‘They’ve fixed…’
‘But his sleigh’s broken beyond repair. There’s nothing they can do about that so Santa’s escape route’s gone. We’re stuck with him.’ She was smiling now, though her smile was a bit watery.
‘Hooray,’ he said faintly, and he couldn’t keep his gaze from her face. Why hadn’t he realised just how beautiful she was? He’d been blind.
‘Hooray at last,’ she repeated and her voice softened. ‘It’s all okay again. I have help. Scott says there’s no rush to get home. Christmas is back on track. And…and it’s thanks to you,’ she said, and choked a bit again. ‘You saved Letty. You saved us.’
‘There’s no need for hyperbole,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘You did some saving as well.’
‘There’s no way I would have got up on that roof in time to stop her falling.’
‘You don’t know what you can do until you must.’
‘Indeed you don’t,’ she said, and her eyes were shining and she was close enough to touch. Close enough to…
She backed away, as if suddenly something had touched her, reminded her. ‘I… that’s all I wanted to say,’ she faltered.
Was it all he wanted to say? He wanted more. He wanted to kiss her. In the middle of the emergency waiting room. With patients, medics, relatives everywhere.
He definitely wanted to kiss her.
‘No,’ she said, and he met her gaze with a jolt of shock. Of course. This woman was seriously good. She anticipated his needs. That was what he paid her for.
She’d anticipated this one and she was refusing.
‘I… I don’t think we need to stay here,’ she managed. She glanced at her watch, and that tiny movement put more distance between them. It made what he wanted to do even more impossible. ‘We should do something while we wait. Go down and look at the sea?’
‘How about shopping?’ he suggested. ‘I checked yesterday-every shop in the city will be open today.’
‘You’re joking,’ she said, startled. ‘Walk through the Christmas crowds looking like this? We look like something out of Chainsaw Massacre.’
‘Hence my shopping plan. Are you hungry?’
Her eyes widened at that, as if remembering something important.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I am. Whatever happened to breakfast?’
He grinned. ‘I guess it’s still waiting beside the toaster at home.’ Home? The word seemed to jar, and he corrected himself. ‘Back at the farm.’
‘We could grab a sandwich at the hospital cafeteria. I guess there is a hospital cafeteria.’
‘I refuse to have hospital sandwiches on Christmas Eve. What I suggest…’
‘Here we go.’
‘What?’
‘What you suggest…’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘It’s just What I suggest is McMaster for What’s going to happen.’
‘I’m open to discussion,’ he said, wounded, and she was smiling again. More. She was laughing at him.
It was such a weird sensation that he felt winded.
No one laughed at him.
He kind of…liked it.
He grinned, and she grinned back, and suddenly there was such a frisson of tension between them that if a nurse hadn’t approached he would have thrown reserve, caution, sense to the wind and taken her in his arms and kissed her, right on the spot. He still might…but the nurse was walking right up to them, speaking to Meg but glancing at him, as if he was included in this too.
Almost as if he was family.
‘The stitching’s done,’ she said. ‘The doctors used a very light general anaesthetic-they thought it was more appropriate, given how shocked she is-and we’re popping in a little plasma to get her blood pressure up faster. I suspect she’ll sleep for two hours at least. Can you give us that time before you take her home?’
‘Yes,’ William said before Meg could answer. ‘Yes, we can.’ He glanced at his cellphone and smiled. ‘Hey, I have reception. I’ll give you my number. Can you ring us when she wakes? Meanwhile, I suggest Miss Jardine and I find something decent to wear and then eat.’
‘And if I want hospital sandwiches?’ Meg muttered but she was smiling too.
‘I’m your boss,’ he said. ‘That has to count for something.’
It counted for a lot, and so did money. Meg was simply led by William’s ‘suggestions’.
First, he took her to what the nurse had told him when he’d enquired was ‘the classiest clothes shop in town’.
‘She needs a frock,’ William said to the bemused assistant. ‘Or more. I suggest she buys three and everything that goes with them. Shoes, whatever.’ He laid his credit card on the counter. ‘Whatever it takes.’
‘This feels like Pretty Woman,’ Meg muttered. ‘I’m not for sale.’
‘I’m not buying.’
She met his gaze. Something passed between them, changed. I’m not buying.
Of course he wasn’t, Meg thought. He had Elinor and women of her ilk. He escorted women from the pages of glamour magazines.
And, again, he knew what she was thinking. ‘You’re my PA,’ he said, his tone softening. ‘Nothing more. Don’t get any ideas, Jardine. It’s just that I don’t like my PA in blood-spattered overalls.’
He sounded suddenly formal and she shivered. The warmth that had been growing inside, the comfort she’d felt as he’d held her, the bud of an idea, shrivelled.
The idea had been stupid-but she had to move on.
‘And I don’t like my boss in blood-spattered overalls,’ she managed and tilted her chin.
‘Which is why I’m heading to the place Scott showed me yesterday to buy even more jeans,’ he said. ‘So I’ll leave you to it. No shaking while I’m gone. Everything’s fine.’
