Christmas with her Boss

by Marion Lennox

  She really wanted to know.

  The head waiter was leading them to what must surely be the best table in the house, in an alcove which gave a semblance of privacy but where the view stretched away across the ocean, as far as the eye could see. There were windsurfers on the waves below them. Meg thought suddenly, how long had it been since she’d swum?

  Their farm was almost an hour’s drive from the sea. There was never any time to indulge in anything so frivolous. Maybe when she changed jobs…

  The thought was inexorably bleak.

  ‘Eggs and bacon and toast and fruit and juice and coffee,’ William said to the waiter. ‘Any way you want to serve them, as long as it starts coming fast. Is that okay with you, Miss Jardine?’

  Miss Jardine. It sounded wrong. Maybe it sounded wrong to William too, because he was frowning.

  ‘Yes. Wonderful,’ she managed.

  The waiter sailed off as if he’d just been given an order which was a triumph of creation all on its own-how much had William paid to get this table, to get a breakfast menu, to simply be here? To take his woman somewhere beautiful.

  She was not his woman.

  Neither was she Miss Jardine.

  Deep breath. Just do it. ‘Mr McMaster, this might not be the time to tell you, but I think I should,’ she said and she faltered. Was she mad? Yes, she was. She knew it, but she still knew that she had no choice. ‘I need to resign.’

  William had glanced out to sea as a windsurfer wiped out in spectacular fashion. He turned back to face her and his expression had stilled.

  ‘Resign?’

  ‘I’ll train my replacement,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I won’t leave you without anyone. But you’re going back to the States anyway. If you’re gone for a couple for months I’ll have someone sorted before you return. I’ll work side by side with her then for a couple of weeks until I’m sure you’re happy, but…’

  ‘I hire my own PAs,’ he snapped.

  ‘So you do. Then, please, you need to find my replacement.’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  There was the question. A thousand answers crowded in but he was watching her face-and this was William… No, this was W S McMaster…and she knew him and he knew her and only honesty would do.

  ‘The work we do…we need to travel side by side. We need to be totally dependent on each other but we need to stay detached. Today… Up on the roof I got undetached.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning I don’t think of you as Mr McMaster any more. I think of you as the man who saved my grandma.’

  His gaze didn’t leave her face. ‘So take a pay cut,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t see how abandoning me is showing your gratitude.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  He did. She saw a flicker behind his eyes that might almost be read as pain if she didn’t know how aloof this man was. How he stood apart.

  ‘There’s no need to leave.’

  ‘I think there is.’

  ‘You’re under contract,’ he snapped.

  ‘No.’ She met his gaze calmly, hoping he couldn’t guess the tumult behind her words. ‘My contract’s up for renewal. It expires next month.’

  ‘You’re responsible for keeping contracts up to date.’

  ‘So I am. So I have. My contract expires. It’s not to be renewed, so we move on.’

  ‘So you tell me now?’ he snapped. ‘And you expect us to calmly go on sharing Christmas when you no longer work for me?’

  She flinched, but there was no avoiding what needed to be said. She knew him well enough now to accept the only way forward was honesty.

  ‘It’s the only way I can go on sharing Christmas,’ she said simply. ‘Feeling the way I do.’

  ‘Feeling…’

  ‘Like you’re not my boss any more.’

  ‘This is nonsense.’

  ‘It’s not nonsense,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I’m sorry but there it is. I’ve quit. If you want me to keep working until you get a replacement…’

  ‘That means you’ll still be working over Christmas.’

  ‘I’m returning my Christmas bonus.’ She glanced down at her dress. ‘I’ll take these in the form of severance pay. You won’t be out of pocket.’

  ‘What nonsense is this? You can’t afford the grand gesture.’

  ‘It’s not a grand gesture,’ she said stiffly. ‘It’s what I need to do. I can’t afford not to.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means not everything’s about money.’ She hesitated. ‘Who’s Elinor?’ she asked again and his brows snapped down in a sharp, dark line of anger.

