Reluctant Enchantress Page 5

  ‘I hope you’re not offended.’ Jacquie sounded anxious now. ‘He was only… well, a bit concerned. He can he very nice, you know. I think he feels sort of protective towards you—’

  ‘Protective!’ Amy nearly exploded. ‘Him? He almost gave me a nervous breakdown yesterday, the way he kept pouncing on me for letters and making me answer the phone when I hadn’t a clue who were clients and who were brokers or anything!’

  ‘Shh! He’ll hear you!’

  Amy tossed her red hair and opened her slanting eyes wide at Jacquie in the mirror. ‘I don’t care if he does!’ she declared. ‘And if he wants to give me the sack after two days, let him! He owes me for overtime anyway!’ And she marched out. She half expected to find him waiting for her outside, but an examination of the switchboard revealed that he was still on the phone. Then she wasn’t sure why she’d got so worked up.

  The Horticultural party hadn’t offered much in the way of interest, she thought with a yawn as the proceedings dragged to their close in the Orton village hall. She would have much preferred to go home early, but part of the deal she and Jess had struck with the organisers had been that they would stay to do the clearing up at the end. The booking had been arranged through Jess’s mother, Celia Bailey, and she had managed to get them double the fee on the condition that they stay. They had planned the menu, although they hadn’t had to do all the cooking, and now much of the clearing involved sorting dishes that were named on the bottom so that they could go back to their rightful owners. They had to be stacked in cardboard boxes to be taken away by the organising committee. Nothing could be left in the hall. It was all very boring.

  I bet the glamorous Fiona’s never had to do anything like this for her living, she thought glumly. You can’t slay beautiful and healthy-looking if you’re up till midnight with your hands in the sink!

  ‘I’ll never get up for work tomorrow,’ she told Jess, smothering another enormous yawn. ‘Wake me if I fall asleep in the washing-up—I’d like to be unconscious for a week. Thank heaven we don’t have another booking for a while! I can’t believe I’ve packed so much action into two days—I only went for the interview on Monday.’

  ‘That’s what comes of taking a job with a slave-driver. How was it today, by the way? I haven’t had time to ask and I’ve been dying for the next instalment!’

  Between herself and Jess there was the easy familiarity of old schoolfriends, and they were accustomed to sharing most of the events of their lives. Although much of their communication was trivial, it didn’t mean that the level of their relationship was in any way superficial.

  ‘Don’t ask!’ she groaned. ‘I’ll explain to you about that missing ginger cake some time when I’ve got more energy.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jess sounded suddenly doubtful. ‘Maybe this isn’t quite the time, then to broach the subject…’

  ‘Broach what subject?’

  ‘About that booking on Friday week… I’ve got the most enormous favour to ask…’

  Jess’s ‘favour’ turned out to be a desperate plea to Amy to manage the dinner on her own —her boyfriend Keith had unexpectedly been asked to a friend’s dance down in Cornwall, where they would be staying the weekend, and that meant leaving on Friday afternoon.

  ‘I’ll do all the shopping and preparation!’ she promised. ‘All you’ll have to do is the basic cooking and maybe serve it—Mum wasn’t sure about that when she took the phone message. Please, Ames!’

  ‘OK,’ Amy agreed, with another yawn. ‘At least I’ll get one weekend before it so I can sleep.’

  Jess hugged her ecstatically. ‘Thanks—you’re a darling! I promise I’ll do the same for you when you meet the love of your life!’

  The love of your life… Once again, chance’d be a fine thing! Worry about money and finding work, and making a home for herself and Charlie hadn’t left much time even to think about going out with anybody just recently, let alone put it into practice.

