by Lucy Keane
He didn’t wait for the excuse. ‘Then in future could you restrict yourself to the official eating hours? Or, at the very least, use the kitchen? Visiting clients aren’t going to be impressed by a secretary who treats the reception area as a cafeteria. Jacquie, will you come into my office for a minute?’
She watched him cross to his office, Jacquie, with a wink at Amy, following him. The door shut behind them. She felt both annoyed and relieved at the same time; she had to admit that he’d had a point, but he didn’t have to sound so sarcastic about it! But he hadn’t called her Amy before. Could that be a signal of acceptance, despite her transgressions?
He really puzzled her. There seemed to be some curious contradiction in him. ‘Yes and no,’ Jacquie had said when asked if he was intimidating—and that was about as near as it was possible to get to a description of him. She wondered what he’d be like out of the context of the office and business—did he live his whole life by a stop-watch, never really free of the preoccupations of the wheeling-and-dealing world in which he made his living? That would be a pity. Somehow she got the feeling that there might be a very different man underneath all the high-powered gloss. It was just something about those extraordinary eyes.
Five o’clock couldn’t come round fast enough, and as soon as the minute hand of her watch touched the hour she was tidying away at double-quick speed. Luckily there were no letters outstanding, and she couldn’t see any reason why anyone should stop her leaving. After all, she’d been there since eight—if Julius had had any decency at all he’d have let her go at least half an hour early.
Just in case of difficulties she asked Dennis, in the process of packing his own briefcase, if she could go.
‘Sure you can!’ he said cheerfully. ‘I hope we haven’t worked you too hard on your first day. Find your way round the filing cabinets all right?’
She gave him a grin. ‘OK so far, thanks. But I probably won’t be the first to discover I’ve messed up the system!’
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to jump down your throat for it.’
I know one person who might, she thought as she took her leave, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to voice her misgivings to his partner.
Jacquie was in the reception area, putting on her coat. She showed a keen interest in the carrier bags.
‘Is that all food?’ she asked incredulously.
Amy laughed. ‘I told you I eat a lot!’ she joked.
Jacquie’s reply sounded wistful. ‘I only have to look at a chocolate cake and I put on a stone.’ Remembering her performance with the iced bun the day before, Amy privately suspected that she did more than just gaze distantly at the more tempting bits of confectionery. But she didn’t want to discuss her purchases; if she let Jacquie know she was running a catering business, the news would get about.
‘I’m sorry—I’m in an awful rush. A friend’s giving me a lift home today—see you tomorrow!’
Tossing a new load of fallen items back into one of the carrier bags, she gathered them together, and, laden like a Christmas tree, staggered down to the street as fast as was compatible with personal safety. It wasn’t only Jacquie she was keen to get away from—she could do without another encounter with Mr. Prior yet awhile, especially when her transport would proclaim in gold lettering a connection with Cookery Unlimited.
Jess was waiting for her, her mini-van parked on double yellow lines outside. She was squinting in the driving mirror while she tied back a mass of dark curly hair with an inadequate red ribbon.
‘Thank goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘One more minute and there’d have been a traffic warden breathing steamy fury all over my window! Shall we head straight for my place? We don’t have to be at the Rentons’ until about seven. I got the meringue done last night. Did you manage to buy any cream?’
They exchanged information quickly as Jess turned north off the main Swindon road towards her own small village.
‘So how do you feel after your first day?’ she demanded after a while.
‘Shattered,’ Amy said succinctly. ‘There’s a real slave-driver of a boss and what annoys me is that I’m not even supposed to be working for him, but for his partner Dennis. I hardly saw Dennis all day.’
‘What’s this slave-driver like?’ Jess asked curiously. ‘Middle-aged—whip-cracking—military?’
