Perilous Refuge

by Patricia Wilson

  By the time she had taken off her coat, glanced at the mail on her desk and looked at herself critically in the mirror, she had persuaded herself that he wouldn't be here today at all. A reprieve. She had gone to extra trouble today to look efficient, her grey suit and red blouse neatly tailored, her black hair more severe than usual. It seemed a bit of a waste now, the extra effort.

  She walked through to check his office for faults all the same, just to be on the safe side, and her heart bounded in her chest like an agitated ball as a tall figure unwound itself from the chair to about six-foot-two high, piercing grey eyes leaping at her, almost pinning her to the door. A wave of involuntary shock hit her and for a moment she stood there dry-mouthed, rooted to the spot.

  He was aggressively handsome, no sign of softness about him at all, and no sign of humour either. Dark, tanned, his impossibly light eyes now narrowed and compelling, his tall, lean height seemed to hold in a powerful hostility. She couldn't seem to do anything but stare, looking back into eyes like silver ice. Jim's words slid foolishly through her mind 'He must have come from somewhere' a granite quarry? Ross Maclean might well have been fashioned from rock by a master craftsman. He didn't seem quite human. His assessing contemplation of her made Helen feel utterly insignificant, and panic slid over her like a wet sheet.

  'Miss Andrews?' He perched easily on the edge of the desk, his gaze going over her steadily as if she were company property that he might decide to trade off against better equipment. He glanced at the paper in his hand. 'Apparently, your-late boss, felt the need to leave me a brief on you. It's interesting. Your qualifications are superb, your excellence above reproach. The footnote is touching.' He glanced down, his mouth twisting sardonically as he read Jim's words aloud. '''Left to herself, she is capable of running the office smoothly and efficiently. Her personal problems never interfere with her work. She responds to gentle handling.'"

  She was listening to his voice, a compelling voice, darkly seductive in spite of the disparagement, like black velvet over steel. He looked up, his eyes silver flares of light, and he said nothing at all, simply waiting for Helen to get control of her breathing, her blushes and her astonishment.

  'He...er...I can't think why ... Jim has a strange sense of humour,' she finished lamely.

  'Jim does?' he enquired softly, his voice cold behind the velvet tone, evidently affronted that she called her 'late boss' by his first name. 'I hope it holds out in New York. As you seem to run everything, the workload that's going to hit him over there may kill him.'

  There was the implied threat that if the workload didn't kill Jim then Ross Maclean very well might, and Helen sprang to his defence.

  'I assume, Mr Maclean, that he was trying to make things a little easier for me. He's probably left all the staff files for you...er...to hand.'

  'Only yours, Miss Andrews. It seems he wanted to be sure that I continued where he left off, handling you gently.'

  He placed a lot of emphasis on the word 'handling', and Helen's renewed blushes did nothing to help, nor did the flare of resentment in her eyes, their purple shade now more pronounced. It seemed to snap his attention more closely to her.

  'I don't need handling at all, Mr Maclean.' Anger began to surface inside her, slowly but very surely. Oh, she knew men like this! 'I came for your mail,' she continued, coolly. 'Normally I'm the only one here at this time in the morning. In future, I'll knock.'

  'A slight tap will do.' He sat down, tossing the paper to the back of his desk. 'I've been through my mail already, Miss Andrews. Get the rest done and then you can take the replies for this lot.'

  'Very well, Mr Maclean.' Helen's hand hovered over the embarrassing paper. She wanted to snatch it up and his glance rested on her slender fingers, his lips twisting ironically. 'Shall I file this?'

  'Definitely not, Miss Andrews.' She was at the receiving end of that punishing stare again. 'I'll keep it to hand. Top drawer. I have to learn it yet, especially the postscript. I'll follow the general guidelines until I work out my own method of handling.'

  Helen looked down at him in irritation but he seemed to be towering menacingly even when he was seated and she gave an exasperated sigh, her slender figure bristling with indignation as she walked out. She might not even last the day. Hostility had arrived and it had arrived at least half an hour before her. What would happen at five o'clock? It would be a relief to be dismissed, if she didn't need the money so much, because she could tell right now that she was not going to be able to get on at all with Ross Maclean. She was wary of his granite hardness but she refused to be afraid. She would never be afraid of a man again, never in her whole life!

  She finished with her usual speed and walked back to his office, giving the suggested slight tap. He was on the phone and nodded her to a seat, his face still set in the uncompromising hard lines. It gave her the chance to watch him surreptitiously. He must be about thirty-five, his hair very dark brown, his lips almost carved but more sensuous than bitter in spite of his harsh exterior. He had that look of easy wealth about him that was never possible to achieve by acting. She should know, Miles had tried hard enough to look like a wealthy businessman and failed miserably. There was nothing of Miles in this man.

