The Boss's Secret Mistress

by Alison Fraser

  There was more than a hint of regret in Amanda’s tone, even a suggestion of vulnerability, but Tory wondered if they weren’t just products of their current situation.

  ‘One moment you’re the hottest thing in town,’ continued Amanda, ‘the next you’re abseiling down a bloody cliff, just to survive…and what do you have to show for it?’

  The question might have been rhetorical but Tory couldn’t resist answering, ‘A wardrobe full of designer clothes, the chicest of sports coupés and probably a garden flat in Hampstead.’

  ‘Notting Hill, actually—’ Amanda smiled briefly ‘—and, yes, I admit there are compensations… Just don’t go thinking they’re enough.’

  It seemed like well-intentioned advice but Tory wasn’t used to that from Amanda. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

  Amanda caught her suspicious glance and read it astutely, ‘You mean when I’m normally acting like the editor from hell?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Tory was surprised by the other woman’s self-awareness.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Amanda thought about it before coming up with, ‘Maybe I see myself in you if I roll back the film fifteen years.’

  Tory managed not to look horrified, although she couldn’t imagine herself turning out like Amanda under any circumstances.

  ‘In fact, I’m willing to bet we come from similar backgrounds,’ Amanda went on. ‘Raised by a single mother. High rise flat in inner-city London. State school. And a burning desire for something better.’

  Tory could have denied it. It wasn’t an exact blueprint of her early life. But it was close enough.

  ‘Is that so wrong?’ she said at length.

  ‘Not at all,’ Amanda replied, ‘but knowing what you don’t want out of life isn’t the same as knowing what you do. And by the time you work it out, it might already be too late.’

  ‘So what do you want?’ Tory wasn’t convinced Amanda was being genuine.

  ‘In the short term, out of this hole,’ Amanda said with a grimace. ‘In the long term, what all us career girls really secretly desire—man, home, family.’

  For a moment Tory didn’t react. She was waiting for one of Amanda’s biting, sarcastic laughs to follow. But nothing.

  Instead she ran on, ‘You can deny that, if you want. I certainly did for years, then one day you wake up and smell the roses. Only by that time, they’ve all gone—the nice young men who would have married you. And the bastards, the ones you really wanted, they’ve started to settle down, too, but with younger models,’ she finished on a note more rueful than bitter.

  Tory didn’t know what to say. Not in a million years would she have suspected that an unhappy woman, frustrated by childlessness and loneliness, lay under Amanda’s usual diamond-hard exterior. She felt an impulse to comfort but didn’t think Amanda would accept it—not even in her current state.

  Still, she felt the need to give something back, something of herself, as she finally responded, ‘It’s hard not to envy people sometimes. I had a boyfriend once—a fiancé, actually. It didn’t work out and he went on to marry someone else and have kids. I met him again recently and I suppose I felt envy, but it turned out they weren’t as happy as they seemed.’

  ‘Most couples aren’t happy,’ Amanda observed in return. ‘Not truly, deeply, deliriously. Not all the time. But maybe it’s enough not to be unhappy.’

  Tory wasn’t sure she agreed. ‘I think being married and having kids for the sake of it would ultimately make a person more unhappy than being on their own.’

  ‘So speaks a twenty-something-year-old,’ Amanda opined. ‘See how you feel at forty, assuming you’re still alone.’

  Tory heard the note of self-pity in Amanda’s voice and did wonder if it would be any different for her.

  Chances were she’d still be alone.

  Not that she saw herself pining for Lucas Ryecart for the rest of her life. There would be other men. Perhaps not quite as attractive or smart. Nor as sexually exciting. But would she want another relationship that was both so intense and so basically shallow again?

  Yet there was no point wanting it all—husband, children, home, happy-ever-afters. No point in wanting what she couldn’t have.

  Maybe she was luckier than Amanda, knowing it wasn’t possible, knowing it would be crying for the moon.

  She didn’t feel lucky, however.

