced the fact that Janet had talked her into a trap. She had no other choice; she had to work for him. At least, she temporized, until Janet’s job was secure again. No, she corrected herself grimly, remembering his disbelieving “We’ll see.” She didn’t just have to work for him; she had to excel for him.
Even after being in his presence for only a few minutes, it hardly seemed possible to Valerie that this could be the same man Janet had raved about all week. It had seemed that everything Janet said was prefaced by: “Jonas is” or “Jonas does” or “Jonas doesn’t”; her friend had gone on and on with Jonas and more Jonas. Valerie had been convinced she was to meet and work for some sort of paragon. What she had met was a statue that just happened to walk, talk and breathe. One had to assume, she supposed, that somewhere inside that marblelike casing a heart beat with regularity and blood flowed.
Valerie moved restlessly, more uncomfortable with her thoughts than with the padded contour of the chair. She had a prickly feeling, as though a limb had gone numb from being in an awkward position. Only with Valerie the sensation was mental. Her mind had been, figuratively, asleep for months, and its sudden arousal was as unpleasant a sensation as the renewed flow of blood to a numbed arm or leg.
Sighing, Valerie wished fervently that Janet had stayed at home and left her alone in her cocoon of misery. That thought made her more restless still. Before Janet’s arrival the numbness had been so complete she had been unaware of it. Now, as reality took on new meaning for her, Valerie writhed with the prickly sensation of self-awareness.
And now, unsavory as the thought was, she faced the realization that she had been harboring an unconscious death wish. From the moment that dry, dreadful-sounding rattle whispered through Etienne’s pale lips, she had ceased living in any normal sense of the word.
It was unhealthy. It was self-destructive. Janet, with her forceful personality and her rational arguments, had dragged her out of the shadows of self-immolation, and into the sunlight of self-interest.
Valerie was restless, and uncomfortable, and prickly in the mind. But, for the first time in a very long time, she was alive. Not fully, not wholly alive; that would come slowly at first, and then with shattering swiftness.
But it was a beginning, and she was every bit as scared as she had been at age nineteen. The only difference was that this time it didn’t show. She was feeling again, but more important, she was thinking again. And that thinking led to the conclusion that, unless she protected herself, this man could hurt her. She wasn’t quite sure how he could do it—possibly through Janet—but she felt sure that he could. And she had been hurt enough.
* * *
Standing on American soil after a seven-year absence, Valerie felt a fluttering in her stomach. She was home! Suddenly she was very glad Janet had forced this move on her. Blinking against the hot sting of tears brought rushing to her eyes by a welter of emotions, the uppermost being plain old-fashioned patriotism, Valerie hurried across the tarmac in the wake of Jonas Thorne’s long strides. Their destination was a long, gleaming, silver-gray Cadillac limousine, which was waiting for them off to the side of the single-building airport.
Valerie, already tired from the trip, was experiencing a mild feeling of disorientation. They had left France late in the afternoon and had been served a very early dinner—due, Valerie had learned, to Jonas Thorne’s having skipped lunch—and now, at a small airport some miles outside of Philadelphia, it was not yet dinnertime. Valerie knew her disorientation was caused by the flight through time zones. But knowing why she felt strange didn’t help much. The fact that Jonas Thorne seemed totally unaffected by the flight added a layer of irritation to her feelings of strangeness.
“Is he always like this?” Valerie asked Janet softly, hoping against hope that she had analyzed him incorrectly.
“Like what?”
Janet’s tone, combined with her look of confusion, was all the answer Valerie needed.
“Never mind,” she sighed.
“But, Val, what—” Janet began.
“Janet!” Jonas Thorne snapped impatiently. “You have the entire weekend to gossip with Miss Jordan. Whereas I have an appointment in exactly,” his arm shot out and he sent a swift glance to the face of the large, round gold watch on his wrist, “thirty-seven minutes. Will you close your mouth and get in the car?” His lips curved into a sardonic twist before he added, “Please.”
