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Most evenings she staggered home to make a quick snack, get her smart business clothes ready for the morning, and fall into bed. Sometimes she dreamed of him, but that was hardly surprising; he had become a dominant force in her life.
On one weekend she had visited her grandfather in Herefordshire, and another weekend she’d gone to see her parents in Cambridge. Robina had been there, having left Ronnie for a ‘final’ time. She was divorcing him, she’d declared in floods of tears, she’d had enough. Ronnie had phoned, and there were more tears as Robina had screeched a list of his faults down the phone at him.
All that hate and recrimination had served only to freshly endorse for Chesnie that she’d got the better bargain when 23 she’d decided never to marry. Though she had to smile—when would she get the chance? Working for and with such a high-powered, work-oriented man, she didn’t have the time to date, much less to build any kind of relationship.
Which reminded her. Nerissa had telephoned last night to say Philip Pomeroy had rung again and could he have her sister’s number?
‘You didn’t give it to him?’ Chesnie had asked, guessing that Philip wanted to ask her out; she didn’t have time to go out. By not letting him have her newly connected number, she was spared having to make excuses.
‘I promised you I wouldn’t,’ Nerissa had confirmed.
With her new-found confidence in her ability to cope with her job, Chesnie parked her grandfather’s car, swung into the building and took the lift to the top floor. It went without saying that Joel Davenport would already be hard at work. Unless he was out of town he was always in before her.
An involuntary smile lit her mouth as she recalled that first Monday after Barbara had gone. Hoping to look as cool and as poised as she was striving to look, Chesnie, feeling a bundle of nerves, had entered her office. No sooner had she sat down, though, and Joel Davenport had come to greet her as if it had been her first day.
‘Good morning, Chesnie,’ he’d said pleasantly. ‘We haven’t frightened you off, then?’
She had given him her guarded smile. ‘Good morning, Mr Davenport,’ she’d replied and, inwardly churning, ‘I don’t scare easily,’ she had added.
He’d studied her, nodded, and then commented, ‘That’s what I like to hear. The name’s Joel,’ he indicated, and her first day as numero uno had begun.
The door between the two offices stood open today, as it sometimes did when she went in. ‘Good morning,’ Chesnie called to the dark-blond-haired man absorbed in the paperwork in front of him.
‘Good morning,’ he answered, but did not raise his head. Business as usual.
Chesnie had barely stowed her bag when Darren, the post boy, arrived. ‘Good morning, Miss Cosgrove,’ he said huskily, and as their hands touched as she relieved him of the bundles of post he blushed crimson.
Chesnie took her eyes from him, giving him time to compose himself. ‘How’s your mother?’ she asked. ‘I do hope she’s on the mend.’ She glanced at him, glad to see his blush had died down.
‘She’s going back to work today,’ he answered on a gulp of breath. ‘Thank you,’ he added, and gave her a beautiful smile as his eyes glued to her face, he backed to the door.
Then he became aware that Joel Davenport had come from his office and was standing watching him—Darren bolted. ‘That young man idolises you,’ Joel said abruptly.
‘It’s only a crush,’ Chesnie replied, and was ready to deal with any query her employer had when she discovered he wasn’t ready to dismiss the subject yet.
‘He’ll never get over it while you treat him that way!’
What way was that? ‘I’d rather be pleasant to him than not,’ she answered, as calmly as she was able.
‘Is that the way you treat all your admirers?’
What had this got to do with work? ‘It depends how old they are,’ she replied evenly. ‘Young men like Darren, sensitive young men, deserve to have their blushes respected. Older, more cynical men,’ she went on, looking one such straight in the eye, ‘are too tough to need kid-glove treatment.’
A grunt was her answer. ‘Bring the post through when you’ve sorted it!’ he rapped.
Yes, sir, three bags full, sir. And, anyhow, he could talk! In the short time she’d been there she’d observed he had quite a fan club amongst the female staff.
The morning that had got off to a rancorous start did not improve much for Chesnie when, nearing one o’clock, Joel’s office door opened. Observing he wasn’t there, the most striking-looking blue-eyed brunette, sporting a sensational tan, fluttered through and into Chesnie’s office.
‘You must be Chesnie!’ She smiled. ‘Uncle Winslow told me all about you.’
‘Uncle Winslow’ must be Winslow Yeatman, the chairman. Chesnie had by then met him several times and found him a most charming gentleman. ‘You must be Arlene Enderby,’ Chesnie guessed—the non-working director of the company.