  She had, of course, been firmly convinced at least once in the past that she’d met the love of her life—only to find she hadn’t. The most serious candidate had been Robert, though their student affair hadn’t lasted beyond one summer. Afterwards, she’d adopted a philosophical attitude towards its decline. Two nineteen-year-olds couldn’t really have known what they’d been about anyway. But Robert had been the type she thought appealed to her—rather laid-back, with a good sense of humour, although too lazy ever really to get anywhere with his future. A total contrast in fact to someone like the dynamic Julius, who never seemed to waste a moment. Not that her boss didn’t have a sense of humour too, on occasions, but whereas her mental image of Julius was of a dark-haired figure striding across a street or office, almost crackling with static, her recurrent memory of Robert pictured him lying loose-limbed and lazy on her parents’ vast lawn, a book over his face to keep the sun off when he couldn’t be bothered to read any longer.

  Probably, in the end, he’d have driven her mad. Even their eventual parting had been without drama—Rob had never had a full-scale row with anyone in his life, whereas she enjoyed a few sparks now and then.

  Love, she thought ruefully, was definitely a luxury, something which needed time and energy. And both of those were at a premium—especially with a teenage brother to look after.

  It was when she and Jess were about to drive home that Celia found them, and Amy was reminded again of Charlie—but in a rather disturbing way.

  Celia kissed Amy through the open passenger window and flapped a hand at her daughter. ‘Hello, Amy, darling—it’s a bit late to stop for a chat now, but I hope that handsome boss of yours isn’t working you too hard! Jess told me all about your new job—and I must say James sounds gorgeous—’

  ‘Julius, Mum.’

  ‘Well, Julius, then. I’m hopeless with names.’

  Amy grinned. ‘My boss is called Dennis. He’s forty-five, married, and has two dogs and three children! Jess has been pulling your leg again.’

  Celia gave her infectious bubbling laugh. ‘I don’t believe it—I’m going to come in and see for myself one of these days! By the way, give my love to Charlie and tell him I’ve got a chocolate cake for the weekend. I saw him in Oxford on Monday morning but he didn’t see me ’

  ‘On Monday?’ What was Charlie doing in Oxford on Monday? He should have been in school…

  ‘Oh, I expect he was wandering about on some class project. They all do that now—most of the time, it seems to me. Must dash —bye, love. Don’t work too hard.’

  It was the second time someone had mentioned Charlie’s being in Oxford at an unorthodox hour.

  Although it was after midnight by the time Amy got home, reluctantly—because if Charlie was playing truant she didn’t really want to have to deal with it, and ignorance just at the moment was comparative bliss—she checked her brother’s room before she went to bed. He was asleep.

  She would have to remember to ask a carefully phrased question about class trips tomorrow, but right now she felt as though she’d been granted a reprieve.

  There was no time to ask any sort of questions the next morning, however. It was Charlie himself who woke her, shaking her very urgently by the shoulders and bellowing in her ear.

  ‘Wake up!’

  Her eyes flew open. ‘What time is it? Have I missed the bus?’

  Her brother slackened his hold on her and made for; the door, hitching up a pair of baggy pyjama trousers and saying something as he went. He never wore a jacket, and his boy’s back looked narrow and somehow too bony and white. Seeing him like that, she wished suddenly and passionately that she could take them both on holiday, somewhere hot, where they had nothing to do but swim, and lie in the sun, and eat.

  ‘…been ringing for the last ten minutes, and she said you told her to because you’d never get up otherwise.’ The last words were no more than a mumble as Charlie disappeared round the bedroom door.

  Faithful Jess! What time was it, for heaven’s sake?

  ‘Tell he
r thanks!’ she yelled.

  She had exactly twelve minutes to get to the bus stop. The total silence that met her last instruction was instantly suspicious. ‘And Charles Thompson, don’t you dare go back to bed!’

  She nearly fell asleep on the bus. By lunchtime she didn’t know how she was going to keep her eyes open if she didn’t get just half an hour’s sleep somehow. Taking dictation, even from the easy-paced Dennis, had been an ordeal. Luckily there had been no sign of Julius, and his desk diary, kept by Jacquie, told her that he would be out until the afternoon. If she could only find somewhere to lie down for a few minutes she might make it through till five o’clock!

  For the first time she envied the executive status of her two employers. If she’d been one of them she would have had an office to lie down in, and a door to close between herself and the rest of the world—or, alternatively, a luxurious car like Julius’s, and she could have gone to sleep across the front seats. But with nothing but the reception area carpet to stretch out upon in full view of office staff, visiting clients, and the decorators who were now working on the stairwell, her only option was a park bench. If she could find one.