Detestable man! Valerie had to bite her lip to keep her opinion of him silent. Casting a quick, compassionate glance at Janet, her eyes widened in surprise. Not a hint of indignation or hurt was revealed on Janet’s face.
“Sorry,” Janet murmured, a small apologetic smile touching her lips as she increased her pace toward the big car. “Hello, Lyle,” she said softly to the driver, who had jumped out of the front seat to open the back door.
“Miss Peterson,” the small, wiry man murmured as Jonas Thorne strode around the car to the front passenger’s door. “Good flight?”
“Yes, very smooth.” Janet hesitated, then said quickly, “Lyle, this is Valerie Jordan, Jonas’s new secretary.” On the last word she bent and stepped into the car.
“How do you do, Miss Jordan?” Lyle smiled broadly as he turned his gaze directly at her.
Valerie took an instant liking to the man. Not much taller than she, he had a very ordinary face and an extraordinarily sweet smile. Although she judged him to be about her own age, he had the look of a man who had experienced much of life, and his compact body had a tough, tempered look. Now, spontaneously returning his smile, she replied, “Fine, thank you, Lyle—?” She lifted her eyebrows in question.
“Magesjski.” Lyle’s smile deepened.
“Pleasantries over?” Jonas Thorne asked, his tone hard.
Valerie felt a flash of hot anger, followed by baffled surprise. As had Janet a moment before, Lyle smiled apologetically. Yet, strangely, the eyes Lyle turned to his employer held a glint of laughter.
“Yes, sir.”
More strange still, and totally incomprehensible to Valerie, the blue-gray gaze that caught and momentarily held Lyle’s reflected that laughter. On the point of entering the back seat, Valerie stopped cold.
“My luggage!” she blurted.
“Val, don’t worry—” Janet began from the far corner of the seat.
“Parker will bring it with him.” Jonas Thorne’s impatient tone cut across Janet’s soothing voice. “Your cases will be quite safe with him, Miss Jordan.” After folding his long frame into the front seat he twisted around and pinned Valerie—positioned half-in, half-out of the car—with a cold stare.
“In or out, Miss Jordan?” he drawled. “My time has now
been cut to thirty-two minutes.”
Clamping her lips together, Valerie slid onto the back seat. Sitting stiffly erect, she returned his stare until he deliberately turned his head to the front in a dismissive gesture.
The pink tinge of embarrassment heating her cheeks, Valerie sat glaring at the back of Thorne’s head. A light pressure on her arm drew her attention, first to Janet’s hand, then to her eyes. Her lips pursed, Janet shook her head while tilting it at Jonas Thorne. At Valerie’s frown she gave a shrug, as if to say, “Don’t let it bother you.”
The drive from the airport to the J.T. Electronics building was made in silence and completed in twenty-five minutes, most of it along a new by-pass road constructed during Valerie’s sojourn in France.
“Seven minutes to spare, Jonas.” Lyle grinned as he brought the limo to a stop at a private side entrance to the building.
“I’m impressed,” Jonas Thorne drawled dryly, flinging his door open and stepping out of the car. “Drop Janet and Miss Jordan off and then come back here,” he ordered, already moving toward the private entrance.
Janet sighed as Lyle set the car in motion again. Smiling ruefully, she slid slim fingers through her close-cropped curls.
“If he was in such a hurry,” she said, “I’m surprised he didn’t have the chopper waiting for him.”
“The chopper?” Valerie questioned.
“McAndrew flew to Washington in it this morning,” Lyle informed Janet, before adding for Valerie’s enlightenment, “The chopper is the company helicopter. We use it mostly for short trips.”
“I’m impressed.” Valerie imitated Thorne’s dry drawl.
The following twenty minutes were interesting ones for Valerie. The changes made in the area during the years she’d been away were startling. Many places were totally unfamiliar to her, because of all the building that had taken place, and the alterations gave her an odd feeling. She had come home and she felt like a stranger; a foreigner in the place where she was born.