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‘But of course,’ he agreed, startling her with a smile. ‘I couldn’t just hand you over to any Tom, Dick or Harry, now could I? Or George, Fred or Henry, for that matter.’
* * *
‘Your stepbrother!’ gasped Sarah Mitson from where she sat curled up in an armchair in Lucy’s flat that evening.
‘That’s what I’ve just said,’ snapped Lucy, feeling drained and miserable and not in the least up to the detailed explanations she knew Sarah was determined to drag from her. ‘My mother’s married to his father.’
‘Heck, Lucy, to think you’ve had the droolingly delicious Mark Waterford as a stepbrother and never breathed a word of it to me—to anyone!’
‘Sarah—please,’ begged Lucy wearily. ‘Just let me do my explaining and stop interrupting, will you?’
Sarah managed to keep her interruptions down to a few tuts and gasps for far longer than either of them would have thought possible, but eventually she broke.
‘Hang on a minute, Lucy,’ she begged. ‘That’s some accident—how exactly did you manage to set the school on fire?’
‘It wasn’t the actual school,’ muttered Lucy. ‘It’s a bit difficult to explain, but the back of the stage in the school hall was in an old wing—part of the original building going way back. It was like a junk room with old scenery from plays and moth-eaten theatrical costumes that no one had got around to throwing out littering the place. Everyone swore that wing was haunted and the reason it was such a mess was that even the staff were too scared to give it a thorough clearing out.’
‘Did you believe it was haunted?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I told the other girls I didn’t, though I wish to goodness I never had,’ she sighed. ‘I got myself involved in a ridiculous bet with a couple of them which ended up in my agreeing to do a tour of the place...after midnight and by candle-light.’
‘You must have been out of your mind,’ gasped Sarah.
‘I almost was by the time I’d been in there a couple of minutes,’ shivered Lucy. ‘I’d taken two candles, just in case one blew out...I honestly can’t remember clearly what happened, except that I tripped over something and set a paper screen on fire. I was busily trying to put it out when one of the hampers of clothes next to me just went up—I don’t know whether I dropped the other candle into it, or what...luckily the alarm system went off.’
‘How did Mark Waterford react when you eventually explained?’ asked Sarah, her look tentative.
‘He didn’t—because I didn’t,’ muttered Lucy, all this dredging up of the past making her feel wretched and depressed.
‘You certainly seem to have had a screwball relationship with him—that’s for sure,’ observed Sarah diffidently, plainly thrown by that disclosure.
Screwball was one word for it, reflected Lucy bitterly. From the start she and Mark had always seemed to bring out the worst in one another—though, as he had been the adult and she the virtual child, surely it had been up to him to attempt rectifying that, she reasoned defensively. Yet as she continued with her story, she noted with growing discomfort, and not a little resentment, how unusually pensive her normally ebullient friend was becoming.
‘That’s one of the reasons I’ve never been able to tell any of my friends.’ Lucy broke off, then added despondently, ‘I knew no one would understand. And you don’t—I can tell from your face, Sarah!’
‘But I am trying to,’ protested Sarah. ‘Most kids of that age get into scrapes and rebel against the figure of authority in their lives, but I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for your stepbrother, being left on the receiving end of it all. If I’d been him I’d have been fuming to have had the stroppy daughter of my father’s new wife suddenly dumped on me.’
‘You make it sound as though they boarded me out with him,’ protested Lucy. ‘I was at boarding-school to begin with—he was only there as a name for the authorities to contact if anything went wrong.’
‘And I can imagine just how much you’d resent that,’ murmured Sarah wryly, ‘and how you’d plot to cross him whenever the opportunity arose.’
‘Perhaps some of the minor scrapes I got into were simply to rile Mark,’ Lucy admitted with a sigh. This was the second time today she was finding herself seeing the past from Mark’s viewpoint, and she wasn’t enjoying it in the least. ‘But I had absolutely no control over the really major incidents—I swear it!’
‘You mean there were other things—apart from the fire?’
‘One or two things,’ muttered Lucy uncomfortably. ‘Well—only two major ones...and as the last only happened a couple of years ago, it shouldn’t have affected Mark in the least—but, needless to say, it did, in a roundabout way, though I only discovered that today.’
