by Penny Jordan
Debra had been wondering recently if there was some way in which this could be achieved, and so far she had not managed to come up with a solution, but she made a mental note to bring it up at the next office brainstorming session.
It was coming up to her stepfather’s birthday, and she told herself that she must not forget to buy him a card. He was a keen gardener and she had ordered a very special old-fashioned climbing rose for him, which was presently being cosseted at her local garden centre.
As she drove back into Chester she glanced at her watch. She didn’t really have time for lunch— she had too much to do—but if she drove home she could leave her car there and buy her stepfather’s birthday card on her way back to the office.
Because she had been so young when her own father had died, and could not really remember him, she had formed a very close relationship with Don, her stepfather, and she smiled mischievously to herself as she picked out a card for him emblazoned with the words, ‘To my most favourite man.’
She paid for it and tucked it between the two files she was carrying to make sure that it didn’t bend.
Back in her office, she read quickly through her notes and then dictated an aide-memoire for herself and a couple of memos, one to Margaux Livesey, the head of their computer department, and the other to Ian Rothsey, who was in charge of pensions and other allied insurance schemes.
She then rang through to Margaux’s office to ask her if she could spare her half an hour.
‘Just so long as it is half an hour, because I’m due to see Marsh after that. Come straight up,’ Margaux offered.
Twenty minutes later, when Debra had finished outlining Eric Smethurst’s situation, Margaux confirmed, ‘I don’t think we should have too much trouble sorting him out with a suitable package. It depends just how much he wants to take on board. There are farms which even have computer-controlled feeding systems for their livestock.’
‘I don’t think he’ll want to go that far. Not at this stage. He can’t afford to. When he inherited the farm from his uncle it was very run down. There were a lot of tax problems to sort out, back tax to pay, that sort of thing, and it’s still very much touch and go whether or not he makes a success of it. I hope he does—’
There was a knock on Margaux’s door.
‘That will be Marsh,’ she told Debra, standing up.
Debra stood up too, and as they walked to the door together Margaux opened it, smiling at Marsh and saying to Debra, ‘Don’t worry about your farmer. We’ll make sure he gets the right package. You’ve obviously got a soft spot for him.’
Thanking her, Debra turned to leave, intending to step past Marsh, but he moved at the same time that she did, so that instead she virtually walked into him.
She had a heartbeat’s space of time to control her expression, to avert her face and to lower her eyelids, while inwardly she was sickly conscious of the immensity of her body’s ability to record and remember so many small and diverse details about him that she had immediately recognised his personal body scent, immediately recalled the exact configuration of muscles and sinews that were his, immediately sensed that the tension in his body was spiked with far more than any human being’s automatic reaction to being walked into by another.
She was still shaking half an hour later, still unable to concentrate properly on what she was supposed to be doing, still so appalled and absorbed by the emotional shock of her physical response to him that when someone rapped on her office door she could barely manage to croak out a, ‘Come in.’
She froze as the door opened and Marsh walked in, watching him warily as he walked over to her desk.
What did he want? Why had he come to see her? Her heart started to pound frantically.
‘You weren’t here last week when I explained to the others the way I consider that a business such as ours should be run,’ he began, refusing the seat she offered him.
Since she was sitting down, while he stood, Debra immediately felt that he had put her at a deliberate disadvantage. She was tempted to stand too, but she withstood the impulse, trying to breathe deeply, to push away from herself her awareness of him as a man and to concentrate on the reality of him as her ultimate boss.
‘I put a very high premium on professionalism, and as a part of that professionalism I do not expect members of my staff to further their private relationships in the firm’s time. In fact, I do not consider it wise for members of my staff to form personal relationships with our clients at all. And, if such a relationship is formed, I would prefer it if the member of staff concerned asked another colleague to take over the affairs of the client. And in fact I find it extraordinary that I should have to bring this matter up, especially in view of the excellent, not to say glowing reports in your staff records. “A valuable and hardworking employee” was how they described you.’
For a moment Debra was too angry to speak. How dared he think... suggest... ? She could feel the ire building up inside her, demanding an outlet. She wasn’t normally given to angry outbursts; they were foreign to her nature, but that he should dare to suggest that she would behave with such a lack of professionalism galled her to the point where she could not contain what she felt.
She stood up, angrily pushing back her chair, facing him across her desk, flags of temper flying, dark banners of colour against her pale skin, her eyes bright with emotion.
‘I do not use my work to facilitate my private relationships,’ she told him furiously. ‘I, like you, would consider that to be completely unprofessional and totally unacceptable.’
‘Really?’ His sarcasm stung. ‘So tell me, how do you view using your holiday to do a spot of moonlighting, playing at detectives?’
So that was it, Debra recognised sickly. Perhaps she should have been expecting this kind of attack, but stupidly she had not, and because of that, she recognised, she had no real defences against it.
All she could think of to say was that what she did in her own private time was her own affair.
