Rapture of the Deep

by Margaret Rome

  'Would you care to join me for lunch?'

  Catriona raised dazed eyes towards the door and saw Sandra teetering on the threshold, her expression enquiring.

  'Lunch?' she echoed with a puzzled frown.

  'Exactly,' Sandra nodded, 'the practice of eating a midday meal that's been indulged in by humans since the dawn of time.'

  Catriona glanced from the sheaf of reports, letters and memos she had typed to two spools of tape re­maining as yet untouched. 'I'd better not,' she murmured. 'But if it wouldn't be too much trouble, perhaps you could fetch me a sandwich and a glass of milk?'

  'Now look here,' the young receptionist advanced farther into the room. 'Just because our boss exer­cises his brain, body and vocal chords constantly for up to fourteen hours a day there's no reason to sup­pose that his employees are expected to follow his example. You look drained,' she stated with the candour of youth, 'you must take a break or you'll burn yourself out and be completely useless tomor­row.'

  'I suppose that makes sense.' Reluctantly, Catriona pushed back her chair and prepared to abandon her typewriter. 'I'll join you for a quick bite,' she glanced at her watch, 'but I mustn't be away any longer than half an hour.' Sandra led the way teetering on high heels along village 'streets' thronged with lunchtime strollers.

  'Mealtimes are staggered,' she chatted pleasantly, guiding Catriona inside a large cafeteria-styled res­taurant, 'consequently, the catering staff is never overstretched and one can always be sure of a vacant table. Yes, there's one!' She stood on tiptoe to peer above the heads of engrossed diners. 'Quick, Catriona, you stake a claim to it while I organise the nosh. I'm having steak and salad—what would you like, the menu's right there behind you?'

  'Salad will do fine,' Catriona nodded, backing towards the vacant table, 'but not steak, I'd prefer an omelette, please, if there is one.'

  Breathless with haste, she successfully secured the table and sank into a chair to gaze with wide, won­dering eyes around the tastefully furnished, spotlessly clean interior with a counter ranged along the full length of one wall behind which chefs wearing tall white hats were busy preparing meals to be dished out to the waiting queue by waitresses dressed in the same crisp, colourful gingham that had been used to make napkins placed upright in a glass in the middle of each table, and curtains looped on to poles by brass rings, draping half the length of plate glass windows.

  Lampshades, evocative of dainty lace-trimmed mobcaps, were hanging level with air vents and bobbing in the draught, creating an impression of a bevy of old ladies bending inquisitive heads over each of the tables.

  'Ham omelette suit you all right?' Sandra dumped a loaded tray on to the table and pushed a large dinner plate wholly covered with a succulent-looking omelette, and an accompanying dish of salad, to­wards her.

  'I couldn't possibly eat all that,' she gasped, 'there must be enough there for four!'

  'Try,' Sandra grinned, passing over rolls and butter. 'The meals are so good here that the only complaint one ever hears is a fear of becoming over­weight. The company does us proud, meals are free and you can eat as much as you like—one glutton of my acquaintance managed to down four 'I-bone steaks at one sitting, but not a comment was made, not so much as an eyebrow raised by the catering manager.'

  Catriona tried a portion of omelette—perfectly cooked, crisp around the edges, runny in the middle and stuffed generously with diced ham—and savoured it slowly. 'Mmm… delicious!' she re­sponded to Sandra's look of enquiry. 'If all the meals are as good as this then I'm certain to enjoy working here.'

  Well satisfied with her reaction, Sandra turned her attention upon the largest steak Catriona had ever seen.

  'Texas size,' Sandra grinned, correctly interpret­ing her expression. 'Everything here is geared to suit our boss and his Yankee contemporaries who like their steaks the way they like their women—attrac­tive to look at, sizzling hot, and very satisfying! How did you get on with Leo, by the way!'

  Sensing that the question was far less casual than it sounded, Catriona prevaricated. 'We hardly had time to exchange conversation—he was late for a board meeting, I believe.'

