by Lucy Keane
She frowned. It wasn’t what she’d expected.
‘What… exactly is the offer?’ She went back to her armchair and sat down. She felt too vulnerable standing there in front of him.
His eyes held hers, their expression remote. ‘A perfectly respectable one,’ he said casually. ‘I need a cook. I’ve got a four-day trip to Spain at the beginning of January. You’ve already dealt with some of the relevant correspondence, and you know we’ve been able to finance the purchase of more building land in the Puerto Banus area near Marbella—thanks to Chris and others. We’re building some luxury houses there. I’ve been approached by Spanish property dealers about advance sales of some of the projected buildings—which would of course help to finance further stages of the development. I need to go out there to help them make up their minds about us.’
She wasn’t absolutely sure what he was leading up to. She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that. She began to comb some of the tangles out of her hair with her fingers. It made her nervous just to sit there and do nothing.
His eyes assessed her, looking for her reaction.
‘I want you to come down to the development with me and help entertain them.’
She was silent, unsure whether she’d heard him rightly. Go to Spain… in January, with Julius—just a couple of weeks before his wedding?
‘Why me?’ she asked carefully.
‘I told you. Because you’re a cook.’
Put that way, it sounded sensible enough. But her reactions weren’t very sensible. Her heart began to feel as though it was beating at twice its normal pace.
‘But can’t you take them out to a hotel to wine and dine them?’
‘I could,’ he agreed. ‘But that’s defeating the object of it. I want to persuade them that our houses offer all the amenities and comfort and style that anyone would want in their home. The show house is already fully equipped. I want someone from the office who’s both a secretary and a cook. You’ll have to travel with me, work for me when I need you, and cook one very good meal—’
‘I’m no good at Spanish dishes,’ she cut in quickly.
‘You don’t have to be. It’s the last thing we should offer Spanish clients on their home ground. Good international cuisine—French for preference.’ He looked at her steadily. ‘It won’t be a holiday. I’ll pay you extra, on top of what you get at the office. Will you come?’
‘Can I think about it?’
‘Fine. Provided you can give me an answer immediately after Christmas so that I’ve got time to sort out somebody else if you decide against it.’
He got up then, shooting out his wrist to check his watch in that familiar ‘time is money’ office manner. A wave of disappointment swept over her. Perhaps it was her fault he was leaving—he’d brought her Christmas presents, and an exciting prospect of earning more money, and all she’d done was insult him with a gratuitous reminder that he was engaged to Fiona. All because she couldn’t cope with her own inappropriate desires.
‘You wouldn’t… like to stay for supper?’ She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to offer it, or that he would accept it even if he had the time to stay, but she meant it as a kind of apology for all the strange awkwardness of the evening which must surely be her fault.
He looked at her for so long that she thought she might have offended him further. Or was he trying to find a polite excuse that wouldn’t hurt her feelings? Eventually he said, ‘Amy, there’s nothing I’d like better than to stay here with you and have supper but I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ His tone was final.
‘Why not?’ she couldn’t help asking.
He looked down at her as she got to her feet. Without her office high heels the top of her head reached his shoulder. ‘Because just at the moment I can’t afford to let myself be distracted by barbaric-looking ladies skilled in witchcraft.’
‘You mean you’ve got work to do?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘You could put it like that.’
She followed him into the hall and got his coat for him, watching him shrug it on, and then stood back when she opened the front door to let him pass her.
But when he was outside he appeared to hesitate, turning round to look at her, his expression again enigmatic. She remembered suddenly the description of him she’d first given Jess—‘tallish, darkish, and definitely handsome.’ That seemed tame now. He’d been like some high-powered electro-magnet as far as she was concerned from the very beginning, and she had no defences against the kind of physical power he had over her. Without even trying, he could fill her entire world for her if she let him.
Doing her best to ignore the jittery way her body was reacting to him, she was about to ask him if he’d forgotten something, when unexpectedly he caught her by the hand, and before she had a chance to react pulled her towards him until they were both standing under her spindly mistletoe.
She gave a little gasp as she fell against him, and glanced up at him, her lips parted, her slanting eyes wide with astonishment. He was smiling down at her. This time she could read a question in his eyes, and also a decision—he had already made up his mind what he was going to do. The question was for her; how was she going to react?
She couldn’t even be sure herself—she could feel her heart beginning to race, while what could only have been a few seconds seemed to stretch out in an endless indecision. Feeling the way she did, she shouldn’t even let him touch her… But she couldn’t pull away. His hands were on her shoulders, and his fingers slid up round the back of her neck under her hair. ‘Happy Christmas, Amy,’ he said softly. Then her body seemed to make the decision for her, and everything changed—all the awkwardness between them melted away.
She didn’t mean to slip her arms round him under his jacket, just as she didn’t mean to raise her face so willingly for his kiss, but something seemed to take possession of her and she was prompted by pure instinct.
His mouth touched hers gently at first, and again she didn’t mean to part her lips in such obvious invitation, but when he took her in his arms, pulling her against him and deepening the kiss, she forgot all about Fiona and any reasons she might have had for keeping aloof from him, and let herself kiss him back with all the generosity of which she was capable.