  Didn’t look it either as Amanda remarked, ‘Well, now I’ve depressed the hell out of both of us, can you think of a way of passing another four hours?’

  Intended to raise a smile, Tory managed a weak one before suggesting with irony, ‘I-spy?’

  ‘Riveting,’ Amanda applauded. ‘Bags I start.’

  It was as good a way as any to pass time. They followed it with a game of name the film, twenty questions and their choice of desert island discs.

  As time dragged and the storm failed to let up, they both began to shiver from cold and gradually lost any enthusiasm for anything but waiting.

  An hour became two, then three and Amanda fell into an uneasy sleep, jerking with each inadvertent movement of her bad leg. Tory watched over her, growing concerned that they might have to spend a night outdoors. The rain had ceased some time ago but the temperature was still unseasonably low and she wondered how cold did it need to be before hypothermia set in.

  She tried distracting herself from that possibility by planning her documentary of the weekend. She would splice between the staff’s lectures and worthy intentions, and the reality of how much “team-building” and “attitude-changing” had been effected. Being lost on the moor would give it more dramatic impact, as proof of the centre’s poor safety procedures and too exacting demands, but she would be reluctant to use it as a sign of retribution for Amanda, even if she had bitched her way through the weekend.

  It was curious to think that underneath Amanda’s tough exterior lay deep insecurities. Tory supposed it was the same for most people—a side they showed the world, and a side they kept secret.

  Well, maybe not everyone. Involuntarily her thoughts went to Lucas. He seemed remarkably straightforward in his approach to life. He saw something he wanted, he went after it and made no apologies for the fact.

  Tory wished in some ways she could emulate him. Be more ruthless, or at least more honest. After he’d tried—and pretty much succeeded—in seducing her on Friday, she’d cut him dead. Yet the truth was she’d loved it. She’d loved every second of those five desperate minutes with Luc. It had only been afterwards that she’d felt bad, seeing her easy surrender as weakness and resolving to resist the next time.

  Now she wondered whether it would be simpler just to give in, to accept they were going to have a relationship and let it run its course. It would be brief. How could it be otherwise? Neither of them could commit. But if they both went into it with their eyes wide open, where was the harm?

  Tory was still debating the issue when she heard it. A blessed sound. At first dismissed as imagination. How could she hear a car engine when there wasn’t a road for miles? But that was what it was, or more precisely they were: four-by-fours, revving up and down gears as they tackled the terrain for which they were built.

  Tory shook Amanda gently awake, then scrambled to her own feet, intending to go in the direction of the sound. Only hours of sheltering in one spot combined with wet clothing resulted in a debilitating cramp that had her collapsing back to the ground in agony.

  They heard the engines cut and for an awful moment both women had visions of their rescuers searching in the wrong spot before abandoning them. It was with immense relief that they heard the voices drawing nearer.

  Neither could now move but they could cry out, which they proceeded to do until they were hoarse from shouting and the first figure appeared through the clearing beyond them.

  It was the abseiling coach from the centre, closely followed by three other men.

  Tory had eyes for only one of them and he had eyes for only her as he dropped to his knees bes
ide her. ‘Are you all right?’

  All right? She was absolutely marvellous. They had come. He had come.

  ‘Your leg?’ Lucas guessed.

  Tory realised she was still massaging it. ‘It’s just cramp. Almost past. Amanda’s hurt, though.’

  ‘The medic’s taking care of her.’

  Tory glanced towards the little group round Amanda. A man she didn’t recognise was already cutting off her trouser leg to examine the knee. Carl, their map-reader, had come, too, and was holding a folded stretcher.

  ‘Can you walk?’ Lucas added to her.

  ‘I think so.’ She let him put an arm round her shoulders and help her to her feet. Her calf muscle protested but she limped a couple of steps before finding herself being literally swept off her feet.

  He told the others he was taking her back, then picked his way carefully over the rough terrain, easing them down a slight slope to where the two vehicles were.

  He slid her into the rear bench seat. Her rucksack was on the floor. A pair of clean jeans, T-shirt and sweatshirt lay on the bench seat beside her.

