Dangerous Male

by Marjorie Lewty

  'Of course.' Gemma looked demurely down at the table. 'Shall I take notes—I've got a notepad in my handbag.'

  'No,' he barked. Then, with a glance at the crowded tables around, he repeated more quietly, 'No, there's no need. This is a general briefing.'

  Gemma nodded meekly and was silent.

  He finished his pie and pushed the plate aside. 'Firstly,' he said, 'you may be wondering about my previous connection with the business?'

  Gemma nodded. 'Yes, I couldn't understand why Beth never mentioned you all these years, and why I never saw you when I came to the office.'

  'That's easily explained—I hadn't been to the office for many years until my father died. We needn't go into the family history, but the fact is that my parents were divorced when I was very young. My mother remarried and I grew up with her and my stepfather. I went into my stepfather's business, which was electronics, and when he retired a few years ago I took over the management of his firm. We lived outside London and I used to come up to visit my father quite frequently, but I never took any part in his business here.' He smiled rather bleakly. 'He didn't think much of modern technology and I'm sure he believed that the electronics industry was the curse of our age. He liked everything old and traditional, which is why the office here is quite a time-capsule. He wouldn't have anything altered.'

  Gemma said slowly, 'I see now why he got on so well with Beth. She loves old things too. Sometimes Ted used to give her a few sheets of beautiful thick handmade paper that had got damaged and was unfit for sale, and she would write on them in script and paint exquisite decorations—you know, like they used to do in the old monasteries. But—but surely you're not going to change everything, are you? I mean, Durrants has a splendid reputation for the very best paper? Beth has always said people come from all over the country to get some particular paper they want.'

  He leaned back, watching her under lowered eyelids. 'I don't quite see myself as a monk.' His dark lashes flickered so that she couldn't tell if he were smiling or not. 'But I've decided to carry on with the paper business here—for a time at least— rather than sell it, and I can't possibly work in an office that comes straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. On the other hand, I agree that it would be unwise to make any major alterations to the shop, or to the worthy Mrs Brown's department downstairs. It would be quite possible to computerise there, but Mrs Brown would never accept it, and I quite understand that. But for my own office work I intend to have the kind of technology I'm used to. That's why your sister wouldn't do. She would never have adapted to what I have in mind—as I think you'll agree, if you're honest. It will be a long, long way from a monastery.'

  He was definitely smiling now. Gemma's breath caught in her throat as she met the full impact of that smile. Heavens, but the man was dynamite! No wonder he had a trail of girls languishing for him, and she pitied them.

  She felt her cheeks begin to flush and put her napkin to her mouth quickly. 'So that's why you took me on, was it? Because I didn't come straight out of a Dickens novel?' She scraped the last bits of the quiche together industriously.

  'That was one of the reasons.' She could feel his eyes still fixed on her, although she was concentrating on her plate. There was quite a silence, then he added, in a brisker tone, 'You strike me as a girl who's quite at home in the modern age, and anyway I prefer to have a secretary that I can train in my own ways from scratch, rather than have to undo all the bad habits that an experienced girl would probably have picked up.'

  Gemma lifted her eyes to meet his then. It took quite an effort. 'One of the reasons? Am I to be allowed to know the others?'

  His lips twisted sardonically. 'Bright child, aren't you?' He looked at her empty plate and asked, 'Would you like anything in the pudding line? Gateau? Ice cream?'

  She was evidently not going to be told the other reasons, whatever they were. 'I'd love an ice cream.' She might as well enjoy all the perks of the job while she had the chance. She probably wouldn't have it long.

  'And coffee?'

  'Thank you. White.'

  For the rest of the meal the talk was entirely of business. Gemma tried to concentrate as Harn explained the contracts that were in the offing; the ones that were tied up and due to be executed; and itemised what she might expect to receive in the way of correspondence. 'Yes,' she said. 'Yes, I understand,' and she nodded at intervals. But she found herself watching his face instead of listening carefully to what he was saying. The way his dark lashes curved upwards at the corners of his eyes fascinated her. She wondered idly what he would be like if this were a social occasion instead of a working lunch, if it were the beginning of one of his numerous affairs, and she heard his voice again whispering, 'Love me? I adore you.'

