She was not that kind of woman.
In this silent moment of her busy life, Amy prayed for the strength to go back to Anton. To find him and tell him the truth about herself. Whatever he decided to do, whatever he chose to believe, she would tell him that she loved him truly and deeply and would never love another man as long as she lived.
She would go back to Hong Kong and look into his eyes once again. Perhaps he would reject her. She would accept that pain if it came. But she would not accept defeat.
She loved him. That was all there was.
The silence was broken by a distant sound, perhaps the cracking of a twig. Amy opened her eyes. She had thought herself alone in the woods. But through the silvery trunks of the trees she could see a figure approaching. It was a tall man, whose outline was so painfully familiar to her that she felt her heart leap into her throat.
Anton stepped into the clearing. Against the muted colours of the snowy woods, his eyes were the deepest blue imaginable, the colour of a warm tropical sea.
‘It’s almost our anniversary,’ he said.
‘How did you find me?’ she whispered.
‘I followed your footprints through the woods,’ he replied. ‘They were the only ones. Yours are the only footprints in my heart, my beloved Amy. Can you forgive me?’
‘Oh, Anton,’ she said. She held out her arms and he came to her swiftly.
How wonderful it was to be enveloped in that strong embrace again. She lifted her joyful face to his, accepting his warm kisses with ecstasy, with rapture.
‘Please tell me you’ll give me another chance,’ he begged, crushing her even tighter in his arms. ‘Please tell me you forgive me for being such a fool, my beloved.’
‘We have both been fools.’
Their kiss seemed to last forever. When the world stopped spinning around them, he looked down into her eyes. ‘You are the most precious person in my life. Can you pardon me for the terrible words I said to you?’
‘If you tell me that you don’t believe the things Lavinia told you about me!’
‘Not any more. I didn’t sleep the night you left, just lay with my own thoughts, realising that it was impossible that the Amy I loved could have done any of that. It was during the meeting itself that it came to me, suddenly, what a madman I had been. I’m so sorry I took so long to find you. You hid yourself well. I had to go straight to Hong Kong after the AGM because of the trouble Lavinia caused. I only got back last night. You know about the buyback?’
She nodded. ‘I read about it just this morning. I didn’t know before. I just assumed that you and Lavinia—’
‘Morticia will have to find another Gomez, my darling.’
She laughed unsteadily. ‘She made you pay for rejecting her, my love. I’m sorry about that.’
‘It was worth every penny—because now we are free. We can do things our way. And I have some promises to make to you, Amy. One is that our lives will never move at the speed of light again. There will always be time and space for just us. No matter how far we travel, no matter what goals we set ourselves, nothing will matter more than we do. You are the most important person in my world and you always will be.’ He kissed her tenderly. ‘I will always listen to you and hear the words that you say. Will you come home with me, Amy? Your house is waiting for you, my angel, with dragons to guard all four quarters.’
‘You bought Quilin House!’
‘Actually, you did,’ he smiled. ‘The house is in your name, beloved.’
‘But Anton… why?’
‘For one night in London, I thought you didn’t exist any more,’ he said. ‘No night has ever been as dark and terrible as that. Not even when they locked me in the cupboard as a child. When I lost my faith in you, I lost myself. I want to atone for that. I want to show you that I will never again distrust you. I want you to come back to Hong Kong with me and live in your house. It will always be yours, even if you decide not to make me that happiest man in the world and become my wife. But I hope that eventually, you will be ready to marry me. Quilin House is my gift to you, and my apology.’ Another still place, another calm centre, thousands of miles away from that frozen pool.
They stood side by side in the pagoda, holding hands, as they had done once, months before. The ancient shrine was filled with peace. The distant sound of the sea threaded itself around the old stones as though weaving a garland around their blessed happiness. The smile on the face of the statue was serene and beautiful.
As before, they had laid offerings of wild flowers and fruits on the floor of the shrine.
