The Boss's Secret Mistress

by Alison Fraser

  No one had ever possessed her like that. And somehow she knew no one else ever would. She didn’t call it love. She wouldn’t call it love. But whatever it was, it still frightened her witless.

  Forget they’d ever met? If only she could.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘HE MUST be joking!’ cried Amanda Villiers as they drew up beside a dirt track where the group from Vitalis was already waiting.

  The co-ordinator from the outdoor activity centre had just announced that they were to walk the rest of the way, carrying their luggage.

  Tory wasn’t the only one hiding a smile as Amanda’s designer suitcases were unloaded from the boot. They had been told to travel light—no more than a rucksack of essentials—but Amanda had chosen to disregard this instruction.

  ‘How far is it?’ someone asked.

  ‘Not far.’ The driver smiled briefly. ‘Two miles, maybe.’

  ‘Two miles!’ shrieked Amanda with unfeigned horror. ‘I can’t carry these two miles.’

  ‘No,’ the co-ordinator agreed, but didn’t offer any other comment.

  Instead he began to explain that they were to proceed in pairs with an assigned member of the other group, leaving at three-minute intervals.

  So Amanda directed at Tory, ‘You’ll have to take one of these.’

  If she’d begged or even asked politely, Tory might have given it some consideration, but Amanda had been particularly bloody to her over the last two days and, now they’d left the offices of Toi behind, she no longer felt any need to go along with her.

  ‘No, I won’t,’ she answered simply. ‘You shouldn’t have packed so much.’

  ‘What?’ Amanda obviously couldn’t believe her ears.

  ‘Didn’t you read the booklet?’ Tory ran on, positively enjoying her rebellion.

  Amanda visibly fumed but to no avail. Tory’s name was called out and she departed without a backward glance, accompanied by her ‘twin’ from the other team.

  He introduced himself as Richard Lake, the features editor for Vitalis. It was the same role Tory was pretending to fill for Toi, and as they fell in step he wasted no time in quizzing her on her experience. When she revealed she’d worked at Toi just one short week, he initially looked cheered by the fact, then more pensive.

  ‘Someone must rate you,’ was his eventual comment. ‘At Vitalis we’ve been told to limp on with the staff we have until M day.’

  ‘M day?’

  ‘Merger day.’

  ‘You’ve been told, then,’ Tory said somewhat foolishly.

  It drew a sharp glance. ‘Not for definite, no, but you obviously have.’

  ‘I…’ Tory tried to backtrack. ‘Not really. Just speculation, that’s all.’

  He looked unconvinced and, with a resentful tightening of the lips, forged ahead of her.

  Tory sensed the weekend was going to be somewhat tense if everyone shared the same paranoia. She supposed it would make for a better documentary although she was already having ethical reservations about spying on these people.

  Not that it was being done surreptitiously. In the literature on the weekend, it had stated in the small print that much of the trip would be videoed and, when they’d disembarked from the minibus, there had been one of the centre workers, dressed in one of their distinctive green uniforms, wielding a camera in the background.

  Tory was willing to guess it had been trained on a querulous Amanda but it was debatable whether Amanda had noticed it. Surely she wouldn’t have behaved so pettishly if she had?

  Tory wondered how Amanda was surviving the walk. It wasn’t particularly rough terrain but, to someone unused to exercise, it could prove arduous.

  Richard, Tory’s own companion, had started off at a cracking pace but, after the first mile, showed definite signs of flagging. Tory, on the other hand, was more prepared through weekly aerobics classes, squash-playing and windsurfing.

  ‘Let’s stop for a moment,’ Richard suggested as they came to a wooden stile.

  ‘Why not?’ Tory wasn’t tired but she could see he was suffering. ‘New boots?’

  He glanced up from loosening his laces and decided she was being sympathetic rather than gloating as he admitted, ‘Brand spanking new. Had to buy them because I had nothing else…Do you go walking?’

  He regarded her scuffed boots with some envy.

  ‘I spent a holiday, two summers ago, tramping round the Lake District with a friend.’

