A Suitable Mistress

by Cathy Williams

  Suzanne clutched her briefcase by the handle and nodded. ‘Did you find your way here all right?’ the girl asked—her name, it transpired, was Emma—and Suzanne smiled again and nodded and made polite conversation as the lift took them to the top floor and disgorged them into a corridor which was plushly carpeted and exuded that indefinable quality of something recently refurbished with no expense spared.

  It gave the illusion of being open-plan and it was only on closer inspection that you realised that although the secretaries were visible, industriously working away or walking along the corridor with a sense of purpose, the hierarchy were not. Their offices were set further back so that you had to stop and peer beyond the outer offices to see the more exclusive ones behind.

  It was, however, quite a change from the last place she had worked, where there had been a great deal of milling around and an overall impression of barely restrained chaos.

  ‘It’s very quiet,’ Suzanne said to her companion. ‘I feel as though I’m in a library.’

  She received a sympathetic grin back. ‘There is a library, as a matter of fact—just a small one at the end of the building. The silence in there makes this floor look like Piccadilly Circus in comparison. Angela doesn’t mind us talking, but she says that constant chatting is disruptive to an efficient business.’

  By the time they had reached the very last office at the end Suzanne had added a few more impressions of Dane’s mistress to her list, because mistress was what she undoubtedly was. A logical process of deduction had told her so, even if Dane had not.

  But nothing had prepared her for the woman sitting behind the huge desk.

  Emma had closed the door behind her and Suzanne stood and looked at Angela Street, who was on the telephone and only briefly glanced up to point to the chair facing her, then returned to her conversation.

  She was, Suzanne thought, the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

  She looked as though she was in her mid-thirties, but her skin was flawless and honey-coloured and her short blonde hair was very precisely tailored so that it framed her face—thick and straight and with the rich, creamy shades of the natural blonde.

  She finished whatever high-level conversation she had been conducting, stood up and held out her hand, and next to her Suzanne felt like a towering, overweight Amazon.

  ‘I’m Angela,’ she said, her green eyes hard and efficient. ‘Please, sit down.’

  There’s something about her, Suzanne thought, uncomfortably aware that she was being uncharitable, that I don’t like. Was it the fact that the beautiful face seemed hard and lacking in anything that was vulnerable? Or maybe it was the eyes, which looked as though they assessed and didn’t forgive easily what they didn’t like.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure what Dane has told you about the company, so you’ll have to stop me if I’m repeating information, but let me explain just what we do here.’

  Suzanne thought that she would probably be decapitated if she stopped the other woman in mid-flow and told her that she was repeating things. Angela Street didn’t look like the kind of person who liked being interrupted.

  So she listened in polite silence to the crisp American accent and tried to stifle her uneasy feeling that this woman was not to be trusted, though she had to admit that she was probably being petty. How could you dislike someone after half an hour?

  She could also, reluctantly, and with an odd feeling of resentment, see exactly why Dane had imported her all the way from America. She had that unusual combination, like him, of great intelligence and great beauty. She listened to the monologue on company performance, with its implied message that most of its success was due to policies introduced by the speaker, and pictured Dane with the blonde, the stares they would get. They were, she imagined, the perfect couple. One small and blonde and exquisitely beautiful, the other tall and dark and sinfully handsome. They would discuss high finance and business trends and he wouldn’t treat her like a simpleton who needed taking care of.

  ‘Now,’ Angela said, looking down at her watch, ‘have you any questions?’

  Suzanne asked a few and hoped that she sounded more intelligent than she felt.

  She would be working, she was told, in the office alongside this one, and would refer all enquiries to her.

  ‘Mr Sutherland—Dane—has nothing whatsoever to do with this company. He has entrusted the running of it entirely to me.’ Angela linked her fingers together, leant forward and said, without preamble, ‘This is a very unusual situation, Suzanne, and I can’t pretend that I was happy about having you here. I am very much against nepotism of any sort. Dane has explained to me how sorry he felt for you and that he felt more or less obliged to give you a job. He thought that working for me would do you a great deal of good.’