  She pulled herself together with a jerk as she heard him saying, 'That puts you in the picture for next few days, while I'm away. I don't expect miracles, but do your best. And I'll be interested to hear how you get on with the word-processor. Now, have you finished? Come along, then, let's get back.'

  Gemma picked up her handbag obediently and followed him out of the hotel.

  Beth was hovering in the hall of their neat little semi on the outskirts on the small town when Gemma opened the front door at six o'clock that evening. She took Gemma's bag and jacket and led her into the living room, almost as if she were an invalid. 'Well,' she enquired anxiously, 'how did it go?' She was obviously expecting the worst. Gemma slumped into an armchair. 'Not bad. Not at all bad, really.' She had been thinking hard all the way home, and she had worked out just how much she could tell Beth. 'I found the new typewriter a bit of a mystery at first, but in the end I managed to get the hang of it, more or less. There wasn't a great deal to do, fortunately, just a few letters, so I was able to spend the rest of the time studying the manual and practising. Mr Durrant is arranging for someone to come from London to train me on the word-processor.' She pulled a face. 'I expect the crunch will come then.'

  Beth's soft brown eyes regarded her with relief and admiration. 'You're a wonder, Gem! I can't thank you enough for stepping into the breach. Come and eat, I've got tea all ready.' She led the way into the kitchen. 'I'm doing scrambled eggs, will that be enough for you? Did you go to the Magpie's Nest for lunch as usual?' The two girls usually patronized a cafe in the town that put on a good cooked lunch at a moderate price, which saved the trouble of cooking when they got home in the evening.

  'Well—no. I mean, yes, scrambled eggs will do beautifully. But no, I didn't go to the Magpie's Nest.' Gemma laughed a little selfconsciously. 'As a matter of fact I was taken out to lunch by the boss. To the buffet at the Dennington, believe it or not!'

  'No!' Beth turned from the cooker, wooden spoon raised, mouth falling open, and Gemma went on hastily.

  'It's O.K., Sis, nothing sinister afoot! He only wanted to brief me on the running of the office, and he was too darned busy to take time off during office hours to do it. I had a gorgeous mushroom quiche,' she added, rolling her eyes.

  'Well!' Beth exclaimed, and that seemed all she was capable of saying. She finished the scrambled eggs, spooned them on to toast and carried the plates to the table. Then she looked across at Gemma and smiled crookedly. 'Sorry, Gemma love, I didn't mean to play the heavy elder sister. It's just that I know that man Durrant. He's a womaniser, no doubt about that. In the short time I was working with him there've been at least three different girls ringing him up, calling at the office for him in the evening. You don't tell me he hasn't encouraged them,' she added, with a disapproving shrug.

  Gemma thought of poor Julia. He certainly hadn't encouraged her—or maybe he had, at the beginning. She remembered that letter: 'Darling girl—love me? I adore you.' Was that for Julia, or had he got another girl-friend by the time he wrote that? Most probably he had, she decided, and was conscious of a small uneasy disturbance inside herself that she couldn't account for. It didn't concern her, of course, how many girl-friends the man had. Unless he expected her to be constantly involving herself in sh
aking them off when he got tired of them. He really was a callous brute, Gemma told herself—heartless, utterly self-centred, the type of man she had always disliked and avoided.

  She smiled at Beth now. 'Don't let's talk about him,' she said. 'It's impossible to like the man, but I can put up with him for a while, if it suits me. Now, let's talk about you. What have you been doing with yourself today, and are you feeling better?'

  'Thanks to you—much better. Although I've been a bit worried about letting you take my job on. I feel guilty, I shouldn't have let you do it, I should have gone back today and worked out my month's notice. And His Nibs would have to have had to put up with his letters typed on the old Remington.'

  Gemma chuckled as she applied herself energetically to the scrambled eggs. 'Don't worry about me, Sis, I'm sure I can cope. And it's probably good for me to be thrown in at the deep end. It's a challenge.'

  Beth sighed and shook her head. 'Just don't let him push you around too much, that's all. He'll try it on, you know.'

