The Boss's Forbidden Secretary

by Lee Wilkinson

  The last man through the door was frowning a little abstractedly as he talked into a mobile phone. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with blond hair, strong, clear-cut features and level brows.

  The shock was like walking slap into a plate glass window, sending Cathy mentally reeling. All she could do was gape at him as, with a murmured apology, he dropped the phone into his jacket pocket and turned to greet his guests.

  When he caught sight of Cathy, his face lit up with surprise and gladness. But the gladness died away as Margaret made the introductions.

  ‘This is Ross Dalgowan, my brother… Ross, I’d like you to meet Carl Richardson. Carl is our new ski instructor and physiotherapist…’

  As the two men shook hands, Margaret went on, ‘And this is Carl’s wife, Cathy, who’ll be helping with the office work.’

  Wanting desperately to run and hide, but unable to move, Cathy stood rooted to the spot.

  Ross’s eyes rested for a moment on the wide gold wedding band she was wearing, before her nerveless fingers were taken in a firm clasp and, with a little nod, he acknowledged smoothly, ‘Mrs Richardson…’

  No one appeared to notice the emphasis except Cathy, who flinched inwardly.

  Those eyes, the blue-grey of woodsmoke, eyes that had smiled into hers so warmly, now held a look of distaste, an icy contempt that chilled her very soul.

  Turning to the drinks trolley, Ross assumed the role of suave host. ‘Now, what would you like?’

  As she shook her head, her empty stomach churning, he pressed, ‘A gin and tonic? Or a sherry, perhaps?’

  It seemed easier to accept a sherry than argue.

  ‘Cream or dry?’

  ‘Dry, please.’

  ‘Janet?’

  ‘I’ll have the same, please.’

  He handed both women a glass of pale amber sherry before turning to his sister and enquiring, ‘What about you, Marley?’

  ‘A gin and tonic for me, thanks.’

  While he served the rest of the drinks, the talk became general. If someone spoke directly to her, Cathy made an effort to answer, but apart from that, her brain still reeling, she took little or no part in the conversation.

  She could only be pleased when they finally went through to the dining room—an attractive panelled room where a refectory table had been set with fine linen, sparkling crystal and silver candelabra.

  Finding that Carl was seated on one side of her and Margaret on the other, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her relief was short-lived, however, when she found herself sitting directly opposite Ross.

  She longed to make some excuse and leave, but for Carl’s sake she had to stick it out.

  The meal was very nicely served by a young uniformed maid who, Margaret told her, was ‘old Hector’s great-granddaughter’.

  All three courses looked delicious, and at Margaret’s kindly meant urging Cathy accepted a little of each.

  But, her mouth dry, her throat tight, and only too aware that Ross’s cold gaze seldom left her face, she could hardly manage to swallow a morsel.

  So her lack of appetite wouldn’t be too obvious, her head bent, her eyes cast down, she silently pushed the food around her plate and made a pretence of eating.

  Ross, too, had little to say, leaving it to Margaret and the rest to keep the conversational ball rolling.

  For a while the talk was general, then it turned to the blizzard and the missing skiers.

  ‘As you know, I’ve been away in Rothmier visiting my mother,’ Robert said, ‘and I only got back a short time ago, so this is the first I’ve heard of it.’

  Margaret took up the tale. ‘Well, very late last night we discovered that a middle-aged couple who had gone cross-country skiing hadn’t returned, and, of course, there was a blizzard blowing. There was nothing we could do just then, but at about five o’clock this morning we got in touch with Ross, who promised to get home as soon as possible.

  ‘In the meantime, as soon as it was light, Kevin took a search party out. But there was no sign of the couple in the direction they had intended to take.

  ‘I don’t need to tell you that Kevin knows the area well, but Ross was born and brought up here and he knows it like the palm of his hand. So as soon as he arrived home he led a second search party and eventually found the couple safe.

