Secretary Wife

Secretary Wife Page 2

by Rachel Lindsay

  'There's no point doing that till the house is ready.'

  'It will be finished in two months. I'm bringing in a double crew, starting tomorrow.'

  'Even before the house is legally yours?'

  'I've taken bigger chances than that in my life,' he said crisply, and strode through the downstairs rooms, rattling off a list of things that had to be changed.

  Laura's notebook was half full before they finally left the house. As always, the thought of his mar­riage was uppermost in her mind and she wished that Rosemary Carlton were already here. While the girl remained a shadowy figure it was all too easy to resent her. With her usual logic, Laura knew that only if she liked Carl Anderson's fiancée would she be able to come to terms with his mar­riage and continue to work for him. Certainly she could not remain in his employ if she went on eat­ing her heart out every time she thought of his future.

  Blindly she stared through the window, her mind filled with vivid pictures of the house, occupied and teeming with life; of a joyous Rosemary—young and gay, he had called her—and children sliding down the banisters or running across the lawns. This last thought brought an ache to her chest that made it difficult to swallow. Yes, Carl Anderson would have children and would be a devoted father to them, of that she was sure; as he would also be a devoted husband, provided one knew how to manage him. The thought made her sigh. How easy she herself found it to cope with all his moods; his impatience when work was not going as well as he wanted; his toughness with inefficiency; his dislike of protocol and the mischievous things he did to confound those who practised it; to say nothing of the rare but dangerous occasions when he became silent as a grave and she would sense the explosion bubbling within him. When the erup­tion came it was always a quiet one, but this made it all the more devastating. Carl Anderson was like an iceberg, she thought suddenly. Only the cool silver tip was visible; the main part of his character lay hidden from sight, its strength only to be guessed at.

  'I won't be in the office on Monday,' he an­nounced unexpectedly. 'Rosemary is arriving in the morning and I want to spend the day with her.'

  'You have a luncheon with the Board of Direc­tors,' she reminded him, 'and a Board Meeting in the afternoon.'

  'Durban can stand in for me.'

  'You've never missed a meeting before,' she pointed out.

  'I thought you'd be pleased that I intend to take things easier from now on.'

  'I'll believe it when it happens!'

  'It's happening now,' he said. 'I intend taking more time off and to give Durban greater authority. I have no intention of being the sort of husband who leaves the house at eight in the morning and returns at eight at night.'

  Laura said nothing and she was aware of him slowing the car and looking at her. 'I can't make up my mind if you approve or disapprove of what I've said,' he queried.

  'Naturally I approve.' She forced warmth into her voice, though hearing his plans filled her with such jealousy that she knew that all the decisions she had made for her own future were valueless. She would never be able to stay with him once he was married. Her nerves were already stretched to breaking point. How much worse it would be when she knew that each night he would leave the office to return to another woman's arms.

  'I think you're very wise to want more leisure, Mr Anderson.' Her voice was low and trembling, the words tumbling out one upon the other. 'I feel the same way too. It's a pity to spend all one's time in an office. As a matter of fact I've—I've decided I want to travel—to see more of the world.'

  'That's an excellent idea.' He gathered speed and the car moved forward smoothly. 'You have a month's holiday, but there's no reason why we can't make it more. Naturally I'd prefer you to split into two. I don't fancy coping with the office for a six-week stretch!'

  'You managed very well before I came to work for you,' she said calmly.

  'That was years ago.'

  'Only two years, Mr Anderson.'

  'It seems more.' There was surprise in his voice.

  'Only two years,' she repeated, 'and no one is indispensable.'

  He slowed the car again. 'What are you trying to tell me?'

  She did not hesitate, knowing that if she did, she would lose her courage. 'I want to give you my notice. I would like to leave as soon as possible.'

  He did not reply, nor did he look at her again. But Laura knew him too well to suppose that his quietness masked indifference. When this big ath­letic man sat so still and silent it meant his brain was working at full stretch. She wanted to tell him he was wasting his time if he thought he could make her change her mind, but instead she con­tinued to stare through the window, relieved when they finally reached her flat.

