Passion From The Past. Carole Mortimer
now that she had changed out of her work clothes and released her hair. It splayed across her shoulders in natural waves, the colour now a deep rich red, her loose-fitting tee-shirt a pale green, her denims old and faded.
‘How’s his work going?’ she asked interestedly.
‘You know Martin,’ her mother dismissed, obviously reading the letter for about the tenth time. ‘Ever the optimist. He thinks there’s a chance he could be made a partner in the near future.’
That sounded like Martin. He was very like their father had been, always craving change, new excitement. He had worked for Courtneys a couple of years ago, and it was because he had said what a good company they were to work for that Laura had applied for the job there. And he had been proven correct; Courtneys were a good company to work for, very good to their staff.
They needed to be over the next few days, as the majority of the staff went down with ‘flu, Janice among them.
The day she worked for Mr Courtney on her own was the worst day she had known since her employment here. He was a brute of a man to work for, and how Dorothy coped with him all the time she had no idea. He allowed no respite for the fact that instead of his usual three secretaries he was now reduced to just his very junior secretary, demanding the same efficiency from her that he usually got from a full staff.
Her coffee-break went by the board as he dictated letters to her in his quick decisive manner; luckily her short-hand speed fast enough to keep up with him. Her lunch-break had to be given a miss too, as the telephone rang constantly and prevented her typing the letters.
‘Not finished yet, Miss Jamieson?’ he came back from his own lunch to bark at her.
‘Er—no—–’
‘Then it’s about time you were,’ he snapped.
‘Yes, sir—–’ Her fingers hit three wrong keys in succession as he stood glowering over her.
James Courtney scowled at her mistakes. ‘At this rate you won’t finish before the end of the week, let alone the end of the day!’
‘I—Oh dear!’ Laura groaned as she made yet another mistake. If only he wouldn’t stand over her like this, completely unnerving her.
‘Good God, girl,’ he exploded, his craggy face lined with anger, ‘you can’t even type!’
‘Of course I can type,’ she heard herself retorting. ‘You wouldn’t have employed me if I couldn’t. It’s just that—–’
‘Excuses, excuses,’ he dismissed tersely. ‘If you aren’t up to the work, Miss Jamieson, then perhaps I ought to employ someone who is.’
Normally she would have agreed with him and got on with her work. But it had been a hard, difficult week, and she was feeling tired and hungry, the toast and coffee she had gulped down for her breakfast seeming a very long time ago.
So James Courtney had chosen the wrong day to take his temper out on her, and the temper that went with her shade of hair, and was so rarely used by her, for once got the better of her. She looked up at him with sparkling green eyes. ‘I’m up to the work, Mr Courtney,’ she told him tautly. ‘My work,’ she added with emphasis. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but I happen to be working alone here.’
His eyes widened, obviously unaccustomed to his employees answering him back in this way. ‘Where’s Miss Lawson?’ he demanded tersely.
‘She’s off with the ‘flu,’ Laura blushed as she realised how she had just spoken to her employer. She couldn’t ever remember talking to anyone like that before. But then she couldn’t ever remember anyone being that rude to her before either. She looked down at her hands, slender, capable hands, the nails kept short for her work. ‘I did tell you this morning, Mr Courtney,’ she added huskily.
He scowled heavily, his dark brows low over his icy blue eyes. ‘Half the damned company is off with ‘flu. I suppose you’ll get it next,’ he snapped accusingly, before going into his office and closing the door firmly behind him.
Considering he had more or less told her she was incompetent she was surprised that the prospect of her being off work should bother him. What a bad-tempered old man he was!
Tears filled her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands as she wept. She had been trying so hard to please him, had thought she was succeeding, and with a few biting words he had shown her exactly what he thought of her efforts.
‘Is there anything wrong?’
She looked up with a start, to find herself looking straight at Gideon Maitland, the dark brown suit and cream shirt he wore seeming to make his tan appear even darker. She gulped as he came into the office, reaching frantically into her handbag for a tissue to blow her nose, wiping away the telltale tears at the same time.
‘ ‘Flu?’ he enquired softly, his voice as rich and deep as she remembered.
He was all just as she remembered him, every virile inch of him!
And once again she was making an idiot of herself. Why couldn’t she just act normally about him for once? ‘I—er—no.’ She took her compact out of her bag, viewing her reflection in the mirror with distaste. Heavens, no wonder he thought she had a cold, with her puffed eyes and red nose that was exactly what it looked like! She hastily closed the compact, knowing she couldn’t make the necessary repairs to her face in front of this man. ‘I think I must have had something in my eye,’ she invented.
Gideon Maitland’s mouth twisted, as if he knew very well that the ‘something’ had been tears. ‘Is James back from lunch yet?’
She nodded, glad he didn’t pursue the subject of her tears. ‘He came back several minutes ago,’ she confirmed.
‘I see.’ He pursed his lips. ‘And would he be the—er—reason you had something in your eye?’ Dark eyebrows rose over light grey eyes.
Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘I—er—Yes.’ The question came as too much of a surprise for her to prevaricate.
His handsome mouth twisted with humour. ‘His lunch obviously didn’t sweeten his temper.’
Laura licked her lips nervously. What was she supposed to say to a comment like that! ‘I wouldn’t know, Mr Maitland,’ she replied demurely.
He didn’t seem surprised that she knew his name; he leaned back easily against her desk, his arms folded across his chest. ‘That’s very loyal of you,’ he drawled. ‘Your lunch obviously agreed with you.’
‘I didn’t—–’ She bit her lip, her lashes fluttering up, only to lower quickly again as her green eyes clashed with clear grey ones.
‘Didn’t what?’ Gideon Maitland probed sharply.
‘Nothing,’ she shook her head. ‘I’ll tell Mr Courtney you’re here,’ and she moved to press the intercom.
Long tapered fingers came out to stop her. ‘Didn’t what?’ Gideon Maitland requested firmly.
Laura extracted her hand from his, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest from the contact. ‘I—I haven’t had time for lunch. You see—–’
He stood up. ‘Go and have some now,’ he ordered briskly.
‘There’s really no need—–’
‘There’s every need, Miss Jamieson,’ he told her coldly. ‘Lack of food is apt to lower your resistance to infection. The last thing James needs is to have no secretary at all.’
That put her firmly in her place—even an incompetent secretary was better than none at all! ‘I’ll go now,’ she said jerkily. ‘If you’ll just explain to Mr Courtney …’
He nodded curtly and moved impatiently to the door that connected her office to James Courtney’s. ‘I’ll do that,’ he told her abruptly.
She