  Suzanne listened to this and tried to keep the polite smile rigidly fixed on her lips. Sorry for me? Obliged to give me a job? she thought.

  ‘It appears,’ Angela continued, her mouth a narrow line and her eyes unsmiling, ‘that he feels somewhat responsible for you because he knew you at some point in time. However, don’t think that this affords you any special treatment within this organisation.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Suzanne said, her face aching from the effort of the continual smile.

  ‘I also—and I feel that we should discuss this quite openly because I don’t believe in hiding things—do not think that it’s entirely appropriate that you should be sharing his apartment.’

  She waited for a response and Suzanne didn’t volunteer one, so she continued with a slightly harder inflection in her voice. ‘You’re a young girl and I’m sure you don’t like the restraints imposed in sharing his place, do you? I’ve explained this to Dane, and we both agree that it would probably be better for you if you made an attempt to find your own place—once you’ve settled down here, naturally.’ She spoke as though she and Dane were a couple, two lovebirds sharing their every thought, and it was all Suzanne could do not to ask exactly what the relationship was.

  ‘Dane never mentioned that to me!’ Suzanne said, stricken. ‘Of course, I had no intention of outstaying my welcome.’

  Angela smiled. ‘Of course not. A child like you wants to be able to bring boyfriends back in privacy.’

  ‘Boyfriends? I haven’t got any boyfriends.’

  Angela stood up. ‘You will,’ she said, with a show of womanly camaraderie which Suzanne didn’t join in. ‘I remember being your age and all the excitement of boys and clothes and parties.’ Suzanne found it hard to imagine Angela Street giggling over boys and getting drunk at parties. She didn’t seem the type somehow. ‘I’m sure that you’ll see quite a bit of me around and I guess that Dane and I will seem very stuffy to you. Two old fogies! ’

  ‘Why would I see a lot of you around?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘Because we work closely together and have a lot in common.’ Angela’s voice was sharp.

  ‘I’m sorry to appear rude, but I had no idea that you two were involved. Dane mentioned nothing of this to me.’

  Was it her imagination or was there a flicker of something that crossed that beautiful, marble-smooth face?

  ‘He can be very private,’ Angela said quickly. ‘It’s not in my nature, I’m afraid, to discuss personal matters with my staff. I shall simply leave it to your imagination. Although—’ manufactured warmth replaced the coldness ‘—you’re so young that your imagination is probably far too occupied with your own personal matters!’

  Suzanne was tempted to point out that he was hardly that much older than she was herself, but she bit back the words. She had an instinctive feeling that any such remark would fall neatly into the category of tactlessness, and look at what happened to the last job when tactlessness had got the better of her.

  ‘Now, I’m sorry to have to run, but I have a very important meeting with potential clients in an hour’s time.’ Angela gave the impression of having other things on her mind now that this little matter had been dealt with, an
d Suzanne hastily got to her feet and walked towards the door.

  The feeling of being huge and somehow clumsy swept over her again as she shook hands with Angela. She had never really regretted being tall, but right now she did wish that she were a couple of inches shorter so that she didn’t have to look down at the compact blonde woman with her diamond-hard, beautiful eyes.

  Angela deposited her at her office, which she was sharing with the other assistant accountant, a young man about her own age with red hair, freckles and a face that looked as though it was on the brink of breaking into a grin.

  ‘Robert will show you the ropes,’ Angela said, frowning at the cigarette in the ashtray, which was happily burning away.

  ‘She would like me to give up the evil habit,’ Robert said to Suzanne cheerily, once their door was closed. ‘I’ve even been sent on a course but I’m stoutly refusing. I hope you don’t mind. I actually don’t smoke very many, but the unfortunate thing is that every time she walks in I seem to be in the middle of one.’