‘I never told you how much I loved you,’ Anton said. ‘If I had done that, perhaps you would have trusted me more.’
‘Perhaps I didn’t trust myself,’ she replied quietly. ‘I could never have willingly terminated my pregnancy. But when I had the miscarriage, it seemed to me that it was my fault. I felt such deep guilt for so long. I felt I was to blame somehow.’
His fingers tightened around hers. ‘It was an accident of nature,’ he replied. ‘Only a mind like Martin McCallum’s could have believed otherwise.’
‘I’m so sorry you had to hear it, warped and twisted like that, from Lavinia. It must have hurt you so terribly.’
‘I could never really believe it,’ he replied. ‘I knew it was wrong, it had to be wrong. You were not the sort of woman who could have behaved in the way she described.’ He turned to her, his face serene. ‘You are the best and most beautiful person I know, Amy. I am so proud that you’re going to be my wife.’
‘And you are the only man in the world,’ she replied simply. ‘There is no one like you.’
‘I’ve brought something for you,’ he said, reaching into his pocket. ‘I hope you will accept it this time.’
She knew what it was, even before he held it out to her— a hoop of the deepest, greenest jade, carved with the muscular body of a living dragon.
‘The first time I offered it to you,’ he went on, ‘I think you thought I was trying to mark you as a trophy, a conquest. But I was trying to say the opposite, my love—that you had conquered me, and could wear me on your arm, your own tame dragon.’
‘It’s so beautiful and alive, just like you. But it will never be tame.’ She slipped the cool, precious thing onto her arm and then kissed the warm velvet of his lips. ‘I’ll never take it off.’
The floor of the temple, as before, was scattered with silvery sand and the flowers that the wind had blown in, as though in mute worship. The domed roof over their heads was filled with the murmur of the sea. Once again, Amy knew that they were in a sacred place, beyond all religion.
‘Thank you for bringing me here,’ she whispered. ‘It’s so beautiful.’
‘Yes,’ Anton replied. ‘The world is a beautiful place. I want to spend the rest of my life making sure it stays beautiful for you—and for our children. One of the many reasons I adore you is because you want that, too. I could never love anyone who just didn’t care.’
They kissed, with the tenderness of complete love.
Then they turned and walked back down the path, under the drooping boughs of wild hibiscus and ripe fruit that hung like jewels over their heads, back down to the beach, to where their boat was rocking at anchor, waiting to take them onward.
Accepting the Boss’s Proposal
by
Natasha Oakley
Natasha Oakley told everyone at her primary school she wanted to be an author when she grew up. Her plan was to stay at home and have her mum bring her coffee at regular intervals – a drink she didn’t like then. The coffee addiction became reality and the love of storytelling stayed with her. A professional actress, Natasha began writing when her fifth child started to sleep through the night. Born in London, she now lives in Bedfordshire with her husband and young family. When not writing, or needed for ‘crowd control’, she loves to escape to antiques fairs and auctions.
Find out more about Natasha and her books on her website www.natashaoakley.com
&n
bsp; Chapter One
SHE’D made a mistake.
Jemima knew it the minute she saw what the woman on the reception desk was wearing. Kingsley and Bressington might sound like some staid turn-of-the-last-century law firm, but the reality was completely different—and the woman on the reception desk embodied exactly that.
She wore a rich brown T-shirt which hugged the kind of yoga-toned body that always made Jemima feel vaguely depressed. Dramatic turquoise jewellery picked out an exact shade in the receptionist’s vibrant skirt and brought out the colour of her eyes. Her look was overwhelmingly young…fashionable…and a world away from Jemima’s borrowed suit. Its aubergine colour might be perfect with her carefully straightened red hair, but it was entirely too formal for Kingsley and Bressington.
Nor was she quite sure how she could dress any differently tomorrow. Even if her own wardrobe wasn’t restricted to jeans and easy care fabrics, she was two children too late for that kind of body conscious clothing.