  Still he said nothing and her hand was on the door when she wondered if he had guessed her real reason for wanting to leave. The thought was enough to send a hot flush of shame coursing through her body, turning her from the composed young woman she always tried to be into an emo­tionally strung-up girl only a couple of years older than the fiancée whom he regarded as an adorable child to be pampered and cosseted. Bitterness seeped through her all the same, its corrosive quality acting as an abrasive that brushed up her pride and gave her the strength to turn and face him.

  'The only time I've been out of England, Mr Anderson, is for a few weeks' holiday in Spain and France. You have seen the world and you take it for granted, but for me it's a Mecca that I must still visit. It would be foolish to wait until I'm too old.'

  'You could wait another twenty years and you still wouldn't be old!'

  'I don't want to wait twenty years. I want to see life while I'm still young!' She raced on, trying to make herself believe what she was saying, for only then could she convince him. 'You don't know what it's like to sit in an office day after day dealing with the same people, writing the same kind of letters. Your life is varied because each new contract opens up a different situation, but for me it only means the same problems.'

  'I thought you enjoyed your work,' he said.

  'I do. I enjoy it very much. But I want to do something different. I'm sorry to spring it on you like this, but it just sort of came out.'

  'So I see.' His eyebrows lowered, the sleek brown arcs giving a slight shadow to his eyes. 'I owe you an apology, Laura. Because you've always been un­complaining, I assumed you were content to remain with me. That's why I find it hard to envisage the office without you.'

  'No one is indispensable, Mr Anderson.'

  'You are to me,' he said sincerely. 'Knowing you managed things gave me peace of mind when I was away.

  'I'm only your secretary, Mr Anderson. Your busi­ness is run by a highly efficient group of directors—Mr Durban, Mr Rogers, Mr Johnson.'

  'They help me to manage the business,' he agreed, 'but you help to manage me!'

  The compliment was unexpected and her throat constricted. How difficult he was making it for her to maintain her position! Yet because she was so moved by what he said, she became more deter­mined not to change her mind.

  'I won't insult you by offering you more money,' he said.

  'It isn't a question of money.'

  'Then how can I persuade you to change your mind?'

  'You can't. I've given it a great deal of thought and—and I definitely want to leave. Miss Jackson can easily take over from me. She's a bright girl and—'

  'Don't sell me Miss Jackson,' he interrupted. 'I'm sure she can cope. It's just that I'm used to you.'

  Used to you. No words could have more stiffened her resolve to make another life for herself. 'I won't leave you in the lurch,' she said composedly, 'I'll stay until you're married, but I'll leave immedi­ately afterwards.'

  'Very well,' he sighed. 'But if you change your mind in the interim, I hope you won't be too proud to tell me?'

  'I would never be too proud with you, Mr Ander­son,' she lied, and quickly opened the door and ran across the pavement.

  Once her decision was made Laura felt more con­tented. The weeks ahead w
ould be difficult, but knowing they would end with his marriage, she would be better able to cope with them. At least she was limiting the torture instead of facing endless years of living in the background of his life, seeing his happiness but never being able to share it.

  As he had indicated, Carl Anderson did not come into the office on Monday and left her to deal with the upheaval this caused. The Board of Directors were disgruntled to find him absent and Jack Dur­ban made a clumsy attempt to pump her for more information about the future Mrs Anderson.

  'What's she like, Miss Pearson?'

  'I haven't met her yet,' said Laura.

  'Surely you've seen a photograph? And doesn't Mr Anderson talk about her? Rhodesian, isn't she?'

  'Yes.'

  'How old?'

  'I don't know.'

  He smiled. 'You're a very loyal secretary, Miss Pearson. If Mr Anderson ever shows signs of not appreciating you, I hope you'll know where to come.'

  'I'll bear it in mind,' Laura replied evenly, and was thankful when another director approached and she was able to move away.

