Buttoned-Up Secretary, British Boss Read online

  ‘I’ll go and get changed and come back in a minute for my coffee—which I like black,’ Alexander said. ‘And feel free to help yourself to anything you want, whether I’m here or not,’ he added.

  Sabrina set out the things she needed, putting coffee granules into the cafetière, and was just reaching for two mugs when the telephone rang. She frowned. It wasn’t the land line, it was a mobile, and it certainly wasn’t hers. Then she saw that Alexander had left his on one of the surfaces, and she went over to answer it. Before she could open her mouth, a woman’s rather strident tones filled her ears.

  ‘Alexander? You have not been returning my calls. That is extremely naughty of you!’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Sabrina said hastily. ‘Um, I’ll see if Mr McDonald is in.’

  There was a second’s pause. ‘Is that Janet?’ the voice demanded.

  ‘No, I’m Mr McDonald’s new secretary,’ Sabrina said. ‘Janet does not work for him now.’

  ‘Really? He didn’t tell me anything about getting a new secretary,’ the voice said in a rather complaining tone. ‘Oh, well. I want to speak to him, please.’

  ‘I’ll see if he’s in,’ Sabrina repeated. ‘May I ask who’s calling?’

  ‘This is Lydia,’ the voice said, as if that should have been obvious to anyone with half a brain cell.

  ‘One moment,’ Sabrina said, putting the phone down carefully and leaving the room, running up the stairs two at a time. Alexander was just coming out of one of the rooms dressed in a white T-shirt and shorts, his brown, muscular thighs and calves shadowed with dark hair. He was looking so unutterably seductive that Sabrina almost forgot what she was supposed to be doing.

  ‘There’s a call on your mobile—which you left in the kitchen,’ she faltered.

  ‘Oh, I’m always mislaying the wretched thing,’ he said. ‘Who wants to speak to me?’

  ‘Someone called Lydia,’ Sabrina replied, turning to go back down the stairs.

  He didn’t reply to that, but followed Sabrina into the kitchen and picked up the phone.

  ‘Good morning, Lydia,’ he said casually. Before he could utter another word, Sabrina could hear those distinctive tones sailing on uninterrupted.

  ‘Why haven’t you been returning my calls?’ the woman said petulantly. ‘It really is most annoying, Alexander.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Sorry, Lydia.’ He paused. ‘It’s just that I’ve been extremely busy, and rather distracted, because Janet has left and I’ve had to find someone else suitable.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve just been told about Janet,’ the woman went on. ‘Your problem is you work too hard, Alexander. Anyway, enough about all that. I hope you’re still free for Sunday week?’

  As Sabrina poured the boiling water onto the coffee, she couldn’t help being riveted to the conversation going on beside her. Alexander made no effort to exclude her from listening in. Who was Lydia? Clearly an over-familiar lady friend who didn’t seem very important to Alexander, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

  ‘Sunday week?’ he repeated, frowning.

  ‘Yes, Sunday week,’ the woman said. ‘Look, I’m not taking no for an answer this time, Alexander.’ She paused. ‘There are going to be lots of party people there you’ll know.’

  ‘I don’t do parties. You know that, Lydia,’ he said.

  ‘You always used to! Your…social reputation was very well-known at one time.’

  ‘That was a very long while ago, Lydia,’ Alexander replied. ‘I have, shall we say, outgrown parties.’ Especially your parties, he thought. ‘I really do not find them entertaining any more.’

  ‘Well, I can promise you that you’ll find this one entertaining,’ Lydia persisted. ‘Do say you’ll come?’

  Alexander glanced at Sabrina, raising his eyebrows in mild exasperation.

  ‘Oh, well, OK. If you insist, Lydia,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Wonderful! And, by the way, Lucinda is back in England and she’ll be at the party.’ There was a long pause. ‘She particularly asked whether you were going to be there when we spoke on the phone. Mentioned something about an old score to settle.’

  Alexander’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I wonder whether Lucinda and I will recognize each other,’ he said. ‘After all this time.’

  There was a girlish giggle at the other end. ‘I doubt that there will be any difficulty with that. You were very close once, weren’t you?’