  ‘Strictly a city man myself.’ He made to take one boot off.

  ‘I wouldn’t unless you have plasters,’ advised Tory. ‘You may struggle to get it back on.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he conceded. ‘Best get going. Perhaps you’d set the pace.’

  ‘Sure.’ Tory climbed over the stile and started trudging up the next field, keeping a wary eye on some rather loudly mooing cattle.

  She was relieved for a limping Richard when they reached the centre. A collection of old stone buildings, it was positioned on top of a hill. In its driveway were the two minibuses which had brought the groups from London.

  There was a reception committee of uniformed staff waiting for them at the entrance. Tory didn’t expect to recognise anyone and just stopped her jaw from dropping when she did.

  Fortunately she was too shocked to speak and possibly betray them both.

  Lucas Ryecart was totally composed, of course, but then he obviously expected to see her.

  ‘I’m Luc.’ He introduced himself in the same fashion as the others had. ‘I’ll be acting as an observer this weekend.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Richard murmured in polite return.

  Tory didn’t manage any greeting but her heart was beating so loudly she imagined the whole world could hear it. As well as shock, she’d felt a rush of pleasure at seeing him again. It seemed she wasn’t cured at all.

  A smile played on Lucas’s mouth as he added, ‘We’ll speak later.’

  He directed the comment to both of them, but his eyes dwelled on Tory, passing a silent message on.

  Then a woman from the centre claimed their attention, leading them to their sleeping quarters. Tory followed on automatic pilot, nodding at the whereabouts of washing facilities and dining areas as they passed by on their way to the dormitories.

  Assigned a bottom bunk in a room for six, Tory slumped down on it the moment the woman departed with Richard. She made no move to unpack her gear but sat hugging her knees and trying to come to terms with Lucas’s sudden materialisation.

  All week she’d worked hard to get him out of her head while every night he’d chased through her dreams and fantasies. Now here he was, large as life and irrepressible as ever.

  It made sense now, of course, that last telephone conversation they’d shared. They were to pretend they didn’t know each other next time they met. Next time being this time. He’d been preparing her.

  But why? Why not tell her straight he’d be here, masquerading as one of the staff? Weren’t they meant to be on the same side, working for the same aim?

  The answer seemed obvious and any pleasure at seeing him again went sour. He didn’t trust her. Not even on a professional level. He’d given her his pet project and then had second thoughts about her capabilities. She felt both hurt and angry.

  Her face must have reflected this as another arrival was shown into the dormitory and asked, ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ Tory lied and began finally to unpack her rucksack.

  ‘I’m not,’ the woman continued. ‘Bloody forced march! I’m Mel, by the way.’

  ‘Tory,’ offered Tory.

  Mel looked disconcerted. ‘Not especially. Why do you want to know?’

  It took Tory a moment to realise they were talking at cross purposes. ‘No, sorry, you’ve misunderstood. My name’s Tory—short for Victoria.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ The other girl laughed at her mistake. ‘I thought for a mad moment you were a recruiter for the Conservative Party. Can’t abide politics, mys
elf. Or politicians. Greasy bunch, the lot of them.’

  Tory thought that a rather sweeping statement but smiled all the same.

  ‘I take it you’re with Toi,’ enquired Mel.

  ‘Yes, Features Editor.’ Tory had said this so often she almost believed it herself.

  ‘I’m Advertising Sales for Vitalis,’ relayed Mel, ‘or I was when we left the office.’

  ‘You’ve been promoted?’ Tory queried.

  ‘I wish.’ Mel pulled a face. ‘No, I just reckon no one can count on being who they were before this weekend.’

  ‘You think it’s some kind of test.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘A bonding exercise prior to Toi and Vitalis merging.’

  The suggestion drew a sceptical look from Mel. ‘You believe that?’

  Tory shrugged rather than express another opinion. She wasn’t there to stir things up.

  ‘No, it’s survival of the fittest,’ ran on Mel, ‘or maybe the sanest after a whole weekend of closed confinement. Still, there might be some compensations. Some pretty fit instructors, did you notice?’

