From Prim to Improper

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Right. No time like the present. My people will be in shortly, and I want you to familiarise yourself with your new office. Follow me.’

  He talked while he walked, expecting her to keep up with him. This was the interview she had never had, but then getting the job with James had not required detailed knowledge of computer systems and programs, spreadsheets, budget reports, and data bases. She would, he informed her baldly, be barred from access to any confidential information, but she would need to settle in fast so that she could begin the process of sifting through the hundreds of emails that arrived daily for him, making sure that he didn’t waste his valuable time on rubbish.

  ‘I’ve only had experience working in a small family-firm of lawyers,’ she said nervously, tripping along behind him and nearly colliding into him when he stopped abruptly and turned to face her.

  ‘Meaning?’ Andreas’s voice was cool and lacked encouragement. He had already fallen victim to being sucked in by her timid conversational forays that had nothing whatsoever to do with the matter in hand.

  ‘Meaning that I’m really not sure that I’ll be up to your…your high standards.’

  ‘There you go, running yourself down again.’

  ‘I’m not running myself down! I’m being realistic.’ But he was off again, and he was so much taller than she was that she had to practically run to keep up.

  She also wanted to talk to him about James. Had he given his blessing to this weird arrangement because he thought that she was taking advantage of her position, lounging around doing nothing during all those long afternoons when he was resting?

  She was in a state of heightened tension by the time they made it to one of the rooms on the far side of the house, which had the attractive feature of being surrounded by garden on two sides.

  His timing was impeccable, because no sooner had they reached the room than a clutch of men were ushered in and the transformation from sitting room to state-of-the-art office began in earnest. Men in white overalls began expertly clearing the room of furniture, working quickly and efficiently like little ants, while Andreas spoke in a low, clipped voice to a guy in a suit who kept pointing to various electrical outlets and scanning down a sheet of paper with lots of designs and scribbles all over it.

  Eventually, Andreas led her to the room next door, sat her down and flipped open his laptop.

  ‘You will automatically receive all the emails sent to me on my three business-addresses.’ He began booting up the computer while she watched and wondered how she was going to keep up with him.

  ‘What did James tell you?’ she asked on a nervous whisper, hardly registering that she had intended to ask that question. Seeing the perplexed frown on his face, she elaborated, ‘Does he think that I’m taking advantage of him, relaxing when I should be working? I do often dabble on his book when he’s resting. Also, I like to hunt down cookery books in the kitchen. Now and again, I prepare stuff I think he’d like…’

  ‘Why does it matter what James thinks of you? You’re being paid handsomely.’

  ‘Of course it matters,’ Elizabeth told him in a pained voice. ‘And, I told you, I don’t care about the money.’

  ‘He doesn’t think you’re a time waster. Good enough answer? Ready to get down to business?’ He looked at his watch, then very quickly began accessing various accounts, while she frantically wrote notes on a pad until her hand began to hurt. Every so often, he asked her if she had any questions, but his voice didn’t give her any warm, furry feeling that he would hold her hand while she found her feet. The opposite, in fact. By the time he stood up and flexed his muscles, she felt as though she had been put through the mill.

  ‘I should warn you in advance,’ Andreas said, ‘That I don’t have a great deal of patience for people who can’t keep up with me.’

  Elizabeth sighed, rotating her wrist gently in the hope that it might ease the soreness of her aching muscles. ‘I wonder why that doesn’t surprise me? I’ve never in my life met anyone as impatient as you.’ She began gathering the copious notes she had taken, which would now replace her light detective-novel as her bedtime reading. ‘But this wasn’t part of the deal when I took the post of working for James,’ she felt constrained to point out, even though his disapproving dark eyes were threatening to halt her in mid-sentence. ‘So you’re going to have to curb your impatience.’

  ‘I’m going to have to curb my impatience?’

  ‘Yes. You are.’ She refused to be cowed by the disbelief stamped on his face. She could very easily foresee him trampling her into the ground without the ghost of a conscience. Soft she might very well be, but not so soft that she would allow him to ruin the precious time she had with her father. Maybe his plan was to drive her away by making her life a living hell. If that was the case, then it was as well that she stood up for herself now.

  ‘And furthermore,’ she continued, squaring up for his responding attack, ‘I’ll work for you, but only when James is having his afternoon nap. I won’t be badgered into the occasional morning because you have something that needs doing faster than the speed of light, and I won’t be forced to work overtime because you’re a workaholic and don’t know when to stop. As soon as the clock strikes, I quit, even if it means switching off the computer in the middle of typing a sentence.’

  ‘That’s an admirably responsible approach to work.’ But he was taken aback by the outburst, and intrigued to find that he was looking at her without the usual surge of anger that might have been expected considering his instructions were being questioned.

  ‘I am very responsible when it comes to James, and I’ll be very responsible for you, provided you don’t try to take advantage of me.’

  Poor choice of words. That set up another link in his head that he was in no mood to enjoy.