If she’d subconsciously tried to tell herself it was just a kiss under the mistletoe, and didn’t therefore count in any serious way, that illusion was very quickly dispelled in the sudden heat that flared between them as his arms tightened round her. It was as though all the physical excitement that had been generated that first time at his flat, far from vanishing in the subsequent tensions and antagonisms, had been banked up—a fire storing its heat waiting to blaze into life again.
Just as before, all conscious thought left her, and she was aware only of her intense desire to please him as every inch of her body seemed to come alive in response to the increasing intensity of his kiss.
But, with a sudden sense of dismay, she was aware of the firm strength of his arms as he put her away from him. He was still gripping her shoulders, but holding her at a distance now. He was looking down at her, but he didn’t say anything.
When she could find her voice she said shakily, ‘We shouldn’t have done that—what about Fiona?’
At his sharp indrawn breath, she could feel the renewed tension in him.
‘I think Fiona deserves a dose of her own medicine just at present.’ His tone was bitter. She couldn’t read his expression. ‘Fiona is my concern. Not yours.’
As though her heart had literally contracted at his words, she felt a sudden real pain then. She pulled back from him in pure reflex.
A dose of her own medicine—so that was what it was! She’d been misinterpreting the signals ever since he arrived. No wonder it had all been so awkward. Well, that certainly let her know her own position. He was only using her to get back at Fiona. What had just happened had nothing to do with her at all.
Tears suddenly pricking under her eyelids, she stepped blindly b
ack into the doorway.
‘Goodnight, Julius,’ she said, as coldly as she could. ‘Happy Christmas.’
And shut the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amy didn’t see Julius again until after Christmas, but the question of Spain preoccupied her almost to the exclusion of everything else. There was no real reason why she couldn’t go. The extra money would be welcome, and Charlie and the cat could stay with Celia, which would solve the obvious home problems.
He’d asked her because she was a convenient combination of cook and secretary and for no other reason; and if she wanted proof that he had no real affection for her she had only to remind herself of that kiss under the mistletoe. She could feel very angry about that if she let herself. That had been about Fiona, some sort of revenge for whatever was going wrong with their relationship just then—not about Amy Thompson.
She was a little apprehensive about how the others would respond to her news when they eventually found out, but they were generous in their reactions.
‘Four whole days with Julius!’ Zoe sighed wistfully. ‘You lucky thing!’
‘Luxury hotels!’ Jacquie enthused. ‘I know because Julius has just asked me to make the reservations. Two nights in a five-star just outside Puerto Banus and another two in one of those wonderful paradors in Granada—yours is actually in the grounds of the Alhambra!’
That was more than Julius had told her, on his increasingly brief visits to the office after the Christmas break. Although she’d given him her decision to go to Spain with him, his reaction had told her nothing of his feelings about it either way.
She was lying in her king-size double bed on her first night in Puerto Banus.
It had been all right back in England when they’d started off. Julius had, almost, teased her in the way he’d done when he’d visited her at home. She’d gone to work as usual on Tuesday morning—the day of their flight—bringing with her on the bus the one small suitcase she and Jess had packed the night before.
He had registered surprise at the sight of it.
‘Is that all you’ve got?’
‘But we’re only going for four days, aren’t we?’ she had countered, a little dismayed.
‘So what’ve you brought—four pairs of Charlie’s rugger socks? You’re the first woman I’ve ever taken away anywhere who didn’t need an extra trailer for her wardrobe. Sure you haven’t got another bag or three stashed away somewhere?’
That had introduced a few doubts—did he expect her to keep up with the jet-set executive image herself?
‘I suppose Jess did tell me it was a bit unrealistic,’ she offered. ‘But I’ve never ever gone away with more than that. And anyway—I don’t have any more suitable clothes.’
That shut him up very effectively, after he’d given her one very direct glance.
She saw the other two secretaries exchange looks of covert astonishment. They just couldn’t wait for a gossip!
Julius drove to Heathrow only just in time for their flight. He was on the phone until almost the last minute, and then typically expected her to be ready to leave at two seconds’ notice. By luck rather than good judgement, she was.
They were due to arrive in Malaga in the early evening, and he spent most of the three hours on the plane correcting sheets of reports, and studying legal documents. She sat next to him, conscious of the fact she was alone with him—the other hundred or so passengers didn’t exist as far as she was concerned—and wishing he’d give her something to do. It was still office time, and she felt guilty about getting out a book to read. Eventually she found an old envelope in her handbag and began to write a shopping list for the dinner she’d have to cook. She and Jess had planned several alternatives to each course on the menu, just in case she couldn’t get the ingredients she needed.
It didn’t take long to jot down the main list, and she never for a moment forgot that Julius was sitting only inches from her. If she moved her knee only fractionally to the left, she could touch his. She found herself looking at his hands. He had strong, narrow hands with beautifully manicured nails, and where his shirt-cuff with its gold link was pushed up there was a dusting of fine dark hair on the back of his wrists. And as she stared at the pen moving with a fluid sureness over the paper she remembered the feel of those hands in her hair when he had kissed her outside her front door, and the way his fingers had caressed the back of her neck… and she remembered the time before that, at his flat…
The pen stopped. ‘Want something to do?’
