by Jessica Hart
‘I asked you to come here today because of your impressive-looking c.v. and because I thought that with a name like Skye Henderson and an Edinburgh address you would be a Scot. I have to say that if I had known that you were English I wouldn’t have invited you. You are English, aren’t you?’
‘Does it matter?’ asked Skye cautiously.
‘Yes, Miss Henderson, it does.’
‘I’m half Scottish,’ she offered, thinking quickly. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Lorimer turned. He looked at Skye and his mouth twitched. ‘It’s not a very obvious half,’ he said, moving around the desk towards her. He looked very tall and unnervingly powerful with the light behind him and Skye felt at a distinct disadvantage sitting down. It had been easier when he was sitting behind the desk. In his conventional suit and tie, she had been able to think of him as a businessman, a rather formidable one, perhaps, but a man like many others. Now, as he loomed over her, she had a quite different impression of him. She sensed a wildness in him, a passion like a banked fire, as if he belonged to the hills and the sea. Skye had never met anyone like him before, and deep within her she felt a tug of instinctive response. They could hardly be more different, but in her own way she too was a free spirit, impulsive and imprudent, but ready always to seize whatever life had to offer.
For a long moment, blue eyes stared into blue, then he took her chin in his hand and forced her face up. ‘Which half of you is Scottish, Skye Henderson?’ he asked softly. ‘You don’t look very Scottish to me.’ Skye was very aware of his fingers against her skin. They were warm and strong and something about his touch set her pulse booming and beating with a nervous excitement. ‘No,’ he went on, still looking down at her with narrowed eyes. She felt as if he could see right through her. ‘I don’t think you’re a Scot. You’re very pretty and very frivolous and very English.’
‘W-what does it matter?’ said Skye a little breathlessly as he released her and stepped back.
‘I’ll tell you.’ Lorimer propped himself on the front of his desk and folded his arms. The amusement that so confused her had vanished from his eyes, leaving them cool and shuttered. ‘Do you know what we do here at Kingan Associates?’
‘Something to do with golf,’ said Skye cautiously, glancing at the series of stunning photographs on the wall.
Lorimer followed the direction of her gaze. ‘Very perceptive of you,’ he said, not bothering to disguise his sarcasm this time, and clearly unimpressed by her lack of research. ‘To be more specific, we design and develop new golf courses,’ he said. ‘Golf, like so many other leisure activities, is a booming business nowadays. Existing golf clubs are over-subscribed, and there’s a tremendous demand for new courses. At the same time, farmers are being encouraged to produce less and to set aside agricultural land for other purposes. That’s where we come in. Over the past few years, we’ve bought up land that would otherwise be lying fallow and developed a number of new courses around Scotland. They’re welcomed by the tourist industry and local communities alike, especially as we’ve made a point of providing more opportunities for young people to learn, by sponsoring competitions and providing additional holes and practice areas specifically for junior members.’
A little lost by all of this, Skye found herself thinking what a nice voice he had. Not a broad accent, but that distinctively Scottish intonation that was so easy on the ear. Warmer and softer than the English voices she was used to, it still had an undercurrent of steel that seemed to resonate deep inside her.
‘I don’t quite see what this has to do with my being English… half English,’ she corrected herself quickly.
‘Possibly not,’ said Lorimer caustically. ‘I’m trying to explain the background as all I’ve seen of you so far hasn’t led me to have any great confidence in your ability to grasp the point I’m making without it!’ He paused and watched Skye subside mutinously before he went on. ‘Kingan Associates has been extremely successful and we’re currently working on projects designing courses in Europe, Japan and America as well as here in the UK. However, now that we’ve proved ourselves on the golf front, I’m anxious to keep the company developing in new directions, and I’m trying to expand our operations into hotels offering the highest quality sporting facilities. I’m interested in a site in Galloway as a flagship complex, but for such an ambitious change of direction to succeed I’ve got to find additional capital to cover the initial development costs.’