Amy wrinkled her nose and thought for a moment. ‘Just what I imagined before I met him. But no—to be perfectly honest, in any other circumstances I’d say he was rather dishy—the classic tallish, darkish and definitely handsome type, with the most incredible eyes, and the kind of business suits that look as though they’ve been moulded on to him by his own personal tailor. They’re all in love with him—well, not Dennis, of course!—and office gossip makes him out to be fabulously rich.’
Her friend gave a low whistle. ‘He sounds absolutely gorgeous! So what’s wrong with him? Married?’
Amy laughed. ‘You’re a natural predator, Jess! Don’t you ever think about men in any terms other than “sexually available”?’
‘And don’t you ever think beyond “Will he give me a job or not?” ’
‘Chance’d be a fine thing!’
But the tone in Amy’s voice wasn’t entirely lighthearted, and her friend glanced across at her quickly.
‘Sorry, Ames. You’ve had an appallingly tough time since the crash. But you’ve managed brilliantly. I know I couldn’t have coped with all that financial hassle on top of everything else. But don’t worry, the old “Unlimited” is going to make our fortunes, and then we’ll be able to pay other people to do the work while we go out on the town every night. So go on telling me about this dishy boss—apart from a teensy reservation about the slave-driving, I can’t see what’s wrong with him!’
‘From your point of view,’ Amy said firmly, ‘it’s that he’s already engaged! But from mine it’s that he expects total devotion to Prior Harding Investments during working hours—and he’s already made it threateningly clear that “working hours” are infinitely elastic. So apart from a few minor office mishaps, starting off with trying to make him take a totally incomprehensible phone call this morning, I’ve already offended him by eating my lunch at three o’clock in full view of visitors, even though there weren’t any, and by stacking up my shopping beside my desk. But seriously, Jess, I’m going to have to be careful about raiding the supermarkets. I’m beginning to think they suspect I’m a compulsive shoplifter or something. I got some very funny looks from all of them this afternoon.’
That was bad news, because they had a big booking for the following night and Jess wasn’t going to be able to get time off to shop.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it,’ said Amy bravely. ‘It’s none of Mr. Julius Prior’s business if I spend every lunch hour of the week in the supermarket!’
Jess looked concerned. ‘But if he doesn’t like the idea of you doing any other work… If he knew your circumstances, surely—’
‘No, Jess!’ Amy surprised herself with her own vehemence. It was odd, because the fact that he had made it clear that he didn’t want an employee with other commitments didn’t seem to have anything to do with it. She wouldn’t have felt so strongly about Dennis knowing of her difficulties, even though he didn’t want a secretary with home problems either. But, for some reason she was unwilling to analyse, she reacted violently to the suggestion that she should contemplate any overlap between her private world and her work as far as Julius Prior was concerned.
‘My personal life has nothing to do with my employer, nor his with me…’
CHAPTER THREE
But a glimpse into Julius’s private world came sooner than Amy had expected. The very next morning a tall, green-eyed blonde walked into the office. Her clothes were unremarkable—jeans and a hand-knitted sweater with a multicoloured design all over it—but there was something about her that suggested money and confidence. Her thick short hair was expensively cut, and apart from the flattering tan, which wa
s obviously genuine, her looks were further enhanced by art, her eyes carefully made up and her lips glossy with a fashionable shade of lipstick.
Most significant of all, she was wearing a large diamond on the third finger of her left hand.
The expression on her face, at first glance, was not encouraging, but then she smiled at Amy, and said quickly, ‘Has Julius got someone with him?’
Although they hadn’t met before, Fiona Harper-Maxwell clearly assumed that anyone in Julius’s employ would know who she was, and that she had automatic right of access.
Amy, feeling unaccountably prickly all of a sudden, gave her receptionist’s smile. ‘Who shall I say wants him?’
The other woman gave her a sharp look. ‘Don’t bother,’ she said dismissively, and went towards Julius’s office. Amy couldn’t help speculating on what sort of reception Fiona would have got if he had had someone in there—or perhaps, because she was his fiancée, the rules didn’t apply to her?
