At the Boss's Command

by Darcy Maguire

  She was aware of everything he said, everywhere he moved. She noticed the way he rested a hand on Ben’s shoulder as they stepped out of the capsule, exactly as she might have done herself. Ben normally would have shrugged someone he didn’t know well off. But he’d looked up and smiled. Miles couldn’t know the incredible compliment he’d been paid. But she knew.

  She thought about that as the four of them walked towards the pier and watched the boat dock that was to take them on their river cruise. She felt Miles inadvertently brush against her and glanced up at him. He smiled and there was nothing she could do but smile back. She felt as if she was in freefall.

  Jemima knew she only took in a fraction of the sights. Somewhere amongst all her memories of the day was Miles’s voice pointing out the famous landmarks as they passed and her boys’ excited questions.

  ‘That’s the Houses of Parliament.’

  ‘Why does it have green striped blinds and red striped blinds?’ Ben wanted to know. ‘Is it because they ran out of material?’

  Sam yawned and sat down next to Miles. Without thinking, Miles stretched out his arm and tucked the young boy in close. ‘Tired?’

  ‘I’m never tired.’

  Jemima watched her son instinctively curve into Miles. How had he managed to get them to trust him like that? In the space of one afternoon he’d absorbed himself into her family, made them trust him. Made her trust him.

  Slowly Sam’s eyes closed and Miles looked across at her. ‘He’s tired.’

  Jemima nodded. ‘We’d better start for home. It’ll be quite late by the time we get back.’

  ‘The tube’s not far from here.’

  This incredible day was over.

  As they approached the pier, Jemima reached down and picked up her backpack, still full of the uneaten sandwiches. Miles took it off her. ‘I’ll walk with you to the tube.’

  Jemima said nothing. She didn’t quite trust her voice and wasn’t sure what she’d say anyway. Her mind was one large exclamation mark. She needed time to think and to consider what was happening.

  She couldn’t quite believe…

  Why would Miles Kingsley…?

  ‘Ben—’ she called her son, who was staring up at the London Eye ‘—keep with us.’

  ‘Sam’s got his energy back,’ Miles observed seconds later, a smile in his voice.

  Away from the gentle motion of the boat, Sam seemed to be back to a full quota of energy. ‘Yes.’

  The two boys ran slightly ahead, stopping every now and again to point something out or, rather less pleasantly, pick something up off the pavement. By the time they reached the tube station, Ben was fifty-two pence better off and Sam thirty-one pence from all the loose change they’d collected from the ground.

  Jemima stopped. ‘Thank you,’ she began awkwardly. ‘For today. It was…’

  Miles stopped her with a gentle touch on her mouth. ‘You’re welcome.’ His smile twisted and Miles turned to look at Ben. ‘Happy birthday. Thank you for letting me share your day with you.’

  Ben came closer, hesitant suddenly. ‘Will you really take me sailing?’

  ‘If your mum is happy with that,’ Miles said, with a glance up at her. ‘We’ll arrange something.’

  His eyes were the blue of the darkest midnight sky and, Jemima thought, if this one moment was all there was it would be enough. Almost. And with that thought came the realisation that it was too late to be cautious. She already loved him. She loved him—and if she continued the way she was, she was about to get very hurt.

  Miles put the phone down with mixed feelings. Of course it was great news that Alistair’s dad was doing so well and that his doctors were confident they’d successfully removed the tumour. Alistair had sounded buoyant, a complete contrast to how he’d sounded a week ago.

  It was great, too, that Rachel would be flying back to the UK immediately. Excellent. He frowned and walked over to look down on the street below. With a mere nine weeks to go before the wedding it was just as well. He and Jemima had performed miracles, but he would be pleased to hand the organisation of it back to the bride herself.

  He didn’t like weddings. Had never liked them. Miles pulled a tired hand across the back of his neck. So why did he feel this sense of disappointment?

  It didn’t take much introspection before he knew the answer to that. With Rachel back holding the reins, he’d no longer have any excuse to persuade Jemima out to lunch. Damn. If the woman wasn’t interested, she wasn’t interested. What was the matter with him?

