His Girl Monday to Friday

by Linda Miles

  ‘I’d love to, Charles,’ she said affably, ‘but I don’t think it would be terribly helpful. It’s already half past four—you won’t be able to get the data in time. Why don’t we just discuss it tomorrow over a sandwich?’

  The look on his face made it all worthwhile. She didn’t think it had even occurred to him that she might actually say no.

  He gave her a lazy smile—me same knee-weakening lazy smile he’d tossed Carol about ten minutes ago. ‘Two guesses why not,’ he said softly.

  Barbara smiled at him pleasantly. ‘I had a lovely time last night, Charles,’ she said kindly, ‘but this is really important. I need a good night’s sleep if I’m to do a good job. Maybe we can have dinner together some other night. And you’ll have the figures for me by tomorrow lunch-time? Terrific.’

  Charles was looking at her blankly. Hadn’t anyone ever turned him down? Well, it would do him good. Even if it didn’t do him good, it was doing wonders for her. She might not like the idea of this dinner of his with Julia, but even less did she like the idea of just coming whenever Charles snapped his fingers.

  ‘So glad you enjoyed yourself,’ he said sardonically, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’ll see if I can’t get some figures for you. See you at lunch.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BARBARA, spent the evening mainly remembering the night before and trying not to think about Charles having dinner with Julia. He’d said he wasn’t going to kiss her goodnight, but what if his old friend Julia kissed him first and he thought the only polite thing to do was kiss her back? Somehow she couldn’t imagine Charles struggling madly to disengage himself. What if he kissed her back and one thing led to another? Or what if he changed his mind and kissed her first when he’d said he wouldn’t?

  Charles spent the first part of the evening mainly remembering the night before and wishing he hadn’t idiotically postponed the return engagement. He’d never thought of Julia as a doormat, but it suddenly struck him that she agreed with everything he said. It didn’t matter what he said, Julia would instantly say she’d never thought of it that way before, or that it put the whole subject into a completely different perspective, or that he knew more about it than she did. That had never stopped Barbara from telling him he was an idiot and doing her best to prove it. Julia was as dazzlingly beautiful as ever, but he was bored.

  Then, just as they reached dessert, Julia came out with her first interesting remark of the evening. ‘Interesting’ was the wrong word. ‘Terrifying’ was more like it.

  ‘So it’s happened at last,’ she said rather sadly.

  ‘What’s happened at last?’ asked Charles. He’d been talking enthusiastically about his latest, greatest success in talent-spotting.

  ‘You’ve fallen for someone,’ said Julia. She gave a rather rueful smile. ‘I didn’t think you were the type.’

  ‘I’m not,’ protested Charles, horrified. ‘You’re blowing this up out of all proportion. She’s an attractive girl, and obviously very bright—I mean, I just gave her a chance and she’s headed straight for the stratosphere—but I haven’t fallen for her. I’ve known her family for years, and obviously she’s a friend…’

  ‘So it’s purely platonic,’ Julia said sceptically.

  ‘Well, no, not exactly,’ Charles admitted. ‘When is it ever with me? But what does that have to do with it? You’d realise how impossible it would be if you met her. She’s completely impossible. She’s absolutely infuriating. She’s the last person I’d ever want to…’ he avoided, just in time, the word ‘marry’ ‘…settle down with.’

  Julia looked unconvinced. ‘Well, if you say so,’ she said. ‘But don’t ask me back tonight, Charles. I’m sure I’d go if you asked, but I’d really much rather not.’

  Charles looked across the table at the gleaming blond hair and the spectacular figure in its clinging black dress. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t the slightest intention of asking her back; it was almost as if he couldn’t imagine doing so. ‘Whatever you say,’ he said. What in God’s name was the matter with him?

  He put Julia in a taxi and got home at the embarrassingly early hour of eleven o’clock. He paced irritably up and down the living room, his eye caught at each lap by the sofa where he’d sat with Barbara the night before. Where he’d seduced Barbara, come to that, except somehow it hadn’t felt like it. He had a sudden impulse to call Barbara and ask if she wanted any advice, just to hear her tell him she didn’t need his advice and then gratuitously list five reasons why he was the most selfish man on the planet.