She told Sarah about the American she had met through a vague acquaintance and the nightmarish results of her accepting a lunch invitation from him simply out of compassion for his apparent loneliness in a strange city.
‘I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies in that it was only the American Press that got hold of my name,’ finished off Lucy despondently. ‘Though heaven alone knows how they managed to make the connection between me and the Waterfords.’
‘The other disaster you mentioned,’ murmured Sarah, shaking her head in sympathetic disbelief, ‘surely it wasn’t on that scale?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘It depends how you view my writing off Mark’s car—actually, it was by no means written off, though it might just as well have been the way he carried on—and still does to this day...I’m glad someone finds this amusing,’ she exclaimed indignantly, as Sarah became convulsed with laughter.
‘I’m sorry,’ choked Sarah, trying desperately to control herself. ‘Lucy—you did have a driving licence, didn’t you?’ she gasped in sudden sobering horror.
‘I didn’t—I was only sixteen. Though I’d had a few driving lessons in the States,’ replied Lucy. ‘But at the time it seemed like a life and death situation,’ she sighed. ‘It happened during that couple of weeks I had to stay at Mark’s flat. I’d gone down to the garage—one of those massive underground places—to get something I’d left in his car, when I saw Perry, the spaniel belonging to a delightfully daffy old neighbour of Mark’s. Perry was lying beside one of the bays and at first I was convinced he was dead, but he started this awful twitching when I touched him.’
‘Oh, Lucy, how ghastly,’ exclaimed Sarah, not in the least put out to discover this life and death emergency featured a dog rather than a human.
‘It was,’ agreed Lucy. ‘And I was terrified the old dear would come looking for him—she absolutely worshipped him and rarely let him out of her sight. Mark had gone off with one of his women in her car—she was one I particularly loathed,’ she interposed venomously, ‘and I’d no idea when they’d be back. I knew there was a vet not too far away, down a side-street, which meant I wouldn’t touch a main road...you see, I didn’t want to risk carrying Perry there, in case I did further damage—at that point I was sure he’d been hit by one of the cars.’
‘So you decided to take your stepbrother’s car,’ sighed Sarah.
Lucy nodded. ‘I was perfectly aware of how wrong it was,’ she admitted, ‘but it somehow seemed less wrong than letting that little dog die. I managed to get him into the car without heaving him around too much and started it up with no trouble. I had learned how to reverse—but not in a car like Mark’s. I’d also never come across anything like power steering before, so when I yanked the steering-wheel round I used far too much force and smashed the side of the car into one of the concrete pillars. Needless to say, I panicked and did far more damage than an experienced driver would have,’ she added with a sigh.
‘What about Perry?’ demanded Sarah, plainly not in the least concerned about the car.
‘His recovery was nothing short of miraculous,’ she replied wryly. ‘He was suddenly up on his feet and wagging his tail as normal. In fact, it was just then that his owner came looking for him, so I opened a window and he leapt out and bounded over to her as right as rain.’
‘You’re kidding!’ gasped Sarah.
‘It seems Perry was prone to occasional fits,’ sighed Lucy, ‘and it was in the tail-end of one that I found him.’
‘Oh, heck,’ groaned Sarah.
‘Oh, heck, yes,’ agreed Lucy. ‘Because it was just as Perry and his mistress trotted off that Mark and his woman appeared.’
‘And our Lucy, needless to say, offered no word in her own defence.’ Sarah gave an exasperated shake of her head.
‘I didn’t get a chance, the way he started ranting at me,’ protested Lucy. ‘It was bad enough listening to the racket he was making, without having that smirking female witnessing it all!’
‘Poor Lucy,’ sighed Sarah. ‘And with your track record anyway, I can’t say I blame you for not bothering.’ She uncurled her legs and got to her feet. ‘Come on, I’ll make us some tea—you deserve one after relating all that.’
As they pottered around the tiny kitchen, Lucy tried to clear her head of the oppressive gloom now clouding it.
‘Sarah, I’ve decided I’ve really got to get myself organised with my writing,’ she blurted out.