  He knew the answer to that too. In the space of a month Jemima had altered everything. He wasn’t quite sure how; he just knew that she had. And he was fairly certain it wasn’t that she wasn’t interested, it was more she was running scared.

  Miles walked across to the connecting door and looked across at Jemima’s empty desk, then at the clock. She’d taken a late lunch, had slipped out while he’d been out of the office himself. By the time she returned he’d be out at meetings. All, he was sure, quite deliberate.

  He turned back to sit at his desk, his fingers idly playing with the paper-clips. Jemima wanted the promise of ‘for ever’—and he couldn’t say that. He didn’t see how anyone could. He made a rapid calculation. Suppose he lived until he was eighty. Quite possibly longer, given modern health care. That meant a conservative estimate of forty-four years. Fortyfour years with one person. It wasn’t possible.

  He wasn’t prepared to make Jemima promises he knew he couldn’t keep, but neither was he contemplating something temporary either. Jemima could set the pace. He had no problem with that—or, at least, not much.

  Miles stood up and picked up his briefcase. What he was offering was a completely open-ended relationship. They could share their lives as long as it made them happy. He frowned. But Jemima had two boys in tow and how that fitted in with his unwillingness to risk becoming important in a child’s life he wasn’t quite sure. The emotional pull of his own childhood memories made him uncomfortable. But then, even if his relationship with Jemima finished, it didn’t mean he need drop all contact with her children. He would be responsible… Miles opened the connecting door and was startled to see Jemima. It was as though every time he saw her he was a little stunned by his reaction to her.

  She turned. ‘I thought you’d be gone. You’ll be late for your meeting.’

  Her hand moved to tug at a copper curl, then coiled it round her forefinger. Miles felt a smile tug at his mouth as he recognised the outward sign that she wasn’t comfortable around him. There was some satisfaction in that.

  ‘Alistair phoned.’

  ‘I—I know. I mean I’ve spoken to Rachel and she told me about Alistair’s dad. She rang while I was at lunch.’ Jemima shut the door of the cupboard and went to sit at her desk. ‘It’s good news, isn’t it?’ she said brightly. A little too brightly, perhaps?

  Miles nodded, watching her. ‘Sounds like it. Although I doubt he’ll make it over here for his son’s wedding. I doubt they’d let him fly even if he felt up to it.’

  ‘No.’

  Miles shifted the grip of his briefcase. ‘Did Rachel say what time she’s expecting to get back to the UK?’

  ‘I don’t think she knows yet. She plans to get the first available flight.’

  Which meant tomorrow was still an opportunity for him. Ben and Sam were with Russell. It was Ben’s birthday, so Jemima wouldn’t want to be alone. ‘Shall we drive down to Manningtree Castle tomorrow?’ he asked as casually as he could. ‘Take the last opportunity to check everything we’ve arranged is going to work in that setting. Besides, I’ve still not seen it and I’m curious.’

  Jemima bent down to pull a file out of the bottom drawer of her desk. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve said I’ll drive over to Rachel’s as soon as the boys have left. She’s desperate to know what we’ve done.’

  ‘Right.’ Miles smiled, if not easily, at least with the appearance of it. Some sixth sense told him he had to take the pressure off. Take it slowly. Inch by
inch… ‘It’s a pity because we could have stopped off for a pub lunch somewhere, but I’m glad you’re not planning on spending the day alone.’

  She looked up and bit her lip.

  He might be imagining it, but Miles wondered whether part of her was already regretting turning him down. He certainly hoped so. ‘Wish Ben a happy birthday for me.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I will.’

  Miles opened the door to leave. ‘Have a good weekend.’

  ‘You, too.’

  He closed the door softly behind him. Miles smiled. Next weekend would be different. He’d take Ben sailing, perhaps invite Jemima and Sam to join them at the club later. There were possibilities.

  Ben was good, Miles thought, watching the boy duck down without being warned as the boom swung across after a jibe. He enjoyed his company. Genuinely. He enjoyed teaching someone to sail who was so receptive.

  And he liked knowing Ben’s mother was on the bank. Miles looked into the distance and saw Jemima sitting on a bench watching them. Her hand was raised to shade her eyes from the sun.

  ‘Perhaps it’s time we headed back,’ he suggested to Ben.

  ‘Do we have to?’

