Passion From The Past. Кэрол Мортимер

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      Considering how attractive Janice’s blonde beauty was Laura knew that the other woman must have been exquisite. She always felt inadequate when in the company of such women, her childish features set in a heart-shaped face, her huge green eyes seeming to dominate her other features, her nose small and snub, her mouth slightly tilted at the corners, her little chin had a determined tilt to it, a determination that was rarely asserted, although once she was roused to temper anything might happen. No doubt Felicity Maitland had had a good dress sense too, whereas she dressed to look efficient at the office in an effort to make up for her obvious youth, the tailored suits and fitted blouses worn for effect rather than style or elegance.

      Right now she felt the dowd Janice said she usually felt, even the brightness of her hair dulled by its confinement. A man like Gideon Maitland wouldn’t even spare her a second glance, if indeed he had spared her a first one, and she was a fool for wishing he would.

      She bent over her typewriter as she heard him taking his leave of James Courtney, the two men obviously arranging to meet at Gideon’s house later that evening, possibly for dinner.

      She couldn’t stop herself, she just had to look up, to catch one last glimpse of him. After all, there was no saying when she would get to see him again, he had been back two days already and this was the first she had seen of him. He was just striding past their open office door, those grey eyes flickering over her coldly before he looked away again, James Courtney’s little mouse of a junior secretary dismissed from his mind—if she had ever entered it!

      ‘Miss Lawson!’ James Courtney had obviously reached the end of what little patience he possessed, his voice over the intercom chillier than ever.

      ‘God, what a bear!’ Janice frantically collected up the disordered typewritten sheets.

      ‘I’d better get on too,’ Laura grimaced. ‘He’ll want these letters for signing before he leaves at five.’

      But her mind wasn’t on what she was doing, her usually faultless typing having a few errors today. Her secretarial qualifications were excellent, she wouldn’t have been employed at Courtneys if they weren’t, but when she had attained these qualifications she hadn’t had to contend with piercing grey eyes looking back at her from the keyboard of her typewriter, or to see Gideon Maitland’s hard face every time she glanced at her notepad.

      The man was haunting her, his hard face was constantly on her mind. And it just wasn’t like her. She very rarely dated, spending most of her evenings at home, usually with her widowed mother, both of them missing her brother Martin. He had gone to America to work two years ago, claiming that there were more opportunities over there. And there did seem to be, his rapid advancement in the advertising company he had gone to work for seeming to prove his point.

      Even through her preoccupation with Gideon Maitland Laura could see her mother’s excitement when she got home later that evening, guessing the reason to be the long-awaited letter from Martin. Her brother was notoriously bad at writing letters, and their mother couldn’t understand why she only received replies to one in every four letters she wrote him. Laura was more inclined to make excuses for him, continuing to write to him even though he rarely replied, knowing that he had a demanding job, and an even more demanding social life, a constant stream of girls seeming to pass through his life.

      ‘Yet another girl-friend!’ her mother tutted disapprovingly. ‘I don’t think he’ll ever settle down and give me grandchildren. You’ll probably marry before he does.’

      Laura snorted at the unlikelihood of that, looking about sixteen 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. СКАЧАТЬ