Sarah turned from the tray she was preparing with a look of surprise. ‘I’ve been telling you that for months now,’ she said. ‘Heavens, Lucy, you’ve practically made it already. I thought your problem was money, but it obviously isn’t. If I were you I’d pack in the job—you could go and stay with your mother and stepfather and do your writing in the lap of luxury.’
‘My problem is money,’ replied Lucy in ominously quiet tones. ‘It’s my mother who married into wealth, not me!’
Sarah gave her a startled look. ‘But surely there’s nothing to stop you staying with your own mother while you write?’
‘You mean stay with my mother and sponge off the Waterfords,’ exclaimed Lucy bitterly. ‘One of the reasons I’m so desperate to make a financial success of my writing is that I want to be free of the Waterfords and their damned empire. It’s bad enough being employed by them as some sort of poor relation, but my writing’s one area where I intend succeeding without a penny of their support.’
‘Lucy, I got the impression you were rather fond of your stepfather!’ exclaimed Sarah in shocked tones.
‘I am—I’m very fond of him,’ protested Lucy, picking up the tray and taking it into the living-room. ‘And I’m beginning to wish Mark had never told me about this operation coming up,’ she exclaimed as she placed the tray on the coffee-table. ‘What if I really am jinxed and get involved in something ghastly before he’s recovered?’
‘Don’t be so silly,’ said Sarah, flashing her a look of exasperation as she began pouring the tea. ‘From that tirade you just delivered in the kitchen, I can only conclude it’s your dishy stepbrother you want all this freedom from,’ she stated, handing Lucy a cup.
‘Why does everyone always have to refer to his looks?’ demanded Lucy despairingly.
‘Because he’s an exceptionally good-looking man,’ retorted Sarah sharply. ‘And I must say, it makes a pleasant change to hear all the women making such openly sexist remarks about a man’s looks, instead of the other way round.’
‘They wouldn’t drool quite so much if they knew what an overbearing tyrant he really is,’ muttered Lucy. ‘One of the reasons I can behave like a moron with such ease is that I spent most of my teenage years listening to him telling me I am one.’
‘Oh, my poor Lucy,’ groaned Sarah. ‘I’d always suspected you had some sort of a hang-up about your lack of qualifications—but I’d have thought the way your writing’s been received would have boosted your confidence no end on that score.’
‘Sarah, they’re only children’s stories—’
‘What do you mean, “only”?’ cut in Sarah incredulously. ‘They’re fantastic! And the kids must have enjoyed them, otherwise the publisher wouldn’t be nagging you for more. I know people with a string of degrees behind them who’d give their right arm to get into print.’
Lucy gave her a sheepish smile. She was secretly enormously proud of her small success—and it had boosted her confidence no end.
‘I take it your stepbrother knows nothing of what you’ve achieved?’ said Sarah, her expression resigned.
‘You’re the only person I’ve told,’ admitted Lucy cagily.
‘You’ve not even told your mother?’
Lucy shook her head, her feelings of discomfiture bordering on guilt as she did so.
‘I want to make sure it’s something I actually can do as a career before I started broadcasting it,’ she said. ‘And I honestly do intend getting myself organised to write more regularly,’ she insisted, brightening visibly with the prospect.
‘You’ll make a most successful career out of it—that’s for sure,’ Sarah informed her confidently. ‘But something tells me that all the success in the world with your writing isn’t going to help cure the problem you have with the divine—in looks, that is—Mark.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU said you wouldn’t go too fast,’ complained Lucy, and was surprised when Mark instantly complied by slowing down the rate of his dictation—but only to a rate that enabled her to get down every third instead of every fifth word he uttered.
Up until now he had simply given her the gist of his letters, leaving the actual wording up to her, and it had worked well. In fact, being Mark’s secretary hadn’t been the trauma she had worked herself up into believing it would be—but only because he had been in his office so rarely.
‘Just a little slower,’ she pleaded, though in her heart of hearts she knew she should be asking him to stop altogether—her shorthand was useless!
‘Hell, Lucy, if I go much slower I’ll lose track of what I’m saying,’ he exclaimed, scowling across the desk at her. ‘Now—where was I?’
Lucy waited with growing despondency for him to continue.