Not daring to interrupt again, Skye watched in silence as Lorimer propped himself against his desk. ‘All went well at first,’ he went on. ‘A financial company in London were interested and agreed to provide the necessary investment to get the project going, but when I was halfway through the negotiations to buy the property they suddenly decided to send up one of their female executives to “oversee” the arrangements.’
His voice hardened. ‘I was prepared to accept an overseer if it was a condition of the investment, but this woman meddled in arrangements that simply didn’t concern her. She succeeded in putting everyone’s back up, mine most of all, and before I knew what had happened the owners of the properties involved had withdrawn from the deal altogether. That was the end of my English association!’ He picked up a bronze statue of a golfer from his desk and turned it in his hands as if remembering his frustration. ‘Had it been any other project, I might have cut my losses, but the Galloway hotel is important to me personally. It’s a dream I’ve had for some time now, and I know I can make it work. I also know that I’ve found the perfect location, and I’m not going to give it up.’
Putting down the statue, Lorimer glanced at Skye. ‘I’ve managed to talk most of the different parties round again,’ he said, ‘and I’m depending on raising the extra capital from an Edinburgh company this time, but I’m sure you’ll understand that I can’t afford to risk alienating everyone again by employing someone quite as English as you.’
Skye shifted uneasily under his sardonic gaze, aware for the first time of just how out of place she looked. His office was a large, well-proportioned room, traditionally furnished in polished wood and leather. It was, Skye thought, a very masculine room, soberly decorated, with no concessions to frivolity. In the middle of it all, she sat like a butterfly, a vibrant splash of colour, her earrings swinging jauntily, warm and gaudy and undeniably feminine.
It was a daunting situation, but Skye could be just as stubborn as Lorimer. He might be determined not to give up his location, but she was equally determined not to give up her one chance of impressing Charles.
‘I don’t see that it matters,’ she objected. ‘Nobody needs to know that it’s an English girl typing your letters. Word processors don’t have accents.’
‘Word processors don’t answer the phone or make appointments or greet visitors either,’ Lorimer pointed out scathingly. ‘A dumb assistant isn’t much use to me.’
Skye wasn’t beaten yet. ‘I could always talk like this,’ she suggested, putting on a typically Edinburgh accent. She was an excellent mimic and had been keeping Vanessa in fits with her imitations of her excruciatingly genteel neighbour, but Lorimer was not amused.
‘You appear to think this is some kind of game,’ he said, straightening. ‘Or is the ability to talk in a silly accent just another of your much vaunted professional skills?’ He sat down behind his desk once more and regarded Skye across its ordered expanse. ‘No, I’ve already explained the situation. I’m staking my personal reputation on the success of the Galloway project, and I can’t afford to risk employing the wrong kind of secretary. I need someone sensible and efficient, someone dedicated and discreet…and Scottish.’ The deep blue eyes gleamed with sardonic amusement. ‘You, Miss Henderson, don’t seem to me to fit into any of those categories, no matter what your c.v. says.’
‘That’s not fair,’ she protested. ‘I can’t help being English.’
‘An unfortunate disadvantage of birth,’ he agreed, ‘but not one either of us can do much about. If it makes you feel
any better, it’s not just your nationality that’s against you. As it said in the advertisement, I need an assistant who knows something about golf. Frankly, the ability to tell one end of a golf club from another is much more important to me than all your quite astonishing qualifications!’
Skye cast Lorimer a jaundiced look. She had spent hours inventing impressive degrees and secretarial skills for herself, but she might as well not have bothered for all the notice Lorimer seemed to take of them! She could have watched her favourite soap opera after all, she remembered, obscurely resentful.
‘I didn’t put it down because I don’t have any formal qualifications,’ she said with a tinge of desperation. ‘But I really am terribly interested in golf.’
Lorimer quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘You don’t look like a golfer.’
‘I’m just a beginner,’ she said hastily, praying that he wouldn’t whisk her off to a golf course for a demonstration of her great interest.