  ‘Is that what this is about?’

  ‘You mean am I, your PA, jealous of a woman called Elinor?’ She managed a smile at that one. ‘Of course I’m not. All I’m saying is that the lines between personal and professional have been blurred. Last week I wouldn’t have dared ask that question-I wouldn’t want to. However, suddenly I want to know why you never had a dog when you were a kid. I want to know how you learned to climb when you were a boy. And, yes, I do want to know about Elinor.’ She hesitated. ‘Maybe this can’t make sense to you, but a week ago I didn’t mind…that you seemed aloof and a bit…unhappy.’

  ‘I’m not unhappy,’ he said, startled, and she thought about it. ‘Okay, not unhappy,’ she conceded. ‘Wrong word, but I don’t know what the word is. Just…holding yourself tight against the world, when letting the world in could make you happy.’

  And he got it, just like that. ‘Like caring about Scott and Letty?’

  ‘Like caring about Scott and Letty.’

  ‘And if anything happens to them?’

  ‘Then my world falls apart.’

  ‘Then that’s dumb. You can’t afford to think like that.’

  ‘Why not? That’s all there is.’

  ‘Emotional nonsense.’

  ‘So who’s Elinor?’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘It’s not,’ she agreed. ‘And as my boss you can tell me to mind my own. As a casual acquaintance you can tell me that as well. But now I’m your hostess for Christmas, and you saved my grandma’s life. So I owe you and you owe me and I really want to know that there’s someone in your life who can take that horrid, reserved look away from your face.’

  He stared at her, nonplussed. She managed to meet his gaze and hold. This wasn’t just about her, she thought. There was something she had to reach…something it was important to reach.

  He’d saved Letty. She owed it to him to try.

  But then breakfast arrived. The smell reached her before the meal, wafting across the room as a delicious, tantalising siren call. A couple of early lunch diners were being ushered to their tables. She saw their noses wrinkle with appreciation and she thought-mine, hands off.

  She turned back to William, and the same thought flickered. Mine… Only it was a stupid, stupid thought. It was why she had to get out.

  Maybe she didn’t want to know who Elinor was. Personal or not, boss or…friend?…she didn’t have the right.

  But she wasn’t retracting and her question hung.

  And it seemed he’d decided to tell her. The meal was set before them and he started to talk even before he started to eat. There was anger beneath his words, an edge of darkness, but the words were coming out all the same.

  ‘Elinor’s a foster mother in Manhattan,’ he said. ‘She’s a lovely, warm Afro-American lady with a heart bigger than Texas. She’s old enough to retire but there are always children who need her. Right now she’s fostering Ned and Pip. Two years ago she took them in while their mother supposedly undertook a court-ordered rehab, but instead she robbed a drug store, with violence. She’s been in prison ever since and she doesn’t contact them; she treats them with complete indifference. Elinor’s trying to persuade her to give them up for adoption but she won’t. So Elinor’s the only mother they know.’

  ‘And…you?’ she asked, stunned.

  ‘I
met Elinor when I agreed to sponsor the Manhattan Foster-Friends programme. It’s an organisation designed to give foster carers support, for people who’d love to help but who only have limited time to give. So Elinor and the children have become my… Foster-Friends. I’d promised to take them out for Christmas.’

  ‘I see,’ she whispered, and she did see. Sort of. So the image of a sleek, sterile Manhattan apartment wasn’t right. Or maybe it was right; it was just that he moved out from it in a way she hadn’t expected.

  ‘So what will they do now?’ she asked, feeling dreadful-for Elinor, for Pip and Ned, and for William himself.

  ‘Elinor has said not to worry. She’ll give them Christmas. They don’t depend on me.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘Eat your breakfast, Meg,’ he said gently and she turned her attention to her plate, though the enjoyment wasn’t in it now. Or not so much.

  It did, indeed, look wonderful. Pleasure laced with guilt.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get you home,’ she said.