‘You have it. I’ve come to take Joel to lunch, but he doesn’t appear to be in.’
Chesnie, who managed Joel’s diary with keen efficiency, knew for certain he did not have a lunch appointment with the chairman’s niece. ‘He’s probably been held up somewhere,’ she suggested tactfully. ‘Perhaps…’
‘Oh, we haven’t arranged lunch. I’ve just got back from soaking up the sun on holiday.’ She almost purred as she trotted out, ‘We have such a lot to catch up on, I thought—’ She broke off to exclaim, ‘Ah!’ as they heard a door open and saw Joel stride into his office. ‘Joel! Darling!’ Arlene Enderby cried, and was in the other office, flinging her arms around him as if he was some long-lost lover.
Chesnie met the eyes of her employer as Arlene Enderby snuggled into his arms. Chesnie did not smile; neither did he. She got up and deliberately closed the door—and discovered she was inwardly shaking, experiencing the strangest sensation of not caring to see him with his arms around some woman. How odd! Why should it bother her at all?
It wasn’t in the least odd, she decided a moment later. This was a place of business and that was why she didn’t care for it. Everything that happened in this office should be purely professional. Which wasn’t what was happening next door. What was happening next door? It was very quiet in there. She half wished she had left the door open.
Chesnie was over the slight glitch in her equilibrium by the next day. She smiled and chatted lightly to Darren when he brought the post, and dealt pleasantly with the various heads of department—male ones—who seemed to find it necessary to stop by her desk for one reason or another. She had gradually got to know more and more of the people within the organisation, and it was good to be able to put a face to the various names that cropped up from time to time.
Though there was one new face she hadn’t seen before. The tall white-haired man poked his head round her office door at a quarter to one and came in. ‘Well, you’re a decided improvement on Barbara Thingy,’ he beamed, and, when Chesnie looked pleasantly enquiring, asked, ‘Is my son around?’
‘You’re Joel’s father?’
‘I know, I know. I don’t look old enough to have a son that age,’ quipped the man Chesnie thought must be at least seventy. ‘Magnus Davenport, at your service.’ He extended his right hand, and Chesnie immediately decided she liked him.
‘Chesnie Cosgrove,’ she introduced herself, shaking his hand. ‘I’m afraid your son is at a business lunch. Can I help you at all?’
‘Oh, dear, that’s a nuisance! I’ve driven all the way across the city hoping he’d take me to lunch,’ Davenport Senior replied with a sigh.
Chesnie thought for a moment. The matter was settled when it came to her that Joel’s father was only about ten years younger than Gramps. She wouldn’t hesitate to take her grandfather to lunch. ‘I’ll take you if you like?’ she offered.
‘I thought you’d never ask!’ he beamed.
Over lunch she discovered Magnus Davenport was a bit of a rascal. He insisted that she call him by his first name, but as he chatted away freely, about everything and everyone, she found that as well as being an outrageous gossip he was also a bit of a flirt—but quite harmless.
He openly told her that his wife, Joel’s mother, had thrown him out and divorced him years ago. ‘Said I was shiftless. Can you believe that? And that she’d had enough.’ Chesnie was on the point of feeling sorry for him when all of a sudden he laughed. ‘D’you know, I can’t really blame her? I never did hold down a job for long. Come to think of it, one of the happiest days I’ve had was when I retired.’
Chesnie had to laugh too; he had a sort of infectious quality about him. ‘I must think about getting back,’ she hinted, when he seemed inclined to linger over his coffee.
‘I’m going to the races tomorrow. Fancy coming with me?’ he asked.
She smiled and declined, and knew she was going to be late when Magnus Davenport drove her back to the Yeatman Trading building. She was not unduly alarmed that it was nearer half past two than two o’clock when Magnus dropped her off. She had worked late many times, and would cheerfully work late tonight if she hadn’t finished her workload by five.
‘I won’t come in—give me a call if you change your mind about the races,’ he said, and handed her his card.
Chesnie was smiling as she bade him goodbye, but had work on her mind as she opened the door to her office. She noticed at once that the communicating door to her employer’s office was open and that Joel was back from his business lunch.
Courtesy demanded that she commented on her lateness. She crossed that carpet and was aware that Joel knew she had returned, even though she hadn’t noticed him look up.
Nor did he glance up then, when she stood to the side of his desk. For some reason it niggled her. She’d be blessed if she’d say a word till he acknowledged her presence.
