Roberta Leigh - It All Depends on Love

by Roberta Leigh

  He and his think-tank were the brains of the company, and, to ensure it remained ahead of its competitors, it was important for them to totally concentrate on what they were doing. For this, they required freedom from the hassle of an office or factory environment. And what better place in which to find peace and quiet than a lovely mansion in the countryside, impeccably run?

  On her third day, Tessa took over Eva's duties, and as she dusted rooms, vacuumed carpets and changed bed linen she felt she had discarded her surgeon's skill for that of a housemaid! Yet it was undeniably restful to know she wasn't concerned with the well-being Of patients, and quite frequently a life-or-death situation, and that the worst that could happen was a broken ornament, the washing-machine's breaking down or some other domestic trivia.

  She found more than enough time to pop in and out of Greentrees to check all was well, particularly with Henry, who remained extraordinarily amenable to being fenced in all day. But then he had a wonderful nature— like Uncle Martin. In fact he was so like her godfather— the way he bounded up to her, all mussed and happy to see her—that she felt they were cast in the same mould!

  On her fourth day she took Pedro's place—it being his day off—and spent the morning cleaning silver and sorting out the china-room. This was a ten-foot-square area filled with Dresden, Meissen and Wedgwood dinner and tea services, to say nothing of beautiful ornaments too numerous to be displayed—unless one wished to turn the Hall into a museum rather than a home.

  To her surprise she was exhausted when she returned to Greentrees each night, and by the end of the week she realised she still had a long way to go before she was well enough to tackle a full day's operating.

  Despondently she made herself an omelette—having refused supper at the Hall—then went to bed. She rarely suffered the blues, yet tonight felt gloom envelop her as she saw her whole life stretching ahead of her like a lonely road, unless she met a man she loved enough to share it with—and who loved her in return! Not easy, considering the long working hours she kept.

  It might be less of a problem if she fell for another surgeon, as Sir Denis had said. Except that if their schedules were different they might never get to see each other! Mocking blue eyes filled her vision, and she wondered how amenable Patrick Harper would be towards a wife who followed her own demanding career. Despite his being irritated by her casual approach to life, and urging her to train for a worthwhile job, when it came to his personal choice he might opt for a woman who centred her existence around him!

  Her gloom intensified and, as if to parallel it, she heard a whine outside her bedroom door. Henry! He was given the run of the house at night and usually slept curled up on his duvet in the hall. But Tessa was the light of his doggy eyes, and whenever she was home he liked nothing better than to sleep at the foot of her bed.

  Padding over to the door, she let him in. At once a shaggy bundle of fur hurled itself at her, nearly bowling her over, and a long pink tongue dedicated itself to washing her face.

  'Henry, stop it!' Pushing him away, she returned to bed. But as she settled back on the pillow she found Henry staring soulfully into her eyes. His face was level with hers, his wet nose sniffing her delicately.

  'You are not, definitely not sleeping on my bed,' she said sharply.

  Big brown eyes continued to stare dejectedly into amber ones, then, recognising the voice of authority, Henry padded to the foot of the bed and settled himself on the rug.

  Tessa spent an idle Saturday and Sunday, but Monday found her taking her usual route through the gap in the garden wall. It was another lovely day, and the smell of the grass, still damp with dew, and the profusion of roses scenting the flower-beds, lifted her spirits.

  They rose further when she found it was Emmy's day off and she was detailed to tidy the west wing, Patrick Harper's private quarters. This must mean he was soon returning—perhaps he was already winging his way over the Atlantic!

  Standing in the panelled hall, a smaller replica of the main one, she saw why he had made this his personal domain. Not only was it secluded from the rest of the house, but there was no problem in partitioning off an acre of garden. A large pool gleamed blue among the green, and luxurious poolside chairs and tables were ranged on the flagstoned surround.

  Curiously she peered into the five guest suites, each with its own bathroom, then went through the dining-room, sitting-room and study. All seemed to be furnished with antiques and carpets from the main house, though she guessed the curtains to be new. But their colours were subtle and they blended in perfectly with the tranquil atmosphere.

