Perilous Refuge

by Patricia Wilson

  Even though she was terribly tired, Helen had a lot of trouble sleeping. Ross Maclean seemed to hang around in her mind and, although she had no evidence at all, she realised she was projecting sinister meanings into almost everything he did. Whether it was fair or not didn't seem to matter. He was too compelling to be taken at face value, an opposing force that made an ordinary event seem two-edged.

  Jeanette was overjoyed on Monday to be informed that she could try out for the new job as Helen's assistant. She was a petite blonde, her appearance almost the exact opposite to Helen's slender height and cool dark beauty. Ross Maclean looked at Helen with raised brows as Jeanette left to spread her good tidings around the lower offices.

  'Snow White and Rose Red. Are you sure you know what you're doing, Miss Andrews?'

  Helen felt a flare of annoyance at his dry comment. 'Yes. Jeanette knows what she's doing too,' she said stiffly. 'She's quite used to working with me. Most of my extra work usually ends up on her desk.'

  'She looks a bit frivolous.' His lips quirked, his mind no doubt lingering on Jeanette's short blonde hair, which owed a great deal to a bottle, her curvy figure and her fierce blushes as she had met the boss.

  'I think she was overcome,' Helen murmured sarcastically, surprising herself. 'She doesn't often get the chance to meet really important people.'

  She knew it was nasty but he brought out the worst in her, and she didn't like the way he constantly made little digs at her either.

  'I'm sure you'll soon put her at ease,' he murmured as dryly, 'or whip her into shape.'

  'No doubt.' Helen's phone began to ring and his phone was ringing too. The day had started with its usual rush and her comments went unpunished, but she didn't miss the gleam in his eyes. Why did she feel it necessary to fight with him? He hadn't done anything wrong, after all. He was simply being what he was: a hard, remote male, too powerful and too sardonic to be human. She realised that she had never once smiled at him. Her only hope was to be aloof, and she hung on to her dignity with a grim determination. How many times had he smiled at her, come to think of it? None. His attitude was utterly dismissive. If he softened at all it was to bend sufficiently to be scornful. Her work situation had deteriorated from the moment he had arrived here. She was unsettled all the time.

  His lack of humanity became more apparent at the end of the day. Jeanette was to begin the next morning and, as five o'clock drew near, Helen realised grudgingly that Ross Maclean was quite right, she did need an assistant. This day had been much more than hectic for both of them. His phone was ringing now and she prayed hers wouldn't. She watched it warily as she started to put her things away.

  'Miss Andrews.'

  Helen jumped as his voice came over the intercom, her stomach muscles tightening as she felt the usual churning inside at the sound of his voice, the peculiar way he said her name. Now what? She took a few deep breaths before going in there. It was ten to five, she couldn't stand about chatting or she would miss the bus.

  'You'll have to stay tonight. I've just had Paris on the line and I've got to get a letter off to them in tonight's post.' He wasn't looking at her as she stood in his doorway. He was rifling through papers on his desk as he threw the words crisply at her and it was a second before he looked up and saw that she had made no move.

  'The letter, Miss Andrews.' The black brows rose in irritated surprise. 'Let's get on with it. It has to go in the late post.'

  'I leave at five, Mr Maclean,' she said quietly, glancing at her watch. 'I did explain to you.'

  'Explain be damned! This is an emergency!' He stood, his hands flat on the surface of his desk, his whole body leaning forward with unwarranted menace, and Helen's cheeks paled. She hated rows, she couldn't cope with them. He hadn't finished either. 'I will try to curtail the times when I need you after five. I will try to handle you gently. This time, however, I need you and you'll stay!'

  'I can't.' Helen looked at him as steadily as she could, her eyes vividly blue, and his own crystal-grey eyes darkened threateningly.

  'May I remind you that you work for Maclean International and your duty is first and foremost to the firm. In America you would work all hours that heaven sent, but even here the firm takes precedence over evenings with the boyfriend!'

  'It does not take precedence over my duty at home,' she said quietly. 'I can't let it do that.'

  Her hands were shaking again but this time he didn't know because she slid them into the pockets of her smart suit, her fingernails painfully thrust against her palms. She would never again break down in front of a man and she kept her lips in one straight line, her whole attitude appearing to be unbending when in fact she was desperately trying not be afraid of male anger.

  'Duty at home?' He looked astonished and on the point of explosion. He straightened up, his towering height threatening her more. 'You can come in at nine tomorrow, Miss Andrews. Leave the dishes in the sink tonight and get to them in the morning, how about that?' he suggested sarcastically. 'As to the boyfriend, phone him and explain.'

  'There's nothing to explain, Mr Maclean, because I'm not staying. My duty at home is my small daughter. Even you must see that she can't be left in the sink to wait until I'm free. She's three years old and I have no babysitter after five-thirty. If I don't leave at five, I miss my bus. Whatever you say or decide to do, I intend to leave.'

  If she hadn't been so upset, Helen would have laughed at the astonished expression on that harsh face. Apparently nobody had ever stood up to him before. She hoped the shock would kill him but he soon recovered, every line of his face deepening, his mouth tightening to one grim line.