Just as she was about to turn around and go back to her office, however, he carefully laid down his pen. Then his head came up. He leaned back in his chair, silently appraising her, from the top of her red-blonde hair, to her slender but curvy figure in the royal blue suit, and all the way down to her shoes. Then, while she was studying his firm jaw, noticing that his mouth was pretty terrific even without the semblance of a smile, he moved his glance swiftly upwards and his blue eyes met her stubborn green ones head on.
Good, she’d got his attention. He waited—waited for her to speak first—and she felt quite irritated about that too. But she had been at pains to adopt a cool front; she wasn’t about to let it slip now.
‘Your father called,’ she began evenly, pleasantly. ‘He was disappointed not to see you,’ she added. ‘We went to lunch,’ she informed him, when Davenport said nothing.
‘No doubt you were able to help him over his disappointment,’ he threw in sourly, and at that moment pugilistic tendencies awakened in Chesnie that she’d had no idea she possessed. To her amazement she felt a momentary desire to poke Davenport Junior in the eye with something sharp and painful. ‘Who paid?’ he asked abruptly, his tone toughening.
What was it with him? The nerve! ‘Your father was my guest,’ she answered primly.
‘He conned you into taking him to lunch, didn’t he?’
‘Not at all. I liked him,’ she began. ‘He—’
‘I’ll reimburse you!’ Joel Davenport cut in sharply—and her anger went soaring, and with it her cool image.
‘No, you won’t!’ she flared hotly, and saw him smile—every bit as if he really enjoyed fracturing the cool front she’d displayed this past six weeks.
He shrugged. ‘So I won’t,’ he agreed, his tone all at once silky, and picked up his pen.
Chesnie went swiftly back to her own office. She felt then that she hated him. He’d done that on purpose—made her forget her poise for a moment. She didn’t want her front fractured; it made her feel vulnerable. She did not care for the feeling.
She slammed into her work and wanted nothing to do with him. This was what happened when you let personalities in on the scene. Meeting his father, liking him, laughing with him, had put a severe dent in the Chesnie Cosgrove she preferred to show the world. It seemed as if one Davenport had softened her up for another. Well, she wasn’t having it.
By four that afternoon her cool exterior was firmly back in place. At four-fifteen Larry Jenkins from Accounts came into her office with a query that wasn’t strictly in her domain, but she was pleased to be able to handle it. Though Larry didn’t stay long when the door opened and Joel Davenport strode in.
Joel watched him hastily leave. ‘I hear this corridor is alive with senior executives in need of guidance from you on some urgent matter or other,’ he commented.
What was she supposed to answer to that? And how did he know? Though she supposed that not a lot got by him—even when he wasn’t around! ‘Is there something you need guidance with?’ she enquired coolly of his visit—and didn’t hate him any more when he actually laughed, as though the way she’d bounced that back at him had amused him.
‘Are you still mad at me?’ he asked, with such a wealth of natural charm there that she began to like him very much again.
‘You deliberately provoked me!’ she accused primly.
‘Did I?’ he asked innocently—and a moment later was all business and instruction.
Chesnie went home that night in a happy frame of mind. She liked her job, had never felt so stimulated by any work she had done before, and she liked her boss too. He was…Chesnie came to, to realise she had drifted off for quite some time to thinking of Joel Davenport, her good-looking boss. My, did he have it all. Gina had rung him this morning, but he hadn’t stayed talking to her above a minute. Chesnie had an idea that Gina was on her way out.
Aware that her employer would be flying up to Scotland first thing on Thursday morning, Chesnie went into the office earlier than usual on Wednesday, so she could complete any information he needed to take with him before he left the office that night.
‘Good morning,’ she called as she went in, and hardly thought he would notice her early arrival.
‘Couldn’t sleep?’
She should have known better—there was no detail small enough that he’d miss. She grinned to herself and started her day.
She did not feel like grinning when, in Joel’s office, taking notes later that morning, the phone on her desk rang. Saving time, Joel stretched out a hand and pressed a button to divert the call to his phone, and took the call himself.
Whoever it was had been put through to the right phone in the first place. ‘Who wants her?’ he demanded. And while Chesnie was thinking it must be some business call, because her family would only phone in the direst emergency, he was charmingly saying, ‘I’m sorry, Pomeroy, my PA isn’t available just now.’ So saying, he put down the phone and terminated the call. Then, as cool as you like, he calmly carried on from where he had left off.