Zoe, who was lingering by the filing cabinet, gave Amy a significant glance. ‘Doesn’t exactly look the ecstatic bride-to-be, does she?’ she commented in a loud whisper. ‘What do you think of her?’
Amy was struggling with her own very unexpected reactions. ‘Difficult to tell on two seconds’ acquaintance,’ she said, with a casual shrug. She could hardly admit, even to herself, that Fiona had inspired in her a feeling so suspiciously like jealousy that it actually shocked her. It had had nothing to do with her looks—it would never have occurred to her to be jealous of any woman who happened to be prettier than she was—but it did have something to do with that air of careless confidence about Fiona, and with the ring on her finger. Those two things seemed suddenly to bring into focus for Amy all that had fallen out of her own life—some measure of security, and someone to care about her, to whom she was unique and special the way she had been to her parents. Or the way she would be to a lover.
‘She never used to be so offhand,’ Zoe was saying disapprovingly. ‘The first couple of times she came here, just before they were engaged, she used to chat a bit, and seem interested in what we were doing. I suppose now she’s marrying him she doesn’t think she’s got to make such an effort.’
Jacquie joined them.
‘They’re having a row in there!’
‘Gosh, you mean real insults?’ Zoe enquired eagerly.
‘I’m not sure—it’s gone suspiciously quiet, but the level of chat sounds as though it’s pretty intense. I heard a few bits—she said something about “I don’t see why you had to arrange it for that weekend. You know it’s so important to me!” ’ Her attempt to mimic Fiona came out as a comic stage whisper. ‘I couldn’t hear anything Julius said, though.’
‘He’s got some sort of a business meeting at the end of next week. She probably wanted him to go to a dance instead,’ Zoe offered, and then broke off abruptly.
The door of Julius’s office had opened. Zoe started guiltily, but Jacquie showed the presence of mind to tug open the drawer of a filing cabinet. Julius looked grim, and Amy, feeling a little guilty herself, had the misfortune to meet his eyes.
‘Two cups of coffee, Amy, please—since you’ve got time on your hands.’
She had the grace to look abashed, and then there was an audible remark from inside the office.
‘I don’t want any.’
Julius’s expression didn’t change. ‘One, Amy, please. Now.’
The door half closed, and then opened again abruptly. This time he caught Zoe with her mouth wide open, on the very first syllable of a comment.
‘Time is money, Zoe. Time is measured in office work. No time—no money.’ He didn’t sound in the least amused.
The door shut again, and Jacquie breathed out a low whistle into the files. Zoe was scarlet, and her eyes began to water.
Amy, in silence, made her way to the kitchen. She was nervous at the idea of interrupting whatever it was going on in Julius’s office, but if she delayed giving him the coffee until Fiona had left it might only cause further unpleasantness. With Julius in a mood like that, she was actually scared of him. Scared because if he lost his temper and chose unfairly to take it out on her, with the inexplicable way she was feeling just now she might react unwisely enough to lose her job. She tapped at the door.
Julius was sitting casually at his desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and his chair swivelled sideways towards Fiona, who was by the window half perched on the radiator. The expression on his face at least was pleasant when it was directed at Amy herself.
Fiona was frowning.
You could have cut the atmosphere with the proverbial knife, Amy thought as she made her escape after the most perfunctory of introductions. They must be having a monumental row, even if they weren’t shouting or throwing things at each other!
‘What’s going on?’ Jacquie hissed at her en passant— the files excuse was wearing thin after five minutes.
Amy shrugged, and raised her eyes to heaven. She felt disinclined all of a sudden to discuss any of the private affairs of her boss.
Fiona left not long after that, looking to neither left nor right of her, presumably only too aware of the interest excited by her departure.
In between answering the telephone calls and typing correspondence the rest of the morning, Amy managed to write out a shopping list under cover of a file—and to discover, after a lot of surreptitious rooting around in her bag, that she’d forgotten her sandwiches for lunch.
