by Jessica Hart
Skye let out a long breath of relief. ‘You won’t regret it,’ she promised him.
‘You’d better make sure I don’t,’ he said, and strode off towards his office.
‘When do you want me to start?’ she called after him.
Lorimer stopped and looked over his shoulder to where she stood uncertainly, still trying to grasp her luck in meeting Fleming just then. Across the hall, his blue eyes were dark and hostile. ‘I won’t make the obvious answer to that,’ he said bitingly. ‘Just be here on Monday morning, nine o’clock sharp.’ Turning, he reached for the door-handle. ‘And don’t be late!’
CHAPTER TWO
VANESSA lived on the fourth floor of a typically gaunt and grey Edinburgh tenement building—Inside, the flats were spacious and high-ceilinged, but Skye dreaded the long plod up the worn stairs. At least it kept her fit, she thought, letting the heavy front door slam to behind her and peering up to where the skylight permitted a miserly amount of light to penetrate the dim stairwell.
Taking a deep breath, Skye set off up the first flight at a run to gain momentum. She lost it halfway up the second when she came across Vanessa’s neighbour, Mrs Forsyth, struggling with two heavy bags of shopping. Mrs Forsyth always wore a coat and gloves and a felt turban-like hat secured at the front with an uncompromising button. Skye was convinced that she wore this outfit the whole time, even in bed. For her part, Mrs Forsyth thoroughly disapproved of Skye who was too pretty and, in her opinion, flighty. She pursed her lips and looked sour when she saw her now, but Skye only smiled sunnily back at her.
‘Let me help you with those bags, Mrs Forsyth.’
Together, they laboured up the stairs, Skye chatting gaily in between puffs and Mrs Forsyth unbending enough to thank her when they reached the top at last. Skye felt as if she’d been given the George Cross.
‘This is my day!’ she cried as she burst into Vanessa’s flat to find her friend drinking tea in the kitchen. ‘Not only did I get the job, but Mrs Forsyth acknowledged my existence!’
‘You got the job?’ Vanessa put down her mug and stared at Skye in amazement. ‘How on earth did you manage that?’
‘I don’t know why you have to sound so surprised.’ Skye grinned and poured herself a mug of tea. ‘Why shouldn’t I get it?’
‘I’ve been asking around about Lorimer Kingan at work, and it turns out that he’s got quite a reputation.’
Skye pulled out a chair and sat down on the other side of the table. ‘Oh?’
‘There seems to be a lot of admiration and respect for him in the sports world. The courses that he’s developed are supposed to be fantastic and they say he’s done wonderful work with young players. Apparently he built that company out of nothing…I thought he sounded rather formidable.’
A vision of Lorimer rose before Skye: the dark blue eyes, the tough, forbidding lines of his face, the sense of massive strength. ‘He was formidable all right,’ she said. She could still feel the pressure of his palm against hers, the tingling warmth of his skin.
‘He can’t have been that tough if he gave you the job,’ Vanessa pointed out. ‘Surely he didn’t fall for that ridiculous c.v. you made up?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Skye sounded regretful. ‘Actually, I got the impression he didn’t believe a word I said.’
‘Then why did he give you the job?’
‘Well…’ Skye took a sip of her tea and told Vanessa all about the interview and the surprise meeting with Fleming. ‘Lorimer wasn’t very pleased,’ she finished, ‘but I can’t help thinking that Fleming’s appearing like that means that fate meant me to have the job!’
Vanessa looked dubious, ‘If I were Lorimer Kingan, I’d be a lot more than “not very pleased"—I’d be furious with you for putting me in a situation like that!’
‘Pooh!’ Skye had recovered her usual breezy optimism once away from Lorimer’s sharp eyes. ‘He wanted a secretary and he’s got one. I might not have been his first choice,’ she allowed generously, ‘but I’m free to start work when he wants and I’ll do the job just as well as any other temp.’
‘That’ll be the day!’ Vanessa grinned at her friend with affectionate scepticism. ‘You don’t know the first thing about golf, you’re hopeless at typing, you could illuminate a medieval manuscript in the time it takes you to write a line of shorthand. The whole idea of efficiency is completely alien to you. You’re muddled and irresponsible and you’ll spend your whole time talking. Not to put too fine a point on it, Skye, I should think you’ll drive Lorimer Kingan round the bend!’
