by Penny Jordan
‘Padley Court? Surely he isn’t living there?’ her mother interrupted, frowning at her. ‘From what I’ve heard the house is practically derelict. Lord and Lady Padley were only living in a handful of the rooms you know. Every penny they had to spare went on the garden. And when Lady Padley died—’ She broke off as the telephone rang, and Hannah made her escape.
Her room was on the third floor of the vicarage. As children, all of them had had these attic rooms with their sloping ceilings and small windows, and then, as the boys graduated to the larger second-floor rooms, Hannah had found that she enjoyed the privacy of having the entire third floor to herself and so she had retained her childhood bedroom.
Her bedroom had a small window-seat, barely large enough for her now, but still one of her favourite places. From the window she could see for miles, right across to the purple blue line of hills in the distance. The room got the evening sun, mellowing and softening the unevenness of the plastered walls and their faded wallpaper, picking out motes of dust that danced on the air, warming the room with the scent of the old-fashioned Bourbon rose that climbed the wall outside.
As she watched, she saw a fox streak across the field beyond the house and heard the harsh cry of a pair of geese winging their way overhead. There was a wildfowl sanctuary not many miles away, not entirely popular with all the local residents, who claimed that the herons decimated the populations of their fishponds.
She saw her father arrive home and climb stiffly out of his car. Matt came out of the house and clapped a hand on his shoulder, and she stifled a small sigh. Their father was tall, as tall as the boys, but now Matt seemed the taller, their father stooped and stiff. Soon she would have to go down and help her mother with the evening meal, and Matt, watching her, would give her that wicked smile of his. How they had fought as children, as she had demanded equal treatment to her brothers, as she had insisted, backed up by her father, that her chores were theirs.
It had worked both ways, though. In the winter one of the boys’ tasks had been to clear the snow and ice away from the vicarage driveway, and she had had to do her part. Equal treatment all round, but that hadn’t stopped the boys burying her in the snow and pretending she was a snowman; nor her retaliating by making tiny holes in all their hot-water bottles, not discovered until they were filled and in bed. She laughed reluctantly to herself, acknowledging that there had been occasions when she had played shamelessly upon her sex to get her own back on them.
Changing into jeans and a sweatshirt, she went downstairs and into the kitchen, coming to a full stop when she saw that her mother wasn’t alone, and that Malcolm was with her, apparently peeling potatoes.
He gave her a friendly smile and said, ‘I was just telling your mother that when I was a kid this was always my job, and with three big sisters to make sure I stuck at it…’
‘Three sisters…did they bully you as much as my brothers bullied me?’ Hannah asked him feelingly.
He laughed and agreed that they had, and within minutes they were exchanging lurid stories of their childhoods, talking together as though they had known one another for years.
Long before they sat down for dinner she discovered that he was a highly trained electrical engineer who had worked alongside her brother in the research and development side of the mining industry, and over dinner he kept them all entertained with amusing stories of his experiences.
Afterwards, while he and Matt washed up, Hannah made the coffee, and then later, relaxed and seated in front of the sitting-room fire, she allowed herself to be drawn out about her own career and her new job.
‘Silas Jeffreys. That’s really high-flying,’ Matt commented. ‘You’ve done well there, kid. What did you do? Flash those long legs of yours at him?’
He was only teasing her, Hannah knew, controlling her indignant response mock sweetly. ‘No such thing. Is that how you got that job at MacDonalds, before you decided to go it alone, brother dear?’
Malcolm almost choked on his coffee, while to her astonishment Hannah realised that Matt was actually embarrassed.
‘She’s got you there.’ Malcolm grinned at him, and then, turning to Hannah, explained, ‘MacDonalds was a family-owned company, and the owner had an extremely beautiful daughter whom he was training to take over from him… What did you do when you went for your interview, Matt?’ he asked wickedly. ‘Tear open your shirt and—’
‘Cut it out…’ Matt moved uncomfortably in his chair.
And it was left to their father to diplomatically turn the conversation into less explosive channels.
It was late when Hannah eventually went to bed. Malcolm was a good conversationalist… He had worked all over the world, and had a fund of stories to relate, and Hannah hadn’t realised how late it was until she’d started yawning.
Having three extra people to cater for could only add to her mother’s already heavy workload, and she intended to be up early in the morning to help her.
As always when she was at home, she fell asleep almost the moment her head touched the pillow, waking up abruptly just after six o’clock with vivid memories of a dream which had somehow featured Silas Jeffreys, and which had been confusingly set in one of the locations Malcolm had described to them last night. In her dream it had been her task to put right a piece of electrical equipment of unbelievable complexity, and although she had not even known where to start, when Silas had suddenly materialised beside her and offered to do it for her she had refused his help stubbornly, insisting on working on her own until her fingers grew so clumsy that she had pushed the whole thing away from her. He had come and crouched down beside her then, carefully showing her what had to be done, placing his hands over hers as he directed her fingers. She clenched and unclenched them now, disturbed to discover that they were actually tingling, as though that contact had been real.