  ‘Caught in the blizzard, they’d lost their way and been forced to take what shelter they could in one of the old hunting hides. They were well equipped, and luckily a slightly warmer front had followed the blizzard through, so apart from being very cold and hungry they’d come to no real harm, thank the Lord.’

  ‘It was a blessing they were safe,’ Robert agreed, and after a moment the conversation became general once more.

  When the meal was over, coffee was served in front of a blazing fire, where two curved corner-unit settees, a long, low coffee table and a couple of easy chairs were grouped around a wide stone hearth.

  Hoping to escape attention, Cathy had chosen a seat on one of the corner units when, to her dismay, Ross contrived to sit next to her, so close that their knees were almost touching.

  ‘How long have you been married, Mrs Richardson?’ he asked silkily.

  Forced to answer such a direct question, she avoided meeting his eyes, which she knew quite well were fixed on her face, and stammered, ‘N-not very long, actually.’

  As if he’d willed her to look at him, she glanced up, and he met and held her gaze. ‘How long is not very long?’

  Her wits totally scattered, she mumbled, ‘Three or four weeks.’

  He lifted a level brow. ‘If I might say so, you appear rather unsure.’

  Tearing her eyes away, she struggled to make a calculation based on the date Carl and Katie should have got married. ‘It’s four weeks today.’

  ‘So you were married on a Friday?’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, then bit her lip, only too aware that she had sounded uncertain.

  ‘Once again you don’t seem particularly sure of your facts.’

  Knowing he was deliberately needling her, she pulled herself together and said as levelly as possible, ‘I’m quite sure.’

  ‘And you don’t regard getting married on a Friday as unlucky?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A lot of people would.’

  When she made no attempt to answer, he pursued, ‘Tell me, Mrs Richardson, did you have a church wedding? Or were you married in a register office?’

  On slightly firmer ground, she answered, ‘In a register office.’

  ‘Oh? Which one?’

  The ground cut neatly from under her, she echoed, ‘Which one?’

  ‘Yes. Which one?’

  Unable to think, she told him where she and Neil had been married and hoped desperately that he would stop this interrogation and leave her alone.

  But, as if he knew exactly how she felt and was enjoying her discomfort, he persisted, ‘You live in London, I gather?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Whereabouts, exactly?’

  Putting her coffee cup down so unsteadily that it rattled in the saucer, she told him, ‘Notting Hill.’ Then, seeing the next question coming, she added, ‘We rented a furnished flat in Oldes Court.’

  With a wolfish smile, he said, ‘When you say “we” I presume you mean yourself and your husband?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Were you both living there before your marriage?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you kept it on?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘As we expected to be living in Scotland, there was no point.’

  He fell silent, and, thinking the ordeal was over, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Prematurely, as it turned out.

  Those cold grey eyes pinning her, he asked, ‘Where did you go for your honeymoon, Mrs Richardson?’

  Glancing at Carl for support, Cathy found he was in earnest conversation with Janet.

  ‘You seem very nervous,’ Ross com
mented.

  ‘There’s no wonder she’s nervous.’ Margaret came to Cathy’s aid. ‘From the bits of conversation I’ve overheard, it sounds as if you’re giving her the third degree. But there’s really no need. I’m quite satisfied that Cathy and Carl really are married, unlike our “Mr and Mrs Fray”… And for heaven’s sake, Ross,’ she added with a look of fond exasperation, ‘do stop calling the poor girl Mrs Richardson. Her name’s Cathy.’

  He smiled sardonically. ‘She may not want me to be too familiar.’

  ‘Rubbish. You know perfectly well we’re all on first-name terms.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind…Cathy?’

  Taking a deep breath, Cathy said, ‘Of course not.’

  As Kevin claimed his wife’s attention, Ross’s inimical gaze returned to Cathy’s face. ‘Now, where were we? Oh, yes, you were about to tell me where you went on your honeymoon.’

  ‘We didn’t have a honeymoon.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘With Carl about to start a new job, we decided not to bother.’

  ‘“We decided not to bother” makes me think you’re not particularly romantic.’