‘But I’m really going to try this time!’ Skye protested. ‘I’ll make a success of this job, just you wait and see.’
‘You never have before!’
‘It’s different now. You know, Van,’ she went on seriously, ‘until I met Charles I didn’t realise how spoilt I was. I just had a good time and if things went wrong I knew my father would rescue me. It was Charles who made me see that I had to stand on my own two feet. He likes women who are cool and elegant and capable of looking after themselves. That’s why I could never get him to take me seriously. As far as he was concerned, I was just a daddy’s girl. It was awful when I realised that he didn’t want anything to do with me, but looking back I think it was the best thing that could have happened. It made me take stock of my life,’ she concluded grandly, and looked affronted when Vanessa only grinned. ‘It’s true,’ she insisted. ‘I realised that if I wanted to have any chance with Charles I would have to change my life completely. I feel guilty whenever I think about all the times I’ve let Dad bail me out. I should have left London and learnt to be independent long ago. This is my chance to prove to him as well as to Charles that I can survive by myself.’
‘Can you?’ asked Vanessa with a quizzical look.
‘I can try,’ said Skye, who had a much stronger, more stubborn will than most people gave her credit for. ‘Coming to Edinburgh was just what I needed to make a fresh start. Poor Dad’s been desperate for me to settle down and get myself a decent job, and now I’m going to make him proud of me for a change. And I’m going to show Charles that he can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m going to be just as practical and professional as his other girlfriends. He’ll never be interested in me as long as he just sees me as some scatty blonde.’
‘But Skye, you are a scatty blonde! Wouldn’t you like a man to love you for being the way you are?’
Skye hunched her shoulders, cradling the mug between her hands. ‘It’s so boring when they just sit and adore you,’ she said glumly. ‘I’m tired of boyfriends turning themselves into doormats. At least Charles doesn’t do that.’
‘That’s because he’s only interested in himself,’ said Vanessa astringently. She had met Charles on a couple of occasions when she had been to stay with Skye in London and she had not been impressed. ‘You only think you’re in love with him because he’s a challenge, but he’s not the man for you, Skye, honestly he isn’t. He’s too cold. He wants his girlfriends to fit in with his image as some cool, ruthless, City type, and you’ll never do that.’
‘Yes, I will.’ Skye looked stubborn. ‘And I am in love with him. I wouldn’t have come all the way up to Edinburgh and gone to all that trouble to get the job if I weren’t, would I?’
‘There’s no telling what you’d do once you get an idea into your head,’ said Vanessa with brutal honesty. ‘The trouble with you, Skye, is that you do everything by extremes. You never just like a man, you lose your head completely. You fall in and out of love—or what you think is love—like a Yo-Yo, and it’s always with the wrong kind of man. What you need is to fall really in love.’
Unbidden, Lorimer’s image flickered in Skye’s mind before she pushed it firmly away. She was in love with Charles; of course she was. Closing her eyes, she tried to conjure up Charles in her imagination, but all she could see was Lorimer’s austere face with its ironic eyes and the stern, unexpectedly exciting mouth that had relaxed into that brief, tantalising tug of amuse
ment.
Her eyes snapped open and she frowned. She didn’t want to think about Lorimer. She wanted to think about Charles with his… In a sudden excess of panic, she realised that she couldn’t picture him at all. She knew he was handsome, really much better-looking than Lorimer. It was just that all the details of his appearance seemed to have faded from her mind.
What did it matter, anyway? The important thing was that she loved him. She had already decided to play it cool so that Charles would never guess that he was the only reason for her appearance in Edinburgh, and now she had the perfect excuse for meeting him. He would come into the office and instead of the madcap girl he had known in London he would see her as Lorimer’s discreetly efficient PA, cool, sophisticated, dedicated to her job. He would be bound to fall in love with her then, Skye reassured herself. And in the meantime she would show Lorimer Kingan that she wasn’t quite as silly as he so obviously thought her. She would be the best secretary he had ever had and impress him so much with her calm competence that he would quite forget that she was English at all.