  Helen snapped to attention as she realised that the call was finished and he was looking at her too, his eyes like polished crystal.

  'You find me peculiar, Miss Andrews?' The voice was deep, disturbing, and Helen had to fight hard to keep cool.

  'I was listening to your voice,' she improvised. 'You're not an American, Mr Maclean?'

  'That surprises you? I don't see why it should. The parent company is in America but I'm English, so is my father, although my mother is American. I was educated here. My father likes to keep his roots firmly planted.'

  'I wasn't prying. I was just thinking.'

  Helen raised her pencil in a businesslike manner and assumed a prim look. The carved lips twitched a little.

  'Quite natural, surely? Working so closely together, we'll have to size each other up.' He leaned back in his chair, apparently not yet ready to start. 'Why were you in so early?'

  The words were shot at her like bullets and she stiffened at once. Here it came, she might as well face it at once.

  'I always come in at eight-thirty because I have to leave at five.'

  'Have to? Is that part of the gentle handling?'

  'It's the arrangement I made when I started here. It's always been honoured.'

  Her tone of voice did not amuse him and she found herself once more pinned by his gaze.

  'I work late sometimes, Miss Andrews. What happens then?'

  'It's all right if it's Wednesday.' Some of the colour had left her face. Her hands were beginning to shake in spite of her determination not to be intimidated, and the eagle eyes missed nothing; they flashed to her face, drifting over it.

  'We'll see.' He dismissed the subject and got right down to dictation, but each time she looked up he was watching her closely, although the deep, dark voice never faltered. Clearly his mind wasn't entirely on what he was doing. When she came to type it up she was impressed. So he could think of several things at one and the same time? She had the nasty feeling that his brainwaves were invading her office and it kept her glancing continuously at the door. By the end of the day she was wound up like a wire.

  'I'm leaving now, Mr Maclean.' Helen stood for a moment in his doorway, her coat on to prove her point, but he hardly glanced up.

  'Very well, Miss Andrews. Goodnight.'

  His cool politeness was worse than a slap, his acceptance of her prompt departure somehow coldly dismissive, and she felt her face flooding with colour. He had kept her on edge all day and now he was calmly accepting her right to go, but it wasn't the end of the subject. She knew that surely.

  The dark head was once again bent to his papers and when she stood hesitantly watching him he looked up, one dark eyebrow quirked at her, a disturbing gleam at the back of his eyes. She just nodded and went, realisin
g that he had got right under her skin with very few words. She felt hot and flustered, quite shaky actually. It lasted all the way home, her wound-up nerves making her feel almost ill.

  'How did it go?'

  Tina looked as anxious as she felt and Helen made a wry face.

  'Badly, I think. He's pretty awful.' They had dispensed with the usual entry routine and Tansy was watching with great interest.

  'What does he look like?' Tina wanted to know, and Helen was quite astonished how clearly a picture of him sprang into her head. No doubt he could listen from a distance and was transmitting the picture.

  'Handsome, wealthy and hard, cruelly hard,' she added almost defiantly, her lips tightening as she realised just how much he had got under her skin. She still looked shaken and Tina frowned, her hot temper surfacing.

  'You're not to put up with one single thing! You hear me, Helen? Those days are gone.'

  'I know,' Helen agreed warily. 'Come on. You'll be late.'

  'The class is cancelled for tonight,' Tina assured her with a grin. 'I had a phone call.'

  'Thank goodness.' Helen sank into a chair. 'I feel worn out.'

  'Not getting a migraine?' Tina was instantly anxious but Helen shook her head and gratefully took a cup of tea.

  'No. I just got worked up. It's ridiculous really. After all, he didn't do anything but work. He didn't object when I left. It's just that ... Oh, I don't know.'

  She did know really, deep down. She was afraid of Ross MacLean’s hardness. Miles was a blustering bully after she had got away, after the divorce, she had come to see that. If she had stood up to him, not been so cowed, he would never have dared to treat her as he had done. Ross Maclean, though, was naturally hard, not a chink in his armour, and every signal inside her had flashed, every defence mechanism had come to red alert. She had been unconsciously defending herself from the moment she had seen him. How soon he would leave was the thing uppermost in her mind as she went to bed.

  If it hadn't been for the effect he had on her, Helen would have been fascinated by the week that followed. Maclean International was a very powerful company, doing business with almost every country in Western Europe as well as the United States and most of the South American countries. Their products and expertise were greatly in demand and this base in England was very small fry at the side of the American parent company.

  Even so, with the advent of Ross Maclean, a very subtle change came over things. Calls began to come in from all over the world. The balance of power seemed to have tilted across the Atlantic and Helen's workload doubled. In the space of one week she seemed to develop her efficiency to the point of frantic activity, more and more of her everyday work having to be delegated to the typing pool. He noticed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  On Friday Helen found Ross Maclean there, ahead of her as usual, and instead of answering when she offered him a polite and cool 'good morning' he frowned down at her thoughtfully.

