by Penny Jordan
CHAPTER THREE
‘COME on now, Uncle Sam, give. You were very mysterious on the telephone this morning. What’s all this about you finding a job for me?’
They were sitting in Sam Brockbank’s office in the small market town of Abbot’s Meade. The office was as familiar to Brooke as the rooms of Abbot’s Meade itself, and she surveyed the untidy clutter with a rueful smile as she watched her solicitor shuffle the untidy piles of paper on his desk.
‘Well it isn’t so much that I’ve found you a job,’ he told her cautiously, ‘it’s more that I’ve been approached to tell you that one exists, if you are interested.’
‘Mysteriouser and mysteriouser,’ Brooke quipped lightly, ‘Don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me all about it.’
She had dressed for her meeting in one of the neat suits she had worn during her London days—a soft melding of pink and blue tweeds that should have clashed horribly with her hair but did not, her cream silk blouse a perfect foil for her pale skin.
‘The chairman of Hart Enterprises is looking for a PA, and apparently he’s prepared to offer you the job.’
‘Just like that?’ Brooke raised her eyebrows. She had heard of Hart Enterprises first when she worked for the advertising agency and its chairman had the reputation of being particularly ruthless. Hart Enterprises never carried dead or excessive wood, and she could think of no single reason why she should be invited to join the staff. She was a good secretary, with first rate qualifications and excellent speeds and she knew that her last boss had been sorry to lose her, but surely Hart Enterprises already employed a dozen or more girls equally as skilled as she was herself. Unless of course the chairman was the sort of ogre who demolished secretaries for breakfast.
She watched Sam clear his throat, avoiding her eyes as he re-shuffled his papers. Apparently he’s heard about you in the City … and when I mentioned that you were looking for a job….’
‘He jumped at the opportunity to take me on to his staff?’ Brooke supplied drily. It wasn’t impossible that he might indeed have heard of her; the agency did a considerable amount of work for Hart Enterprises, but she suspected that Sam was the one who was responsible for the unexpected job offer. ‘It’s very good of you Sam,’ she told him, softening her firmness with a slight smile, ‘but I don’t intend to rely on the “old boy network” to get myself a job….’
‘Nothing of the kind,’ her solicitor was quick to assure her. ‘He genuinely does want an assistant, Brooke. Although Abbot’s Meade will need to have a great deal of work done on it before it’s ready to operate as the Corporation’s headquarters, the chairman plans to move into the Dower House almost immediately and supervise both the work and his business interests from there. That’s why he was so keen to interview you. Apparently his present secretary is expecting a baby and on the point of leaving.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose it would do any harm to attend the interview,’ Brooke agreed, knowing that she was weakening, but the job sounded far too promising for her to dismiss out of hand. From the little her solicitor had told her about it, it sounded just the sort of challenge she was in need of right now to take her mind off losing Abbot’s Meade, and … other things.
‘If you’re interested, an interview’s been arranged for this afternoon.’
‘Short notice isn’t it?’
‘Apparently the chairman’s pretty anxious to get things moving. He doesn’t like hanging around, waiting for things; wasting time….’
‘So I’ve heard,’ Brooke agreed dryly, searching her memory for any scraps of information stored there regarding her potential employers. Hart Enterprises’ reputation was a first-rate one; their work highly acclaimed; one of their specialities was the renovation of old houses such as Abbot’s Meade, and indeed that had been one of the factors that had encouraged her to sell to Hart Enterprises in the first place. The job did sound tempting, but she wasn’t too sure if she was happy with the fact that Uncle Sam had apparently pushed her forward as a candidate for it. Telling herself that she had nothing to lose in attending the interview she bid him goodbye, and emerged from the gloomy clutter of his office into the bright November sunshine.
The autumn had been a dry one, and the rich colours of autumn leaves gathered in drifts in the gutters. Repressing a childish temptation to swish through them, Brooke headed through the small town square to the municipal car park where she had left her bike.