  ‘We can come again—’ Miles smiled and knew he meant it ‘—but I’m getting hungry and we’ve got to pack the boat away and have a shower before we can have our picnic.’

  ‘Mum’s made tuna rolls.’ Ben shifted on the seat. ‘And we’ve got lemon drizzle cake.’

  It sounded perfect. Bizarrely. It was beginning to feel like a privilege to join their tightly knit circle. Who was he kidding? It was a privilege. A chance to experience the kind of family life he’d wanted as a child.

  Miles turned the boat into the wind and zigzagged his way back to the bank. Jemima was on her feet immediately, her hand holding on to Sam’s and one arm lightly resting on his shoulder as they waited.

  ‘Mum,’ Ben called out, ‘I did better than last time. Did you see us nearly go over?’

  The summer breeze caught at her curls and Jemima reached up to push them away. ‘I saw.’ Then she looked at Miles and smiled, intimate and warm, and he felt as if he was going over himself.

  He cared about her. His smile twisted. That was rather a revolutionary concept for him. He wasn’t sure he had ever cared about anyone before. At least not so it was uncomfortable for him. But he cared about Jemima. And he cared about the people she loved because she loved them.

  ‘Can Sam help sponge down the insides?’ Ben wanted to know.

  Jemima shook her head. ‘I want Sam to help me set the picnic out.’ She smiled again at Miles. ‘We’ll get everything out of the car and meet you at the tables. Over there.’ She pointed towards the cluster of picnic tables on the other side of the lake. ‘Is that okay?’

  It was more than okay, Miles thought. It was great. He tried hard not to watch Jemima walk away. He didn’t want Ben to notice how much he enjoyed seeing the way the filmy fabric of her summer dress blew about her legs.

  ‘I’ve taken the bungs out,’ Ben said, bringing him back to earth with a vengeance.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Can we come sailing next Sunday?’

  Miles shook his head. ‘You’re with your dad, but the weekend after that—if your mum is okay with it.’

  By all that was reasonable the prospect of taking a nine-year-old sailing every other weekend should have had him hurrying in the opposite direction. Miles smiled, knowing he wouldn’t change these Sundays for anything.

  ‘Let’s hurry up and get our showers. I’m hungry.’

  ‘Mum won’t let Sam eat all the crisps,’ Ben observed. ‘We need to put everything away properly.’

  Miles laughed. Together they pulled the boat into position and put the sails into the sail bag. Then, when it was neatly covered, they walked towards the shower block.

  By the time they’d arrived at the picnic tables Jemima had laid everything out. ‘Do you want a coffee?’ she asked as he approached, lifting up a flask. ‘I’ve remembered to leave it black this time.’

  Miles took the bench opposite her. That way he could watch the expressions that passed over her face. ‘Thanks.’

  She poured it into a plastic mug and handed it across to him with the kind of smile that had the blood pounding in his head.

  ‘Miles, do you think dogs go to heaven?’ Sam asked beside him. ‘Mrs Randall says that dogs do, but goldfish don’t—’

  ‘Sit down to eat your sandwich, Sam,’ Jemima instructed, passing Miles a plate. ‘Ben, please eat a roll before you start on the crisps.’

  Miles sat back and enjoyed it all. He loved this…the opportunity to be part of a family. Jemima’s family. Somehow he’d become interested in every aspect of Jemima’s life. In her boys. In her worries.

  He loved her shy smile. The unexpected laughter that lit her green eyes. He loved the way she pulled at her hair when she was nervous. The way she smiled at him as though they were part of an exclusive world.

  In fact, he couldn’t remember ever feeling more…content.

  Rachel sat on one of the bar stools in Jemima’s kitchen, the list of things to check in the last two weeks before the wedding in front of her and her hands cradling a mug of hot coffee. ‘So, let me get this straight,’ she began incredulously.

  Jemima turned to look at her, comfortably resting her back on the worktop.

  ‘Miles has taken Ben sailing three times since I got back from Canada.’

  ‘Four, if you count today,’ Jemima said with a glimmer of laughter. ‘Every other weekend.’

  Rachel’s eyebrows almost disappeared up into her hairline. She shook her head in disbelief. ‘In a little dinghy?’