  Catching the last few words, Carl said with a grin, ‘That’s where you’re wrong. Though Cathy’s very practical in most ways, she’s got a romantic streak a mile wide, and always has had.’

  ‘You sound as if you’ve known her all your life.’

  ‘I have…pretty well,’ Carl added hastily.

  Ross’s lips twisted in the caricature of a smile. ‘So it was a boy and girl romance that finally blossomed into true love?’

  Taking the remark at face value, Carl agreed, ‘That about sums it up.’

  Knowing she couldn’t take any more, Cathy got to her feet and, looking at no one in particular, said, ‘If you’ll excuse me I’m feeling tired and headachy, and I’d like to go to bed.’

  ‘Of course.’ Margaret was all sympathy. ‘You’ve had a long journey, and travelling’s always tiring.’

  Ross had risen at the same time as Cathy and, standing by her side, his height dwarfing her, he suggested blandly, ‘Perhaps you didn’t get enough sleep last night?’

  Ignoring the seemingly innocent remark, she murmured a general goodnight and on legs that felt as limp as a rag doll’s headed blindly for the door.

  But, without appearing to hurry, Ross reached it first and opened it for her.

  On the surface it was merely a polite gesture, but he held the door in such a way that she couldn’t actually go through it until he allowed her to.

  A glint in his eye telling her he wasn’t about to let her escape so easily, he remarked, ‘I’d like you to be in my study tomorrow morning by eight o’clock—’

  ‘Your study?’ she broke in, startled, unable to hide her shock.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Oh, but I—I thought…’ Taking a deep breath, she started again. ‘I didn’t realize…’

  His eyes as cold and grey as the Atlantic in winter, he told her, ‘It’s the estate’s office work and accounts that you’ll be doing.’

  ‘Oh…’ she said hollowly. ‘I presumed I would be working over at the lodge.’

  He shook his head. ‘Marley and Janet between them do everything that’s necessary at Beinn Mor—’

  Her face sympathetic, Janet broke in quickly, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there to help until you get the hang of it.’

  Frowning, Ross said brusquely, ‘I understood from Marley that she would try to engage someone who was able to cope with the work.’

  ‘I can cope,’ Cathy said a shade defiantly.

  It wasn’t the thought of doing the accounts that was worrying her—she had worked for a firm of accountants since leaving school—but if she had to work at Dunbar it might mean running into him, and that was the last thing she wanted.

  Margaret, who had noted her brother’s unusual curtness and Cathy’s look of dismay, jumped into the breach. ‘I’m sure you can cope, but you may need just a bit of help to start with. You see, old Hector McDonald, who’s been doing the paperwork for the best part of fifty years, has just retired. He was almost eighty-five and hadn’t been up to the job for quite a while.

  ‘Janet did what she could to keep things straight, but Hector refused to let her use “newfangled” methods—by which he meant a computer. Because he’s been at Dunbar all his life, Ross was loath to hurt his feelings by insisting. Which means there’s an awful lot to catch up on.’

  ‘Hence the need to make an early start…’ Ross took control once more.

  Then, making Cathy look at him by sheer force of will, he went on, ‘So I suggest you take a couple of painkillers and try to get a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘I always knew you were a slave-driver,’ Kevin told his brother-in-law banteringly, ‘but I didn’t have you down as a spoilsport.’ With a broad grin, he added, ‘Being a bachelor, you might have an empty bed, but don’t forget Cathy and Carl are newlyweds who’ve been separated for a while… They’ll no doubt have something better to do than sleep…’

  Seeing the colour pour into Cathy’s face, Margaret protested, ‘Honestly, you men! Now you’ve made the poor girl blush.’

  Ross’s smile was derisive. ‘As most couples live together before they get married, I find it surprising that any of today’s worldly young women are still able to blush.’

  Frowning at her brother, Margaret said, ‘I don’t know what’s got into you tonight. It isn’t like you to be so insensitive.’