  'I won't,' Gemma told her firmly. But in her mind she saw vividly a picture of a pair of thickly-lashed grey eyes regarding her in a curiously intent way that made her feel weak inside, and she added to herself, 'I hope I won't.'

  The next day was Friday. Gemma called in at the secretarial college early, on her way to the office, and explained the position. Her tutor was impressed and offered her congratulations that Gemma had got herself such a good job, even if only temporary.

  'I'll keep you on the register for six months,' she said. 'Then, if you want to take the exams you could take them at Christmas, probably. Anyway, keep in touch and let me know how you get on and if you need any advice.'

  Gemma made her way to the office of Durrants (Fine Paper) Ltd feeling that there was any amount of advice she needed, but perhaps not quite the kind that Miss Benson had in mind.

  Again, Harn was in the office before her, sitting at his desk. Gemma had spent a good deal of the time since yesterday thinking about him, and what it would be like to work for him, to be in contact with him day after day. And now she saw him again this morning the reality was stunning. He really was fabulously attractive, she had to admit, her quick glance taking in the dark, well-groomed hair, the lean cheeks, and those thick, sweeping lashes that for the moment hid his eyes as his head bent over his desk.

  He looked up and she met the full impact of his eyes, the steely grey eyes with the darker rims round the iris, that she found so unnerving.

  'Good morning, Mr Durrant.' She turned away quickly and hung up her light jacket on the old-fashioned coat-stand in the corner. 'Sorry I'm a little late. I had to let them know at the college that I shouldn't be coming in again for the present.'

  He nodded briefly. 'O.K. Let's get on, then.'

  He gave her a wad of scribbled notes to type. 'See what you do with those. No need to set them out elaborately. When you've got them typed let me know and I'll mark them for you to set out finally in the proper order. I need them to take with me to London.'

  Gemma busied herself with the task and had it finished in under an hour. She drew the last page out of the machine with a sigh of relief and looked up to see Harn Durrant regarding her from the other end of the office.

  'Finished?'

  She nodded and got to her feet, but before she could take the notes to him he was walking across to her desk. The side window looked over the yard where the staff cars were parked and he glanced down through it as he passed. She heard his quick intake of breath, and the next moment he bent his head over the sheets of paper she had just typed.

  'Good,' he said. 'You're a clever girl, Gemma.' His voice sounded odd.

  Quick footsteps could be heard running up the wooden stairs outside the office. Harn moved closer to Gemma. 'And a pretty one too,' he added softly.

  What happened next was so unexpected it took her breath away completely. She felt his arm slip round her waist and his mouth come down to cover hers in a kiss so hard that she was unable to move her head away. He drew her close and held her in a steely grip, pressed tightly against the long, hard length of him. Gemma struggled to move one leg, which was all that was free, for his arms were wrapped around her arms, pinning them to her sides. But it was a feeble gesture, and useless, for his own leg immediately wound itself round hers, anchoring it even more securely. She was suffocating, drowning, her head buzzing.

  Then, from behind them, came the sound of the office door bursting open. After a long moment Harn took his mouth away from Gemma's, but still his arms held her close. Weakly she twisted her head round, to see a girl in a green dress standing in the doorway. Julia!

  The girl stood there, staring at the scene before her, her face ashen, under the white-gold hair, patches of crimson on each cheek. Her eyes were fixed and wide, as if in shock, and her mouth moved convulsively.

  It was like a silent tableau, the three of them standing motionless. The girl spoke first. 'So that's it!' she spat out. 'And you hadn't the guts to tell me you had another girl!' Her lips drew together, her eyes narrowed and her hand went to her throat as if it hurt her. 'You're a bastard, Harn Durrant—an utter bastard!'

  She stood for another second or two, but when Harn still didn't move or speak she let out a small sound like a wounded animal and stumbled from the office and down the stairs.

  Harn released Gemma immediately and went over and closed the door. Then he turned with a wry shrug and seemed about to say something, but Gemma spoke first. 'That's my opinion of you too,' she burst out, and put a hand to her burning cheeks. 'You did that deliberately, of course. You just used me. I think you're absolutely disgusting!'