  ‘I don’t know much about sailing, but Ben says it’s called a Heron. I think that’s what Russell had, so I expect he’s right.’

  ‘On a little lake?’

  Jemima smiled. ‘It’s quite a big lake.’

  ‘Miles doesn’t do lakes.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s a serious sailor. He goes down Chichester way and sails over to France for lunch. You don’t honestly believe he’s doing it simply because he likes Ben, do you?’

  ‘He’s a friend—’

  ‘Miles doesn’t do just friends either. Come on, Jemima, you’re divorced, not brain-dead.’

  Jemima put her mug down on the worktop. ‘I know he likes me—’

  ‘Yes, he likes you. He also raises the temperature of a room just by looking at you.’

  Jemima shook her head. ‘That’s nonsense.’

  ‘So—’ Rachel took a sip of coffee ‘—why do you think he bothered to introduce you to that literary scout?’

  ‘Because Eileen was overloaded with work and was looking for someone who could read and write a report on what they’d read quickly. Miles knew I’d like to work from home. There’s nothing odd about that.’

  Rachel gave a despairing squawk. ‘And you don’t think it’s because he fancies the pants off you?’

  ‘A little. Maybe,’ she conceded.

  ‘Maybe?’

  ‘Rachel, what do you expect me to do?’ Jemima asked, finally irritated. ‘I don’t do affairs. I’ve never done affairs. I met Russell when I was eighteen and he’s the only man I’ve ever slept with.’

  ‘Slime-ball,’ her friend interjected loyally.

  ‘I’ve got two children to look after. I’m not about to jump into bed with a man like Miles. Am I?’ she asked, picking up her empty mug and walking across to the dishwasher.

  ‘Why not?’

  Jemima stopped, turning to look at Rachel. ‘Why not?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘Because I don’t do that kind of thing.’

  ‘You mean you haven’t done that kind of thing,’ Rachel corrected. She held up a hand. ‘I know Miles isn’t a great long-term bet, but he’s…fun.’

  ‘Fun,’ Jemima repeated.

  ‘And I’m not suggesting you make a habit of leaping into bed with men because they’re fun, but I reckon Miles is just what you need right now. He’s clever, sexy-lookin
g, not going to take the whole thing too seriously… Fun.’

  Fun. Jemima was sure that ‘fun’ was exactly how Miles saw it as well. And she was tempted. Of course she was tempted.

  But…

  She didn’t understand affairs. Sex shouldn’t be something casual. Should it? It had to mean something. What was so wrong with wanting to make a commitment to one man and to spend the rest of your life with him?

  And that was the point, really. She was in love with Miles. Even Rachel would admit that beginning an affair with Miles if you were in love with him was a bad idea. He went for temporary—the right person for right now, and she wasn’t cut out for that kind of life.

  Jemima placed her mug carefully in the dishwasher. ‘I don’t do that kind of fun.’

  ‘But you could,’ Rachel said, her eyes watching her friend above the top of her mug.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Look at me, Rachel.’

  ‘I’m looking.’

  ‘I lost my hip-bones some time around the age of twenty-one and I’ve got stretch marks you could use to design a board game. It’s not going to happen. There’s no way I’m going to get undressed in front of Miles.’

  ‘But if he doesn’t mind—’

  ‘And how would we know that until it was too late? It’s not going to happen, Rachel. Even with the light off,’ she added as she saw her friend was about to speak. ‘Hush. I think I hear them.’

  The doorbell rang almost immediately and Jemima went to answer it.

  ‘We’re back,’ Miles said, both hands on Ben’s shoulders.

  ‘We nearly capsized thirty-nine times! It was wicked.’

  Jemima looked up into Miles’s laughing blue eyes. ‘Thirty-nine?’

  ‘Takes skill, that.’

  Whenever she was with Miles she wanted to smile. From behind her she heard running feet on the stairs and Sam hurled himself down the hallway. ‘We’ve been painting the drawers in my bedroom.’

  ‘Have you?’ Miles said, reaching out and touching a strand of Jemima’s hair. ‘Let me guess. Blue.’

  ‘Welkin Blue,’ Jemima said. ‘Left over from the bathroom. It’s supposed to be the colour of a summer sky.’