As always her progress was impeded by several people wanting to chat to her about the sale of the house and its possible implications for the town.
‘Should bring in a sight more business,’ one matron told Brooke, ‘they say they’re going to turn the stables into flats for them as works up at the house?’
Gently parrying the question Brooke hurried on her way. She had heard that Hart’s intended to convert the old stable block into mews apartments and the drawings she had been shown had depicted a very attractive conversion, with the old stable yard still retaining its cobbles but decorated with tubs of flowers and turned into a communal garden.
It was lunchtime before she got back to the Lodge, her progress delayed by the swift passage of a black Ferrari, taking up more than its fair share of the drive. It was being driven too fast for her to see the driver, and as she was forced to wait before turning into the drive Brooke reflected that such inconveniences were something she was going to have to get used to.
After eating a light lunch she took Balsebar out for his walk. In the past she had always let him run loose in the park, but now she decided against this—after all the grounds were no longer hers, and instead clipped on his lead and took him over the stile into the fields beyond which had once belonged to Abbot’s Meade, as part of the home farm but which had long ago been sold off.
A bare, golden stubble decorated the fields, birds scratching amongst it for food. The hedgerows shone scarlet with berries and as she drew in lungfuls of clean, fresh air, Brooke decided that she was not sorry not to be returning to London.
Back at the Lodge she brushed her hair, and reapplied her make-up, changing out of the jeans and sweater she had worn to walk Balsebar, back into her tweed suit.
Although she normally enjoyed the walk from the Lodge to the house, on this occasion she felt very tense. If the chairman of Hart Enterprises was as formidable as his reputation suggested she didn’t want to arrive wind-blown and hot, As she walked up to the house Bill Edwards watched her from an upstairs window, sighing faintly and glancing at his watch. When Adam had told him what he had arranged he had been dumbfounded. Adam’s affairs were legion; common knowledge among his senior staff, but this was the first time in all the years that Bill had known him that he had ever contemplated mixing business with pleasure.
Whatever her other attributes might or might not be Brooke Beauclere was certainly a very, very attractive woman, Bill thought appreciatively watching the elegant swing of her body as she walked towards the building. She carried her height well, and her stride was that of a woman who feels confident and at home with her body. Oh yes, he could well understand why Adam was so keen to pursue the chase, but Adam was notorious for his cold detached view of everything he did. Once he had captured his prey he would no longer be interested in her—that was what always happened—but if the woman was employed by Hart Enterprises?
Sighing Bill turned his attention back to studying the resume which had arrived by special messenger only half an hour ago. Reading it he couldn’t help but be impressed by Brooke’s qualifications. She appeared to have all the attributes necessary to make a first rate PA, but he doubted, after seeing that flaming banner of red hair, that she could match Adam’s clinical detachment once their affair was over.
Having knocked on the door and been told to enter, Brooke was slightly surprised to be confronted by a mild-looking man in his early thirties, who responded to her evident surprise with a slight smile.
‘Bill Edwards,’ he introduced himself, ‘I’m sorry that out chairman can’t interview
you himself. He’s been called away on urgent business, but I am empowered to offer you the job, provided we can both agree that you and it are well matched. Please sit down.’
The interview was a pleasant one. He asked Brooke a little about the history of the house, which she willingly told him.
‘There’s always a sense of sadness at the passing of these old families,’ he sympathised when she had explained that her uncle had been the last male Meade, ‘although presumably if you had a son the title could be revived?’
‘I should think so, but it’s hardly important,’ Brooke told him. ‘I believe Mr Hart intends to occupy the Dower House himself?’
Noting the ‘Mr Hart’ Bill frowned slightly. He had been pretty sure that during the cocktail party Adam had made arrangements to see the girl again. She didn’t look like the type well-schooled in deception and the ‘Mr Hart’ had tripped naturally off her tongue. Neither, now that he had a closer look at her, did she resemble Adam’s normal conquests. Her chin was too determined somehow, and she met his look quite frankly and openly. ‘How do you think you will like working for Mr Hart?’ he questioned her thoughtfully, watching her reaction.