  Only the main bedroom was modern, as befitted a young tycoon of the twentieth century. Starkly dark brown, it was relieved by clever flashes of tangerine and green—in the tie-backs that held the chocolate-brown satin curtains in place, in the fabric covering the two easy chairs by the window, and the scatter cushions on a bed too large to be king-size. More likely emperor-size!

  It was all too easy to visualise its owner lying in it, and, angered by her thoughts, she hurried into the dressing-room—large enough to be a bedroom in itself— and collected an armful of brown satin bed-sheets. She set about making the bed—no easy task when you were five feet one and the area you were covering seemed the size of a baseball pitch!

  Puffed from the exertion, she perched on the edge to recover her breath, then nearly expired on hearing a sarcastic voice behind her.

  'Make yourself at home while you're about it and have a sleep!'

  Jumping to her feet, she whirled round to the tall, loose-limbed figure of her employer. No, she hadn't imagined the eyes blue as sapphires, the features fit for a Greek god, the body a woman could drool over… He was everything she remembered and more!

  'Emmy off?' he enquired, coming close enough for her to see the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes.

  'Yes, and I'm——-'

  'I know.' Impatiently he slipped off his jacket and undid his tie.

  In normal circumstances, this wouldn't have fazed her, but his bedroom lent the action an intimacy that stifled her and made it hard to breathe. Averting her eyes from the cream silk shirt fitting snugly over the wide shoulders, she bent to the bed and tucked in the bottom sheet.

  'I bet you didn't learn to do that in a squat!' he said.

  'Learn what?' Surprised, she glanced round, and saw him nod towards the precise envelope corners she had made—a subconscious emulation of the way it was done in hospital.

  'Oh that!' she mumbled, thinking fast. 'My girlfriend taught me. She—er—she works in a hospital.'

  'A worthwhile profession. You should consider it.'

  'I'm happy as I am.'

  An eyebrow quirked. 'Funny little thing, aren't you?'

  Her hackles rose. She hadn't been called that since medical school. 'My size is no concern of yours, and I'll thank you not to be personal.'

  'You're uptight at being tiny?'

  'I…am…not…tiny,' she stated in precise tones. I'm five feet one inch tall, which is a perfectly normal height to be. How would you tike it if I referred to you as a funny tall thing?'

  'It wouldn't bother me in the least. Nor would it bother you if you led a more meaningful life.'

  'Don't you think a person can be happy drifting? Just because you're obsessed with work, it doesn't mean we all have to be. Now, if you'll leave me to finish your room…'

  'Why should I leave?'

  'Because you make me nervous." She threw the billowy duvet—chocolate-brown with tangerine and blue piping—across the bed. 'I can't work properly with you watching me.'

  'Well, if you promise not to watch me,' he replied, keeping his face expressionless as he unbuttoned his shirt, 'I'll change into jeans and sweater and go.'

  Quick as lightning Tessa streaked to the door—acting more like a frightened virgin than a woman used to seeing nude bodies. Except she wasn't acting! The very notion of seeing Patrick Harper undressed robbed her of logic, and she was desperately frightened—not of him,
but of herself, of having to acknowledge that she had finally encountered a man who made her feel vulnerable, open to hurt and disillusion. As long as she was heart-free it was easy to control her life. The moment her happiness depended on a man

  'Hey!' he called. 'I was only kidding. Come back and finish the bed.'

  'I have.'

  Smartly she whipped out and closed the door, almost knocking smack into Ingrid. 'Whoops!' she gasped. 'Sorry.'

  'So you should be.'

  'Did I hurt you? I'm awfully——-'

  'I'm not talking about your exit,' Ingrid hissed, 'but your stupidity in not leaving the room when Mr Harper's there. I thought I made it clear he wasn't to be bothered with stupid chatter. His ideas are worth millions and you are not to interrupt his thoughts.'

  'I wasn't.' Tessa suddenly wondered if Ingrid had eavesdropped outside the door. 'He was talking to me. You can ask him if you like.'

  'Mr Harper's too kind to get you into trouble.'

  'You must be joking!'

  Too late, Tessa realised it wasn't the answer a genuine employee would have made. Yet Ingrid, for all her airs, was an employee too—which put them on a par—and Tessa wasn't going to be intimidated by her. Stretching herself to her full height, she stared up haughtily at Ingrid's five feet eight.