  ‘That also was a very long time ago, Lydia,’ Alexander said, clearly irritated by now. ‘Um, look, I have to go. But thanks for the call.’

  ‘Don’t forget—Sunday the sixteenth. And don’t be late!’ was the parting shot.

  He ended the call and Alexander turned to pick up his coffee, glancing down at Sabrina, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  After a moment he said thoughtfully, ‘Could you possibly arrange to be available on the evening of the sixteenth to come to this function it seems I can’t get out of?’ He paused. ‘It might be useful to have you there.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry it’s a Sunday, when I wouldn’t normally ask you to work, but it would be helpful if you could.’

  Sabrina frowned thoughtfully. She hadn’t realized how demanding this job was going to be, but if needs must she’d better do as her employer wanted. She made a mental note to bring a note pad and pen with her.

  ‘When I get home I’ll double check I’m free,’ she said. ‘But I think I can do as you ask.’

  ‘Great. Thanks.’ He finished his coffee and turned to go. ‘I very rarely see my mother these days, and sometimes I just have to fall in with her wishes.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘Yes—Lydia. My mother,’ Alexander said as he left the room.

  Chapter Three

  BY THE middle of the following week, Sabrina felt she was beginning to get to grips with her secretarial duties, starting with the countless pieces of mail which arrived in the post each morning, and fielding all the telephone calls—most of which Alexander refused to follow up.

  ‘They’re always about being asked to go places, attend functions,’ he grumbled once, as she showed him the list. ‘Can’t be bothered.’

  After Alexander had left to go to the gym the previous Thursday, Sabrina had concentrated on trying to decipher his terrible handwriting. Bit by bit she had managed to unravel the meaning of the subtle and sophisticated prose, all of it, naturally, in perfect English—even if his spelling didn’t quite match up. She even felt privileged to have sight of it, to be the first to read this particular new piece, to share the inner workings of his illustrious mind.

  But more of those warning bells began to ring for her when, after a particularly poignant page or two, Sabrina had found herself stopping to trace the script gently with her forefinger, as if by touching the words he’d written she was touching him. Getting close. How dreadful was that? Alexander McDonald was arousing dangerous feelings in her which she thought she’d ruled out for ever.

  By Friday afternoon she was able to hand him the countless pages, everything he’d asked her to type up, and he seemed genuinely pleased with the result.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ he said later, after scrutinizing each page carefully. ‘That even makes some sense to me now.’ He shot Sabrina a quick glance, thinking his new secretary had cottoned on to his requirements quicker than he’d dared to hope.

  One thing which Sabrina was grateful for was that Alexander went to the gym on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, so she did have some time when he wasn’t sitting a few feet away from her. He’d also been away on two occasions for meetings with his agent. It was so much easier to concentrate when she was by herself—especially as several times when they’d been together she’d looked across briefly to see him watching her, one finely arched eyebrow raised thoughtfully, his perfect, sensuous lips parted slightly. Sabrina had coloured immediately, a surging tide of feeling seeping down to her groin.

  Sensing her discomfiture, Alexander had said hurriedl
y, ‘I was admiring the speed at which you type, Sabrina. I can never manage more than one finger at a time.’

  ‘Well, what I do is the easy bit. I mean, where does all this come from, or start from, Alexander? I mean, Alex?’ she’d asked, feeling uncomfortable at using his Christian name. ‘How on earth do you compose such intricate and beautiful work?’

  ‘With the utmost difficulty, most of the time,’ he’d replied. ‘Someone once said that writing was the same as hacking lumps out of granite—and it often feels like that.’

  ‘Well, you’d never know it from this,’ Sabrina had said, meaning it. ‘All these words which I’ve typed seem to just spill off the paper, like oil running from a spoon.’

  He had seemed pleasantly surprised at that. ‘Does that mean you might even read one of my books one day?’ he’d said, only half-teasing. She’d looked up at him, hoping she hadn’t said the wrong thing or been over-familiar with her boss.