  ‘Not really.’ Tory had been too busy noticing Lucas.

  ‘Don’t tell me—you’re engaged, married or blind?’ Mel bantered back.

  Tory shook her head, joking back, ‘Single but choosy.’

  ‘Very,’ agreed Mel, ‘if Mr America didn’t do anything for you.’

  Tory might have known it. Of all the men at the centre over whom Mel could have drooled, it had to be Lucas that had caught her eye.

  ‘You must have seen him,’ she ran on. ‘Dark hair. Sexy mouth. Come-to-bed eyes. And when he spoke, oh, God, I swear I fell in love right then and there!’

  Mel was exaggerating, of course. At least Tory assumed she was. But it didn’t help Tory, knowing other women were just as susceptible to him.

  ‘Yes, the weekend is definitely looking up,’ Mel observed with a wicked smile.

  Tory felt a great pang of jealousy. She looked at Mel, tall, blonde and more than passingly pretty, and wondered if she were his type. Probably.

  Probably they all were. Every woman silly enough to fall for amused blue eyes and a handsome face.

  ‘You’re welcome to him!’ she told Mel and nearly believed it herself.

  ‘Girl, you don’t know what you’re missing. Still, I’m not complaining. The less competition, the better. What are the rest of your team like?’

  Tory wasn’t sure what Mel was asking—for a rundown of their personalities or their appearance. ‘I don’t know them that well. I only joined the magazine this week.’

  ‘I see.’ Mel gave her an appraising look. ‘No point in asking pointers on how you put up with your cow of an editor-in-chief, then?’

  ‘Not really, no.’ Tory had no inclination to defend Amanda.

  ‘Because I’ve heard she’s the front runner to be El Supremo,’ confided Mel, ‘of the new hag mag.’

  Hag mag? That was a new one on Tory as she speculated on how Amanda would cope with Mel’s outspokenness. Not a relationship that promised much mileage, she thought.

  ‘You could try laughing at her jokes,’ suggested Tory, ‘while practising the words, “Yes, Amanda, no, Amanda, three bags full, Amanda”.’

  ‘God, that bad?’ Mel rolled her eyes. ‘How do you put up with it.’

  Tory shrugged, suggesting indifference. She could hardly explain how temporary her role in Toi was.

  Mel continued to gaze at her curiously and Tory worried a little if here was someone smart enough to blow her cover.

  Further conversation, however, was curtailed by the arrival of more course members. They came limping in at intervals, and talk revolved around sore feet, uncomfortable beds and pointless exercises. Tory hoped the bunk left unoccupied longest was for someone other than Amanda, but that hope was dashed when she eventually made an entrance, complaining bitterly at the ruination of her new designer boots and jeans. She made no mention of the scruffy old backpack she was carrying but it wasn’t hard to work out that it was on loan from the centre, a condensed replacement for all the suitcases she’d packed.

  Fortunately she moaned to Sam Hollier, Tory’s erstwhile assistant, and contented herself with shooting Tory venomous looks until the dinner bell was rung.

  The meal of pasta and salad was well cooked and put people in better spirits. It was still very much a case of them and us, however, with the staff from Toi seated round one bench table and Vitalis grouped round another.

  At the end of the room sat the centre staff in their distinctive green sweatshirts. Tory risked a quick glance in their direction and saw Lucas engaged in conversation with an athletic-looking girl in her mid-twenties. Tory’s mouth thinned. Trust him to home in on the prettiest member of staff.

  She tore her eyes away and dragged her mind back to the task in hand. She wasn’t here to monitor Lucas Ryecart’s charm rating but to concentrate on the documentary-making potential of their situation.

  There was certainly a general air of dissension about the weekend, some already refusing to go caving or climbing if either activity was suggested. All considered the course to be pointless.

  Tory had doubts, too. She could see the theory behind it. If the magazines did merge, the staff from each would have to be integrated so meeting on neutral ground might help reduce suspicion and rivalry. Currently, however, it was serving to increase paranoia.