  'I'm fully aware that you're Mr Harper's assistant, but when he engaged me he didn't inform me I'd have to report to you, so you've no right ordering me around.'

  Angry colour swamped Ingrid's porcelain-pink skin. 'How dare you talk to me like that, you—you little nothing?'

  'I'm as polite to you as you are to me,' Tessa declared, and stalked off.

  Only as she returned to the main house did her anger abate sufficiently for her to regret her loss of temper. If Ingrid went running to Patrick Harper over this, her job as Girl Friday might well end this Tuesday!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At nine-thirty the next morning, Tessa was left in no doubt that Ingrid had complained to Patrick, for he stormed in on her as she was clearing the remains of breakfast from the dining-room.

  'I've enough to do without listening to Ingrid complaining about you,' he snarled.

  'Complaining?' Tessa widened her eyes.

  'Don't pretend innocence.'

  'Oh, that!' Tessa said airily.

  'That,' he stated, 'happens to be exactly what's made her furious. Get one thing straight, will you? Ingrid's my assistant and has full permission to give you orders. If you can't accept them, you'll have to go.'

  Was this fate warning her to leave while she was still heart-free? Yet knowing how pleased Ingrid would be if she went was enough to decide her to stay. Besides, Patrick was a man like any other, and, though devilishly sexy, might become less attractive on better acquaintance! And the less she liked him, the better for her peace of mind.

  'I'm sorry I'm a nuisance, sir. I won't let it happen again. I'll do everything she tells me and——-'

  'Don't overplay the act,' he cut in drily.

  'Act?' Tessa went scarlet. How long had he known, and why had he waited till now before admitting it?

  'Yes, act,' he repeated. 'I'm aware you've no respect for authority, so don't kid me you're capable of being subservient.'

  She breathed easier, then said curiously, 'You prefer me to be subservient?'

  Head on one side, he surveyed her, eyebrows drawn together. 'You couldn't be, even if you tried. And no, I don't want you to be.'

  'Thanks.' She flashed him a wide smile.

  'But that doesn't mean you can disregard Ingrid's orders. If she asks you to do something, do it:'

  And did the Swedish girl lay it on! Over the next few days she gave Tessa as many tedious tasks as possible, from sweeping the gravel forecourt to clearing out the four-car garage, from polishing windows to weeding flower-beds!

  'I wasn't told I'd have to stand in for the gardener,' Tessa protested, having finally had enough.

  'You don't,' Ingrid conceded, pink-tipped fingers smoothing her silky blonde hair. 'I merely thought you'd nice to be helpful.'

  There was no answer to that, and Tessa vowed that next time this Swedish sadist found her another unreasonable task she'd tell her where to put it! Of course, it didn't require a genius to figure out that Ingrid was doing this to keep her out of Patrick Harper's orbit!

  So successful was Ingrid that Tessa saw nothing of him for the next two days, and, since her purpose was to pull the wool over his eyes and watch his face when she finally lifted it, she debated whether to drop her little game and walk out.

  'You're very pensive,' a cheerful voice broke in on her musing, and Tessa saw Mike, the blond giant from the think-tank, barring her way inthe corridor. 'How are you finding things?' he went on.

  'With difficulty.'

  He laughed. 'People or tasks?'

  'Both.'

  'I'm sure you can hold your own.'

  'I try.'

  'Finished your work, Tessa?'

  Irritation coursed through her as she swung round to see Ingrid. 'As a matter of fact, yes. I've a spare hour.'

  Then enjoy it without disturbing other people.'

  'If that's a dig at me,' Mike intervened equably, 'I was giving myself a breather. Or is that against the rules?'

  'Of course not.' Ingrid's tone was softer, her attitude conciliatory. 'It's simply that our little Tessa loves to chatter, which can be rather disturbing.'

  Tessa fumed at this description of herself, but refused to give Ingrid the satisfaction of knowing it. 'You're quite right,' she said artlessly. 'I hope I'll have learned more sense by the time I'm your age.' -

  Ingrid's pale skin suffused with colour, and, turning on her heel, she stalked off.