‘Have you got a handicap?’
Skye stared at him before she remembered the crash course in golf terminology that Vanessa had given her last night. It was something to do with penalising players…wasn’t it? Anyway, all serious golfers had one. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said with breezy confidence. ‘Of course.’ Not knowing the first thing about it must count as a handicap if nothing else!
‘A high one, I suppose?’
‘No,’ said Skye firmly, suspecting sarcasm. ‘Very low.’ There was no point in pretending to be too clever. ‘My handicap’s just two at the moment,’ she went on, so that he got the message and didn’t expect too much of her.
‘Two?’ Lorimer’s expression was unreadable, and Skye wondered if she had miscalculated. Perhaps he was going to insist that he wanted a brilliant player?
‘I’m hoping to improve while I’m in Scotland,’ she assured him.
‘I see.’ For a moment Lorimer just looked at her and then, suddenly, unexpectedly, his mouth twitched into a devastating grin that took Skye quite unawares and drove the breath from her lungs with the force of a blow. She had sensed the amusement lurking intriguingly behind the austere, even dour lines of his face, but even so she was totally unprepared for the way the humour lit his expression and revealed a charm that was all the more striking for being so well-concealed. Who would have guessed that he could look so much younger, so much warmer, so dangerously attractive?
‘You don’t give up easily, do you?’ he said, exasperation lacing the resigned amusement in his voice.
‘Isn’t that a good trait?’ With difficulty, Skye got her breathing under control.
‘In some cases, but in yours…’ Lorimer shook his head. ‘No, the combination of frivolity and stubbornness is too awful to contemplate!’
‘Oh, please!’ Skye threw pride to the wind and begged as she realised that the worst was going to happen. How was she going to tell Charles? ‘I’ll do anything! I’ll work really hard and I’ll try not to sound too English and I’ll wear dreary clothes and only speak when I’m spoken to if only you’ll give me the job!’ Clutching her hands together, she leant beseechingly towards him, her eyes blue and pleading. ‘Please!’
Lorimer studied her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I wish I knew just why you’re so desperate to have this job.’
‘I’ve told you, I—’
‘Spare me!’ he interrupted, glancing at his watch and getting to his feet. ‘I can’t cope with any more affecting stories about jilted fiancees or your tremendous interest in golf, and as I have another appointment now it looks as if I’ll never know the real reason.’ His eyes glinted down at her. ‘A pity, as I’m sure it would have been most entertaining!’
He walked over to the door and waited with what Skye was sure was mock-courtesy for her to stand up reluctantly. Clutching her bag to her chest, she wondered if it would be worth throwing herself at his feet in a final appeal, but one glance at his face was enough to make her change her mind. The brief glimpse of humour had vanished, leaving his expression as implacable as before. Any such dramatic gesture would make him recoil in horror, she realised sadly. He reached for the door-handle, clearly impatient for her to leave.
With a sigh, Skye resigned herself to the inevitable. It was just her luck that Lorimer Kingan had turned out to be such a chilly soul, she thought glumly as she walked towards him, before her eyes dropped unthinkingly to his mouth and she remembered how he had smiled.
Not that chilly.
‘Goodbye, Miss Henderson,’ he said, holding out his hand with one of his disconcertingly ironic looks. ‘I’m sure that someone with your…shall we say…original approach won’t have any difficulty finding another employer more susceptible to your charms.’
‘I don’t want anyone else,’ she said as she took his hand, too disconsolate to think about what she was saying. ‘I want you.’
‘I’m immensely flattered, of course, but I’m afraid even the promise of such devotion isn’t enough to make me change my mind!’
His fingers closed firmly around hers, and, appalled, Skye heard her words again as if in an echo. ‘I want you’. Scarlet colour surged into her cheeks and she snatched her hand away.
‘I didn’t mean… I meant…’ she stammered, horribly conscious of the way her skin was tingling where their hands had touched.