  Sandra hastened to put her in the picture. 'He can be a bit overpowering at first, but you're sure to fall in love with him eventually, everyone does.'

  With a forkful of food raised halfway to her lips Catriona hesitated, then returned the food to her plate, her appetite suddenly diminished.

  'They do!'

  'Oh, yes,' Sandra nodded, tucking into her steak with evident enjoyment. 'I did myself—still could, in fact, given the slightest hint of encouragement. It took me ages to come to terms with the fact that Leo is right out of my league,' she shrugged, 'and after all, I ask myself, why should he look twice at a tame kitten when his area of the woods is overrun with experienced felines who can give him more of a run for his money? Rumour has it that he has a room reserved permanently in a large hotel on the main­land to which he retreats whenever he feels an urge to return to civilisation and that he seldom goes there alone. Yet if we were to believe every female who's boasted that she's been favoured with an invitation, then all I can say is that our boss must rate high as a super-stud!'

  Striving to be fair, Catriona swallowed her disgust and suggested gently, 'It seems a pity to judge a man simply on hearsay. If, as you say, you're not personally acquainted with any of the girls who've supposedly been his companions on illicit weekends, isn't it just possible that he's unfortunate enough to have become the target of malicious gossip?'

  To Sandra's credit, she did not immediately dis­agree but hesitated, knife and fork poised above her plate, looking thoughtful. But then she shook her head, as if definitely making up her mind.

  'No, if everything that's been said were mere spe­culation the rumours would have died a natural death by this time. Also, there's the fact that with my very own eyes I've seen girls coming out of his trailer-home at a very late—or rather, early hour of the morning. Our Leon is very definitely a rake,' she sighed a trifle enviously, 'but a gentlemanly rake who goes to great lengths to protect a girl's reputation. In a way, I'm glad I settled for Gordon—my boy­friend,' she enlightened in response to Catriona's look of enquiry. 'He's a deep sea diver, based on oil rig Lion, miles from here in the middle of the North Sea.'

  Glad to get away from the subject of the boss she was beginning to dislike more and more with each passing hour, Catriona encouraged sympathetically. 'It must be a rather unsatisfactory courtship, you being here and your boy-friend so far away?'

  For a second Sandra's youthful face clouded, then as if buoyed by renewed hope, immediately bright­ened.

  'In one respect it is, in another it isn't,' she dimpled, then giggled a trifle shyly. 'During the fortnightly intervals while he's away I keep up my spirits by reminding myself that most of his very high earnings, as well as my own, are accumulating into a very nice nest egg which we intend using to set ourselves up in a small business once we're married. We've reckoned it'll take us another year at least to save sufficient capital, but meanwhile,' Catriona was surprised to see her blush, 'during the time he's allowed ashore Gordon devotes all his energies to compensating for his absence. He's loving, attentive, and unlike the majority of divers, perfectly content to remain faithful to one girl. Most of the divers, once they come ashore, can't wait to spend every penny they've earned, few of them have managed to maintain a stable home life, and their penchant for fast cars and even faster women is notorious. The very fact that they've chosen to take up such a dan­gerous form of employment indicates that they're adventurous, courageous, strong-willed characters who are consequently difficult to organise and con­trol. They live and work under constant strain, hence their tendency to let off steam whenever they have the opportunity, yet according to Gordon they make marvellous workmates, dedicated types who, in spite of their reckless behaviour—it's been proved that the most dangerous pieces of apparatus in the hands of a diver are the motor-car and motorcycle—look after one another
to a degree normal workmen couldn't begin to comprehend. For instance, if one diver should go down alone he's liable to break every rule in the book. But if two divers go down together one will not allow the other to break a single rule. Such denizens of the deep are entitled to expect a modi­cum of tolerance from ordinary mortals, don't you agree?' she appealed, looking dreamily besotted.

  Denizen of the deep! Catriona jerked, startled by the effect of a phrase that had immediately called to mind an image of Leon Casson, an ex-diver who fitted the designation as closely as he would fit into a wet suit—an alien to the island, an invader who threatened to disrupt her well organised life, a strange animal struggling with the problem of adjusting his wild spirit to a peaceful environment!