Not wanting to dwell on the dream, she got up, showering and then getting dressed. Her mother was always up for seven, but for once she could have a small lie-in and a cup of tea, Hannah decided, making her way downstairs, only to find that the kitchen wasn’t empty as she had expected. Malcolm was already standing in front of the boiling kettle.
He apologised when he saw her, explaining that he was used to rising early. ‘I’d thought of walking into the village and getting a paper, but I wasn’t sure what time the shops opened.’
‘The post office will be open,’ Hannah confirmed, nodding as he asked if she wanted tea. He was a nice man…pleasant, intelligent…and she sensed that with very little effort at all she could draw him to her, but instinctively she knew she wouldn’t. She liked him, but nothing more, and it bolstered her badly dented confidence to be confronted with such an eligible and charming man and to know that he represented no threat whatsoever to her career.
That tiny moment of self-doubt in Silas’s office was totally unimportant, an irrational reaction to the strain of attending the interview, an odd kickup in her normal responses, something she could quite confidently forget and put behind her.
The weekend passed very quickly. On Saturday night, at Hannah’s suggestion, the three of them went out for a meal.
On Sunday she attended morning communion. Once they were into their teens her father had never forced his faith on to any of his children, but every now and again Hannah enjoyed the experience of the simple ritual with its cleansing, healing benedictions.
She met Matt and Malcolm on the way back, and agreed to go with them for a drink. They had just reached the village when a car drew up in front of them at the pedestrian crossing. Hannah recognised the Daimler saloon instantly, her startled glance darting from its familiar paintwork to its even more familiar driver.
‘Silas!’ Her heart gave a floundering leap of shocked recognition as she said his name.
He was looking straight at her, and she was oblivious to Matt’s frowning look of query, or the protective weight of Malcolm’s arm around her waist as he prevented her from stepping off the pavement.
There
was a woman seated next to Silas. A woman whose beauty and elegance made Hannah wonder who she was. She moved slightly, placing one hand on Silas’s arm and saying something to him, and then, after another lightning dissecting glance that seemed to linger deliberately on her waist, where Malcolm’s hand rested, Silas looked away and the car moved on.
‘Who was that?’ Matt demanded.
‘My new boss.’
‘Mm. His wife looks expensive.’
‘She isn’t his wife. He isn’t married,’ Hannah told him shortly.
The pub was busy, but despite the pleasant atmosphere and the conversation Hannah found it impossible to recapture her earlier relaxed mood.
She blamed its loss on the unexpected appearance of Silas Jeffreys, bound no doubt for Padley Court. Had he spent the weekend there with her? Hannah could feel a hot flush staining her skin. What business of hers was it where he spent his weekends, or with whom? What was wrong with her, for goodness’ sake? She was pretty sure that the unexpected sight of her present boss with an unknown woman at his side wouldn’t have affected her like this.
Uneasily she wondered if taking this job was a wise thing to do. If she was brutally honest with herself, and she knew she was going to have to be, she found Silas very attractive. Even at the most basic physical level, her body had reacted to him when she didn’t know him, and now the discovery that that powerful physical presence belonged to a man whose intelligence and shrewdness she had long admired was making a mockery of her fiercely held determination to remain immune to the vulnerabilities of her sex.
She couldn’t afford to be attracted to him, she told herself helplessly later in the afternoon, brooding over the slyness of fate. Had it been any other man who affected her like this, she would have been relatively safe. She could simply have cut him out of her life, now, at the start, before… Before what? she asked herself, drawing up her knees and hugging her arms round them as she sat in the shadowy corner of the garden on the lawn. She was supposed to be picking blackberries. She looked down at her basket. It was almost half-full. Grimacing, she unclasped her knees and got up reluctantly. The trouble with such a mechanical task was that it left her with too much time to think, to worry. But what was there to worry about? Surely she didn’t doubt her own ability to control that hitherto dormant, feminine side of her nature which was telling her so plainly that it found Silas attractive? As she wandered restlessly into the field and along the hedge, automatically picking the fruit off the thorny branches, she acknowledged that she wanted the challenge of her new job too much to listen to any voice of caution.
She had just made a major life-enhancing decision…it was only natural that she should react to that by experiencing a certain amount of stress, and it was well-known that stress did odd things to people, made them react in peculiar ways. That was all there was to this unsettling, unfamiliar sensation that prickled across her skin and tightened her muscles whenever she thought about or saw Silas. It was simply a manifestation of stress. Yes, that was definitely it. She was merely suffering from stress. Once she had settled into her new job, everything would be all right.
* * *
SHE LEFT FOR London later that evening, nodding vaguely when Matt said something about possibly staying overnight with her later in the year on his way to a technical conference in Amsterdam, without really paying much attention to what he was saying. She simply said her goodbyes and climbed into her car.
Just over a fortnight later, at eight o’clock on a Monday morning, her stomach alive with the butterflies beating frantic wings inside it, she was stepping inside the offices of the Jeffreys Group, this time not as an interviewee but as a member of its staff.
Her new company car had been delivered to her on Friday evening. Her father’s pleasure at finding himself the owner of her Volvo had made her realise anew how difficult financially things were for her parents. And yet they were happy, enviably so, because they had learned the secret of being content. Would she ever find such contentment? Did she even want to? She dismissed the restless nervous sensation afflicting her, and with outward calmness gave her name to the receptionist.