Jemima glanced around the acres of white walls, taking in the abstract paintings and sculptural plants in huge stainless steel pots. What the heck was she doing in a trendy place like this? If she didn’t know she’d be letting Amanda down she’d turn tail and run now. Fast. This wasn’t what she’d wanted at all.
Instead she made herself stand firm. She could hardly balk at her first placement and this was about so much more than one temporary job. This was about standing on her own feet, recovering her self-esteem, making a new beginning… All those trite phrases that everyone instinctively churned out when they were confronted by the rejected half of a ‘now divorced’ couple.
That she believed they were right was probably something to do with the British ‘stiff upper lip’ thing that was buried deep in her psyche. She twisted the gold chain at her neck. God forbid she should break down and cry. Or curl under her duvet and refuse to emerge until the world had settled back to the way it had been before. She had to be strong. For the boys. Everyone said so…
Jemima took a shaky breath and waited for the receptionist to finish her telephone call. She’d already been cast an apologetic ‘I’ll be with you in a moment’ look and watched with growing fatalism as the receptionist tapped her acrylic-tipped nails impatiently on the glass table while she explained why she couldn’t transfer the caller to the person they wanted.
She could do this. She could. Jemima made herself stand a little straighter and concentrated on exuding confidence. What was it Amanda had said about ‘transferable skills’? All those years of PTA involvement had to amount to something. Not to mention her degree, secretarial qualifications…
‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. Can I help you?’
Jemima jerked to attention, a small part of her mind still free to speculate on whether the receptionist’s long hair was the result of nature…or extensions. ‘Jemima Chadwick. I’m Jemima Chadwick. From Harper Recruitment. I’m here to temp for Miles Kingsley and I’m to ask for…’ She pulled her handbag off her shoulder and started to rummage through Visa slips and assorted pieces of screwed-up paper. Somewhere in the depths of her bag was the small notebook in which she’d written all the details Amanda had given her on Friday afternoon.
Somewhere…
‘Saskia Longthorne,’ the receptionist said with authority. ‘She deals with all temporary staff. I’ll let her know you’re here.’
Too late. Just too late Jemima pulled the piece of paper out of her bag and looked down at the words she’d scribbled.
‘She won’t keep you a moment. If you’d like to take a seat?’ There was the faintest trace of a question in her modulated voice, but Jemima had no difficulty in recognising a directive.
She balled the piece of paper up in her hand. ‘Th-thank you.’
Jemima turned and went to sit on one of the seats. They were set in a semi-circular format around an unusual shattered glass coffee table and were the kind of low-slung design that required the same impossible skills as climbing in and out of a sports car. She perched uncomfortably on the edge in a vain effort to stop her skirt from riding up.
This morning she’d been hyped up for the challenge of rebuilding her life. A new beginning—and this temporary job was merely the first step. But now she was actually here…all that beautiful confidence was evaporating. Everything about Kingsley and Bressington made her feel uncomfortable. It was all so far outside of her personal experience it hurt.
But then, that was the idea. Amanda had been adamant that she ought to test her new skills in several temporary vacancies before she looked for a permanent position. She should see what kind of working environment she preferred, push the boundaries a little… As Amanda had said, she might surprise herself with the choices she’d make.
At least, that had been the theory. Sitting in Amanda Symmond’s comfortable Oxford Street offices, it had seemed like a very good idea, but right now she’d give up practically everything to be at home and loading her boys into the back of her Volvo for the school run. Safe. Doing what she knew.
As the minutes slipped by, Jemima sank back into her seat and stopped jumping at the sound of every footstep.
‘Jemima Chadwick? Mrs Chadwick?’
She looked up at the sound of a masculine voice. ‘Yes. That’s me. I…’ She struggled to pull herself out of the deep seat while still clutching her handbag. ‘I’m sorry…I was told to wait here for Saskia Longthorne,’ she managed foolishly, looking up into a pair of intensely blue eyes. ‘She deals with temporary staff and—’
‘Saskia’s been held up, it seems. So, as I’m passing…’ He held out his hand. ‘Thank you for helping us out. We do appreciate it.’