  ‘You’d better take off your wet clothes,’ he instructed.

  She nodded and shivered but didn’t seem to have the energy.

  He looked askance at her before saying, ‘This isn’t some clever plan to get you undressed, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ she echoed through shattering teeth. Reaction had set in and she felt cold to the bone.

  ‘I’ll get the heater on.’ He went round to the driver’s side to switch on the engine and heaters, before climbing into the back with her.

  ‘Come on, trust me.’ He unzipped her jacket. ‘I promise I’ll behave like a gentleman.’

  Tory didn’t need this reassurance. She didn’t resist as he slipped off her jacket, then outer layers of damp garments, before helping her into the dry clothes.

  ‘You stay in the back—’ he strapped her in ‘—and try to rest while I drive you home.’

  Tory wasn’t sure where he meant by home—the centre, the hotel in London or back to Norwich.

  ‘Can we wait?’ she asked as he slipped behind the driver’s wheel. ‘See if Amanda’s all right.’

  ‘Yes, okay,’ he agreed with some reluctance. ‘I’ll just turn.’

  It took several minutes to manoeuvre the vehicle to face the way he’d come and by that time the others had appeared, carrying Amanda on the stretcher.

  Tory could see her knee had been bandaged and she watched as the men carefully eased her into the bench seat of the other off-roader.

  ‘Where are they going to take her?’ she asked Lucas as he waved a hand at the others and pulled away.

  ‘Nearest hospital, I imagine. We can telephone the centre later,’ he promised. ‘For now, I suggest you hang on.’

  Tory did just that as the vehicle bumped over the rough terrain and she was jolted to and fro.

  It took them almost half an hour to reach what could be described as a road. Even then it was a minor one. Tory tried and failed to work out if they were going east to Norwich or south to London, but she didn’t really care. The warmth of the car was lulling her into a state of drowsiness and she didn’t fight it. She rested her head against the window and was asleep by the time they reached main roads.

  London was her last waking thought but she was wrong.

  When she woke, she was too disorientated to know where she was until Lucas came round to help her down to the street outside her flat in Norwich.

  She was glad. She wasn’t really injured but felt weak and shivery and home seemed the best place to recover.

  He shouldered her rucksack, and, with a hand at her elbow, supported her up the steps to the front door. By chance she’d taken her house keys with her to Derby and he dug them out of one of the side pockets. He tried both keys before identifying the correct one, then used the other on her inner door.

  Entering the flat, Tory was relieved to find the lights off, suggesting that Alex had yet to return. She could just about cope with this new solicitous Lucas but she suspected the old one was lurking somewhere, ready to emerge if Alex appeared.

  As it was, Alex had left enough pointers to his presence. Tory felt tired just surveying the mess of take-away cartons, clothes and books.

  ‘I take it you didn’t leave the place like this,’ Lucas concluded from her disgruntled expression. ‘I’m amazed you put up with it.’

  ‘And you’re Mr Clean and Tidy, I suppose,’ she snapped rather childishly, resenting the criticism.

  ‘No, but I’m not a slob.’ His gaze rested on a pair of male underpants actually lying on the sofa.

  Tory wrinkled her nose, wondering if they were dirty or not, and resolved to give Alex his marching orders as soon as possible.

  ‘Well, thanks for the lift,’ she said before Lucas could make any further comment.

  She imagined he’d be dying to get away to his nice clean room at Abbey Lodge.

  He ignored her, however, saying, ‘You can’t have eaten since lunch. I’ll make you something.’

  ‘It’s all right—’ a surprised Tory turned down the offer ‘—I just want to rest.’

  ‘You have to eat a little,’ he insisted. ‘Slip into bed and I’ll bring you tea and toast.’

  ‘I doubt there’s any bread,’ she countered dryly. ‘Alex doesn’t shop.’

  She made the comment without thinking.

  It almost begged a sarcastic reply. He didn’t disappoint, drawling back, ‘I wonder what Alex actually does do… On seconds thoughts, don’t tell me.’