  But Sabrina readily admitted that in the short time she’d known him he’d appeared far less demanding than she might have expected. There’d certainly been no evidence of the moodiness he’d hinted at during the interview. But it was early days. Perhaps this was the calm before the storm.

  The thing which she was dreading was Sunday evening being spent with Lydia, and it seemed a host of other people as well, none of whom Sabrina would know. To hang around for hours with a load of complete strangers, not to mention her very new boss, wasn’t exactly an enticing thought. Why had Alexander asked her to go with him, anyway? Surely he’d find her a hindrance? What would be expected of her? Thinking about it again, she shrugged inwardly. However boring she found it, it could only last a few hours, and the almost outrageous rate which Alexander was paying her to do his every bidding should be compensation enough.

  Now, with the end of her first full week in sight, Sabrina looked across at Alexander as he sat bent over the desk with his head in one hand and scribbling furiously with the other. Her heart missed a beat or two as she watched him silently, unable to resist her body’s reaction to the powerful sexuality he exuded. It wasn’t just his achingly seductive appearance, it was something far deeper and totally indefinable.

  Alexander McDonald should wear a warning notice around his neck, Sabrina thought: to all females everywhere: danger. Keep away. Clearly, he had no wish to be tied down to any female, otherwise he should surely be committed to someone by now. But his single status was a well-known phenomenon, and was an occasional topic in the gossip magazines. As she continued studying him thoughtfully, Sabrina felt she was beginning to understand him a bit. He was obviously married to his work, she thought, and living his life through his characters. That was what steered him through. And it was enough.

  ‘Are you going to make some tea?’ he asked suddenly without looking up. With a rush of self-consciousness, Sabrina wondered if he’d known she’d been gazing across at him.

  ‘Yes. I was just going to do that,’ she said, getting up and leaving the room.

  In the kitchen, she was just filling the kettle when her mobile rang and she took it from her jeans pocket, frowning briefly. It could only be Melly.

  It was, and the girl’s excitable voice almost deafened Sabrina as she listened.

  ‘Sabrina? You’ll never guess! You know those dancing classes I took over at short notice because the girl was ill? Well, they’ve asked me to step in again, only this time it’s something much more exciting!’

  ‘Go on, tell me,’ Sabrina said patiently.

  ‘I’ve been asked to go to Spain! To teach at a summer school—well, an autumn school, really. And it’s a two-week contract to include musical theatre, aerobics and dance, and I think some singing as well. People have enrolled from all over the place to take part, and participants, as well as those of us who’ll be running the classes, will all be put up at various houses. Everything’s taken care of, Sabrina. All I need is to take my clothes and passport—oh, and some money, of course—and turn up on Sunday morning when the minibus will be taking us to Heathrow!’

  Melly hardly paused for breath, not giving Sabrina a chance to interrupt. ‘It’s a wonderful opportunity, Sabrina—and I know two of the teachers who are going. They’ve done this sort of thing before and they say it’s fantastic fun, and a holiday as well—all expenses paid—and we get a respectable cheque for our services at the end! What do you think?’

  Well, what could Sabrina think or say other than to join in her sister’s enthusiasm? ‘Bring home all the necessary literature for us to check out, Melly,’ she said reasonably. ‘But I should think it will be perfectly OK. Though I’m sure you’ll have to work pretty hard for your holiday!’ She bit her lip, hoping that Melly wouldn’t suffer from any depression during the proposed assignment. Her attacks were so unpredictable, and she’d be too far away for Sabrina to help her.

  ‘Oh, I know that. There will be several sessions each day, but time for breaks as well.’ There was a pause at the other end. ‘The only thing is, I don’t have much money at the moment—as you know, Sabrina—so could you lend me a bit? I’ll be able to repay you when I get home.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about the money, I’ll sort that out,’ Sabrina said, suddenly elated at her sister’s news. This could be stimulating for Melly, she thought, a complete change—and a much-needed boost to her confidence.

  Early on Sunday morning, Sabrina waved the minibus out of sight. She was thinking that, if nothing else came from this experience for her sister, it was going to be the first break away from her, Sabrina, and from home, for a very long time.