‘Unless it happens to reflect on the standing of this firm,’ he told her acidly, adding with scathing directness, ‘What do you imagine might have happened had the victim of your mistake been a client or a potential client?’
Debra winced. She did not need him to ask her that question. She had asked it of herself often enough after Leigh had explained to her that she had been watching the wrong man.
‘I’ve already explained what happened,’ she told him shakily. ‘It was a mistake... a misunderstanding.’
‘In the same way, I assume, that it’s also a misunderstanding that various members of the staff seem to think that your relationship with Eric Smethurst is based on a mutual interest in sex rather than on a mutual concern for his tax affairs,’ he suggested grimly.
Debra gasped, outraged by what he had said.
‘That’s a ridiculous thing to say,’ she told him.
‘Is it? Why? Are you sure that your client does not have any sexual interest in you? How can you be sure? Has he told you so?’
Debra knew that hot guilty colour was scorching her skin, but there was nothing she could do about it.
‘Of course he hasn’t. It’s hardly the sort of thing we would be likely to discuss,’ she managed to say.
‘One would hope not,’ Marsh agreed quietly. ‘But then, one would also hardly expect a client to send a dozen red roses as a Christmas present.’
‘He grows them,’ Debra told him stiffly. ‘He’s been trying to diversify... find other markets.’
‘Well, since your relationship with him is only professional, you won’t mind if I take over his account, will you?’ he suggested dulcetly.
There was nothing Debra could say.
Furiously she watched in silence as Marsh left her office. She had worked hard on Eric’s affairs, very hard, and she had just reached the stage where she felt she was actually making some headway, and now this.
Marsh Graham had no right to suggest that she was using her professional
status to cloak a personal relationship with Eric. No right at all.
Now, when he had gone, she wished she had told him so; that she had been more forceful; but he had taken her so off guard.
When he had walked into her office she had somehow assumed that he had come to tell her that he had been aware of all that she had felt in that brief moment of impact in Margaux’s office; that he had wanted to warn her that he was not remotely interested in her as a woman, even if he had kissed her.
To be virtually accused of using office time to further her personal relationship with Eric Smethurst had stunned her so much that she still felt as though she was in shock.
And to have the account taken from her... That had been both underhand and unfair.
And unnecessary?
Of course it was unnecessary, she told herself, but her conscience wouldn’t let her ignore how surprised and disturbed she had been to receive those roses, and how she had felt even today when she was with Eric, how aware she had been that, with the least encouragement from her, he would want to take their relationship on to a far more personal level.
If he had approached her in a different manner, if he had suggested that it was as much for her sake as the firm’s that he take over the account, wouldn’t she have found that her disappointment at losing Eric’s business just when she was beginning to experience the professional satisfaction of having got his affairs in order was tempered by the knowledge that she was beginning to worry just a little about Eric’s feelings towards her?
But Marsh hadn’t behaved as a compassionate, considerate superior. He had belittled her, and acted with such breathtaking highhandedness that even now she could hardly believe it had actually happened.
CHAPTER THREE
Debra glanced at her watch. She was going to have to hurry if she was going to make tonight’s meeting on time. She had only half an hour in which to get ready and to drive across Chester to Brian Hughes’s house.
Brian Hughes was the local co-ordinator for Debra’s voluntary group. Once a month they all met at his house to discuss with one another their progress and problems.
Debra was particularly anxious to attend tonight’s meeting. She felt she was not making any progress at all with Karen, and she was worried that she might be hindering the girl rather than helping her. She wanted to discuss this with Brian and to ask the group’s advice.
As she changed into her jeans and a sweat-shirt she firmly pushed the day’s events out of her mind. It wasn’t fair to Karen or to the others in the group to allow her own problems and emotions to intrude when she should be concentrating exclusively on them.
Her brain, her emotions were still quivering with the resentment and anger she had felt during her interview with Marsh, and worriedly she admitted that, behind the anger she had every right to feel, there was also a disturbing element of pain and hurt at having been misjudged by him; the kind of pain and hurt that came from being emotionally vulnerable to the person giving the criticism.
She did not want to dwell on that particular aspect of her reaction. It was too dangerous.
She was just in time for the meeting and the last to arrive, or so she thought until Brian welcomed her and then added, ‘A new member will be joining us tonight. He’s been part of a similar group working in London and he has been given our group as a contact by them.
‘I suspect we’ll find he has a very worthwhile input to make, since his group specialise in dealing with the more aggressive element of youngsters taken into care.’
For once, she had the advantage of surprise, Debra reflected ten minutes later when Marsh arrived and Brian started to introduce him.
She saw the look he quickly masked as he saw her and was grimly surprised that now it was his turn to be caught off guard. She had suspected from the way Brian had described him that their new member might be Marsh, but he soon overcame his surprise, telling Brian, ‘Debra and I already know one another. In fact, we work together.’
Someone made room for Marsh to sit down next to Debra on the sofa, and Debra hoped that Marsh wasn’t aware of the way she surreptitiously edged herself away from him, something it was difficult to do when his weight meant that her body inclined naturally towards him.