After a second lunch-hour spent pushing a supermarket trolley up and down the shelves she was marginally more discreet about her three carrier bags when she got back to the office again. One bag under the desk, one behind her chair, and only one left in full view of the phantom clients. At least she wouldn’t have to shop tomorrow.
By three o’clock she was starving. The Stock Exchange seemed to have quietened down a bit for the day, Julius had gone out, and the phone calls were easing off. She’d forgotten to buy any sandwiches, but with six Jamaica ginger cakes stuffed into one bag—destined for the Orton village Horticultural Society party that evening—there was a quick and easy answer to her problem.
She took out one Cellophane-wrapped cake and started to undo it. It was, predictably, very sticky, and breaking, it with her fingers would scatter crumbs all over her desk. She pushed the remains of the day’s correspondence out of the way, smoothed out a paper bag to act as a plate, and then, unwilling to go all the way through the boardroom to fetch proper cutlery from the kitchen, decided to use a ruler as an impromptu knife. It was just as functional in the circumstances, and she could wash it afterwards.
She cut off a small piece of cake and wolfed it down as she stapled a couple of documents together—no one could accuse her of idling. She really was ravenous—at least one of those quiches she’d taken out of the freezer this morning would be reaching the horticulturalists tonight minus a slice. She’d have no time to cook anything when she got home. Pity Charlie had no ambitions to become a chef.
Aware of a change in the light, she looked up, and then froze in the act of sawing off a large lump of ginger cake with the ruler.
Oh, no. Not again.
‘Is there something the matter with you, Amy?’ Julius enquired politely.
‘Er—no… What sort of thing?’ she asked foolishly.
‘Trouble with your hearing, for example?’
The light sarcasm in his tone made her skin prickle. She was in no doubt as to what he meant.
‘I’m sorry—I didn’t have time for lunch. I had to do all this shopping.’
‘So I see.’
‘It won’t happen again.’ Well, not until next week. She crossed her fingers in her lap, and saw him glance with interest at the supermarket carrier bag. Three other ginger cakes were sticking out of the top. His gaze transferred itself to her, and she met his look defiantly. She couldn’t read the look in his eyes this time—but it wasn’t quite the same as before.
‘Are you sure there isn’t anythin
g the matter with you?’ he asked again. ‘You look very pale to me.’
What business was it of his what colour she was? ‘I don’t wear any make-up,’ she replied.
‘I noticed. But you don’t seem to have a very healthy diet, if what you eat in these offices is anything to judge by.’
‘I told you,’ she explained patiently. ‘I didn’t have time to eat a proper lunch because I had to go shopping.’ The phone rang then, and for the first time that day she picked it up with a sense of relief. Luckily it was for Julius, and when he disappeared into his office she stuffed the rest of her slice of cake into her mouth and scrunched up the paper bag, dusting any stray crumbs off her desk as she did so. Then she made for the washroom.
Jacquie came in as she was running the tap and holding the sticky ruler underneath the jet of water.
‘Are you all right?’ Jacquie asked quickly.
Amy looked at her in surprise. ‘You’re the second person who’s just asked me that! What is it—a conspiracy?’
To her amazement, Jacquie actually blushed. ‘No of course not!’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just that Julius told me to find you—he thought… you looked a bit odd, that’s all.’
‘What sort of odd?’ she demanded.
‘Well, you know, pale,’ Jacquie said.
Amy shook the water off the ruler, examined it minutely for sticky crumbs and then dried it on the roller towel. ‘I should think I am pale!’ she announced decisively. ‘I have naturally white skin, I don’t wear any makeup and there’s not much point in a redhead trying to sunbathe—even if I did have the time for it. Which I don’t. Unlike his beloved Fiona. Also, I got about five’ hours’ sleep last night because there was a mountain of washing-up to do before going to bed and then the cat woke me up this morning at six o’clock. But anyway, I don’t see what any of it has got to do with Julius Prior— apart from the fact that he told me not to eat sandwiches in the reception area yesterday.’