  As if a warning growl had sounded in her ear, she glanced at her watch, then pushed her plate away.

  'I must get back to work, Sandra, there's still reams of typing to do. The meal was delicious, thank you so much for keeping me company.'

  'But you haven't finished it!' Sandra's astonished eyes swept over Catriona's half-empty plate, the untouched roll and small pat of butter. 'Obviously you're a glutton for work, but certainly not for food. Still,' she sighed, then flashed a cheery grin, 'there isn't a secretary working here at base who wouldn't forgo meals for a week if it meant she was to be favoured with the chance of working in close contact with our rugged, very attractive boss. They're all livid, you know.' This remark stopped Catriona in her tracks just as she was about to take her leave.

  'Livid about what?' she asked blankly.

  'About the fact that you've managed to snatch the plum job right from under their noses. Every one of the base secretaries would have applied for the posi­tion as Leo's secretary, but, as he's always previously refused to even consider employing a female, no one bothered. You can imagine the fluttering it caused in the hen coop,' she chuckled, stabbing her fork into a piece of steak, 'when the news broke that a girl had been brought over from the mainland to fill the post they all coveted. It's even been suggested,' she directed a sly peep from beneath lowered lashes, 'that behind Leo's change of heart lurks an ulterior motive. Were you and he close friends before he offered you the job, Catriona?' she urged, obviously agog with curiosity. 'You can trust me with the truth, I promise I won't tell a soul!'

  Catriona stared, appalled. Too angry to excuse Sandra's tactlessness on the grounds of extreme youth, or even to acknowledge that the girl's ques­tion had probably been prompted by others, she blazed,

  'No, we most certainly were not!' Directing a look that made Sandra feel humble as a peasant in the presence of offended royalty, she iced disdainfully, 'The truth which you seem so anxious to establish is this: I took the job as secretary to Leon Casson be­cause I had no choice, but had I met the man first, nothing on earth would have induced me to agree to working with such a moronic, self-opinionated, arro­gantly conceited beast!'

  Not until she whirled away from the table did she become conscious of the concentrated hush that had fallen over the cafeteria. Not so much as a tinkle of cutlery, the chink of glass, the rattle of plates, dis­turbed the breath-held silence of fascinated diners, whose attention was trained upon the girl whose ringing outburst had coincided with the appearance of the man standing framed in the doorway behind her. Warned by some instinct, she spun on her heel to face the bleak, inscrutable, yet somehow menacing features of Leon Casson.

  Stunned, as much by her own uncharacteristic loss of control as by his unexpected presence, she froze, prepared to be castigated, and almost wished she had been when, instead of the public rebuke their audience was obviously expecting, he stepped aside to permit her exit with an audible, polite murmur.

  'Ah, Miss Dunross, I thought I might find you here. Did you enjoy your lunch?'

  She managed a nod, then swept past him with her head held high, feeling completely out-gunned, out-manoeuvred—chastised as an ill-mannered child.

  Amber-flecked eyes seemed to be boring into her back all the way to the office, so she was not altogether unprepared for the snarl that erupted the moment she stepped inside and heard the door slammed shut when he stalked in behind her.

  'What the devil do you mean by airing your opin­ion of my character before half of my employees?' he blasted. 'You may type faster than most men, Miss Dunross, might even excel in efficiency, but there are two assets valuable in a private secretary that you appear to be lacking discretion, and a sense of loyalty!'

  Knowing that his criticism was justified, she hung her head and without turning round apologised stiffly,

  'I'm sorry, I had no right to say what I did, the only excuse I can offer is that I was provoked.'

  He pounced, sending a shudder of fright through her slender frame. 'I'm in no mood to listen to trivial excuses. And don't stand there like a snivelling schoolgirl, look at me when I'm speaking to you!'

  His shot touched flame to her powder-keg pride, spinning her round with head held erect, flashing sparks of antagonism from eyes green as the seas washing the shores of her island home. Her lips parted to spill words of resentment boiling lava-hot inside of her, then froze into a gape when he beat her to it with a spate of cold indictment.