And, before she could guess what he intended, he took her hands, tugged her towards him and kissed her lightly on the lips. Only it wasn’t how she wanted to be kissed. It was back to where she’d started. It was a Pretty Woman kind of kiss. Take my plastic and buy what you need. I’ll comfort you and care for you, because you’re part of my entourage.
‘Don’t look like that, Miss Jardine,’ he said softly. ‘I’m not buying your soul. I’m only returning you to respectability.’
‘Meg,’ she said, and if she sounded forlorn she couldn’t help it.
‘I believe it should be Miss Jardine.’
‘Willie,’ she snapped and, before he could guess what she intended back, she grabbed his hands, tugged him toward her and kissed him as well. Harder. Defiant. ‘Willie,’ she said again and glowered.
His lips twitched. There was laughter behind his eyes. And admiration.
And something more?
Something quickly quelled. Something he didn’t want to admit?
No matter, it was gone, he was gone, and she was left with his plastic.
‘Wow,’ the sales assistant breathed as he disappeared into the crowd of last minute Christmas shoppers. ‘I wish my boyfriend would do something like this.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend.’
‘Oh, but he’s gorgeous.’
‘In blood-stained overalls?’
‘He’d be gorgeous in anything,’ the girl breathed. ‘Oh, miss… Oh, let’s find you the prettiest dress in the shop. With a guy like that letting you use his credit card, you want to be gorgeous.’
‘With a guy like that I should wear a faded bag over my head,’ Meg muttered but the sales assistant was already hauling out offerings.
She should not accept his money. But…
I suggest…
This was W S McMaster talking. Her boss, giving orders. If she put things back on their rightful footing, she’d accept.
Miss Jardine would accept. It was only Meg who was having stupid quibbles.
‘Show me what you have,’ she said, resigned. Two more days of autocracy and he’d be gone. Or sooner. She should check the news on the air strike.
Why didn’t she want to?
‘Wha
t about this?’ the sales assistant asked, and held up a dress that made her gasp. It was pretty in the real sense of the word. It was a nineteen-fifties halter neck, cinch-waisted frock with a full circled skirt. It was white with red dots. It was young, frivolous and so far away from what Meg always wore that she shook her head before she thought about it.
She wore sensible black skirts and white shirts, or she wore overalls, or she wore jeans, and somewhere at home she had a pale grey skirt for church and funerals.
She did not wear polka dots.
‘Something sensible,’ she said.
‘It’s Christmas,’ the girl said and then she looked at Meg’s overalls. ‘And…excuse me for asking, but that looks bad.’
‘It nearly was bad.’
‘So it could have been bad,’ the girl said and Meg realised she was in the hands of a master saleswoman. ‘And, if it had been, you’d never have got the chance to wear polka dots. And he…’ she looked meaningfully in the direction William had gone ‘…would never have seen you in polka dots.’
‘Perish the thought,’ Meg said, trying to sound sarcastic, but it didn’t come off.
‘So will you try it?’
No, Meg thought. But she couldn’t say it.
She looked at the dress, and then she also glanced in the direction William had gone. She could no longer see him.
He’d be back.
Tomorrow or the next day he’d be gone.
What the heck. It was his plastic. I suggest…
She was merely following her boss’s orders. Only he no longer felt like her boss. He felt like something else completely.
So did she. She stared into the mirror and saw the woman she’d been two days ago behind the woman she was now. And she thought of the impossibility of going back to what she had been.
I’ll be one of those elderly secretaries, she thought, totally devoted to the boss, taking whatever he’ll give. ‘Good morning, Mr McMaster, of course I’ll take dictation, certainly I’ll send flowers to Sarah, I suggest tiger lilies because they’re what the gossip columnists say is her favourite flower.’
Meanwhile…
Meanwhile, Scotty had climbed on the roof to put Santa up himself and Letty had tried to fix it. If she’d had a regular job, where she could go home every night…
She’d told herself this was better. Working twenty-four seven for short bursts and then staying home.
She’d loved twenty-four seven. She loved working for W S McMaster. But now…
Now she’d seen William clinging to the roof, holding her grandma. Now William had held her at the hospital and she’d needed him to hold her.
Two days ago she’d been able to draw a line-that life, this life.
The lines had blurred and it frightened her.
Decisiveness had always been her strong point. She didn’t have to like it but she knew when a decision had to be made. She made one now. Oh, but it hurt.
She took a deep breath. She glanced once more in the direction William had gone. Before he came back, she had to find some resolution.
She took the polka dots and disappeared into the changing room…to change.
She was wearing polka dots.
He’d left her wearing bloodied overalls and truly disgusting boots. She was now wearing what could only be described as a happy dress, a Christmas dress. Her boots had been replaced with white strappy stilettos and her hair, caught back with an elastic band while she’d done the milking, was now a riot of bouncing curls, caught on the side with a tiny red rosette.
She looked about ten years younger.
She looked breathtakingly lovely.
Meg was gazing into the mirror as if she, too, hardly recognised herself. She met his reflected gaze and turned slowly to face him, and he thought if he hadn’t caught her in this she might have fled and taken it off.