  ‘So,’ he mused thoughtfully, ‘I knew there had to be more to you than the meek-and-mild little mouse who scuttled away every time I came too close.’

  ‘I’m just trying to stand my ground.’

  ‘No wonder you’ve managed to make a roaring success of this job. I bet poor James doesn’t know who calls the shots! You use a soft voice and he probably doesn’t even notice that you’re getting him to do exactly what you want.’

  There was an element of truth in that, certainly when it came to restricting James’s diet according to doctor’s orders and making sure that he took regular exercise. But was there also the implication in Andreas’s softly spoken remark that she was manipulative?

  ‘But soft voices don’t work on me,’ he drawled. ‘And I have yet to meet anyone who can get me to do exactly what they want. So, now that we’ve both cleared the air, let the fun begin.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ELIZABETH looked at her reflection in the mirror and tried to impose order on the host of questions in her head clamouring for answers. Question one centred on her clothes and the fact that over the past three weeks, ever since she had started working for Andreas, she had morphed from comfy to business, even though there was absolutely no need. It wasn’t as though she was actually working in an office occupied by other people, where important clients might pop in and question the efficiency of a company with a slack dress-code. But she had felt uncomfortable sitting at her desk, which was adjacent to Andreas’s, wearing tracksuit bottoms and sneakers. So on day three she had worn a skirt, some fairly respectable black pumps and a white tee-shirt—and she had caught something in his eyes as they had flickered over her, even though he had said nothing. That something, gone before it had appeared, had stirred something inside her, and she had found herself thinking more and more carefully about her outfits. She knew it wasn’t healthy but she just couldn’t seem to help herself.

  Even James, whose two pet hates were the tabloid press and fashionista airheads, had made a big deal about her snappy appearance when he had happene
d to exit his bedroom just as she was poised to descend the grand staircase the day before. He had cackled with laughter, wondered aloud where his little helper had gone and then made a great song and dance, pretending to look for her. She had been wearing a pair of olive-green trousers yesterday, bought only the week before, and a pale-green shirt that reflected the colour of her eyes.

  Today, she was back in her grey skirt, but with a duck-egg-blue collared tee-shirt—another new item. All this, she told herself firmly, because it was easier to be professional around Andreas if she dressed the part. Otherwise, his bullet-like commands, his frequent, uninvited forays into her private life, and his soaring impatience with any sign of hesitation when it came to the relentless onslaught of work that she faced for those few, snatched hours during the day, would have reduced her confidence to pulp.

  Working clothes were her uniform and her mask, and they allowed her to become the super-efficient secretary she had previously been in her last job instead of the dithering wreck she had become in Andreas’s presence. So it made sense to tailor her trips to the town with the purpose of buying suitable work-wear. It had nothing to do with inviting his attention because his attention was never on her.

  Question two involved the gradual stretching of her hours. Of course, her mornings still belonged to her and James, but recently he had joined a bridge group with Dot Evans and a couple of old friends, who had managed to persuade him that he would mummify if he didn’t leave the house occasionally and return to his old routines. They met twice a week at five in the evening, and on those days she had found herself staying on with Andreas, even though she had made such a fuss about sticking religiously to the hours upon which they had agreed. She didn’t mind. In fact, she was dangerously aware that she was becoming accustomed to the high-octane pace of working alongside him. When he sat back and glanced at his watch, and told her in that lazy, dry drawl that she was free to leave, it was as though she had crash-landed back on earth after a thrilling ride in a hot-air balloon.

  She wouldn’t have breathed a word of that to another living soul. It was her secret, those weird feelings she got whenever she was around Andreas.

  She timed her arrival today precisely for two, knocking on the door and pushing it open when she was imperiously told to enter.

  It still irked her that Andreas could remain the archetypal boss, in total command whatever the clothes he was wearing. Today, he was in a pair of khaki trousers and a faded tee-shirt, and he gave a bark of dry laughter as he took in the expression on her face as she looked at him.

  ‘Dress code not quite in order?’

  Elizabeth sat at her desk and swivelled in her chair so that she was facing him. She was no longer quite as intimidated by his mocking sarcasm, which could only be dealt with by remaining calm and unruffled.

  ‘You’re free to dress however you like. You’re the boss.’

  ‘New shirt?’ He pretended to give it his full attention. ‘Nice colour, although the summer gear’s going to have to go into hibernation pretty soon. Still, very pretty. Preferred the green one, though.’ It amused him that she handled his sense of humour by ignoring him. He wasn’t used to being ignored, and it was beginning to cross his mind that when it came to women a change could be as good as a rest. Her attitude was certainly welcome relief from the daily, breathless phone-calls he got from Amanda and her constant complaints that he needed to make more time for her.

  ‘How was James this morning?’

  ‘Great.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘He’s walking more and more without his stick, and he’s mentioned having a swimming-pool installed. An indoors one, nothing big. But he said that he still has a lot of contacts in the contracting world and he doesn’t think there would be a problem. He’s been told by his consultant that swimming would be excellent exercise, and he refuses to think about using the public baths because he says they’re full of unidentifiable bacteria. I think he included all kids in that category. What do you think?’