  ‘It’s not your fault. Eat.’

  Eat. She’d almost forgotten she was hungry. Or maybe not. She was fickle, she thought, piercing an egg and watching the yolk ooze across the richly buttered toast. Mmm.

  She glanced up and William was watching her and she thought, with a tiny frisson of something she was far too sensible to feel-Elinor’s a retirement age foster mother. And William cares about kids.

  But William only cared about these kids part-time. In the bits he had available. She knew he was out of the country eight months out of twelve.

  The coldness settled back-the bleak certainty that this man walked alone and would walk alone for ever. There was nothing she could do about it. She’d resigned. She didn’t have to watch him self-destruct.

  But maybe he was right. Maybe he wasn’t self-destructing-maybe it was she who was putting herself out there to be shot down with emotional pain.

  The whole scenario was too hard. There was only one thing to do here.

  She looked back down at her egg-firmly-and concentrated-firmly-on her truly excellent breakfast.

  There wasn’t a lot of conversation after that. After their third coffee William rang the hospital while Meg stared into the dregs of her cup. He put it onto speaker so Meg could hear the nurse’s response.

  ‘She’s still asleep. Yes, she’s fine. I promise we’ll ring you the moment she wakes.’

  ‘So let’s walk,’ he decreed and Meg could only agree. She didn’t want to go back to the hospital and wait. And think.

  Think of what she was walking away from.

  So they walked down to the beach, and Meg slipped off her sandals and headed for the shallows.

  William watched her from further up on the sand. He kept his shoes on. He’d swapped his boots for a pair of casual loafers but he wasn’t taking the next step. W S McMaster with bare feet, walking in the shallows? Unthinkable.

  She walked along, letting the last run of the waves lick over her toes, kicking sprays of water up in front of her.

  William walked parallel to her but fifteen feet up the beach. She was in the shallows. He was on solid sand.

  Solid sand?

  There was no such thing, she thought. Nothing was solid. Everything was shifting.

  Why wasn’t he taking his shoes off? Why wasn’t he coming close?

  She knew why. She even agreed it was sensible that he shouldn’t.

  The wind was warm on her face. The sand and salt between her toes felt fabulous. All it needed was for William to take fifteen steps and take her hand and life would be…

  A fairy tale.

  So get real, she told herself and kicked up a spray of water so high she soaked the front of her dress. This guy is a billionaire from Manhattan-my ex-boss. I’m unemployed, with a hundred dairy cows, a little brother and a grandma who needs me and will need me for years.

  She kicked the water again and glanced sideways at William.

  He wasn’t looking at her. He was striding along the beach as if he was there to walk off his too-big breakfast and that was that.

  And why shouldn’t it be that? The man hadn’t been to the gym for two days. He’d be suffering from withdrawal.

  ‘You go on by yourself,’ she called to him. ‘Burn some energy. I’m happy to stay here and kick water.’

  He glanced at her and nodded, brisk, serious.

  She turned to watch the windsurfers and he headed off along the beach. Alone.

  He was being a bore.

  He didn’t know what else to be.

  There were a thousand emotions crowding into his head right now and he didn’t know what to do with any of them.

  She was beautiful. There was a really big part of him that wanted to head into the shallows-with or without shoes-and tug her to him and hold.

  How selfish would that be?

  She wasn’t like any woman he’d dated. He’d selected her with care as his Australian PA and that was what she was qualified to be. She was smart, efficient, unflappable. Loyal, honest, discreet. Sassy, funny, emotional.

  Trusting and beautiful.

  He didn’t have a clue what to do with all these things. He moved in circles where women knew boundaries; indeed, they wanted them. He was an accessory, a guy with looks and money who was good for their image. No one had ever clung.

  Meg wasn’t clinging. The opposite-she was walking away.

  That was good. She knew the boundaries. She knew they’d overstepped them so she was protecting herself. She had the right.