‘I’m not really sure—not having met him, but if he’s prepared to take me on as his PA sight unseen, then….’
Suppressing a sigh Bill wondered if he ought to tell her that she most certainly had met ‘Mr Hart’, and then decided against it. Coward, he taunted himself, as he wound up the interview, but Adam had left him with specific instructions. He wanted Brooke Beauclere as his PA.
When he mentioned Brooke’s salary, naming the same sum as Adam’s present PA earned Brooke raised her eyebrows and looked rather stunned. ‘That’s very generous, isn’t it?’ she queried.
‘It’s exactly what Betty—Mr Hart’s present PA earns.’
‘But surely that’s with a London weighting allowance….’
Bill laughed. ‘You’re the first prospective employee I’ve ever interviewed who’s tried to negotiate her salary downwards.’ He found himself liking her more and more, and worrying more and more about her ability to cope with Adam, but felt honour-bound not to say anything to her. Adam was his boss and a good one, he owed him his loyalty and his livelihood.
‘There’s just one thing,’ he said as he stood up to escort Brooke to the door. ‘Mr Hart would like you to start here on Monday morning. It’s extremely convenient having you living at the Lodge. He’ll be moving into the Dower House over the weekend and initially you’ll be working from there….’
‘But the place is practically derelict,’ Brooke told him. ‘It’s been empty since our last tenants left and that’s three years ago.’
‘We’re moving in a team to check it over today. Just as long as A … Mr Hart can have a terminal set up linked to our main computer he can work, although I believe he intends to supervise the renovations here himself. You don’t think you’ll find that too painful?’ He was making a last ditch attempt to dissuade her from taking the job, without being seen to do so, Bill acknowledged, but Brooke shook her head. ‘Sentiment of that kind is something I can’t afford right now,’ she told him simply, extending her hand to shake his. On her feet, she was an inch or so taller than he was himself, Bill thought ruefully, beautifully composed, and coolly remote; the thought of what Adam could and probably would do to that fragile shell of hauteur made him cringe in anticipation of her pain, but there was nothing he could do about it, and for the first time since he had come to work for Adam, he found himself almost actively disliking him.
‘Monday morning then at the Dower House,’ Brooke said with a smile. ‘I’m already looking forward to it; the job sounds extremely challenging.’
Far more challenging than she could yet imagine, Bill thought worriedly, but there was nothing he could do to warn her.
She had been gone half an hour when his ‘phone rang and he picked it up, already anticipating who his caller would be.
‘Did she accept the job?’
Adam had never been one to waste words uselessly.
‘Yes,’ Bill was equally terse, ‘although she thought the salary was too high.’
A little to his surprise Adam laughed. ‘That’s my girl,’ he drawled lightly. ‘And did you manage to restrain yourself from warning her that she’s about to step into the big bad wolf’s lair?’
Adam saw and knew far too much Bill thought a little bitterly. ‘Yes, but I don’t like myself for doing it.’
* * *
Saturday was as bright and sunny as the weathermen had promised, and Brooke decided to make good use of the bright spell to tidy up the Lodge garden. She was midway through brushing up dead leaves and building a bonfire when the black Ferrari swept through the open gates, followed by a small van.
So the Ferrari must belong to her new boss, she reflected thoughtfully watching them disappear. Strange, she had for some reason had him pegged as a chauffeur-driven Rolls man. Returning to her task she dismissed him from her mind. Time enough to worry about her new job on Monday morning. Right now she needed the breathing space of this weekend. Tonight she was having dinner with Sam, his wife and their daughter and son-in-law, and if she knew Mary, she would have found a ‘spare man’ from somewhere to partner her. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She liked Mary very much, but knew that the older woman thought it was high time that she found herself a husband. Mary was a perennial romantic who believed in falling in love and living happily ever after. She repressed a slight smile as she envisaged Mary’s views on the fact that the only man to arouse any feelings at all in her was quite definitely not likely to fall head over heels in love with her, and furthermore had anything but marriage on his mind!