  When her turn for lunch-break came, she wandered outside with no very clear plan—maybe walking around for a while would wake her up. It was a cold, windy day, but quite bright. If she could sit somewhere sheltered to eat her sandwiches there might even be some warmth in the sun. Then at the end of the street she saw the church.

  It had an old porch, with stone benches down each side, and little latticed windows which would keep out the wind. The porch had no outer door and was always open, although the church itself was locked. Surely the vicar wouldn’t mind if she went and sat there for half an hour?

  There was no one around. A long glancing beam of sunlight fell in one corner of the porch, warming the grey stone seat. With a sigh, she settled herself in the angle of the walls, initially resisting the temptation to put her feet up, and stuffing her carrier bag behind her as a makeshift cushion. She was facing the wide entrance in case the vicar should come along; it would give her time to gather her wits for polite conversation. She could see the neatly mown graveyard with its tall, now leafless trees growing by the wall. She could even see the Georgian building which housed the offices of Prior Harding in the wide street just beyond. The white pillars of the porch also had the sun on them.

  She shut her eyes, turning her head a little so that the light wouldn’t fall directly on her closed lids. But the dusty cobwebbed lattices softened the wintry sun, and the warmth of the beams fell like a caress on her face.

  After a few minutes, she stretched her legs out, crossing her feet at the ankles, wriggled a little more comfortably against the carrier bag, and fell asleep.

  She was fully aware that she was dreaming—even telling herself at the time, This is a dream, and feeling rather resentful that a much needed sleep should be wasted by a replay of life in the office. Only it wasn’t exactly that; it was a confused jumble of the office, and Charlie, and burning a dinner she was cooking for a hundred people. And just when everything had reached a terrible crisis Julius was there…

  He seemed to be telling her to wake up, and although she was surprised that he didn’t sound at all angry, she thought she was telling him—very argumentatively—that the office floor was as good a place to sleep as any and that she wasn’t going to miss her bus. And then to her astonishment he kissed her, properly, on the mouth. But before she had time to think about what it was like he was saying her name again—‘Amy… Amy!’ more urgently this time, and reluctantly, very reluctantly, as though her eyelashes were made of lead and because she didn’t want to have to leave the dream in which Julius had kissed her just yet, her lids fluttered open.

  She was staring into grey eyes that looked down with concern into her own… lucid, unmistakable grey, their outer iris ringed with darkness. Eyes fringed with black lashes…

  Dazedly she pushed her hair back from her forehead, and struggled to sit up. Someone’s hand gripped her shoulder.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  It was Julius’s voice—the real Julius, in the flesh!

  He was suddenly there, very alive, his face inches from her own, the pressure of his fingers biting into her through the light jacket she was wearing. She could see the pores of his skin, the way his eyebrows grew unevenly, the way the tips of his lashes were lighter than their roots, and the way the lines of his firm mouth curved with a little kink, exactly marking the centre of that smooth masculine curve of his lower lip. She couldn’t take her eyes away from his mouth… And then her face flooded with colour as she remembered the dream she’d been woken from—what on earth would he think of her if he could read her mind now?

  She stared up at him, her own eyes an intense blue, and, as though suddenly mesmerised by her, he stared back. She wasn’t even sure she caught his next words— they were too indistinct—but then, very clearly this time, ‘Amy, are you properly awake?’

  She pulled herself together.

  ‘Yes—yes, of course I am!’ she said abruptly, and her voice seemed unnaturally loud. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He stood up to his full height.

  ‘I saw you from the road when I was on my way into the office. That scarlet skirt you’re wearing is very eyecatching. You’re the first redhead I’ve ever met who could wear a colour like that and get away with it.’ His eyes were appraising, as though he was really seeing her— not a rather eccentric and inefficient secretary he happened to have employed, but Amy Thompson, red hair, long legs, blue eyes and all. Then he said, ‘Are you sure you’re all right? Isn’t this a slightly peculiar way to pass your lunch-hour—sleeping in a church porch?’