  And if he stepped over the boundaries after her, like walking into the water now and taking her hand, pretending they could just be a normal couple, boy and girl…

  He didn’t do boy and girl. He had to leave; he knew no other way of living.

  Do not depend on anyone.

  He could depend on Meg.

  No. She’d resigned. The thought hurt. He tried to drum up anger but it wasn’t there. All that was left was a sense of emptiness, as if he’d missed out on something other people had. How to change? If he tried… If he hurt her…

  He walked faster, striding along the hard sand, trying to drive away demons. He stopped and looked back, and Meg was a red and white splash of colour in the shallows, far behind.

  In a day or two she’d be further away. She’d get some sort of hick job and be stuck here, milking her cows. Taking care of Letty and Scott.

  It was her choice.

  He picked up a heap of seaweed and hurled it out into the shallows, as if it’d personally done him injury. That was what this felt like, but he couldn’t fault Meg. She was protecting herself, as he protected his own barriers.

  She had the right.

  He’d choose another PA and move on.

  But first…he had to get Christmas over. Bring on Santa Claus, he thought grimly, followed by a plane out of here.

  And then they’d all live happily ever after?

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS a subdued trio who returned home. Letty was stretched out on the back seat, dozing. The doctors had been inclined to keep her; she’d woken enough to be stubborn but she was sleeping now.

  Meg sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. As if she was enduring something that had to be endured.

  He’d made a few desultory attempts at conversation but had given up. So much for his smart, sassy PA. Now she was just…Meg. Someone he once knew?

  Just concentrate on driving, he told himself. When he got back to the farm he’d move onto evening milking. The phone line was working again so after milking he could use the Internet; keep himself busy.

  ‘By the way, I’ve organised your satellite connection,’ he said and Meg cast him a glance that was almost scared.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘While you were dress shopping. It only took me minutes to buy what I needed, and the Internet place was open for business. It seems satellite dishes make great Christmas gifts. Even I couldn’t get them to erect it to
day, but first working day after Christmas it’ll be here.’

  ‘I can’t afford…’

  ‘It’s paid for. Three years in advance.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said in a tight, clipped voice. ‘Three dresses are enough.’

  But… ‘Are you out of your mind?’ Letty was suddenly awake, piping up from the back seat in indignation. ‘Meg, what sort of gift horse are you looking in the mouth here? Scotty will love it. You know there’ll be times still when he’s stuck at home in pain. You can’t say no to that.’

  ‘Letty, I’m no longer working for Mr McMaster,’ Meg said. ‘So I can’t take expensive gifts.’

  ‘You’re not working for him?’

  ‘She’s resigned. Tell her she’s daft,’ William said.

  ‘No,’ Letty said, surprisingly strongly. ‘My Meg’s not daft. If she’s quit there’s a good and sensible reason. But a satellite connection…that’d be a gift to Scotty and me, not to Meg, wouldn’t it, Mr McMaster?’

  ‘William,’ he said and he almost snapped.

  ‘William,’ Letty said. ‘Scott’s friend. My friend. Meg, dear, William has more money than he knows what to do with, and he’s just given us a very fine Christmas gift in return for a bed for Christmas. And…’ She hesitated, but she was a wise old bird, was Letty. ‘And you don’t want anything in return, do you, Mr McMaster?’

  ‘William!’

  ‘William,’ Letty said obediently. ‘But you’re not buying Meg with this. She doesn’t owe you anything, right?’

  ‘Right,’ he said and glanced across at Meg. Her face was drawn, almost as if she was in pain.

  He hated that look. He didn’t know what to do about it.

  ‘Then I accept on Scotty’s behalf,’ Letty said across his thoughts. ‘And your bed for Christmas is assured.’

  When they’d left the farm it had been almost deserted. When they turned back into the driveway there were more than a dozen vehicles parked under the row of gums out front.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Letty said, peering dubiously out of the window. ‘This looks like a funeral.’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for William, it would have been,’ Meg said, and once again William thought she sounded strained to breaking point. ‘If Scott’s done something else stupid…’