  'This can't go on. At this rate, you'll need a skateboard.'

  'I don't quite know ... ?'

  'Stop fencing, Miss Andrews.' His gaze seemed to gain concentration, stabbing at her. 'You and I are on the same wavelength. We both know that this week your work has increased unbearably. It will grow. You need an assistant.'

  Helen just stared at him, her mind racing. An assistant! Where would this person go? Her own office was small. It would take away her bit of privacy, crack her small wall of safety.

  'But-but how? I mean ... another secretary couldn't fit in and my office is so small ...'

  'Why does change frighten you? You guard your little nest, don't you?' His astute assessment of her state of mind gave her a swift pang of uneasiness again, the narrowed eyes like twin points of light, a kind of alarming recognition in them. 'You're a very private person. I even feel like an intruder if I step one foot inside your domain.'

  His ability to pick up her atmosphere didn't really shock her. His mind always seemed to be probing hers. Defence was automatic.

  'I can tackle the work,' Helen stated firmly, more firmly than she felt.

  'Oh, no, you can't. What do you propose? Come in at seven each day? There's a limit to how much of an early bird you can be. I'm afraid the rest of the world starts at nine and finishes at five-thirty.'

  So that was it. A roundabout way of getting rid of her. Oddly enough, it disappointed her. She would have thought he would come straight out with things and not sneak up.

  'You could dismiss me and get a more amenable secretary,' she said hotly, glaring at him. The dark brows rose slowly, his lips turned down in disparaging amusement.

  'Don't be foolish, Miss Andrews. Come for a walk.' The hand that gripped her arm lightly was as cool as his voice but Helen knew better than to pull away. There was a warning that spread from his fingertips and she found herself going to the lift, glancing anxiously at his hard profile as he jabbed the button for the next floor up.

  'There are store-rooms up here, nothing else.'

  Her breathless words merely brought a curt nod and he simply motioned her out as the lift stopped at the very top of the building, opening straight into a huge room that spread over the entire floor.

  Helen had never actually been up here before. If she wanted anything then one of the clerks delivered it to her after a brief call. The whole place was stacked with various types of office equipment: typing paper, continuous paper for the word processors, ribbons, disks, boxes and boxes of equipment that had been stored here for years, some apparently from the firm who had owned the building before them. There were typewriters now hopelessly outdated and she could even see her old chair, one that had been very uncomfortable and had been replaced a year ago.

  'Inefficient use of space.' Ross MacLean’s voice was very deep and quiet in the huge room. 'Good light, though.' He nodded to the big windows in the roof, sloping and more than adequate.

  'You're proposing to turn this into an office?' Some comment seemed to be expected and Helen turned wide blue eyes on him.

  'Offices.' His gaze ran over her for a second, from her eyes to her black hair. His brief inspection stopped at her high tilted breasts and she felt a panicky flare of feeling, her cheeks flushing swiftly. His eyes returned to hers, curiously intent for a second, and then he began to pace about, his hands in his pockets.

  'I came up here last night. I've got the plan more or less worked out in my mind. I'll have somebody in on Monday to look the place over and they can get started. I imagine we'll get three offices out of this, mine, yours and your assistant's. You can advertise for her today and interview as soon as possible, unless there's someone in the building already you care to promote?'

  He had ushered her back into the lift before she came to her senses.

  'I ... You want me to be the one who decides?' 'Naturally.' He leaned against the panelling of the lift and looked at her quizzically. 'This is your assistant, not mine. Her office will be tacked on to yours and, with a bit of luck, I'll hardly see her. She eases your burden, you ease mine. Normal procedure.'

  'But .. .' Helen followed him into his office as they came to their own floor. To say she was surprised was putting it mildly.

  'You don't feel capable of dealing with this, Miss Andrews?'

  'Of course I do!' His suddenly derisive glance annoyed her and she gave him a small, fierce glare that shot sparks.

  'Then stop clucking at my heels and get on with it.' Really! He was impossible. Helen retreated, closing his door firmly, but she had the decided feeling that she had missed something in all this. A mind like that was never straightforward. He really must be up to something.

  'So have you been promoted?' Tina wanted to know that night when Helen disclosed this latest upheaval.

  'No. I'm not sure what's happened. On the surface everything's normal and it's quite true that I'm run off my feet, but I've just got the feeling that things aren't quite what they seem, as if I'm standing on a slippery deck.'

  'Maybe when you've got the new perso
n trained he'll get rid of you?' Tina suggested darkly, and Helen had to admit it had entered her mind.

  'Who will you get?'

  'Probably Jeanette from the typing pool. She's good.

  I get on well enough with her and if she has to be crammed in with me until this new place is ready then at least I can bear it. I'll see her on Monday. I'm for bed.'