  Look, pull yourself together, he told himself. Women were incurable romantics. They took one look at a relationship any man would see at a glance was based on sex and thought it was heading for the altar. They’d rather think a man was in love with somebody, even if it wasn’t them, than accept the simple fact that men were different.

  Even if he was going to marry somebody, which he wasn’t, Barbara was the last woman in the world to fit the bill. If he ever did decide to marry it would be a business decision. He’d want someone poised and sophisticated, someone who could play the role of corporate wife to perfection—someone, in fact, like Julia.

  He grimaced at the thought of spending the rest of his life with Julia. He’d have to spend the rest of his life hearing that his latest half-baked idea had put everything in a totally different perspective. Horrible. Yes, but he didn’t have to marry anyone, he reminded himself. He was successful anyway. He didn’t have to sign away the rest of his life to get more successful. If he wanted Mallory to be a world-class operation he could just go on the way he had in the past, picking good people and giving them the chance to show what they could do. People like Barbara. Maybe he should give her a call.

  He realised, in exasperation, that he’d been coming back to this attractive idea ever since he’d come home. Maybe he should call her just so he could stop thinking about it. It was ridiculous. Why shouldn’t he call her?

  He picked up the phone and punched in her number, glaring at the wall.

  ‘Hello?’ said the voice that had been trying to cut him down to size for the last fifteen years.

  ‘Barbara?’

  ‘Charles? Is anything the matter?’ The note of astonishment in her voice reminded him that he really had no reason for calling.

  ‘No, I—I just wondered if you’d thought any more about this Meffel & Fires—that is, the Feffel & Meyers deal. Want me to brief you for your dinner?’

  ‘I think some rough figures will be enough for now,’ said Barbara. ‘You can give me what you’ve got at lunch tomorrow. I’m going to keep things fairly informal at this stage—I think it would be a bad idea to overwhelm him with a full-scale presentation.’

  Just the sound of her low, husky voice made him want her.

  ‘I wish you were here,’ he said softly, in the tone of voice that women had been finding irresistible for years.

  ‘What?’ said Barbara.

  He laughed. ‘I wish you were here. I’ve been thinking of you all evening, you know—thinking about last night. I’ve been kicking myself for remembering Julia this moming. It wasn’t really a fixed thing anyway. And it can’t have been much fun for her, sitting across from someone whose mind was obviously somewhere else.’

  ‘No,’ said Barbara unencouragingly.

  It was too bad she was at the other end of a telephone line, Charles thought regretfully. If she were here in the room with him he could pull her into his arms and kiss her; she’d soon stop being cold and distant then, he thought with satisfaction, remembering the way she’d melted against him.

  ‘Well, shall we say the day after tomorrow?’

  There was a short silence. Finally Barbara said, ‘Charles, would you mind if we went back to having just a professional relationship? I enjoyed myself last night, but I’m not very good at telling the difference between a fixed thing and a half-promise. I think I’d always be wondering whether something I thought was a date was going to turn into a vague possibility as soon as you me
t someone else you found more interesting.

  ‘You told me once that most of the women you know understand the rules of the game so I think it would be better if you went back to seeing them. Obviously there’s no reason we shouldn’t go on being a good team professionally.’

  He had been through this kind of thing before, of course.

  He’d always been able to deal with it when it had seemed worth the trouble, which it usually hadn’t. He tried some of the phrases which had worked so well in the past, but before he’d hit his stride she interrupted.

  ‘I’d really rather not,’ Barbara said simply. ‘And now I’ve really got to get some sleep. I want to be in good form tomorrow. Goodnight, Charles.’

  And she hung up.

  Charles stared at the receiver, then put it back down furiously. How had this happened? Half an hour ago at least he’d known he was going to sleep with Barbara again in the fairly near future; now she’d walked out on him. If it had been any other woman he’d have been sure of being able to talk her round, but you could never tell with Barbara.