  His eyes flashed to her fingers, to the lack of rings, just checking again no doubt, and his expression was exactly the expression she had seen in so many eyes when her ring-less fingers were noticed in connection with Tansy. She was an unmarried mother as far as everyone knew. The realisation of that fact often brought a very speculating look to male eyes. Ross Maclean's look was not speculating. He looked at her with contempt.

  'I see. Then don't let me keep you, Miss Andrews.' Helen turned and left, but the cold dismissal upset her more than she could have imagined. As she left she heard him calling down to the typing pool, asking for Jeanette, and she felt quite cold inside, worthless. He had managed to convey utter contempt with no words at all. Those grey eyes had dismissed her, written her off. When she got home she held herself tightly in check until Tina had left and Tansy was safely tucked up in bed, then she cried.

  She cried with anger and resentment and a ridiculous feeling of hurt. She could have left her wedding ring on and saved herself a lot of trouble, she had always known that, but after the divorce she had had to get it off her finger. It had been like a weight to drag her down, to drag all of them down. Let him think what he liked. Why should she care, after all? He was nothing to her, a stranger who would go before too long. Ships that passed in the night, as Jim had said.

  What Ross Maclean thought was apparent. For the rest of the week he was more polite than he had ever been and more cold, if that was possible. She could feel the underlying contempt constantly there, looking up sometimes to find his frowning gaze on her as if he was trying to come up with some method of getting rid of her. He deliberately spoke to Jeanette, who was now settled into the office close to Helen. His way of avoiding contact with Helen even brought speculating looks from Jeanette, who was not known for her brilliant brainpower.

  On Friday afternoon he came into the office and stood there until she could have screamed. Then he sent Jeanette off upstairs on what Helen knew at once was a wild-goose chase. The noise of the alterations had been abominable all week and it had only added to her already tightly strung nerves. Now he wanted quiet words with her.

  She tensed up and faced him. What was this, the sack or a moral lecture? She dreaded either of those things. She needed this job or she would have left already, and if he said anything about her private affairs she was going to either shout or cry because he had dri
ven her to the very end of her tether, his unbending attitude hurtful and cold.

  Her eyes were wide and unknowingly vulnerable, her pale face looking far too young, and that fact seemed to irritate him. He stared at her for a second and then frowned, evidently working out how to tell her the worst.

  'Tomorrow, I'm flying to Paris,' he suddenly bit out. 'I'll be there overnight and return Sunday morning.' So what now? Was he going to say, 'Be out of here before I get back'? Helen said nothing and he looked at her determinedly.

  'I want you to go with me, and don't tell me you can't, Miss Andrews,' he snapped. 'It's a meeting with Middle East buyers and very important. I need you there because you're a first-class secretary and have everything at your fingertips. If you can't get a baby-sitter for your daughter then, damn it all, we'll take her with us!'

  Helen sat and looked at him, her astonishment written right across her face, and he glared down at her. She always looked supremely efficient, as efficient as she was. In her plum-coloured suit, her white blouse and with her hair braided on top of her head, she was the picture of the ideal private secretary. Except that now her lips were softly parted in shock, her eyes wide. Open, purple shadows dancing across the clear blue.

  'Well?' His voice was irascible and Helen gulped, finding her voice.

  'All right. If...if you could give me details .. .'

  'What about your little girl?'

  Helen looked away, feeling very burdened by the piercing quality of those grey eyes. She seemed to have very few defences against him, her normal defences not working at all any more.

  'It's all right at the weekend. I don't like leaving her but I can get away with no difficulty. If you really need me...'

  'I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't,' he snarled. He glanced at his watch. 'I have to go out, book us both on to the earliest flight possible for Paris tomorrow first class. I'll deal with the hotel accommodation when I get back.' He turned to leave, as angry apparently as if she had said she wouldn't go. Maybe he had been hoping she would refuse so that he could fire her on the spot? 'You'll need clothes.' His glance flared over her suit.

  'I have clothes, Mr Maclean,' Helen informed him stiffly. Her cheeks were burning at his glance and his lips tightened.

  'You're the model of propriety, Miss Andrews,' he murmured sarcastically. 'However, Paris requires something special. I'll write you a cheque.'

  'I have clothes, Mr Maclean!' Annoyed and embarrassed at his tone, Helen stood up and glared right back at him. The model of propriety in her dress but not in her private life, his scathing voice had said it all. 'I can assure you that Paris will not be shocked!'

  For a second his eyes narrowed, a flare of admiration at the back of them; even so, she felt that he wanted to hurt her, only his hard-headed command of himself keeping him in check. His mouth suddenly quirked with the nearest thing to real amusement she had seen, but her blue eyes glared at him and he simply nodded, turning at the last minute to add,

  'You'll need an evening dress too.' When she nodded stiffly, he called his parting shot. 'Do something about that hair or they may think you're my housekeeper.'

  If the word processor hadn't been too heavy she would have heaved it after him. Jeanette came weaving back into the room on her high heels and caught the expression on Helen's face. Ross Maclean had almost bowled her over on his way out, not even noticing her even though she had smiled brilliantly at him.