Like her, he was dressed casually in jeans and a sweat-shirt, the unisex uniform that somehow was not in the least unisexing on him.
Perhaps it was the breadth of his shoulders beneath the soft sweat-shirt, or maybe it was the hard-muscled tautness of the thigh resting against her own.
Whatever it was, Debra wished that he were not sitting next to her. She was so acutely conscious of him that she could barely concentrate on what everyone was saying, and she almost didn’t hear Brian when he asked her, ‘How are you getting on with Karen, Debra?’
Before she could reply he turned to Marsh and explained, ‘Karen was a victim of sexual abuse by her stepfather. Her mother has rejected her, blaming her for what happened. Karen is extremely withdrawn and undergoing specialised counselling.
‘Debra has a very gentle touch, and we’ve been hoping that she might be able to form a bond with Karen.’
Debra felt the sofa depress as Marsh turned to look at her. He was studying her gravely, the grey eyes thoughtful and observant.
She was intensely aware of the warmth of his thigh against her own. She tried to shift her weight to escape it, wriggling tentatively away from him and then stopping, tensing as she saw the way his eyes suddenly darkened, his pupils dilating. Instantly she was transported back to the hallway of Elsie’s house, her body pressed up against his while Marsh kissed her and she clung to him, her mouth opening, her body pleading.
Heat washed over her. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry and her muscles ached with tension. Somehow she managed to drag her gaze away from him.
‘I... I just don’t seem to be making any progress at all,’ she told Brian huskily, trying to dismiss what she was feeling and to concentrate instead on her awareness that she just wasn’t managing to make any contact with Karen.
‘I feel she’s evading me. Evaluating me,’ she continued, groping for the right words to explain her sense of failure. ‘I want to help her, but.. .she looks at me sometimes as though I’m the child and she’s the adult, and when I think of what she’s been through I feel so helpless... I feel as though my being there at all is almost an insult to her... betrays a prurient curiosity about her, and I think that’s what she feels as well.’
‘I think it’s more likely that she’s just testing you.’
The sound of Marsh’s voice, controlled, evaluating, made Debra turn her head to focus on him.
He was looking directly at her, and to her shock she realised that there was no criticism, no anger in his eyes, just a very real awareness of her fear that she was not the best person to help Karen.
Her heart started to beat far too fast, and she had to suppress the urge to start breathing more quickly and shallowly.
‘I think you should persevere,’ Marsh continued, but now he was speaking not just to her but to everyone else as well as he added, ‘We’ve had similar experiences with our group, situations where we’ve felt that we just aren’t being of any benefit at all, and it’s only later that we’ve realised that their silence and apparent rejection was simply a way of testing us... of wanting to be assured that we really do care.’
There was a small silence while everyone assimilated what he had said, and then Brian said thoughtfully, ‘I think Marsh could be right, Debra.’
One of the others had started to talk about the problems he was having with one of the boys at the same home as Karen. Debra knew him by sight and frowned as she listened to Gary Evans explaining that he was concerned about the boy’s uncontrolled outbursts of violence.
‘He bullies the others. We know that, and he’s capable of extremely violent, even vicious behaviour, but in mitigation we have to take into account the fact that he’s been beaten brutally by his father almost all his life. Violence is the only thing he knows.
’
‘Have you thought about getting him on one of these outward-bound-style courses? We found we got very good results from them,’ Marsh suggested helpfully.
The meeting went on rather longer than usual, breaking up just after eleven o’clock, and, as luck would have it, probably because they were the last to arrive, once they were outside Debra discovered that her and Marsh’s cars were parked behind one another, slightly further down the road than the others.
It was impossible for her to avoid walking towards her car with him. Nervousness made her make some tritely foolish comment about the coincidence of running into him at the meeting.
He had stopped walking and she was obliged to stop as well. They were out of earshot of the others and no one could overhear them as he bent his head and said quietly, ‘I feel I owe you an apology for this afternoon.’
Instinctively Debra turned away from him. Her heartbeat had increased again and was far too rapid. Much more of this and she would probably start hyperventilating, she told herself irritably.
‘As I said at the time, my relationship with Eric is purely a business one,’ she told him huskily.
‘Yes. I’m sorry. It’s just that a rather unfortunate situation developed in our London office, culminating in the wife of one of our clients storming in and accusing the member of staff involved of trying to steal her husband and even threatening to sue. I don’t know how, but one of the tabloids got hold of the story and, while there was no real truth in what they printed, it did put the firm in a very embarrassing position.
‘It was that that made me over-react this afternoon. I realise that the comments I overheard were simply made to tease. In fact, Margaux informs me that you of all people are the last person who would become personally involved with a client.’
He had discussed her with Margaux. Her distaste must have shown in her eyes, because he added quietly, ‘I told her that I was taking over the account. She asked me why. When I explained my concern she immediately told me that I was worrying unnecessarily.’