  ‘I just haven’t had too much sleep lately, that’s all,’ she said rather crossly. He was disconcerting her, looking at her like that, and although she wasn’t going to admit it she certainly didn’t feel wonderful, having been woken, suddenly from a deep sleep.

  One of those dark eyebrows she had just examined so closely was raised in query. ‘Energetic social life?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her eyes met his again, defiantly this time. As far as he was concerned, ‘social life’ was whatever she did out of office hours. It was no business of his if she chose to make money in that time. She swung her legs off the stone bench with an energy she had to dredge up from a very deep inner well indeed.

  ‘You can’t burn the candle at both ends for too long, you know, Amy.’

  She searched his face for the criticism she felt sure must be lurking there—the words had sounded too disarmingly gentle.

  ‘I don’t,’ she said shortly. His expression was enigmatic. ‘And this is my lunch-hour.’

  A wry grin twisted that rather fascinating mouth. ‘As I think I’ve pointed out to you before, and at the risk of sounding boring, lunch-hours have a very obvious purpose.’ He glanced down at the supermarket bag. ‘Shopping again?’

  She reached for it hastily, only to find her wrist unexpectedly circled by strong, lean fingers.

  ‘I’ll carry it for you,’ Julius said. It was less an offer than a statement.

  She stood up unsteadily. He took the bag in the same hand as his briefcase, and she felt his other hand under her elbow as he guided her to the porch entrance and down the path to the church gate. It must be because of her dream that she was so uncomfortably aware of his closeness to her every step of the way.

  ‘Do you spend every lunch-hour shopping for food?’ he queried lightly. He probably thought she would be on her way to the supermarket again. The bag was far too big for its contents—a small packet of sandwiches and a thick extra jersey she had brought to the office.

  ‘Not all of them. But I’m buying for the freezer.’ The glib lie occurred to her on the spur of the moment.

  ‘Hungry freezer.’

  The comment was uttered in a perfectly neutral tone, but her reply was on the defensive again. ‘I’ve got to do a lot of entertaining soon, and I’d rather get a
ll the shopping over with.’

  ‘I suppose Charlie eats quite a lot?’

  Charlie? How should he know about—? Oh, yes, of course. She’d let him think Charlie was someone she was living with on a rather different basis from the true one.

  She gave an involuntary little shiver as a gust of wind blew across them, and it seemed to wake her up. They were walking slowly towards the church gate now. Sideways, her slanting glance caught his eye. She didn’t quite know why she wanted to keep up this fiction about Charlie, but she did.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He does. I think he’d be happy if I spent my entire life chained to the stove cooking mounds of chips and beefburgers.’ That, at least, was true.

  She couldn’t read Julius’s expression, but his tone was perfectly clear—disapproving. ‘Not a very imaginative eater, your Charlie, is he?’

  Why should he disapprove? It didn’t make any difference to him! ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘He isn’t.’

  ‘And what about you, Amy, what do you like to eat?’

  ‘Anything,’ she admitted.

  The look in his eye as they waited at the kerb for a gap in the traffic was openly sceptical. ‘Well, now is the time to prove it,’ he said slowly, ‘I’m taking you to lunch.’

  Lunch! But——! She glanced at her watch. She must have slept for nearly half an hour. She had about twenty minutes before she had to get back to the office. And what about Julius?

  ‘I thought you were having lunch with Fiona today!’ she protested, rather ungraciously.

  ‘We had to cancel it. Now I’m having lunch with you. Which do you prefer—the King’s Arms or the Crown?’

  ‘I—er—I don’t mind. I’ve never been in either.’ In the two days she’d spent working in Wychford, she’d hardly had time to notice that there were any pubs, let alone go in them.

  She was beginning to believe it must all be a continuation of her dream as he steered her towards the Crown, sat her down at a table in the dining area, and put a menu in front of her.

  ‘But I have to get back to the office!’ she protested again. ‘I can’t be late!’