‘I asked you where I’d got to,’ he stated impatiently. ‘You’d better read it back to me.’
She gazed down at the jumble of hieroglyphics staring back at her from the pad on her knee and experienced a moment of total panic.
‘I...I can barely read a word of it.’
‘Lucy, I’m not in the mood for your juvenile humour—read the darned thing back!’
‘I’ve told you—I can’t!’ she protested. ‘I warned you I’d be rusty...but even I hadn’t expected it to be this bad. I’ve just about forgotten all of it.’
‘Then what the hell were you scribbling away at while I was dictating?’ he demanded, leaning forwards across the desk in a manner she found more than a little intimidating.
‘I was trying to take it down...but I’ve done it so badly I can’t read it back.’
‘So, might I ask what would have happened if I’d not asked you to read those few words back to me?’ he demanded grimly. ‘The first few words, I should point out, of what would have amounted to several pages. I suppose you’d have been quite content to let me carry on—while you continued scribbling down gibberish!’
‘I’ve really no idea what I’d have done.’ And that was the plain truth, she thought unhappily.
‘So—what do we do now?’
Lucy hesitated—now was the time to tell him to stop playing around and find himself a proper secretary. ‘You could use a dictating machine,’ she heard herself say instead, as it suddenly occurred to her just how badly she had been handling the whole question.
As usual whenever Mark arrived on the scene, her self-confidence had deserted her. But she wasn’t a halfwit, so why on earth was she confirming his low opinion of her abilities by behaving as though she were? By no means all secretaries used shorthand and there was absolutely no reason whatever why she shouldn’t perform the job well once she set her mind to it.
‘A dictating machine,’ he murmured, as though turning the idea over in his mind. ‘I could dictate into it for hours at a stretch...then you could erase the whole lot in as many seconds.’
‘Despite what you may think, Mark, I’m not a congenital idiot,’ she informed him sharply.
‘You’re wrong to think that’s an idea I’ve ever entertained about you, sweetheart,’ he drawled. ‘I know darned well that any such mishap certainly wouldn’t be a mistake on your part.’
‘OK,’ she conceded without umbrage—it was pointless denying there hadn’t been times when she wouldn’t have thought twice about such sabotage. ‘If I promise faithfully not to erase anything...will you use one?’
‘It doesn’t look as though I have any choice,’ he said, then promptly gave her one of those beatific smiles she had learned of old not to trust. ‘And I’m so pleased you’ve decided to stop frothing at the mouth whenever I forget and refer to you as sweetheart...it’s just one of those cosy endearments of mine that are liable to slip out from time to time.’
Cosy endearments, my foot, thought Lucy indignantly, and as for one slipping out, she doubted if anything had ever passed his lips that hadn’t first been scrutinised thoroughly by that coldly calculating brain of his.
‘Of course it is,’ she murmured, a smile to equal his plastering itself across her face as she rose to her feet, ‘so don’t you give it another thought, sweetie pie.’
His eyes widened slightly, but there was amusement lurking at the corners of his mouth.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he enquired.
‘To find you a dictating machine.’
‘Well, you don’t need to look far,’ he informed her, also rising, ‘there’s one in your office—the previous two secretaries I borrowed didn’t do shorthand.’
Lucy let out a groan of pure frustration. ‘Do you mean to tell me you put me through all that just for the heck of it?’ she demanded angrily.
‘Darling, I couldn’t resist it—you know how dictatorial I am. And besides, shorthand was part of that exclusive training you had.’
‘Exclusive, my eye!’ exploded Lucy, his not so subtle reminder of how much her unsuccessful education had cost his father affecting her like a red rag to a bull. ‘The only thing exclusive about it was the ludicrous fees they charged! The same with those ghastly crammers you kept packing me off to. All they—’
‘Can it, Lucy,’ he drawled, walking past her and towards her office. ‘How about you rustling me up some coffee while I dig out this machine?’
Lucy hesitated, then followed him into her office. ‘Yes, sweetie pie,’ she murmured, chalking it up against the ‘darling’ he had slipped in earlier.
This time there was no hint of humour in the set of his mouth as he turned and glared at her before walking over to her desk.