  She sighed briefly, biting her lip as she watched the bus disappear around the corner, before walking back the short distance to where she’d parked the car. Melly was twenty-six years old, after all. Yet she was the kid sister, vulnerable and easily hurt, her fragile emotional state often rocked by outside influences. Sabrina fervently hoped that this trip would turn out to be everything Melly thought it would be, with no complications.

  Sabrina did feel relieved to have met the leader of the excursion this morning—a youngish man called Sam—who’d reassured her that everyone would be in safe hands and that these events were always well organized.

  Driving slowly back home, Sabrina tried to think about this evening and how she was going to get through it. She had not liked the sound of Lydia one little bit. And how strange that Alexander called his mother by her Christian name—what was that all about? Perhaps that was what elevated people did, she thought idly. Then something else struck her: what should she wear to this do? Alexander hadn’t given her a clue about any of it; his only directive as they’d parted company on Friday was that she must be ready when he arrived to pick her up at seven o’clock.

  Still, she thought now as she parked outside their modest front gate, her black dress would have to be her salvation again, her suitable-for-anywhere item. It was well-cut, of good-quality material and wearing it always made her feel sure of herself, confident. If she kept it plain and didn’t deck it out with any jewellery, it could be classed as a perfect number for her role as secretary to Alexander McDonald. Not that he would bother about what she was wearing, or even notice what she had on, Sabrina thought.

  The traffic that evening was abnormally heavy, and it had gone eight by the time Alexander drove his sleek, bronze Aston Martin slowly up the wide approach to his parents’ mansion, set in the Surrey countryside.

  As Sabrina peered ahead at the imposing building, she saw lights from every open window shining out like beacons. As reverberating waves of high-pitched chatting and loud laughter could easily be heard, she felt like jumping out of the car and running away. But that thought lasted for less than a second as she remembered who she was with, who her employer was, and she hardened her resolve to be the perfect personal assistant to Alexander McDonald. To be ready for anything he might need her for, and to remain professional and businesslike.

  The huge oak door was thrown open by a uniformed maid, who ushered them straight away in
to a brightly lit room, which to Sabrina seemed to stretch almost out of sight. There must be more than a hundred people present, she thought, realizing in those first few seconds that everyone seemed extravagantly dressed.

  Alexander, his dark eyes sweeping the scene at a glance, knew he’d been right in not wanting to be here. It was one of his mother’s usual parties, he thought with distaste, where she invited just about everyone she knew—many of them young women, some not so young, who laughed too loudly and drank too much. His perceptive gaze had already spotted two whom he knew to be immensely rich, thanks to the well-known escort agencies they owned and ran in town.

  Putting his hand lightly on Sabrina’s arm, he guided her across the room towards the long, white-clothed table laden with alcohol of every description. Before he could pour either of them a drink, the easily recognizable voice of Lydia reached Sabrina’s ears as the woman bore down on them.

  She was wearing a three-quarter-length sheath dress in a brilliant purple colour, and its smooth, satiny material perfectly accentuated her hour-glass figure. Her silver hair was an elegant, shining knot on her head, her sculpted lips painted a bright glossy red. Alexander’s mother was certainly a very handsome woman who had clearly passed on her looks to her son. Her arms outstretched in welcome, she embraced Alexander carefully, offering him her cheek and making sure her make-up was not disturbed.

  ‘Alexander! Darling! I was afraid you weren’t going to turn up!’

  Yes, mother dearest, I know exactly how that feels, he thought cynically, remembering the countless times his mother had not bothered to turn up at the regular boarding-school events to which parents were always invited. Remembering how he’d kept on hoping, until the very last minute, that she’d arrive. But she’d clearly felt that her maternal obligations ended the moment her sons left home at the tender age of seven; she had never left them in any doubt about that.

  Alexander could recall her exact words as she’d waved him off on that first day.

  ‘Remember, Alexander,’ she’d said, ‘that you are no longer a child—and you must accept responsibility for yourself.’ She’d paused only briefly. ‘And from now on I want to be known as Lydia, not Mummy—do you understand? Mummy is a silly, childish word.’