  'Beats me why she has to be unpleasant,' Mike murmured as soon as she was out of sight.

  'The poor thing can't help it!' Tessa was cheeky as a teenager might be.

  'Even so, she seems to have her knife into you.’

  It was a pity Patrick hadn't noticed it. But then he relied on Ingrid. Maybe more than relied. It was an idea Tessa found disagreeable, yet it might account for the girl's airs and graces. Graces? Heavens, a boa constrictor was more gracious!

  'Let's forget Ingrid,' Mike went on. 'It's more fun talking about you. Now, where were we?'

  'I don't know where .you were, but I'm off to give my dog a drink. I forgot to fill his bowl before I left home this morning.'

  Mike groaned. 'You're putting your dog before m&'

  'Naturally!' Tessa moved away. 'And don't say another word about him or I'll come back and bite you.'

  'Is that a promise or a threat?' he called.

  Laughing, she went out across the lawn, and was bending to scramble through the gap in the wall—she really must remind someone to fix it—when a cold, wet nose went smack into hers. Henry!

  She reached for bun, but he was too fast for her, and went tearing across the grass to the west wing. That was all she needed! Straightening fast, she ran after him, and found him sniffing and pawing outside the french windows of Patrick's private sitting-room.

  'Oh, no, you don't,' she muttered, grabbing him by the collar and tugging him away. No mean feat, for he was obstinate as a mule and practically the same size. .'How did-you get out, Henry? I'm positive I bolted the gate.'

  A few moments later she discovered the answer, for the gate was hanging by its hinges. 'Naughty boy,' she scolded sternly, at the same time admiring his tenacity.

  Sensing it, he barked and wagged his tail, then tried to pull away from her restraining hand.

  'Not this time, bud. You're Henry, not Houdini, and I'm going to make good and sure you don't escape again.'

  Uttering the magic word 'Food', she managed to propel him into the kitchen, and, leaving him happily munching biscuits, she raided the garden shed for stout wire and wire-cutters.

  It took her the best part of half an hour to secure the gate sufficiently for Henry not to break it open again, and to return him to his enclosure. Raising beseeching eyes at
her, he whined pitifully, and Tessa, whose heart normally melted at this, determinedly walked back to the Hall. She had been away long enough and didn't fancy giving Ingrid an excuse to lambaste her.

  Once again she wondered why the girl was jealous of her. After all, an eighteen-year-old drop-out was hardly competition for a sophisticated Swedish beauty. Yet the scene with Mike illustrated her bitterness and frustration. But frustration at what?

  The answer was clear: at not getting to first base with Patrick!

  Musing on this, she wondered if he made it a rule not to mix business with pleasure. Or did he genuinely not fancy the girl? Though she was beautiful enough to interest most men, her aloof attitude might have turned him off. Except she was anything but aloof with him…

  Intrigued to learn more about her, Tessa resolved to pump Mrs Withers, and her chance came soon after lunch, when she stayed behind for another cup of tea.

  'Ingrid's background?' the woman echoed Tessa's question. 'Far as I remember she comes from a village in Sweden, though she never talks about her family. Why the curiosity?'

  'I was trying to figure out why she's sharp with everyone.'

  'Ask her!'

  'She'd eat me for breakfast!'

  Mrs Withers chuckled and handed Tessa a knife. 'Vent your curiosity on the tomatoes. Put them in boiling water for a few minutes and then skin them.'

  Just what I'd like to do to Ingrid! Tessa thought, switching on the kettle. Next time I find her snooping on me I'll walk out.

  An hour later, she was placing a vase of fresh flowers on Patrick's desk, it being Emmy's day off, when he strode in.

  'Always underfoot,' he said half jokingly. 'One day I'll open a cupboard and find you popping out!'

  'Don't you like flowers?' she asked, continuing to arrange them.

  'I like peace and quiet better.'

  'I'm only doing my job, as a Girl Friday should.'

  'You seem to be a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday one as well,' he grunted.

  "Then I'll take the flowers away.' Crossly she reached for the vase, her hand sending the crystal paperweight teetering on the edge of the desk.

  'Watch out!' He lunged past her and caught it. Talk about clumsy! You're a real butter-fingers!'