  It could have been a joke but his eyes said not. They narrowed to a point.

  ‘Please don’t…’ Tory didn’t finish the appeal.

  He understood, though, switching back to brisk concern. ‘Okay, go rest and I’ll forage in the kitchen.’

  Tory hesitated. She didn’t have the energy to keep arguing with him but neither did she have the energy for another bedroom scene with this man.

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be safe.’ He read her with irritating accuracy. ‘Sharing another man’s bed doesn’t appeal to me.’

  Tory felt her face go red. It was absurd because she had nothing to feel guilty or embarrassed about.

  ‘Ten minutes—’ he gave her a gentle push in the direction of the bedroom door ‘—and I’ll expect you tucked up in bed with your teddy and a long-sleeved nightgown buttoned to the throat.’

  This time he was joking but Tory picked up the underlying message. She had nothing to worry about.

  She switched to asking, ‘Could you phone the centre about Amanda?’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ he agreed easily. ‘Now go on.’

  She went through to her bedroom and, with some relief, saw no sign of Alex in the room. At least he had respected her privacy this far.

  She undressed quickly, choosing a nightie that, though short, was suitably unglamorous, and climbed into bed, all the time wondering if she should tell him the truth. That Alex did nothing, was nothing. But would he believe such an admission?

  She worried the thought round in her head but came to no conclusion before her eyes became too heavy to keep open and she let it all go.

  Lucas put the tray he brought down on a chest of drawers and sat for a while on a wicker chair, watching over her. She seemed much younger in sleep and more vulnerable, but he supposed it was an illusion. She certainly had proved herself one of the toughest on the weekend’s course.

  He recalled his reaction when her party had returned. He’d been waiting for them, of course—waiting for her. They’d been hours late. He’d already insisted the centre call up a search party when they’d finally trooped in, wet and miserable, one of the women breaking down in sobs.

  He’d been furious when he’d heard their story. Having abandoned Tory and Amanda, they had lost their bearings for a while and even wasted half an hour taking shelter themselves before continuing. The girl called Mel had tried to reassure him that Tory was fine but it had made no difference. All he’d
been able to think of was Tory, her unruly mop of hair plastered wet against a face pinched with cold and her slight figure, drenched and huddling somewhere out there in the dark. He’d joined the rescue mission in his own off-roader, meeting the centre’s opposition with a threat to sue if any harm had come to Tory.

  His reaction seemed over-dramatic now. She had been in no real danger. She’d kept her head and waited for rescue—exactly as she should have done. But he hadn’t been thinking straight; what had been happening to Tory had somehow got mixed up in his head with the accident in which he’d lost Jessica, his first wife.

  Not quite the same. Jessica had died in a car crash. There had been nothing anyone could have done, least of all him. He’d been on the other side of the world. But it had still felt like a rerun—as if he’d been going to next see Tory lying on some cold mortuary slab.

  He shook his head, a dismissive gesture. He wasn’t a man given to premonitions and if this had been one it was way off base. Nevertheless he recognised the emotion involved—a fear of loss.

  Not that he had Tory to lose. Not yet, anyway.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TORY woke in the night to find Lucas asleep on her wicker bedroom chair. She watched him for a while as he had watched her. It was odd: most people looked relaxed in sleep. Lucas was different—he was tense and restless, as if bad things were happening in his dreams.

  She watched until she found she couldn’t bear it any longer. She didn’t consider her next action as she slid out of the bed and came round to his side. She knew not to waken him too suddenly. She put a gentle hand on the nape of his neck, the other on his hand and exerted the faintest pressure.

  She thought he would gradually come awake but he reacted instantly, shuddering at her touch and issuing a brief startled cry.

  Tory might have retreated but he caught her hand in a hard, almost convulsive grip. Only when he jerked his head back and opened his eyes to see what had woken him did he ease his hold.

  Tory wasn’t scared. She saw a range of emotions, dread, relief, shame, flitting across his handsome face before the usual mask slotted back in place.