  She did not attend the luncheon, but was present at the Board Meeting which followed. Though the minutes were officially kept by someone else, Laura always made her own notes of what went on. She had begun this by accident a year ago. Sitting in on a discussion her employer was having with a particu­larly difficult client, she had subsequently given her opinion of what had been said. This had dif­fered from Carl Anderson's own recollection, and though he had been proved right at the time, some months later the client had adopted the policy which Laura had stated he would do.

  'But he definitely didn't say he would do it,' Carl Anderson had expostulated. 'How did you reach the conclusion that he would?'

  'From the way he behaved. He dropped his pen when you mentioned the completion date and he never met your eyes each time he talked about his partner.'

  'The psychology of movement,' came the retort. 'You'd better attend all important meetings, Laura, and write down what you see.'

  Now her pencil momentarily rested in her lap as Jack Durban read out a boring screed on a contract which had already been agreed. Laura wondered with an imp of mischief how her employer would react if she wrote down the remarks that had been made about him and his fiancée that day. He would only be amused by the curiosity displayed and would not see the antagonism that existed side by side with the affection. Like most high-powered, confident men, he did not realise that his super-efficiency and energy was a source of envy.

  It was four o'clock before the meeting ended and she returned to her office. Where was her employer at this moment? Escorting his fiancée around the house he had bought or making love to her in the penthouse suite overlooking Hyde Park, which he had rented for her? Intimate pictures danced be­fore her eyes, making a nonsense of the shorthand she was trying to transcribe. With an exclamation she pulled out the sheet and inserted a fresh one. She must stop thinking like this. Unless she did, she would not be able to continue working for him, and to leave precipitately might make him guess the real reason for her departure.

  In desperation she left the office early and went to visit a married girl friend. They had met at secretarial college, though Sheila had soon left to get married. She now had adorable twins and did not regret giving up her career to take care of them, though she always pretended to envy Laura her well-ordered life and the high salary she could spend on herself. Tonight she listened with delight to Laura's decision to leave her job and travel.

  'About time too,' was her comment. 'Dick and I thought you were stuck in that job for life.'

  'It's a very good job,' Laura protested.

  'Marriage is a better one!'

  'I knew you'd say that,' Laura smiled. 'Next thing you'll be telling me is that I'm an old maid!'

  'You do look a bit prim.' Hands on generous hips, Sheila surveyed her. 'That comes from trying to act Miss Know-All the whole time. You were much gayer before you started working for Won­der Boy Anderson.'

  'I was also much poorer,' Laura pointed out.

  'In money perhaps—not in spirit.'

  'That's why I'm leaving,' Laura said quickly.

  'When is he getting married?' asked Sheila.

  'It depends when the house is ready.'

  'Why can't he live in his flat for the time being?'

  'He wants to wait until they can move into the house. He's surprisingly romantic'

  'He sounds besotted,' Sheila said gustily. 'He's treating that girl as if she's made of glass.'

  'I think she's happy to leave everything to him.'

  'You must tell me what you think of her.'

  'I will,' Laura promised, but knew she would have to monitor her opinions lest they give her away. Even Sheila must not be allowed to guess her secret.

  'Let's stop talking about Mr Anderson's happy future,' Sheila said, leading the way into the living-room, 'and tell me about yours. Where are you going first? America, Europe, Australia?'

  'I don't know. Australia, perhaps. It's a question of where I can get a job.'

  'You'll be able to find work anywhere. Good secre­taries are at a premium. Anyway, I'm sure Mr Anderson will give you a sensational reference and a pretty hefty cheque too. He'll never find anyone as good as you.'

  It was nearly midnight before Laura returned to her flat, which seemed spartan and cheerless after the bustle of the house she had left behind. She slipped off her coat and paused in the centre of the room, a slim girl of medium height, with medium brown hair, medium brown eyes and small, neat features. Nothing to attract one's attention or to excite one's interest, she thought as she saw her reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece. No wonder Carl Anderson regarded her as a piece of office equipment! And not a complicated one at that, though he kept her well oiled with money and made sure her working conditions were conducive to her giving of her best.