Convinced by this rosy picture of the next three months, Skye stretched her arms contentedly above her head and gave Vanessa a seraphic smile. ‘Don’t worry, Van, everything’s going to work out perfectly, I can feel it in my bones. Love is on its way.’
On Monday morning, Skye set off in high spirits. It was an early October day and the air held a distinctly autumnal bite, but the sky was a crisp, clear blue. Walking down to wait for a bus opposite The Meadows, she looked across at the trees, blazing gold and copper and bronze, and told herself that by the time the leaves had fallen her life would have changed completely. Skye hugged herself at the thought.
‘It’s not warm, is it?’ said the woman standing beside her in the bus queue, and before long they were deep in conversation, passing easily from the weather to the problems of winter, her neighbour’s arthritis, her grandchildren and what the doctor had said about young Jimmy’s tonsils. Always friendly to a fault, Skye listened, absorbed, nodding sympathetically every now and then, quite oblivious to the other passengers shuffling and muttering and glancing irritably at their watches. It was only when her new-found friend remarked on how late the bus was that Skye thought to look at the time.
A quarter to nine! Lorimer’s parting words rang ominously in her ears: ‘And don’t be late’. She would never get down to the office in time, even if the bus came. Skye gulped and looked frantically up and down the road for a taxi, but the traffic was practically at a standstill. She was just going to have to run.
Kingan Associates was an imposing Georgian building in Edinburgh’s famous New Town. By the time Skye clutched at its railings for support as she gasped for breath, she was exhausted, pale blonde hair hanging in a wild tangle around her scarlet face. She had never run so far or so fast in her life. Her breath was coming in great whoops, but somehow she forced herself upright and up the steps to the glossily painted white door with its gleaming brass and elegant fanlight.
Pushing open the door, Skye stepped cautiously into the hall, relieved to see that it was empty except for Sheila, the shy receptionist who had shown her into Lorimer’s office for the interview. She looked at Skye’s red face in some alarm.
‘Are you all right?’
‘No bus,’ Skye croaked, wheezing and mopping at her face. So much for impressing Lorimer’s office with her calmness and competence!
Sheila opened her mouth, but before she had a chance to reply the door to Lorimer’s office opened with a snap.
‘You’re late.’
Skye’s heart, already pounding with effort, seemed to stop altogether as she saw Lorimer standing in the doorway, with his fierce blue glare and his brows drawn over his nose in a forbidding line. He looked tougher, grimmer, altogether more disturbing than she remembered.
‘I’m sorry,’ she began, blaming her frantic run for the uncomfortable lurch of her heart and the breathless feeling at the back of her throat. ‘The—’
‘Come in here,’ he barked, cutting her off before she had a chance to explain. ‘I’m not going to talk to you where the whole office can hear.’ Turning abruptly, he disappeared back into his room.
Sheila cast her a sympathetic glance but Skye only grimaced at his back and followed him reluctantly.
‘Shut the door,’ he ordered as she hesitated on the threshold, and then pointed at a chair. ‘Sit down.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Skye muttered under her breath, wondering if he expected her to goose-step across the room. Deciding not to antagonise him any further, she sat gingerly on the edge of the chair and blew the curls off her forehead. The clip she had used to keep the hair out of her eyes so neatly that morning had come adrift as she’d run down the Lothian Road and now the silver gilt mass tumbled wildly about her face. She was acutely conscious of her crimson cheeks and dishevelled appearance, and had a nasty feeling that there was a huge ladder running all the way up the back of her new pair of tights. She glanced down, twisting her leg round surreptitiously. There was.
Lorimer was watching her with distaste, but as he took in the full extent of her disastrous appearance the grimness that had been in his eyes faded to an exasperation tinged with more than a hint of reluctant amusement. ‘Do you possess a watch?’ he asked with deceptive mildness.
‘Yes.’ said Skye, surprised but relieved that he didn’t seem nearly as angry as he had at first. Snapping her heels together to hide the run, she sat up straighter and tried to look eager rather than exhausted.