  Suzanne immediately felt at home. ‘Unlucky, that,’ she agreed, grinning, and they companionably settled into work, with Robert painstakingly going through files with her, showing her charts and graphs and figures, which she grasped fairly instantly, much to her relief.

  There was far more breadth to the job than there had been to those in the two companies in which she had previously worked. Her involvement stretched way beyond the limits of accountancy and seemed to incorporate much of everything. She assumed that this was because there was no old order which rigidly defined jobs and laid down guidelines that were impossible to overstep.

  And she had to admit that, dislikeable though the woman was, Angela Street was competent. She had done more than simply set up the company. She had brought in new work and her involvement in some of the tax problems showed that her knowledge was far wider than was usual in a financial accountant.

  I should respect her, Suzanne thought to herself later that evening as she settled down in front of the television. She’s undoubtedly a brilliant worker. And so beautiful as well. Her looks alone must be in her favour when it comes to winning clients. How could anyone ignore that face?

  Suzanne looked down at the hearty meal that she had prepared for herself, having taken her time because Dane wasn’t around, and wouldn’t be for the next few days, and relished the pleasure of a big kitchen, which had gadgets and devices in it that actually did what they were supposed to do.

  For once she had felt inclined to stay away from her normal unhealthy diet of a hamburger and chips, or a bowl of cereal if she really was in no mood to do anything at all, and had made herself a pasta dish which included quite a bit of cream. It didn’t really resemble the picture in the recipe book—one of her father’s birthday presents to her because, he had laughingly told her, she’d end up making someone an absolutely horrendous wife if the thought of pots and pans brought her out in a cold sweat. She had omitted one or two of the ingredients and added a couple of her own, but it smelt good.

  She thought of Angela’s sylph-like figure, took two mouthfuls and regretfully shoved the remainder aside.

  Something in her had shifted—an awareness of herself—and for the first time since her father had died she seemed to rediscover the determination which had brought her to London and which had vanished somewhere along the way. She even resisted the bar of chocolate while she watched television.

  Angela, she thought, had cleverly managed to convey a number of things to her during that interview, in not so many words. She had managed to say, without really spelling it out, that Suzanne was immature, that she was seen by Dane as an object of pity, that her presence in the flat was an impediment to a relationship which she didn’t put into words but succeeded in implying all the same, never mind all her fine words about Suzanne needing her own space to bring her own boyfriends round for visits.

  The general upshot had been that the apartment was no longer a haven for the two of them because she, Suzanne, would be around—an unwelcome, unsightly blot on the landscape. And what really infuriated her was that Dane agreed with all this. Why would the other woman lie?

  It was just as well that he was absent from the scene. The few days’ reprieve would give her time to control her wayward temper.

  But she wasn’t going to shower him with servile gratitude, and if that was what he was waiting for then he would simply have to wait until hell froze over. She had been rescued, true enough, from joblessness and penury, but she didn’t like her rescuer and if her circumstances hadn’t been so dire she would have happily rejected his offers without a second thought.

  And, besides, she found after two days that she was beginning rather to enjoy working for the company.

  She had abandoned accountancy because she had been unsure that it was what she had wanted, yet slowly a liking for it was creeping over her. She couldn’t explain it; she could only assume that this was because the job was so varied.

  She saw next to nothing of Angela, whose infrequent visits appeared to be along the lines of checking up to make sure work was being done rather than giving encouragement, and that suited her just fine. She disliked the bright smile with its rows of perfect pearl-white teeth, she disliked that crisp voice that somehow implied that Angela was a cut above the rest of the human race.

  And Robert was a dream to work with. He was bright, capable and endlessly amusing on the subject of his girlfriend. He also left her in complete control of her accounts, and the responsibility, she discovered, agreed with her.

  It was fun being on the inside of a newly developing company, where there was always scope for input and where the new was not necessarily the bad.