Feeling little short of amazed, Chesnie stared disbelievingly at her employer. Even while she was recognising that someone named Pomeroy had phoned to speak to her, and that the only Pomeroy she knew was Philip Pomeroy, Chesnie was astonished that Joel Davenport had not passed the call over to her.
She quickly found her voice. ‘Anyone I should ring back?’ she enquired politely, annoyance straining at the leash.
Joel looked across at her, his blue glance icy. ‘How do you know Philip Pomeroy?’ he demanded.
Ready to tell him it was none of his business, Chesnie decided that one of them should show some manners here. ‘I met him at a party.’ She forced the words out.
Joel grunted, didn’t look impressed, and stated coldly, ‘You do know he’s with the opposition?’
‘Opposition?’
‘In case you didn’t know he heads Symington Technology—our competitors in the technology field.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Chesnie answered, and started to feel cross that Joel Davenport was as good as reminding her that the work she did for him was highly confidential. She resented that unsaid reminder, resented his icy manner, and tilted her chin a defiant fraction. ‘You obviously know him better than I do,’ she replied, her control back. And, knowing she was pushing it, ‘Do you happen to have his number?’
Icy blue eyes bored into hers; she refused to back down. ‘I shouldn’t bother,’ he replied shortly. ‘He’ll ring again.’
Chesnie was still silently mutinying against Joel Davenport when she went back to her desk. She didn’t particularly wish to speak to Philip Pomeroy—and thank you, Nerissa, for telling him where I work—but that was for her to decide, not Davenport. He spoke to his girlfriends when they rang him at the office. Where did he get off not allowing her that same courtesy? Even if Philip Pomeroy was the opposition.
Chesnie was not feeling any more Davenport-friendly when, around midday, just as he had predicted, Philip Pomeroy rang again. Had the door between the two offices not been open, and Joel Davenport privy to everything she said, Chesnie might well have refused Philip’s invitation to dinner. As it was, she knew full well he had heard her ‘Hello, Philip’ and would more than likely be tuned in. Stubbornly she determined that Davenport should know exactly what she thought of his offensive, if unspoken, reminder that her work was highly confidential.
‘Say yes,’ Philip was urging. ‘You can’t still be unpacking.’
She glanced through to the other office—Davenport appeared to be working, but she knew his capability to handle several things at once. ‘I’d love to go out with you,’ she heard herself reply—and loved it when Davenport turned his head to glance her way. He was unsmiling. She smiled—she couldn’t help it—then dipped her head so he shouldn’t see her smile, though she guessed he had.
‘Tonight?’ Philip was pressing. ‘Give me your address and I’ll pick you up at—’
‘Er—I can’t tonight,’ she interrupted hurriedly. Heaven alone knew what time she would finish work tonight. Tomorrow, though, with Joel up in Scotland, should be much easier. ‘I can make tomorrow if—’
Philip snapped up the alternative, asked again for her address, and when she had told him where she lived he, as busy as she, said he would look forward to tomorrow and rang off.
After that Chesnie was too busy to give thought to anything but the work she was involved with. She stayed late at her desk; so too did the man in the next room. At ten past seven she tidied her desk for the day, double-checked that Joel had all the information he would need for his trip, and went in to see him.
They spent another ten minutes finalising everything, then she said she was going home—and found she was looking into a pair of inscrutable sharp blue eyes.
He was unsmiling at first, but then relaxed to say quietly, ‘You’re turning out to be something of a treasure, Chesnie Cosgrove.’
Her heart gave the most peculiar bump, and she was so delighted by the compliment that she almost fell for his charm and smiled. But she wasn’t forgetting his attitude earlier in the day, so she remained pleasant, but otherwise aloof, as—like any well-brought-up PA would—she wished him a pleasant trip and went home.
Strangely—or perhaps, she mused, it wasn’t so strange—Joel Davenport was in her head very much that night. She could not remember ever being so annoyed with an employer before. Hector Browning didn’t count; it was his father she had worked for.
Feeling unable to settle, Joel Davenport still in her head, she rang her sister at half past nine. ‘I expected you to ring before this,’ Nerissa said by way of apology. ‘He rang, didn’t he?’
‘Did you have to tell him where I work?’
‘What else could I do? You said not to give him your phone number. And anyway, I ran out of excuses. Where’s he taking you?’
‘I don’t know. He’s calling for me at—’
‘Hah!’ Nerissa cut in. ‘You’re going out with him!’
