Perilous Refuge
Patricia Wilson
One man in a lifetime was one too many
Ross Maclean was as male as they got, filled with everything Helen Andrews hated and feared: masculine aggression, sexual power, unbending strength. Defense mechanisms went on full alert the moment she laid eyes on her new boss. Helen had a family to protect, a job she needed and a past that left fear and uncertainty where there should have been flesh-and-blood woman.
But Ross dared to tread where her door had closed, unable to quell his longing for this fragile beauty with the strength of ten. Was he strong enough to crack that fortress around Helen's heart and offer refuge in his own?
CHAPTER ONE
'Ross Maclean arrives from New York and takes over next week. So it's America for me in seven days. We'll pass in the night, like ships.'
Jim Saxton began to sing 'New York, New York' under his breath, busy at once with the documents Helen had placed on his desk. He was obviously delighted but Helen just stood there, a flare of dismay on her face, the announcement temporarily scrambling her mind.
This change over had been in the air for some time but she had never really thought it would happen, never quite believed in it. The headquarters of Maclean International had seemed safely distant for one thing, the width of the Atlantic Ocean making changes unlikely and Jim was not at all suited for life at the fast pace of New York. She knew that herself, so surely a driving company like Maclean International would know it? Helen had always secretly believed they would, that Jim had suffered from wishful thinking. She could see now that the wishful thinking had been hers alone. He was actually leaving in one week, her easygoing, accommodating boss. She didn't quite know what to say.
'I hope you enjoy it.' Her best wishes seemed totally inadequate alongside his euphoria, and she really wanted a few minutes alone to pull herself together.
'If I can wangle it, I'll never come back!'
It had the cold ring of finality about it and Helen managed a smile. So what was she going to do now? Her cosy little job seemed to be falling about her ears. The quiet wall she had built around herself did not now seem so safe and secure. She went to get the coffee. It was time for that anyway, and it gave her the much needed minute to think.
In her own, small office she put the coffee to percolate and stood watching it, her eyes lifting at last to look in the mirror that hung over the small oak table where she had prepared coffee for herself and her buoyant boss for the last two years. Brilliant blue eyes looked back at her, stunned with disbelief, her oval face with its fine, elegant bone-structure rather anxious.
Jim had been late this morning, a not unusual event, he came in as he pleased and, although it usually pleased him to be there, if he felt like coming in at ten he did so. It never bothered Helen. She had the running of the general manager's office down to a fine art; he only had to come in, slide into his chair and everything moved smoothly on well-oiled wheels. She anticipated his every wish, putting papers in his hand sometimes before he had asked a thing. It was a perfect working arrangement. There was just one stipulation he never kept her late. At five o'clock Helen locked her desk and left. Jim Saxton understood and never transgressed. Would Ross Maclean understand? She doubted it, and she couldn't be flexible.
She knew that most of the other secretaries were often here until six-thirty or even seven, depending on the whim of their bosses, while she, secretary to the general manager himself, kept her own rules and her own hours. She couldn't expect that to continue now, not with the son of the founder of the giant firm taking over this office himself. She might very well be out of a job.
Helen smoothed her hair almost absently. Heavy and straight, almost blue-black, it hung to her shoulders and beyond, but at work it was severely curtailed, fastened in a thick braid that wound around her head in a shining coil. She touched a lip gloss to her smooth lips in a peculiar act of bravado and lifted the tray to take it back to Jim's office. She didn't feel very brave at the moment. Extremely uneasy would be satisfactory words to describe her feelings.
'When will he arrive?' It sounded a bit desperate, unlike the cool image she projected, and she hastily covered up. 'I mean, will he be here before you leave for America? I expect he'll want to see himself into the job.'
If Ross Maclean came before Jim left then maybe things would work out. Jim would explain their working relationship, although he would probably keep quiet about his own peculiar hours and his frequent forays to the golf course.
'I hope he doesn't arrive until I'm across the Atlantic,' Jim muttered, sipping hot coffee. 'Ross Maclean, my dear Helen, is the source of all energy, the ultimate dynamo, power and drive in its raw state. He doesn't ease himself into anything, he explodes into it. Heaven help us if he comes here before I've left, he'll give me a nervous breakdown, then he'll sack me'
'We're efficient,' Helen said resentfully, shivering at the description of her future boss. She got a rueful look from laughing eyes.
'You're efficient, Miss Andrews. I'm a con man. If I don't come up with someone like you in New York, I'll be sent packing. You're the perfect front.' His eyes slid over her figure. 'The perfect everything actually, though I tell you this at this late stage in our relationship, knowing as I do that you're a confirmed nun in disguise.'
'Will he want me, though?' Helen asked, too worried to banter.
'Don't we all?' Jim laughed at her suddenly flushed face and relented. She was a sweetly beautiful girl utterly unapproachable. His attempts in the past had received nothing but a look of blue-eyed astonishment. It showed she was unsettled that she even blushed. 'Honestly, Helen, as far as I know he'll keep the whole place intact. He may not even stay. I think this is what's called a whim, his father's whim. Go forth and snoop! He leads a fast and furious life over there. Here he'll die of boredom. He's probably as annoyed about this as you are.'