  He walked back to her slowly. 'Do you, Gemma?' he said quietly. 'Do you really? That's a pity, because I was thinking that you are quite delightful. I must admit, though, that it wasn't much of a kiss. I can do better than that. Let me show you.'

  His arm went round her waist again, drawing her close, and he was smiling into her eyes in a way that had a stupefying effect on her. Her head reeled. Where had she read that the great jungle beasts hypnotised their prey before they struck the fatal blow? 'N-no,' she whispered as his head came nearer. She fixed her eyes on his mouth, on his lips. Never before had she felt this weakness, this hunger. If his mouth didn't touch hers she would die.

  'Yes,' he whispered in that low sexy voice she had heard on the tape. Nearer and nearer his lips approached hers. She closed her eyes and let out a little moan as she felt their touch, gentle, probing, his mouth brushing against hers slowly and deliberately. Gemma had been kissed before—of course she had—boys' kisses, clumsy, fumbling, shy—but this man was an expert. He knew the way to arouse a woman. He was taking a mean, despicable advantage of her. Even while somewhere at the back of her mind she acknowledged all this, still her body responded; her lips parted to his kiss, her arms went up round his neck, pressing his head down to hers. It was as natural as breathing. She hadn't known—oh, she hadn't known, she thought dizzily, that her body could strain and ache like this.

  She wanted it to go on for ever, and when he finally put her away from him very gently she felt cold and lost.

  'There,' he said. 'How was that?'

  She turned her head away, pressing her knuckles childishly against her mouth, fighting back tears.

  'Gemma?' He came close again.

  'Go away,' she blurted, but he took her shoulders and turned her round to face him.

  'Gemma, you're crying! My infant, it was only a kiss. It meant nothing. Don't upset yourself, for goodness' sake.'

  'I'm not upset,' she sniffed. 'I just think you're beastly, that's all. Like I said, you used me to show that Julia girl that you're through with her and I think it was a horrible, mean thing to do!'

  Harn wrinkled his brow as if this was a new and strange thought to him. 'Was it? It seemed to me the obvious thing at that moment, if we didn't want to witness another melodramatic scene.' He chuckled. 'It worked, anyway, you can't deny that.'

  Gemma blew her nose. 'Don'
t you ever think about anyone but yourself?' she said coldly.

  He shrugged. 'That's a hard way of putting it, but—no, when I come to consider it, I don't suppose I do. But don't let's start arguing about that. Now, forget what's just happened, there's a good girl. I shouldn't think Julia will give us any more trouble.' He walked over to the desk and picked up the notes she had been typing. 'Now, to work, where were we? Oh yes, I was going to put these notes in order, wasn't I?'

  Gemma drew a deep breath. Perhaps she was getting worked up about nothing. As he said, it was only a kiss—the way it had happened it was a sort of joke to him.

  But at the back of her mind there was a nagging little thought beginning to take shape—that to her it hadn't been a joke at all. It had been the beginning of something new and rather frightening.

  Harn was leaving at midday for London, and the remainder of the morning passed in a flurry of telephone calls and last-minute instructions. He was travelling by train, and Gemma had already ordered a taxi to take him to the station. When Mrs Brown rang up to say that it had arrived Gemma sighed with relief. Her initiation into what it meant to be a secretary to a jet-age, go-getting chief was proving somewhat exhausting.

  'Your taxi's here, Mr Durrant,' she called through to his cloakroom along the passage.

  He came out carrying his hand-baggage, his eyes shining like polished flint. He was off on a trip and he was going to enjoy every minute of it. He might have been going to meet a lover, Gemma thought. Perhaps he was, followed the second thought, and she felt again that twinge she had felt before; not jealousy, of course, that would have been quite absurd. She couldn't put a name to it.

  'O.K. then, I'm off. You've got all the gen? Right. Do your best, Gemma. Be good.' Surprisingly, he bent and kissed the top of her head before he turned and clattered down the wooden stairs. She heard his voice in the shop, then the slam of the taxi door, and when she turned and walked slowly back into the office it seemed curiously empty.