‘It’s…it’s silly,’ she said.
‘It’s lovely,’ the shop assistant said definitely. ‘We’ve found two more that are just as pretty, only she won’t buy three. She’s reluctant to buy even this one, but I persuaded her to try it on again. With shoes.’
‘Well done,’ he said, walking closer. ‘I can see it needs shoes.’
‘It’s silly,’ Meg said again.
‘It’s not,’ William said, somehow managing to smile at the shop assistant without taking his eyes off Meg. ‘You look lovely.’
She flushed. ‘I feel like something out of Hollywood.’
‘Great things come out of Hollywood. We’ll take it.’ He still hadn’t taken his eyes from her. ‘And the other two. Wrap the others. She’ll leave this one on.’
‘William…’
‘Say “Yes, Mr. McMaster”.’
‘No!’
‘You’re intending to go to a classy restaurant wearing overalls?’
‘I’m not going to any classy restaurant.’ Her new resolution hadn’t included socialising. She’d have a sandwich on the run and then go back to the hospital. Then she’d get through Christmas. She’d tell him her decision as she put him on the flight back to New York.
A withered spinster gazing adoringly after her boss… She hauled the conjured vision back into her head and held on to it.
Her decision was right, no matter how much it hurt. She had to move forward.
But he was still thinking restaurants. ‘Of course we need to go to a restaurant,’ he said, sounding wounded. ‘I’ve bought new clothes too, so we’re both dressed up. You like my chinos?’
He was smiling at her. Oh, that smile…
‘They’re fine, but…’
‘Hey, I said you’re lovely.’
‘Okay, you’re lovely too,’ she muttered. ‘But we don’t need to match.’
‘Better that we don’t, I think,’ he said softly. ‘But we’ll buy the dresses anyway.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
MEG walked out of the shop feeling as if she were in a freeze-frame from a fifties movie. William put his hand in the small of her back to guide her through the crush of shoppers and the feeling of unreality deepened.
‘Don’t think about it,’ he said, obviously sensing how self-conscious she felt. ‘The crowds were looking when you were covered in blood. They’re still looking, but now they’re smiling. Let’s concentrate on the important things. Like breakfast.’
She’d given up fighting. A sandwich on the run felt good, but anything would do. She was so hungry she was likely to keel over. If he had to take her to a restaurant, then so be it.
‘Yes, please,’ she said, expecting him to take her into one of the small local restaurants. But instead he ushered her back into the car-how did this man manage to get a park when the whole world was looking for a park today?-and she almost groaned. She wanted to eat now.
But she’d worked for too long for this man to complain when meals took too long coming, so she stifled her groan and folded her hands in her lap and thought she looked ridiculous. She should be smiling and waving. But then they should be driving an expensive sports car instead of Letty’s farm wagon. At least the silencer was fixed, she thought, and then she saw where they were going and she forgot about anything else.
He was driving up to the cliff above the town. He was taking her to the most expensive restaurant in the district.
She’d never been here.
‘This place is… Oh, it’s where you go to celebrate wedding anniversaries. When you’re rich. They don’t do breakfast,’ she breathed.
‘They do today. I rang them. I spoke to the chef personally. Bacon and eggs and fried bread and strawberries and fresh juice and sourdough toast and home-made butter… We had a long discussion. Anything we want, we can have.’
‘If we pay.’
‘If I pay,’ he said gently and he was out of the car, striding round to her side and handing her out as if she was one of his dates instead of Miss Jardine, his PA.
He never handed her out of his car. He opened doors for her, the natural courtesy of a polite man, but to walk around a
nd help her out of the car… no. She was his employee and the extra cosseting was reserved for…his women?
She no longer fitted either category, she thought, as she brushed past him and his touch made her feel even more as if this was not real, it was something out of a movie. The lines were blurring.
But if the lines were blurring… The question was huge and for some reason it was drumming in her head-insistent, urgent. There was never going to be a good time to ask-so why not now?
‘Who’s Elinor?’ she asked, and he looked at her for a long moment and then smiled and shrugged and led her inside.
Maybe the lines were blurring for him too, she thought, and then she thought, all the more reason why her decision was the only possible one.
‘I’ll tell you over breakfast,’ he said simply, and she knew she was right.
The restaurant was almost empty. This place started lunch at what it deemed a respectable hour and this didn’t quite qualify. Maybe they wouldn’t have taken his booking if he hadn’t…thrown his credit card around? Thrown his name around?
‘You’ll have the paparazzi in your face before you know it,’ she said darkly and he shook his head.
‘You think the paparazzi has nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than take photos of me? I’m low-key in the celebrity world.’
He was, she thought, but only because he created little stir. He didn’t do the society thing. Even though his name was known worldwide, for the most part he deliberately kept away from cameras. He was seen in the celebrity magazines, stepping back into the shadows as his woman of the moment smiled and posed. If the women he escorted started to like the limelight too much, he moved on. Was this why she hadn’t heard of Elinor until now? Did the woman have sense enough to stay low profile?
She shouldn’t have asked. She had no business asking.
Christmas with her Boss Page 10