‘Do you know how to tell the time with it?’ Lorimer persevered in the same tone of exaggerated patience.
‘Yes, it’s digital,’ she explained kindly.
He closed his eyes briefly. ‘No doubt that helps! Now, since you have a watch and we’ve established that you’re able to read it, perhaps you could tell me what the time is?’
Even Skye couldn’t mistake the heavy irony. She pulled back her sleeve and peered at her watch. ‘Um… nine twenty-seven.’
‘And what time were you supposed to be here?’
‘Nine o’clock,’ she said in a small voice.
‘Nine o’clock,’ he agreed. ‘That makes you…?’
‘Twenty-seven minutes late,’ said Skye, feeling about two inches high.
Lorimer sat back in his chair. ‘Marvellous! You can count as well as tell the time!’
‘I would have been on time, but the bus was late,’ she tried to explain.
‘It didn’t occur to you to look at your watch, which we now know you can read so cleverly, and make alternative arrangements once you knew the bus wasn’t going to be on time?’
Skye eyed him warily, unsure of how to deal with his sarcasm. ‘I didn’t think about it,’ she admitted, opting for the truth. ‘You see, this woman was telling me about her grandson. You wouldn’t believe the trouble they’ve had with his tonsils…’
She trailed off as she caught Lorimer’s eye. ‘I’m not interested in tonsils,’ he said, speaking very carefully as if he was only keeping his temper in check with great difficulty. ‘Everyone else in this office manages to get to work on time, and I’m not making any exceptions for you. I don’t care how fascinating your conversations are; you’ll be here at nine o’clock on the dot every morning, or you’re out on your ear. Is that understood?’
Deciding it was safer to say nothing, Skye nodded.
‘You know as well as I do that if it hadn’t been for Fleming Carmichael you wouldn’t be sitting there now,’ he went on coldly. ‘You’re the last person I’d have chosen as my secretary, but Fleming seemed enthusiastic about the idea of you working here and frankly I’m prepared to do anything to keep him on my side at the moment. My priority is getting the investment so that I can get things moving on the new project, even if it means putting up with you for the next three months.’
‘Thanks for the warm welcome!’ said Skye huffily.
‘I’m being honest,’ he pointed out. ‘And since we’re on the subject of honesty, isn’t it t
ime you were honest with me?’
‘Honest?’ she echoed cautiously, and Lorimer sighed.
‘I did wonder whether you’d recognise the word! How can I put it more simply…? We’ve discovered that you do, in fact, know how to tell the time, in spite of all evidence to the contrary. Now I want to know whether, if pushed to it, you can tell the truth.’
Skye’s heart sank. ‘What do you mean?’ she said, but without very much conviction. She had a nasty feeling that she knew exactly what he meant.
Leaning forward over his desk, Lorimer fixed her with a keen blue stare. ‘I had an interesting little chat with Fleming after you’d gone. He’s obviously very fond of you.’ Lorimer’s tone made it clear that he found it hard to understand why. ‘It never occurred to him that you wouldn’t have been entirely honest with me, so I was able to find out quite a bit about you. Reading between the lines, I gather you’ve been spoilt and indulged all your life with the result that you’re now irredeemably frivolous and irresponsible, as well as quite incapable of sticking at a job for more than a few months at a time.’ He sat back in his chair without taking his eyes off Skye’s face. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Fleming didn’t say that. He seems to think that you’ve got enough charm and personality to survive anywhere, but I’m afraid I don’t see it like that.’ His voice changed. ‘As I see it, you’ve lied to me, and I don’t like liars.’
Skye burned with humiliation but her face was already so red that Lorimer probably didn’t notice her guilty flush. ‘I wanted the job, you see,’ she explained in a small voice.
‘I’d already gathered that from the interview,’ said Lorimer, still scathing. ‘Would you mind telling me exactly why I’m to have you inflicted on me? And this time I’d appreciate the truth!’
She swallowed. ‘You’ll think I’m stupid.’
‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised!’ he said with one of his sudden gleams of amusement that so unnerved her. ‘Come on, out with it! This isn’t the sort of job to interest someone like you. Why have you picked on me?’