Jemima transferred her handbag to her other shoulder and held out her own hand. ‘You’re w-welcome.’
His hand closed over hers in that double handshake thing. The one that was supposed to convey sincerity, but was usually a sign of exactly the opposite. Tall, dark, handsome…actually, very handsome…and completely aware of it.
Everything about him was clean-cut and expensive. His suit was in a dark grey with a faint blue stripe in the weave and it fitted his muscular body as though it had been made for him. Perhaps it had. Jemima didn’t know how you judged these things.
It was easy to get the measure of the man himself though. Smooth and sharp. Too smooth…and too sharp. It wasn’t by chance he’d selected a tie in a cold ice-blue, a colour that matched his incredibly piercing eyes.
‘I’m Miles Kingsley. You’ll be working with me.’
Jemima felt her stomach drop and disappear. This was absolutely not what she wanted. He was not what she wanted. All the way here on the tube she’d been praying that Miles Kingsley would be a comfortable kind of man and easy to work for.
Amanda had told her that she’d never had a complaint from any temp about working for Miles and, in her mind, she’d pictured him as a controlled, sensible, mature man. Someone not unlike her late father, in fact. Perfect for a woman dipping one very nervous toe back into the job market.
But there was nothing ‘comfortable’ about this man. He was a cocksure thirty-something who clearly felt he was God’s particular gift to the world.
Perhaps Amanda hadn’t understood quite what she was looking for in her first job? Or perhaps Amanda had simply decided to drop her firmly in the deep end and see if she swam. That was the trouble with going to an agency owned and run by the sister of your best friend. People who thought they knew you well were all too apt to make decisions they considered to be in your best interests…without reference to what you actually did want.
‘I’ll take you up to where you’ll be working and by then I’m sure Saskia will be free to take you through our procedures.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Nothing too out of the ordinary, I imagine.’
And then he smiled. A perfect balance of casual warmth and glinting sex appeal. Jemima clutched at her shoulder bag. This was going to be hideous. Miles Kingsley might possibly have hidden neurosi
s somewhere, but if he did it was deeply buried.
How could any one individual be so completely without…? She searched for the word. So without self-doubt? That was it. He was so darn sure of himself. And all that confidence seemed to suck away what was left of hers. Perhaps she ought to ring Amanda now? Tell her she couldn’t do this job?
Jemima frowned. But how pathetic was that? She’d have to go home and tell her mother she hadn’t been able to do it. How did you do that? How did you tell a woman who’d been a senior civil servant until she’d taken early retirement that you couldn’t manage a simple temp job? Then she’d have to tell the boys…
And she wanted them to be proud of her. Wanted them to see her taking control of her life again. It would be good for them. Everybody said so.
Miles turned and crossed to the reception desk. ‘Felicity, would you hold my calls for the next five minutes or so. And would you let Saskia know I’ve collected Jemima on my way through.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Jemima watched as the receptionist became a pool of hormones at his feet. Assuming she did have hair extensions, one more flick of her lustrous locks and they might fall out. Though, to give him his due, Miles Kingsley didn’t appear to notice. Perhaps because ninety-nine point nine per cent of women he met did the same.
‘This way,’ he said, turning back to her and pointing up the wide glass and steel staircase.
Jemima gave the receptionist a tentative smile and turned to follow him.
‘Have you been temping long?’
‘No. Not really.’ Or, in fact, not at all. Probably better not to mention that, though. Jemima clutched at her shoulder bag and swallowed nervously.
‘To the left here,’ he remarked, pointing down a corridor, ‘you’ll find a staff recreational room—which is a grand way of saying it’s a pleasant place to have a coffee break. Saskia will show you around later and introduce you to the other support staff. We’re a tightly knit team and I’m sure they’ll all be available to help you, should you need it.’
At the Boss's Command Page 31