  'I'm like an android,' she mused aloud. 'A robot programmed for his needs.' But not for all his needs. The words surfaced to her mind but were not spoken, and with a gasp she ran into her bedroom and began to undress.

  Only when she was seen without clothes did some­thing of her real personality emerge. It was appar­ent in the delicate lines of her body: the small tip-tilted breasts, the narrow waist and softly curv­ing hips, all of which were disguised by the severely tailored blouses and skirts she wore. She donned her nightdress and slipped into bed. It was danger­ous to try and change her image now. If she wanted to do it she must wait until she was miles away from London. Yet could a moth become a butterfly when it had remained a moth for so long?

  'I'm going to try,' she muttered before she fell asleep, 'even if I only succeed in turning into an ancient butterfly!'

  CHAPTER THREE

  CARL ANDERSON brought his fiancée to the office the next morning, giving the impression that he was showing them his dearest and most treasured posses­sion. As indeed he was, Laura thought bleakly, taking in a glimpse of china blue eyes and hair no less fair than his own.

  Rosemary Carlton fitted her name exactly. She was tall and slender, but not so tall that she did not look fragile and not so slender that she did not have curves. Indeed it was hard to fault her, and a second glance decided Laura that here was a creature on whom the gods had lavished all their gifts. No wonder her employer had been bowled over! She spoke in a light, breathless way that increased her air of fragility and made Laura see why Carl Ander­son thought of her as young. Her manner was child­like too, for she had a wide smile and extended both hands in greeting, the slim fingers cool and pink-tipped. She was exquisitely dressed in filmy blue. Not the type of dress in which to visit an office but one which was exactly right for a girl called Rose­mary, with her fly-away silvery hair and the huge diamond that sparkled on her left hand, as bright as the shine in her large blue eyes.

  'Carl bought it for me yesterday,' she said huskily. 'Isn't it gorgeous? And so is the house,' Rosemary continued before Laura could speak. 'Carl took me to see it
yesterday. He said you found it for us.'

  'All I did was contact the agents and—'

  'Don't devalue what you did,' Carl Anderson in­terrupted.

  He looked happier than Laura had ever seen him, and younger too, in a pale grey suit that drew atten­tion to his eyes. The light-coloured material made him look bigger and he dwarfed his fiancée, who had come to stand beside him, nestling against him like a kitten.

  'Don't you think I'm lucky to have found this wonderful man?' Rosemary breathed. 'I still can't believe it.'

  'Don't expect Laura to agree with you,' he said. 'Secretaries and valets know all their employers' weaknesses!'

  'You don't have any, darling,' his fiancée pro­tested. 'You're perfect.'

  'I'll get you to put that in writing,' he replied, and led her into his office.

  Forcing her mind to remain blank, Laura blindly sat down at her desk and was still there when her employer came back.

  'About those interior decorators I asked you to find for me,' he began.

  'I made all the appointments I could.' Laura was glad to be able to concentrate on her notebook. 'Green Sc Pollock will be here at ten, Mrs Madden at eleven and Wallace Brown at twelve. I didn't make any other arrangements until after lunch as I thought you would prefer to have it alone with Miss Carter.'

  'Good thinking,' he smiled. 'I take it these people have already seen the house?'

  'Of course. There would be no point in their coming to discuss it otherwise.'

  'What would I do without you?' he said sincerely.

  'Find someone equally efficient,' she retorted, and heard him laugh before he closed the door behind him.

  The last of the interior decorators left at one o'clock, followed almost at once by Carl Anderson and his fiancée, who gave Laura a luminous yet vague smile as she drifted out. He had described her as being sporty, yet she gave the impression of being more like a hothouse flower. A camellia or orchid, Laura concluded, then amended it to a tea-rose. Yes, a tea-rose was an apt description: slender, scented and delicate. 'And I'm a snapdragon,' she thought bleakly, pushing back her chair and reach­ing for her jacket, more glad than ever that she could start to count her departure in weeks. Six, seven at the most and she would be free to begin her life anew.

 

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