Suspecting sarcasm, she raised her eyes to his, and found him studying her. For one appalled moment she wondered if he had been able to see what she was thinking, and unaccustomed colour flooded into her face.
To her relief that amused him; he’d misinterpreted the blush.
‘You don’t have to feel guilty! There’ll be plenty to get on with later this evening, and tomorrow. You’ll have to eat on your own tonight—I’m seeing some clients as soon as we arrive. I’ll take you into Marbella early tomorrow but I’ll leave you to your own devices to do the shopping, and then I’ll pick you up for lunch there before we go out to the development. You’ll have all afternoon to prepare the dinner, and you can change at the villa.’
‘Yes, sir!’ She couldn’t resist that, after the curt way he’d delivered her orders.
There was a twitch of a smile, and the business manner thawed briefly.
‘Any more cheek from you, Miss Thompson, and I’ll be leaving you on the runway at Malaga.’
But that ‘Miss Thompson’, although meant as a joke, put her firmly in her place. She thought about the implications of the fact that he wasn’t asking her to have dinner with him that night; his reasons probably had nothing to do with consideration for her travel fatigue.
After a while she asked doubtfully, ‘Are you sure you want me to join you for the business dinner tomorrow? I don’t mind staying in the kitchen—in some ways it’s a lot easier.’
‘Miss the sight of you in your party socks? Not likely!’
He went back to his documents then, apparently switching into total concentration instantly.
Now, as she glanced round her room, she thought again that her words to Jacquie about a purely business trip might be far more accurate than she’d secretly been prepared for. Yes, they were in a luxury hotel all right. Her white-painted room, with its modern ceramic wall lights, mirrors, vast white wardrobes, its television set, its own well-stocked drinks cabinet, was almost fit for a film star. The hotel boasted smart little boutiques, and a heated outdoor pool, and only a few hundred yards away was one of the most fashionable beaches in Spain. She had her own balcony, which presumably had a view of the sea in daylight—but what was the point of it all when she wasn’t going to get any time to enjoy it, and she had no one to share it with?
Julius must have arranged for the extra table to be brought into her room, on top of which stood an electronic typewriter—scarcely standard equipment for the average holiday guest! According to plan, he had disappeared almost immediately on arrival, and she had retired to her room to deal with the sheaf of papers he’d given her. Her only consolation was the fact that he wouldn’t be hovering beside her, making her nervous, waiting for the finished typesheets.
She’d had a long, leisurely bath and resisted the temptation to take a long, leisurely gin with it—she didn’t like the idea of Julius’s most predictable expression once he was presented with the company bill to sign. He was absolutely certain to check every detail—‘Miss Thompson, Room 302: four gins, four tonics—two per night of each—two half-bottles of champagne—one per night.’ What else? Liqueurs after the supper she’d ordered up to her room perhaps? Grand Marnier? Cointreau? She gave a grim little smile. Serve him right for leaving her alone with a giant heap of typing to do while he went out to dinner! But she couldn’t say he hadn’t warned her.
It was after eleven when she finished typing. She wondered what he was doing. Was he still with his business associates, tal
king money and contracts in that quick decisive way of his, or had he already returned to the hotel? His room was one floor above hers. The hotel wasn’t full. It seemed odd that people who were travelling together should be given rooms on different levels. Had he arranged that too?
For a while she sat in one of the comfortable armchairs and read the hotel magazines. There was an unexpected luxury in being able to wander round in her bedroom in the middle of winter clad in nothing hut a fine silk nightdress. It was one her mother had given her as a birthday present. ‘To fascinate your future husband with!’ as she’d said with a twinkle in her eye.
Whether she’d been speaking in terms of the future when her daughter should already have a husband, or whether Amy was to wear the nightdress in order to catch the husband in the first place, she’d left deliberately ambiguous.
Now, as she lay in bed wondering how she was going to get to sleep, she thought of her mother. They had had a good relationship. Joanne Thompson had been an understanding and loving woman, and, with the first shock of her death over, Amy found that she was missing her more, not less, with every month that passed. Wearing the nightdress—which she seldom did; it was much too good to waste on Number 5 Estate Cottages— had brought back her mother’s words as she had given it to her.
But oh, Mum, she said in her mind, what would you say if you knew it was somebody else’s future husband I was in love with?
She was in love with Julius. She hadn’t seen it quite like that before, but the discovery now was no surprise to her. Underneath, she must have known it all along.
Her mother and Julius would have liked each other. But it was only self-destructive to indulge in impossible dreams. And there wasn’t much anyone could say to her present predicament—except, Give up your job. Don’t spend any time with a man you can’t have. The first of those was out of the question; and as for the second, well, there wasn’t much she could do about that in the immediate future—she had three more days ahead of her, almost exclusively in his company.