‘I know what you meant,’ said Lorimer drily, and opened the door.
Still blushing furiously, Skye walked past him into the reception area. Struggling to master her confusion, she didn’t at first notice the man waiting in one of the comfortable armchairs, but as she and Lorimer appeared he put aside his newspaper and rose to his feet, a solidly built man in his fifties with iron-grey hair and shrewd eyes.
‘Skye?’
Skye stopped dead in her tracks, unconscious of Lorimer’s sudden tension. ‘Fleming!’ she cried in astonished delight as she recognised one of her father’s oldest friends. Like her father, he was an astute financier who divided his time between his companies in London and Edinburgh. Skye had known him for as long as she could remember, but always thought of him in the context of her parents and home. It seemed strange to see him here in Edinburgh, but it made his familiar face all the more welcome and she threw herself into his arms and hugged him with typically exuberant abandon. ‘What a wonderful surprise! What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to see Lorimer here,’ Fleming explained, returning her hug affectionately. ‘We’re working on an exciting deal together.’ He released Skye and turned to Lorimer with a pleasant smile. ‘Good to see you again, Lorimer.’
The two men shook hands. Lorimer’s expression was wooden and Skye glanced from one to the other and belatedly put two and two together. Of course! Charles had implied that he had some dealings with Kingan Associates, and Charles worked for Fleming. Why hadn’t it clicked before? Fleming was the investor Lorimer was so anxious not to offend.
‘Charles told me that you were working here,’ Fleming said to Skye, oblivious to the tension between her and Lorimer. ‘I gather he bumped into you the other day? I must say I was surprised, but absolutely delighted to hear it! Does your father know?’
Skye didn’t dare look at Lorimer. ‘Er, not yet,’ she said.
‘He’ll be very thankful to know that you’ve ended up in such good hands,’ said Fleming jovially. He knew more than most people how Sky’s adoring but exasperated father despaired over his daughter’s erratic career. ‘I’ve a good mind to ring him and tell him myself. Of course, I’ve always told him that there was no need to worry about you. “Skye’s not nearly as scatty as she looks”, I said to him, and Lorimer obviously agrees with me.’ He beamed at Lorimer who was looking very grim. ‘This is quite a coincidence! I’ve known Skye since she was a baby and I didn’t think she ever went further north than the M25 in all that time, but suddenly she turns up in Edinburgh and working for you!’
‘Quite a coincidence,’ said Lorimer through set teeth. Skye stole a glance at him under her lashes. A muscle was beating furiously in
his jaw. He looked like a man who could feel himself being forced into a corner and she bit her lip, wondering if she should tell Fleming that nothing was agreed. But that would mean Charles would know too… Lorimer could explain the true situation, she reasoned, even though Fleming’s obvious delight at her supposed job had put him in an impossible situat ion. Would he risk alienating him by telling Fleming exactly what he thought of his friend’s daughter?
‘Well, time is money, so we’d better get on with our discussions,’ said Fleming, suddenly businesslike. He kissed Skye on the cheek. ‘Marjorie’s up as well, so you must come and have dinner. We’ll ask Charles too. I seem to remember you were rather struck by him at that party!’
‘That would be lovely,’ said Skye weakly.
Lorimer looked at his watch and then at his office. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ he said pointedly to Fleming, who took the hint and strolled towards the office with a final wave to Skye.
Skye was left looking nervously up into Lorimer’s grim face. ‘Did you know Fleming Carmichael was a potential investor in my project?’ he asked tightly.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I suppose if I’d thought about it I could have worked it out from something someone said to me, but it simply never occurred to me that I’d meet him here.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you going to tell him that I’m not working for you after all?’
‘How can I, now?’ Lorimer ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of exasperation. ‘I don’t know him well enough to know how he’d react. I’ve had enough complications setting up this deal as it is, without provoking yet another party into pulling out! If the prospect of seeing you here makes a difference to Fleming, well, it’ll probably make it worth putting up with you after all.’