  'Been having a row?'

  'No,' Helen said tightly. 'We're going to Paris tomorrow.'

  'Ooh, la la!'

  Jeanette got the benefit of Helen's newly acquired ability to glare.

  'Shut up!' she spat, and Jeanette got right down to work.

  Tina was open-mouthed when Helen got home and related the latest office news.

  'Paris? But that's wonderful, isn't it?'

  'It is not!' Helen had rushed straight upstairs, their timetable forgotten in her rage, and now she began to throw clothes on to her bed, her body shaking with resentment. 'I hate him! I hate him!' She turned on Tina with furious eyes. 'Do you know he said I look like a housekeeper? He as much as told me to cut my hair!'

  'He wouldn't have the cheek!'

  'He's got cheek enough for just about anything, and he thinks I'm an unmarried mother!'

  'You enlightened him, of course?'

  'No, I didn't. Why should I?' Helen raised her head proudly and Tina watched her in surprise. She had never seen her sister looking so beautiful nor so utterly furious. Normally, Helen was almost too quiet and even-tempered.

  'Calm down. Let's eat.'

  'I'd choke!'

  'Then come and choke while I'm there. I can pound your back. I'm not standing about arguing. I have a class to attend!' She opened the bedroom door and refused to budge until Helen went down, her annoyance still simmering and her pride sorely wounded.

  When Tina had gone and Tansy was safely in bed, Helen went back to pack her clothes. She was not short of clothes. Miles had kept up a good front, making sure that her outward appearance did not betray the humiliation she suffered in private. She had kept the clothes. She was too frugal to throw expensive garments away and though she had never had cause to wear them she took them out now and looked them over. It was quite fitting that they should be worn when she was with another hard, cruel male.

  She frowned at herself in the mirror. He wasn't like Miles in any way. It was unfair to make any comparison, and although she didn't feel inclined to be fair to Ross Maclean she had to admit if only to herself that he was worlds above men like Miles Gilford. He was a natural part of his world, power and dominance sitting easily on him. He was a formidable man, ruthless, but he would never physically hurt a woman, instinctively she knew that, even though she had also felt his desire to hurt her in some way this very afternoon.

  It was bitterly cold outside and she had to plan carefully what she would take. Something warm for travel. Something sophisticated for the hotel and then an evening dress. It didn't take long to decide and she remembered with annoyance that she was supposed to get a bus to the office and meet him there tomorrow-very early. He had offered clothes. He might have offered a taxi. It would have been a great deal more humane.

  Helen was washing her hair when the phone rang and she dived at it before it could wake Tansy.

  'Miss Andrews?'

  Ross Maclean's voice came over the line like a dark spell and she gripped the phone tightly.

  'Yes!

  'I called to say that I'll pick you up in the morning. It's damned cold. Please be ready!'

  'Thank you. My address is...'

  'I know where you live. The file has your address that’s where I got this number. Goodnight, Miss Andrews!'

  Curt. Curt to the point of rudeness. Still, there was no love lost between them. She thought he was ruthless and he thought she was no better than she should be. Why he was taking her she couldn't think. She didn't want to leave Tansy, heavens, she got little enough time with her as it was, but this was one way she could make sure that her job was an ongoing concern. She would have to make quite sure that she shone at whatever it was she was supposed to shine at. She finished drying her hair and then snuggled down in bed. Outside it was blowing a gale, snow in the wind, not surprising at this time of the year. At least she would be picked up in a Mercedes.

  It was still dark as Helen got ready the next morning. Tina stole out of bed to see her off, standing with a look of admiration as Helen finished dressing. She wore an oatmeal-coloured trouser suit, tight trousers tucked into knee-length boots of pale-coloured suede. It was very smart, exclusive-looking. She had braided her hair as usual but this time she had left it hanging down her back, a thick rope of blue-black, startling against the suit.

  'Chic, very chic.' Tina observed, huddled in her dressing-gown. 'I've never seen it before!

  'I never did wear this.' Helen murmured ironically. 'The deal that this was supposed to bring off fell through before it even got started!

  There
was still bitterness in her voice as she remembered the many ways that Miles had used her, and Tina's face darkened.

  'Pig!' It was the only thing she ever called Miles and Helen relented as she saw her sister's face. Tina had suffered too.

  'Sure you can manage?'

  'Sure I'm sure.' Tina said, walking to the bedroom window and looking down as a car drew up outside. 'I say, I think he's here. Oops! He's getting out. Ten feet tall. Does that sound about right? He looks all right!

  'There's nothing all right about him: Helen muttered, flinging a bright red cashmere shawl around her shoulders and picking up her weekend case. 'I'll phone when I know where this hotel is, then if anything goes wrong...'

  'Nothing will go wrong,' Tina said hastily, pushing her to the door. 'Get going. He's not about to ring the bell, he's just standing leaning against the car, freezing no doubt.'

  'Hmm! He certainly won't improve with the keeping, even refrigerated,' Helen observed tartly, but all the same, she moved fast. She crammed a felt oatmeal-coloured hat on her head and made for the door.