  Two days later she was sitting at her desk, eating an apple because she no longer seemed to have the time to indulge in anything more substantial if it meant taking her out of the office for any length of time, when the door opened.

  She didn’t look up. It would be Robert, returning, no doubt, crestfallen after an unsuccessful lunch with Annie. It seemed to be the pattern of their relationship: arguments, followed by ecstatic reconciliations, followed by yet more arguments, a never-ending road which they both seemed to quietly enjoy walking down. After only a few days Suzanne felt as though she had known them both for years.

  ‘Hello.’ The cool, deep voice made her head swing up. ‘Just thought that I’d look in and see how you’re getting along.’

  Somehow, she hadn’t expected to see him here. Come to it, she hadn’t really expected to see him anywhere at all, at least not for another few days, and the surprise of him lounging against the doorframe in his charcoal-grey suit made her flush.

  ‘Fine, thank you.’ She half rose to her feet and then sat back down, feeling clumsy and awkward.

  Angela approached and slipped next to him, linking her hand lightly through his arm—a gesture of ownership which he hardly appeared to notice.

  I was right, Suzanne thought; they do look good together.

  ‘We’re going out to lunch,’ Angela said, which was the first time that she had volunteered any information as to her whereabouts, apart from briefly leaving her mobile-telephone number in case she was urgently needed back at the office. Presumably the mobile phone wasn’t going to be making up a threesome on this particular occasion.

  ‘Fine.’ Suzanne avoided looking at Dane. The anger she had put aside over the past few days was threatening to break its leash. If he hadn’t wanted to let her use his apartment, then it would only have been fair to make that clear at the beginning. She hadn’t asked for his charity, had she?

  ‘You’re not spending your lunch-hour in here, are you?’ Dane asked, his grey eyes focusing on her with amused surprise.

  ‘I do keep telling her,’ Angela said, answering the question on Suzanne’s behalf, ‘that she should stretch her legs and go outside but she prefers to work through her lunch.’

  This was the first time any such concern had been expressed about her needing to stretch her legs. For the
past four days Angela had been more than happy to have her man the telephones in an empty office.

  ‘The exercise would do you good,’ Angela said in a sweetly caring voice which made Suzanne’s teeth snap together in irritation. She certainly knew how to drop the hard-as-nails image when it suited her.

  ‘Why don’t you join us?’ Dane asked. ‘We’re heading off for a quick Italian in Covent Garden.’

  ‘No.’ The thought of being an unwanted third party with the two of them was enough to bring on a heart attack. ‘I mean no, thank you. I have quite a bit of work here I’d like to finish.’

  ‘Yes, Dane,’ Angela said quickly, ‘we mustn’t drag the poor child out if she’s intent on doing her work. It’s not often we see such dedication in the young, is it?’

  Dane ignored her. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You can finish that work later.’

  Suzanne didn’t know whether the prospect of lunch for three was more appalling for her or for Angela. The other woman’s face had certainly set into granite hardness.

  So she reluctantly followed them into the lift, noticing that he had shrugged off the hand on his arm and was clearly not into public demonstrations of affection, because he was standing on the opposite side to Angela and making no move to close the gap.

  ‘And how does the work compare to what you were doing in Warwick?’ Dane asked, addressing her for the first time when they had stepped into the taxi.

  ‘It’s very interesting,’ Suzanne began, reluctantly meeting those mesmerising eyes and trying not to feel diminished by Angela, whose legs were gracefully crossed, exposing just the right amount of thigh beneath the jade-green, short silk shirt.

  ‘Yes, your last job was in a very small company, wasn’t it?’ Angela asked, shifting her position slightly so that slightly more bare thigh was exposed.

  ‘Quite small, yes, but—’

  ‘I did initially wonder—’ Angela looked up at Dane with a conspiratorial smile ‘—whether Suzanne would be able to cope. After all, a family firm is such a different kettle of fish, isn’t it? But she’s doing marvellously well.’