  He didn’t like any of this. He didn’t like the stab of disappointment he’d felt; he didn’t like the way he’d wanted to call her back the moment she’d hung up, to explain that it had all been a terrible misunderstanding and he would never, ever stand her up for another woman because he couldn’t imagine wanting to be with another woman when he could be with her.

  What was wrong with him?

  She was right, he decided grimly. He’d made a mistake having anything to do with a woman who didn’t know the rules. She’d got him all worked up because she was taking it all too seriously. He couldn’t afford to have his thoughts hijacked by Barbara every five minutes. He should go back to seeing the kind of woman he understood, and who understood him.

  He extracted a slim electronic organiser from his breast pocket and began scrolling through names. Anabel, Belinda, Caroline, Diane… Gritting his teeth, he began making phone calls.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BARBARA’S dinner with Peter went better than she could have hoped. He was initially sceptical about persuading anyone that all staff should have to retrain, but became cautiously encouraging after hearing of the Barrett experiment. He confirmed Barbara’s guess that the different systems had a symbolic value which went beyond purely practical considerations.

  ‘But nobody’s going to want to admit that,’ he told her. ‘Any way you can make this look like a purely practical decision? You’ve got people on both sides swearing there are things you can do in two seconds on their pet system that take two hours with the other; if we could trump that with a system that did both…’

  Barbara thought privately that this was one of those things that sounded so easy and obvious and would probably cost years of man-hours. She smiled and said it was a good idea and put the whole thing in a new perspective—Charles would have been astounded if he’d been there to hear it.

  For the next two weeks she threw herself into research. It was one way of not thinking about Charles. As soon as she’d put the phone down that night she couldn’t believe what she’d said. She’d deliberately thrown away at least one more night with Charles, and all the kisses she could squeeze in before he found someone else—and for what? Pride. If he’d been in the same room she couldn’t have done it.

  Now it was done, and Charles was taking her at her word. It just showed he’d never been seriously interested, even at a purely physical level, in the first place. He seemed to be going out with a different woman every night. She’d work late and call his office at six-thirty or so to ask a question, and he’d explain that he had to rush because he was expecting Elinor, or Fiona, or Gina, to walk in the door any moment.

  Well, Barbara thought grimly, at least she had a career. It wasn’t so much fun now that she didn’t have Charles to bounce ideas off, but it beat typing. It wasn’t so much fun now that she’d ruled out interfering with Charles’s concentration. She couldn’t exactly walk into his office and kiss him, the way she’d once thought she would when he tired of her, because she was the one who’d said it should be purely professional. It wasn’t much fun, but at least it was something.

  Another professionally rewarding week went by.

  Taking a break from yet another professionally rewarding morning, Barbara ran into the head of Personnel in the cafeteria.

  The head of Personnel looked harassed. ‘What’s your secret?’ she asked Barbara wearily as they left the till with loaded trays.

  ‘My secret?’ said Barbara, smiling.

  ‘With Mr Mallory. He’s been through six secretaries in three days. He always had a pretty impressive turnover, but we could usually get someone who could last a week. Have to admit we never had anyone with your stamina.’ The woman sighed. ‘I know it’s a marvellous opportunity for you, Barbara, but my heart sank when he promoted you. At first I thought you’d reformed him somehow—one girl actually said he was quite sweet to her, if you can believe it. Now he’s gone back to being the same old slave-driver, only worse.’

  ‘Well, obviously, if people let him get away with it they only encourage him,’ Barbara said sternly. ‘It’s terribly bad for him.’

  ‘Bad for him,’ said Mrs Cox faintly. ‘One girl couldn’t ake more than an hour of it. I don’t know what he says o them.’

  ‘Do you want me to have a word with him?’ Barbara asked.

  ‘With Mr Mallory?’

  ‘Let me rephrase that,’ said Barbara. ‘I’m going to have a word with Mr Mallory whether he likes it or not.’

