A Professional Marriage. Jessica Steele

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      ‘Hello, Chesnie,’ the man himself answered, and her insides went all kind of crumbly. Ridiculous, she told herself stoutly. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ he began, not sounding sorry at all, ‘but I’ve arranged an early meeting in London tomorrow. Do you think you can have some paperwork ready for me?’

      ‘Of course,’ she answered automatically, and had her notepad in hand. ‘Fire away.’

      She was getting writer’s cramp before he was halfway finished. Was he joking? It would take her hours to complete this little lot! She almost stopped him then and there, to remind him that she had a date that night. But remembered in time how at her job interview he had asked her supposing she had a date but he needed her to accompany him at short notice. Without hesitation she’d indicated it would not be a problem—that she would change her plans for the evening. This wasn’t accompanying him anywhere, but it amounted to the same thing.

      ‘I haven’t given you too much to do there, have I?’ he asked, when he eventually came to an end.

      ‘What are treasures for?’ she found she had answered, before she could think about it.

      ‘I knew I could rely on you,’ he commented charmingly, and rang off.

      Chesnie was busying herself making a start, collecting information together, before she realised that there was no way she could get everything sorted, no way she could type up reams and reams of confidential matter, and keep her date with Philip Pomeroy.

      Her hand went to the phone, but before she could carry out her intention to put a call through to Symington Technology she had another thought. How about if she got all the paperwork already to hand checked over, then typed as much as she could of the new stuff before she went home? Then, with her computer installed at home in that apology for a second bedroom, she could work as late as she had to after her dinner with Philip. Brilliant, or what?

      Having gone over the notion, Chesnie couldn’t fault the idea. She’d have to get up early to have everything ready on Joel’s desk for when he came in—she wished she knew what time that was—but couldn’t see any problem. If this was what being a senior PA was all about, then she would prove she was very much up to the job.

      She was glad to make herself comfortable in Philip Pomeroy’s car on the way to the restaurant. It was the first chance she’d had to sit and relax since that half past four phone call. She had rushed from the office at five past six, laden with folders and stationery. She had taken the quickest of showers and had selected a short-sleeved, straight-skirted black dress. Although her wardrobe was not extensive it was of good quality. She had been ready and, anxious not to waste a minute, had been busy typing when the outer door buzzer had sounded, announcing the arrival of her escort.

      The Linton, the restaurant Philip had chosen, was elegant, discreet, and, she didn’t doubt, pricey. Chesnie found Philip Pomeroy a pleasant companion, too sophisticated to be obvious or pushy, and she began to relax more and more.

      ‘I had no idea you worked for Joel Davenport,’ Philip remarked as they began their meal. ‘You can’t have been at Yeatman Trading long or I’m sure I’d have heard.’

      That surprised her. Then she wondered if it should have. Being a business rival, would Joel know the name of Philip’s PA? Very probably he did, she mused.

      ‘I’ve worked for Joel for almost two months now,’ she saw no harm in admitting.

      ‘You changed jobs around the same time you moved into your new flat,’ Philip documented. ‘How do you find working for Davenport? Is he—?’

      ‘Hmm, I’m sorry, Philip, would you mind very much if neither of us talked about our work?’

      He stared at her, plainly liked what he saw, and agreed. ‘It’s a pact. Business if off the agenda. But—’ he smiled ‘—you can tell Davenport from me that he’s a lucky devil, able to look at you every day. Now, tell me how you’re settling in to your new flat?’

      During their second course Chesnie learned that Philip had been married and divorced. That didn’t worry her—who hadn’t? She was growing to like him very much, even though she knew that it would never be more than that. He was amusing, and had just said something that made her laugh when, glancing from him, laughter still on her curving lips, she was startled to find she was looking into the steel-blue eyes of someone several tables away. The glint in those eyes warned her she was in trouble over something.

      With a coolness she was suddenly far from feeling Chesnie turned back to her dinner companion. She offered some light comment, she knew not what, her mind busy with the fact that Joel Davenport had flown back from Scotland and all too plainly, if her answers at the job interview meant anything, fully expected her to still be slaving away at the office.

      It annoyed her that he should think she had fallen down on the job. And that annoyance caused her to smile more, perhaps laugh a little more, at Philip’s amusingly light conversation than she would otherwise.

      At any rate Philip seemed pleased, and she didn’t give a button what Davenport thought. She knew what he didn’t—that she was going home to do his work so he should have it on his desk for eight in the morning. So he could go and take a running jump.

      ‘More coffee?’ Philip asked.

      ‘No, thank you,’ she refused pleasantly. ‘It’s been a super evening, but…’

      ‘But you’re a working girl?’

      ‘Something like that,’ she answered with a smile, and smiled again when, having to pass Davenport’s table—curse it—Philip civilly paused to say hello.

      ‘Pomeroy,’ Joel acknowledged, getting to his feet. ‘Chesnie.’ He included her, and introduced his sultry, if terrific-looking companion. ‘Do you know Imogen?’

      Brief introductions followed, where Joel did not mention that Chesnie was his PA and that he was saving a few short and sharp words for her. After the way she slaved for him! Let him try! Then she and Philip were moving on.

      Philip came to the outer door of her apartment building with her. ‘I hope you’re going to allow me to see you again, Chesnie?’ he asked.

      She liked him, he was good company—and she had an idea it annoyed Joel Davenport that she went out with the opposition. ‘I’d like that,’ she answered. But, thinking he might have this coming Saturday in mind, added, ‘I’ll give you my phone number. Perhaps next week some time?’

      ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ he said, and when he had her phone number he leaned forward. Though, perhaps sensing her instant withdrawal, he satisfied himself to kiss her cheek, and stood back to wait while she went indoors.

      Despite the fact that her home had been cobbled together with pieces of furniture given to her by her parents, grandparents and her sisters, and the few additions she had contributed herself, Chesnie had to admit everything blended in well to give her apartment a very homely feel.

      But there was no time to make herself comfortable in it now. Time only to rinse her hands and head for that tiny second bedroom now laughingly called a study.

      She had been at work for forty-five minutes when someone rang the outer buzzer. Philip? Why would he come back? She left her work and went into her small hall to take up the telephone that was connected to the outer front door.

      ‘Who СКАЧАТЬ