  Meeting Cathy’s eyes, Ross murmured blandly, ‘Of course if I’ve upset Mrs Richardson in any way…?’

  Lifting her chin, Cathy answered as evenly as possible. ‘I’m not at all upset… Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

  Remembering that he was supposed to be an eager young husband, Carl rose to his feet somewhat belatedly and asked Cathy, ‘Do you want me to come with you, darling?’

  ‘No… No, you stay and enjoy the company.’

  ‘Do you have your keys?’

  Cathy shook her head.

  ‘In that case you’d better take mine.’ He tossed them to her. ‘You can leave the door on the latch for me… I’m out all day tomorrow with an inexperienced group of skiers, which means a fairly early start, so I won’t be too late.’

  ‘Well, goodnight, everyone,’ Cathy murmured. Carefully avoiding looking at Ross, she pushed past the barrier of his arm and fled back to the flat.

  Once in her room she sank down on the bed and let the tide of misery wash over her.

  She had thanked fate for bringing Ross into her life, but all the time cruel fate—knowing what was in store—had been laughing up its sleeve.

  As well it might.

  Everything lay in ruins around her. Her newly found happiness, her hopes and dreams for the future, even the memories would be unbearable.

  And what about Carl? His newly found happiness? His hopes and dreams for the future?

  Once Ross told his sister about last night…

  But even as the thought went through her mind she knew with certainty that he wouldn’t. He wasn’t that kind of man.

  Briefly, she toyed with the idea of trying to explain, of telling him the truth.

  But of course she couldn’t.

  There was no way she could expect him to keep quiet when his own family were being deceived.

  For the time being at least she would have to let him go on thinking that she had the morals of an alley cat—that, even newly married, she would jump into bed with any available man.

  Remembering the icy contempt and distaste that she had seen in his eyes, she shivered.

  Suppose she told Carl what had happened last night? How much it meant to her? He wouldn’t want her to go on with the deception.

  But, recalling how glad and happy Carl had looked, she knew there was no way she could take her happiness at the expense of his.

  And in any case, even if she could tell Ross the truth—that she was a cheat and a liar rather than an adulte
ress—it was too late.

  Already the magic, the instant rapport that had sprung into life between them, had died. A brief and beautiful spark that could never be rekindled.

  The tears started to run down her cheeks, but almost savagely she dashed them away. No one, especially Carl, must see that she had been crying.

  Her own chance of happiness was irretrievably lost, but if she could carry on as if nothing had happened until Carl was able to tell everyone the truth, his might be saved.

  Then she could go quietly back to London and set about making a new life for herself. She’d done it once, after her parents had died, and she could and would do it again.

  But she would never be able to recapture the singing happiness that meeting Ross had brought her.

  Her movements slow and heavy, like those of a very old woman, she undressed, cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair and climbed wearily into bed.

  More than two hours later, tormented by reoccurring thoughts of what might have been, she was still wide awake when she heard Carl come in.

  He called her name softly, but, feeling unable to face him, she lay quietly without answering.

  It was the early hours of the morning when, physically and mentally exhausted, her mind still full of images of Ross, she finally fell into a restless sleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WHEN Cathy awoke, those images of Ross still filled her head, and just for a fleeting moment or two she felt blissfully happy and confident.

  Then memory rushed in, reminding her of the cruel trick that fate had played on her. Her spirits fell to zero, and misery sidled up and took her hand.

  Used to waking early, she hadn’t set the alarm on her small bedside clock, and she was horrified to find it was almost a quarter to nine.

  The flat was silent, and she guessed that Carl must have breakfasted and gone to work some time ago.

  Stumbling out of bed, she hurried into the bathroom to clean her teeth and shower. Then, still feeling headachy and unrefreshed, she pulled on clean undies, a donkey-brown skirt and jumper and a russet-coloured suede jerkin.

  Having brushed and pinned up her hair in record time, she dropped the flat keys into her jerkin pocket and hurried along to the study, ready to apologize to Janet for her tardiness.