Stop thinking about him, she warned herself as she finished gathering up the leaves. It was a once and for all encounter and be grateful for that fact, otherwise the chances are that….
That what? That she would end up in his bed? Never, she told herself firmly. Okay; she had been physically attracted to him, but physical attraction didn’t stop her brain from working and her brain told her loudly and clearly that he was strictly a man who liked playing games; a no commitment, no comebacks man who she doubted ever even considered looking more than skin deep at the woman he was with. Definitely not her type at all; and her momentary response to him had been nothing more than an unfortunate mistake.
It was late afternoon before she had finished tidying up the garden. There had been a certain physical satisfaction to be found in digging and weeding and now her body ached pleasantly, the scent of her bonfire lingering in the still early evening air.
She called Balsebar as she trudged towards the Lodge with her tools, sighing faintly when the dog didn’t materialise. No doubt he had escaped into the park; like her he seemed to be having difficulty in accepting that it was now out of bounds to him. A sharp whistle brought him back, and as they went inside he nudged Brooke affectionately with his long nose. She was still a little surprised at how easily Adam had handled him the previous night.
There had been gentleness as well as firmness in the way he had controlled the dog, restraining him without trying to master him. Would he handle a woman with the same firm confidence? Somehow the question slipped past her guard and into her mind, to be instantly banished.
Stop thinking about him, she abjured herself as she went upstairs to run a bath and prepare for the evening ahead.
She was just putting the finishing touches to her make-up when the ‘phone rang. The absurd sense of disappointment she felt when she recognised Mary’s voice challenged all her brave mental assurances that Adam Henderson had made no real emotional impression on her.
‘Just to tell you that you needn’t cycle tonight dear,’ Mary explained. ‘Jeff Gibson will be picking you up. Remember him?’
Jeff Gibson had originally been one of Sam’s articled clerks, but it was several years since he had left the district. Brooke did remember him though, as a rather spotty, shy individual who had lurked in a
corner of the outer office every time she went into the solicitor’s.
‘Vaguely,’ she agreed, hiding a small smile. Mary was matchmaking again.
She was ready on the dot of eight; her plain black velvet dress swirling softly round her legs as she hurried to answer the doorbell, at the same time restraining Balsebar.
Her initial thought was that the spots had gone and that in the intervening years Jeff had obviously filled out and lost his diffidence. Balsebar expressed low-growled disapproval as he followed Brooke into the hall.
‘I’ll just get my coat,’ she told him, shooing the dog away. ‘I won’t be a second.’ As she hurried upstairs she was conscious of Jeff admiring the long length of her legs and suddenly the evening which she had suspected might be rather dreary took on a new aspect.
The hair she remembered as cut very short and slightly mousy was now much longer and the same sun that had given his skin its deep tan had bleached the ends. In all Jeff Gibson was a very attractive man, and she liked the way he helped her into the car, taking care not to touch her in any way that wasn’t strictly conventional—unlike some of her escorts.
It was only a short drive to Sam’s. Jeff chatted about old acquaintances as he drove, explaining that he had been working in America and that he had come back to deal with his mother’s small estate.
Brooke had only a dim memory of his mother who she remembered had lived in the town, but she expressed her sympathy when Jeff told her that she had died several weeks previously.
‘I wasn’t looking forward to tonight,’ he told her frankly as they turned into the road leading to the Brockbanks. ‘My last memory of you is with pigtails and freckles.’
‘Mine of you is equally flattering,’ Brooke told him with a smile.
‘Umm, I can imagine.’ The sideways glance he gave her was extremly amused. ‘I refused to believe it when Mary told me you’d turned into a raving beauty, but I can see that she was quite right.’ He glanced at her bare ring finger. ‘No attachments?’