  Andreas pushed himself away from his desk and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’ll have a chat with him later. Can’t see there would be any problem aside from the temporary chaos.’

  ‘How did your conference call go last night?’ She had been brought up to speed about most of his large clients at dizzying speed. He expected her to know what and whom he was talking about, and to access information without discernible markers.

  ‘Good. Successful. Tiring.’ He leant forward and rubbed his thumbs against his eyes.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ she ventured, because this was the first time she had seen him succumb to something as pedestrian as tiredness. ‘What time did you stay up on that call? It’s really important to get sufficient sleep, you know.’

  ‘You’re nagging,’ Andreas said irritably. ‘Women who nag get on my nerves.’ He could feel the dull pain of a headache on the rise, and correspondingly he glowered at Elizabeth. Feeling even slightly under the weather was alien to him. He had always embraced robust good health.

  ‘I can’t imagine that there would be any woman brave enough to do that,’ Elizabeth said calmly.

  ‘You just did.’

  ‘I wasn’t nagging. I was just stating a fact. If you want to run yourself into the ground, then go ahead.’

  ‘Since when did you get so mouthy?’

  Elizabeth decided that silence might be the most prudent response. Provocative he might sometimes be, but it was unlike him to pick an argument. She was uneasily aware that, were she to be on the receiving end of an argument with Andreas, she would be the loser. She also knew that, although he had stopped referring to her ‘hidden agenda’ and the need to watch her like a hawk, he was her boss for a reason.

  With an impatient scowl, he swung away from her unresponsive, down-bent head and moved straight into a series of instructions which would have defeated all but the highly trained.

  She was a damned good secretary. She might have downplayed her ability to go to university and study law, but it was as plain as the nose on his face that the woman was not without brains. She also learnt fast, and her role as secretary, which he’d thought would have been a fiasco of shredded nerves and blushing awkwardness, had somehow transformed her into a finely tuned, efficient working-machine.

  It had certainly made the whole business of working from the house a successful venture. Several times he had been obliged to return to London, and on those trips he had used the company helicopter. But, really, operations were running more smoothly than he could ever have imagined possible.

  The only problem was that the cool, competent woman was getting on his nerves today.

  His headache was also getting worse and that didn’t help matters. By the time they finally surfaced from the demands of going over reports, editing documents and analysing data, he could have lain back in the chair and slept.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Andreas grunted at the concerned expression on her face.

  ‘Of course I’m all right!’ he snapped. ‘Believe it or not, I’ve never had a day’s ill health in my life.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘What does luck have to do with anything?’

  ‘If that’s all for today, Andreas, I think I’ll head upstairs now. I promised James a game of chess before dinner.’

  ‘What a thrilling way to spend an evening.’ His mobile buzzed and he picked it up, realised that it was Amanda and immediately disconnected. She’d become a nuisance, after he had broken up with her a few days ago, but he was not cad enough to break off all contact entirely. At any rate, he had neither the time nor the inclination to deal with her at the moment.

  He looked at Elizabeth who was diligently tidying her desk, obviously eager to be out and away. Chess—at six-thirty on a Friday evening? Was this woman from the same planet as everyone else?

  �
��I enjoy playing chess,’ she said, getting into his head and answering his question, which he found a little unsettling. ‘I’m not very good but James is a very patient teacher.’

  He was scowling, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end because she couldn’t gauge his mood. Andreas might be a law unto himself but he was very predictable in some areas. He worked hard, and she imagined he played equally hard, although perhaps less so at the moment thanks to the physical constraints of his situation. He expected very high standards in other people because he imposed very high standards on himself. While she continued to resent his fundamental distrust of her, she could acknowledge that he was a fair player. Of course, she had no idea what he was like with the women he dated; he certainly seemed to change them with alarming regularity if James’s caustic asides were anything to go by, but that was not her concern.

  ‘Bit dreary, don’t you think? Considering your age? Granted, you seem to have lived an abnormally sheltered life, but surely chess on a Friday evening is taking dreary to the outer limits?’

  ‘I’m not into clubs,’ Elizabeth muttered, hovering by the door.

  ‘Spot of luck there, then. Not too many of those in the village. There are men, though…or are you not into them either?’ Her change of clothes had done wonders for her figure. In fact, he daily appreciated the tantalising sight of cleavage and legs, both of which had been firmly under wraps before.

  ‘I don’t think I have to answer that.’ Her cheeks were burning; the protective shield of her working gear no longer seemed to be keeping their part of the bargain. Just like that he could strip away her fragile composure, and he did it for no better reason than because he could. ‘You forced me to work as your secretary, and I’m doing it, but working as your secretary doesn’t mean that I have to answer lots of personal questions.’

  ‘I’m not asking you lots of personal questions. I’m showing interest and concern here. James would be upset if you walked away because you were bored with your surroundings.’