The girl responded with a warm, natural smile.
‘Of course. Mr Jeffreys said to expect you. If you go upstairs in the lift, his secretary will be waiting for you. She’ll show you where your office is and familiarise you with the layout of the building.’
Silas’s secretary greeted her with a smile as warm as the receptionist’s, which pleased Hannah. It was plain that this elegant, efficient woman harboured no resentment against other successful members of her own sex; not an uncommon occurrence, as Hannah had discovered.
‘Your office is next to Silas’s,’ the older woman told her, escorting her towards it. ‘There’s an interconnecting door, and of course I’ll make sure your secretary has a full copy of his diary appointments, so that you needn’t worry about walking in on him when he’s in a meeting, although I should imagine that, as his assistant, he’ll want you to join him for most of his appointments.
‘This week things aren’t too hectic. He’s booked down Thursday and Friday as his days at Padley, and he did say to mention to you that if you wished you needn’t come back to town on Friday, but to stay on and visit your parents—that was fine by him.’ She gave Hannah a warm smile. ‘I understand your family live near Padley. I envy you. It’s such a beautiful part of the world.’
A little to her own surprise, Hannah found herself unbending enough to say, ‘Yes. My father is the vicar of a relatively small market town, more of a large village, really—’
She broke off as the older woman opened the door into what was Hannah’s office. Not much smaller than Silas’s, it was furnished with similar attention to detail. Her eye was caught by two blue and white patterned jugs standing on the hearth of the room’s fireplace. They were filled with fresh, cottagy flowers, and as she saw Hannah looking at them Margaret Bannerman said easily, ‘Silas asked me to organise them. He’s marvellous about things like that. There’s no sexual discrimination at all within the Jeffreys Group, but neither does he expect us to be token men. All the girls get an extra hour off one day a week so that they can get their hair done. Silas never employs a woman because of the way she looks, but he does expect all his staff to present a smart appearance.’
‘No need to ask if you like working for him,’ Hannah commented, not sure she really approved of such a potentially paternalistic and therefore vaguely Victorian attitude in an employer.
‘Like it?’ Margaret grinned at her. ‘It’s the best job I’ve ever had. Hard work, of course. Silas isn’t exactly a workaholic, but my goodness, he knows how to pack sixty very full seconds into every working minute. It’s his consideration for others, though, that makes him so marvellous to work for. He’s no soft touch, but he’s always ready to listen, and he’s appreciative of the effort everyone puts in. And not just financially…’
Hannah was tempted to point out to her that what she termed ‘consideration’ could perhaps be simply good business strategy. After all, it was well-known that a workforce worked more efficiently and profitably when it was treated well. But she subdued the words. There was no point in antagonising the other woman, and Hannah sensed that any criticism of her boss would be taken as antagonism.
‘Silas should be arriving any minute. He told me to tell you that he’d brief you himself once he gets in. Just give him half an hour to go through the post.’ There was a small office off Hannah’s, and as they were talking the door into it opened and a pretty, dark-haired girl walked in, looking around uncertainly.
‘Ah, Sarah,’ Margaret called out. ‘Come in and I’ll introduce you. Sarah will be your secretary,’ Margaret told her, introducing the dark-haired girl to Hannah, and then with another smile she excused herself and headed back to her own office.
In the next fifteen minutes, Hannah learned that Sarah had been with the company just over six months. She took to the younger girl instantly, liking her friendly, helpf
ul manner and sensing that she was a girl who would work hard.
She also learned that Gordon Giles, who had initially interviewed her, was presently away in the States on business, and for some reason that made her feel rather nervous, although she had no idea what she was feeling nervous about.
No idea, that was, until Sarah had left her to go and get them both some coffee and the communicating door between her own office and Silas’s opened and he walked in, giving her a courteous good morning.
He was wearing a dark suit this morning with an immaculate white shirt and a striped tie. He looked at her shrewdly as she stood tensely beside her desk, and said calmingly, ‘Don’t worry. You’re bound to feel a few tremors of apprehension for a few days. Everyone does when they first take on a new job. I expect Maggie’s already told you that I’d like to run over a few things with you after I’ve checked through the post. Just come through to my office at, say, half-past nine.’
He gave Sarah a friendly smile as she came in carrying the coffee, and after he had gone Hannah tried to steady her pounding heart, telling herself that she was behaving like a fool.
She had dressed carefully this morning in one of her severe businesslike suits and a crisp white shirt. The starched collar was rubbing slightly against her neck, and she looked enviously at Sarah’s pretty silk dress.
Female executives did not wear silk.
It was too soft, too womanly. It conveyed images in direct opposition to those a woman executive wished to convey. Her tailored suit was far more in keeping with the image she liked to project, and yet…and yet… Something almost approaching a faintly regretful sigh built up inside her. It must be the office having this odd effect on her. Yes, that was it, she reflected in relief. It was the office, with its Georgian elegance, its soft colour-washed walls and the richness of the rug on the polished floor. A rug which she was uneasily aware looked far too rich and old to be a mere copy of the original Savonière, as she had at first assumed it must be.