  'I've just finished interviewing the driver of the car in which you travelled to work this morning, and while doing so I managed to elicit the informa­tion that it was you and not he who was behind the wheel when the car was damaged. I also learned that you were fully aware that it's strictly forbidden for anyone not officially appointed to take charge of a company car. Rules, however trivial they may sometimes appear, are drawn up for a specific pur­pose. The rule in question is no exception, and because it was ignored the company is now faced with the expense of repairing the car—an obligation which normally would have been met by our insu­rance company. As I can see no reason why I should overlook deliberate insubordination, and bearing in mind, Miss Dunross, your request to be treated with the same degree of privilege as any male employee, I've decided that both culprits are equally to blame and have consequently instructed that a proportion­ate amount of money is to be deducted from each of your salaries until the debt has been discharged!'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  'PUT those away this minute!' Aunt Hanna directed sharply when Catriona, dressed in faded denims and an ancient checked blouse salvaged from the bottom of a pile of jumble, appeared in the living-room clutching a handful of paintbrushes. 'You've been working hard as any slave these past weeks, arriving home at ungodly hours of the night too tired to enjoy your dinner, fit only to drop into bed exhausted! I insist that you relax and try to unwind now that you've finally been allowed a day off. That boss of' yours must be an absolute monster!' she burst out indignantly, enraged by the sight of a pale, peaked face and eyes green as troubled seas made to look enormous by bruising shadows of fatigue.

  'He's not solely to blame.' In spite of her antagon­ism, her escalating dislike of the man who for the past three weeks had seemed to go out of his way to make her life unbearable, Catriona strove to be fair. 'Because of a continuing glut of oil and falling prices, a directive was issued from head office stating that a second look had to be taken at the economics of running both the land base and offshore rigs. Cutting costs turned out to be a major problem. Small econ­omies suggested by heads of departments helped to some extent, but as one man pointed out, the rate of inflation is such that small savings are swallowed up before any benefits can accrue. After a series of discussions, it was finally agreed that any major im­provements would have to be gained from trimming the enormous outlay expended upon the oil rigs themselves, consequently,' she sighed, her brain still reeling from the effect of having concentrated for hours upon the avalanche of figures, facts and statis­tics that had cascaded on to her desk, 'a schedule of twelve-hour day, working a seven-day week, became unavoidable.'

  'Humph!' her aunt snorted, 'and I suppose now that you've both been driven into the ground with exhaustion, your boss has relented by deciding—too late, in my opinion—that you deser
ve a break?'

  'Exhaustion,' Catriona echoed hollowly, 'is a word long since deleted from his vocabulary. The man is a phenomenon, Aunt, a human powerhouse who seems to delight in running shock waves down the spines of every one of his employees.'

  'But he has allowed you this weekend off,' her aunt insisted, unable to suppress a grudging admiration for the captain of industry.

  Catriona shook her head. 'I'm afraid he didn't,' she confessed, looking momentarily hunted. 'As I felt on the verge of collapse, I sneaked out of the office last night while his attention was diverted and before he had a chance to mention working over the week­end. I suppose, if the truth were known, I'm actually playing hookey.'

  'And about time, too,' the old lady defended warmly. 'Hard work is not a curse, but drudgery certainly is! And what about that young man of yours, he's bound to be feeling neglected?'

  'Young man?' Catriona queried absently, her thought, still confined within the office that lately had taken on the appearance of a prison cell. 'Oh, my young man!' With a guilty blush she jerked back to earth. 'No, he hasn't complained, fortunately, he's been kept as frantically busy as I have.'

  'Then when do I get to meet him?' her aunt per­sisted doggedly, then stirred panic in Catriona's breast by sniffing with more than a hint of acidity, 'If I hear any more excuses for his absence I shall be tempted to think that he's non-existent. It's not natural,' she snorted, 'for a man to put up with long separations from the girl he loves, especially when they're both confined within the same small island.'