  After the meal, they were all shepherded into a communal room for what Tom Mackintosh, the head of the centre, described as fun and games. Reactions were mixed. Participants either looked tense, regarding it as the start of ‘testing’, or feigned indifference.

  For their first task, they were forbidden to talk before being given a piece of paper with a number, from one to twelve, on it, and blindfolded. They then had to arrange themselves in a line in ascending order from the platform to the back of the hall.

  It sounded simple but wasn’t. The only way of conveying a number was to tap it out on people’s hands and, though one could quickly find a neighbouring number, it was some time before they devised a method of stamping feet to establish a way of ordering the line. By that time the fun element had kicked in and there was much stifled laughter as they tried to adhere to the silence rule while grasping hands and swapping about and half tripping over each other.

  It took longer than they would have imagined but there was a definite sense of triumph when they finally established with hand-squeezing codes that they were in line.

  It certainly broke the ice and they followed this exercise by giving, in turn, a brief account of themselves.

  The majority talked of themselves in terms of work but a few concentrated on their life outside. Tory decided to avoid spinning any tales she couldn’t support and gave out true personal details like her age, single status and interests.

  Afterwards they were divided into three groups of four and sent to corners of the room to tackle their next assignment, involving a sedentary treasure hunt of cryptic clues and intricate Ordnance Survey maps. It demanded lateral thinking as well as map-reading, but the real object was to get them to co-operate as a team in order to solve the mystery first. As an added incentive, the prize was a chilled bottle of champagne in an otherwise alcohol-free zone.

  Tory was in the same group as Richard, her opposite number on Vitalis. He’d mellowed since their earlier walk together and she discovered he was both smart and witty. She was smiling at his jokes even before she became aware of Lucas observing them from a discreet distance. After that she smiled that little bit harder while stopping just short of giving Richard any wrong ideas. Their table didn’t win but came a close second and gave each other consolation hugs.

  Tory was tidying maps, guard down, when Lucas finally approached. ‘I’ll show you where they go.’

  Tory could hardly refuse the offer and fell in step with him as they walked to a store cupboard at the far end.

  ‘Are you trying to make me jealous, by any chance?’ he murmured w
hen they were out of earshot.

  Guilty as charged, Tory nevertheless snapped, ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Well, you’re managing it anyway,’ he drawled back.

  Tory risked a glance in his direction. He didn’t look in the least bit jealous. He looked what he always looked. Too laid-back and handsome for her own good.

  She was thinking of a suitable put-down when Mel, the sales executive from Vitalis, appeared behind them. Tory could guess why.

  ‘Let me take those.’ Lucas emptied Tory’s hands of the maps, before observing, ‘You’ve dropped something.’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Tory was quick to deny and slower to catch on as he indicated a folded piece of paper on the floor.

  ‘Well, someone has.’ Mel bent to pick it up. ‘A note, I’d say.’

  The penny finally dropped as Tory snatched it from Mel’s hand. ‘It is mine, actually.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Mel held her hands up in mock defence. ‘I wasn’t going to read it. I can guess who it’s from, though.’

  Tory looked alarmed.

  Lucas, however, kept his cool and lifted an enquiring brow. ‘You can?’

  ‘Well, I could be wrong—’ Mel directed a hugely flirtatious smile at him ‘—but I’d lay money on it being our Features Editor, Richard. She’s definitely caught his eye, haven’t you, Tory?’

  Under normal circumstances Tory would have objected. She didn’t like her name being falsely linked with men. But she left it, relieved that Mel hadn’t guessed the true source of the note.

  He was still smiling, relaxed as ever, and when Mel began to engage him in conversation Tory took the chance to walk away.

  She didn’t open the note immediately. She suspected its contents would make her mad and she wanted to be alone when she read it. She didn’t get that chance for a while as Tom Mackintosh, the head of the centre, rounded up the day with a little pep talk about the rationale behind the centre’s courses before they were served a variety of night-time drinks back in the canteen. This time seating was less polarised with the winners of the champagne remaining vociferously bonded.