  It had been some time since she’d told Charles what she hought of him, she realised. She couldn’t kiss him, of course, but she could still insult him. It would do them both good.

  She took the lift to the top floor, a martial gleam in her eye.

  A sobbing secretary fled past Barbara and through a loor marked EMERGENCY EXTT ONLY. The howl of an alarm filled the building.

  Barbara punched the keys to turn off the alarm, then approached the door of Charles’s office. He was on the phone so she paused just outside.

  ‘I know, darling,’ he was saying, ‘but it’s all new to me. I’ve never been in love before.’ He was laughing, the kind of laugh that would once have gone with that lurking smile in his eyes. ‘Well, of course it’s marvellous, but it’s an absolute nightmare.’

  Barbara leaned weakly against the wall. So that was what had happened. Somehow he’d met someone else, and his time it was the real thing.

  ‘No, I haven’t told Barbara,’ he was saying. ‘It’s not exactly—I mean it’s not the easiest thing in the world to work into the conversation. You know what she’s like…’

  Barbara bit her lip. So it was someone she knew.

  ‘I don’t really know how she’ll take it.’ He paused and aughed again. ‘Yes, that’s easy for you to say, darling, but you’re not the one facing the firing squad. Still, the cooner the better. I’ll let you know how it goes.’

  Barbara gritted her teeth. She couldn’t stand it. Charles would explain that he’d met the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Was it Hilary? Or Irene He’d explain that he’d fallen in love, and she’d have to stand there, smiling and pretending she didn’t care.

  Well, she did care. She wanted him, and she couldn‘t have him. Instead she had a professionally rewarding career that she’d never even asked for. Well, maybe she couldn’t have Charles, but at least she could have some thing, she wanted.

  She was going to Sardinia.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BLAZING sunshine roasted a white crescent of beach and sparkled on the waves of a bright blue sea. Barbara sat under an enormous striped beach umbrella, slathered in sun-block. She had the pale skin of a redhead, and had to be careful about the sun. She’d been swimming once, and was now reading an Agatha Christie in Italian—it was the only novel the tiny local newsagent had had to offer in the local language.

  ‘Buon giorno, Poirot,’ said the detective’s sidekick.
>
  ‘Buon giorno, Hastings,’ replied Poirot.

  So far so good.

  A shadow appeared on the sand in front of her umbrella. Barbara kept her eyes studiously down. She’d spent most of her holiday fending off persistent Sardinian men. She was not really in the mood for fending off another.

  ‘Buon giorno, signorina,’ said a deep, lazy voice. ‘Mind if I join you? I see you’re reading a book; you must want to be interrupted.’

  Barbara looked up. Her eyes travelled up long, lean legs to a narrow waist, powerful chest and broad shoulders which had spent hours and hours at an ungodly time of night at the gym. Her eyes travelled on; they met eyes as brilliant a green as the sea. He was wearing black swimming shorts; he was carrying a towel.

  He flopped down on the towel beside her.

  Her heart turned over inside her.

  ‘Charles?’ she said.

  ‘Do you know how long it’s taken me to find you here?’ he said. ‘Why couldn’t you have picked a small Greek island? For that matter, why did you suddenly disappear to an island at all?’ He flicked up an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were getting your teeth into Feffel & Meyers.’

  ‘I know,’ said Barbara hastily. ‘I just decided it wasn’t for me. I’m sorry to have left so suddenly, but I thought enough had been done so someone else could take over.’

  He allowed his eyes to rest on her face for a moment. He’d been imagining it for weeks, but his imagination hadn’t believed the real thing could be so vivid. Her hair was like a cap of flame in the blazing sun; her eyes matched the sea for brilliance; the sharp eyebrows seemed to fire questions at him even when her face was in repose. How could he have thought, even for a moment, that she wasn’t the only one for him? And he’d probably thrown away the only chance he’d ever have.

  ‘Well, obviously it’s your decision,’ he said, sticking to the safety of business a little longer. At least until he’d asked her he didn’t know it was out of the question. She wasn’t scowling at him, anyway. Maybe that was a good sign.