'I'm not annoyed,' Helen assured him quickly.
'Just worried?' He looked at her levelly. 'I'm not quite the idiot I seem. I know you've got problems, even though you don't talk about them.'
Helen hedged him away from the subject of her problems. She never discussed her private life. 'You're the best boss I've ever had.'
'Not many of those in your twenty-four years, so I won't let it go to my head. Try not to worry,' he added quietly, his laughter dying. 'You'll manage Ross Maclean as well as you've managed me, and if he lets you go he's not at all like his old man. Old Maclean can see straight through people. His son looks at you as if he could drill into your mind with his eyes, so he's probably a chip off the old block. He'll appreciate your worth.'
If that was supposed to calm her, then it had failed sadly. Jim Saxton hadn't exactly painted a picture of human kindness, and he should know. It wasn't more than two weeks since he had flown to New York to see the set-up there. He'd looked a little shattered when he returned but Helen had put this down to the long flight. Now she wasn't too sure. She didn't want to work with a man who could drill holes into her mind with his eyes. She despised hard men. One brute in a lifetime was enough for anyone.
But Helen was still mulling the problem over as she got off the bus and walked along the quiet road to the small cottage at the far end. It was the dark time of the year when even small problems seemed to be enlarged out of all proportion. The street lights cast long shadows, emphasising the darkness around, and there were flurries of snow, the odd white flake settling on her black hair. It was bitterly cold with the year fast approaching its end. There might even be snow for Christmas. It seemed a good time, actually, for the arrival of trouble.
She quickened her steps. It was almost five-thirty. Tina had to leave in an hour. Their timing was always immaculate and if it ever failed on any regular bas
is then she would have to find another job. Tina had suffered enough and nothing would be allowed to change their arrangements. Finding another job with the same good salary would be a bit tricky, though, and she wouldn't have time to search around much. Money was tight and getting tighter.
Helen let herself into the cottage, its warm atmosphere closing around her, a little of her gloom falling away as she heard voices, Tina talking at her usual speed, Tansy trying to get a word in. There was a delicious smell wafting across from the kitchen and she smiled to herself. They had sorted out their lives after all. They had made this atmosphere and nothing was going to intrude.
'I'm home!' Helen tossed her bag on to the table in the hall and just managed to get her coat on to a chair before a small bundle of energy hit her. Jim had said that Ross Maclean was the source of all energy-not quite, she had her own private source. She scooped her three-year-old daughter up into her arms and turned her laughing face to the kitchen door as her sister appeared, grinning widely.
'Greetings, chief!' Tina waved a wooden spoon and bowed. 'Tea's in the pot, dinner's on the cooker.' They both looked at the clock in the hall, the hands exactly on five-thirty.
'It's half-past five,' Tansy's bubbling voice announced and they all laughed.
'I'm not sure this ritual is good for her,' Helen said in amusement. 'She'll probably grow up thinking that something momentous should happen at five-thirty each day.'
'It does,' Tina said firmly, relieving Helen of her cuddly burden. 'Mummy comes home from the big world of business.'
'May she continue to do so,' Helen prayed in a fervent mutter, following Tina into the kitchen.
'Trouble?'
'Maybe.' Helen poured herself a much needed cup of tea and sat down on one of the stools, heaving Tansy back on to her lap. 'I can't really believe it yet, but Jim got his transfer after all. Ross Maclean is coming over to take his place-at least, he'll be here temporarily.'
'The big white chief here? The Maclean of MacLean’s? Tina's face was a picture of disbelief.
'The son and heir.' Helen's arched brows rose fractionally. 'Jim thinks he may be on a snooping expedition for the old man.'
'How long have we got to return the spoons?' Tina questioned with a wide grin, but Helen's face put a stop to that.
'Honestly, it's no laughing matter. Jim seems to go in dread of him. He says that Ross Maclean can drill holes with his eyes.'
'Hard,' Tina mused, checking the cooking for it. Anyway, maybe we could adjust our own timetable if this Maclean chap kicks up rough?'
'Granite. Anyway, he'll be here in a week, and if he doesn't like my time-keeping trouble will ensue. I may very well have to start looking for another job.'
'I could pack in the course,' Tina offered quickly, getting herself a severe look for her pains. Helen glanced at her watch .
'Get moving. We'll eat when you're ready.'
'OK.' Tina drifted out of the kitchen and Helen collected an apron, tying it around her slender waist and turning more attention to her daughter.
'What did you do today, darling?'
'Everything!'
Helen looked down at the small replica of herself and smiled. Tansy was perfect, eyes the same blue as her own, blue that could change suddenly to purple, hair the same shining black but packed in soft curls around her small face. She felt the sharp band of pain, the same old fear for one second, a fiercely protective urge in her to pick Tansy up and squeeze her tightly. There was nothing of Miles in Tansy, nothing! It might have been an immaculate conception in the way that Tansy mirrored only herself.
'You said to me it's rude to stare,' Tansy pointed out a little worriedly, and Helen's face relaxed into smiles. 'So it is, but I haven't seen you all day. I'm just looking.'
'Can I stay up late, then?'
'A bit,' Helen conceded readily, knowing quite well that Tansy would be ready for bed at the appropriate time. A day with Tina was enough to wear out anyone, and Tansy used up the same sort of energy.
'I can't see why there should be trouble,' Tina remarked later as they ate. 'I know the hours are supposed to be nine till five-thirty but you go in early to make up.
'We've been through this,' Helen sighed, bending to rescue Tansy's spoon. 'I leave at five. I get here at five thirty. That gives you one hour to get ready, eat and go. You're not giving up the course, Tina. You would be at university now if everything were as it ought to be.'
'Dad wanted you to go to university too, even though you did decide a bit late,' Tina pointed out quietly and Helen dismissed it with a shrug.
'It didn't work out like that.' She glanced at the clock. 'You'll miss the bus.'
'Helen. Couldn't we...?'
'Begone!' Helen stood and scooped up Tansy, and her sister grinned as she made for the door.
'Yes, chief.'
It was always the same, this light-hearted banter. Time was when they had both been completely light-hearted, nothing seeming able to touch the happy circle that was family. But tragedy had struck with bewildering speed, their parents were killed in a motorway crash, and they had salvaged what they could of their lives.
Tina had been fifteen then, still at school, and Helen had been twenty, only just twenty, her birthday, the day before the tragedy. It had been easy for Miles Gilford to persuade Helen into marriage, his loving sympathy, his concern for their future, his assurance that Tina would have a home with them and go to university all adding to his already charming presence.
Handsome, clever, gentle, he had seemed too good to be true. He was! It had only been because of her father's carefully worded will that Helen and Tina now had a roof over their heads. He had not liked Miles at all, his opposition to Helen seeing Miles the only cloud that had ever come between herself and her parents. How right her father had been.
Helen shook off this brooding mood. She rarely brooded about it now. She was much too busy. At first, keeping busy had been a necessity, a way to recover from the horror her marriage had become. Now it was habit as well as necessity. She was the bread-winner, head of this small family unit, the chief!
With Tansy in bed, and thankful to go, Helen sat down to have a few minutes' rest, her mind instantly returning to her work situation. As secretary to the English general manager of a huge, international electronics firm she was well paid and secure, or had been. Tina was taking evening classes until next year. Her final years at school had been too traumatic for her to do as well as she should, and the necessary A Levels had to be gained. Next year she would get into university, at least one of them fulfilling their parents' wishes, although belatedly. In any case, Tina was clever and deserved the chance. She had a flair for languages. Helen was proud of her and almost obsessively protective as she was with Tansy. It was only natural, or so she repeatedly told herself.
What if Ross Maclean made life difficult? She had never seen him, only heard about him. Like his father, he had a reputation for keen business acumen and harsh personal relationships. The days of a buoyant boss were over. Maybe he wouldn't stay? He could hardly be thinking of staying permanently in England. Jim had been more than impressed with the lifestyle of Ross Maclean in New York. Glamorous women and fast cars, he had said flippantly, but she had seen the small flare of envy there.
There wasn't much hope for that sort of thing in this town, even a fast car would be sorely overdoing it. The possibility of his staying for more than a few weeks was slim. He might even announce his departure date as he arrived. This was small cheese to him. It wasn't even London. Snoop and then put another man in would probably be his orders. If she kept her head down, played it softly, she would be left in peace. Jim might even be sent back when they realised how unsuited he was for the cut and thrust of American business.
Helen sighed and hauled herself to her feet. She would wash the dishes and then have a long bath. Her eye fell on the calendar in the kitchen and she had to restrain herself from marking off the days. One week. There was nothing she could do about it. They would have t
o wait and see. She couldn't seem to get the name of Ross Maclean out of her mind.
The week flew. It hadn't been a good week for anyone and Helen felt guilty when she realised that her own well-hidden anxiety had not allowed her to be extra kind to Jim Saxton. He was having nerves of his own and she hadn't helped. She had been busy all week trying to make an efficient arrangement more efficient still until Jim had complained that Ross Maclean didn't need to come at all. He could simply telephone from New York each day and fax a few letters.
'Honestly, Helen, with you here and going at this pace, who needs a general manager?' .
'I'm only...'
'Working yourself into a breakdown? Ease off. He'll not eat you. I mean, somebody must love him, even if it's only his mother.'
'Has he got a mother?' Helen flushed at her own stupid remark and Jim grinned widely.
'Well, it's only a rumour. He must have come from somewhere though.'
Now, with Monday upon her and the day of reckoning at hand, Helen hurried into the offices of Maclean International and took the lift to the top floor. It was eight-thirty, on the dot, nobody in the building yet except the caretaker. She would be able to get the letters out, slide into her routine and be quite prepared for trouble when it arrived. He might not get in until late, after all, he would have only arrived last night if Jim's surmising was correct. There had been a conference in Boston and Jim knew that Ross Maclean had been there until Saturday. He would have to get his hotel sorted out too.
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