Buttoned-Up Secretary, British Boss (7 page)

As he went into his bathroom for a quick wash and brush-up, he looked thoughtfully at himself in the mirror for a second. How
would
he describe Sabrina to someone
who’d never met her? he thought. Well, there was no difficulty there. She was small, with small hands and feet and a heart-shaped face, a slightly tip-tilted nose and desirable, full lips; she had long, fair hair almost down to her waist but always immaculately groomed. But the colour of those eyes, those magical eyes…They were a translucent green, like the deepest part of a placid ocean.

But
…She wore no make-up, no nail varnish, no heady, sickening perfume; no pretence of any kind.

Not Bruno’s type at all, Alexander thought with some satisfaction.

Later, armed with a floor cloth, disinfectant, polish and some dusters, Sabrina went upstairs to the study. Through the partly open door of a large cupboard along the landing, she’d seen a vacuum cleaner and brushes. Good; that should all be quite sufficient to sort out Alexander McDonald’s mess, she thought.

The first thing she did was to open all the windows in the study and let in some fresh air. Then, turning, she went across to the
chaise longue
, filled her arms with all the cushions and went over to bang them furiously together out through the window. The dust flew out in clouds, causing her to sneeze three times in quick succession. That hadn’t been done in a long time, she thought—but no blame could be attached to Maria, who wasn’t even allowed in this room.

A sudden thought struck Sabrina for a moment and she went over to the small pile of dusters, selecting one which had obviously not been used, because it was still neatly folded, and tied it around her head. At least that would be some protection.

Then she started to tackle the floor. Masses of dust
had gathered along the skirting boards and in the corners; picking up a broom, she began sweeping it up carefully, collecting it in the dustpan she’d found. The vacuum cleaner could do the rest, she thought, going over to switch it on.

As she moved the machine briskly over the huge Persian rug, she soon began to see the colourful design beneath. Although it clearly wasn’t new, it was a beautiful piece of soft furnishing which must have cost a fortune. When she’d finished that, she got down on her hands and knees and polished the dark-oak flooring until it shone, realizing that she was actually enjoying doing all this. She’d never minded house work in any case, but doing it in someone else’s place was slightly more interesting, or so it seemed just then. When she was satisfied that the whole area resembled something other than a receptacle for grime, Sabrina stood back and surveyed it critically. Well, that would do for a start.

But there was still a long way to go, and for the next two hours she took down and wiped clean all the books from the shelves, polished the oak doors of the fitted cupboards and worked a damp sponge along the window frames.

She decided to leave Alexander’s desk until last. Then she suddenly realized that there was still the old granite fireplace to deal with, almost hidden by a couple of high-backed chairs standing in front of it. With almost wild abandon, she scooped up all the bric-a-brac from the mantelpiece: old post cards, a torch which didn’t work, a box of matches, a nail file, a cork screw, a box of tissues, another one of plasters and some cough sweets. She shook her head as she put it all to one side.
How can anyone—how can Alexander McDonald—live like
this?
she thought. But then, he didn’t live here, this was where he worked. And none of this disorder registered with him. He only had eyes for the words taking form in front of him.

Standing in front of the chimneypiece was a huge jug of dried flowers long past their sell-by date, so that they had mostly disintegrated into a powdery heap. Well, she’d dump those and replace them with some fresh greenery from the garden. She’d spotted plenty of bushes down there that had some colourful leaves on one or two of them.

When she finally got round to tidying his desk, Sabrina realized that here she must not take liberties. This was Alexander’s domain, and he wouldn’t like anything put back differently.

Sitting herself in his chair for a moment, it gave Sabrina a genuine thrill as she stared at everything in front of her. There were countless pens, pencils—most of them chewed at the top—rubbers, sticking tape, directories and reference books. Not many people had the chance to sit here where all the imagination flowed, all the expertise, culminating in Alexander’s books, which sold in their millions. Almost reverentially, Sabrina cleaned the dust from every corner of the desk, wiped over the computer and telephone and tidied the books, before replacing everything she’d moved back to where it had been before.

Suddenly, a small snapshot fell to the floor; it had obviously been tucked inside a page somewhere. Picking it up, Sabrina saw that it was a picture of a somewhat younger Alexander on a beach somewhere, tanned and wearing a brief pair of swimming trunks, his arms clasped tightly around the waist of a dark-haired young woman in a bikini. She was gazing up at him adoringly,
and the whole scene told its own story. Those were two people very much in love.

Sabrina put the snap back into one of the books, wondering who that girl had been. Someone who was once very special to Alexander, she thought.

Then she shrugged. There were no doubt plenty of other photographs like that, of other women in his life—why did it bother her? And of course it didn’t, not a bit.

Decisively, Sabrina finished what she was doing before putting away all the cleaning stuff she’d been using. Then, letting herself out of the back entrance, she slipped outside into the garden to pick an armful of foliage to put in the jug. It cheered that black grate up no end. Looking around at her afternoon’s handiwork, she felt satisfyingly gratified. The whole room looked pleasant now, almost habitable.

Glancing at her watch, Sabrina saw that it was already five-thirty—and she hadn’t done a scrap of that typing he’d left for her!
Help!
He would be back soon, because he hadn’t rung to say he was delayed.

Suddenly feeling quite exhausted, Sabrina moved over to the
chaise longue
and without thinking collapsed down on to it, lying down and resting her head back, closing her eyes. Just for a few moments, she thought. Just a few moments to recover.

Alexander looked down at the sleeping form of his secretary, a strange expression on his face. His gaze swept around the room, taking in the shining floorboards, the amazingly bright rug, the books on his shelves standing to attention, the smell of polish and fresh air and the casually elegant display of greenery in the fireplace. A slow smile touched his lips as he stood, motionless, for a
few moments. Well, she’d asked permission to clean up and he’d agreed. He had to admit that an unusual sense of well-being came over him as he looked around. It was a very pleasant experience to see his study—which sometimes felt like his prison—so
cared-for
.

Then his eyes softened as he looked back at Sabrina. Even with a bright-yellow duster tied around her head and a dark smudge of dust on her nose, she looked, well, wonderful, he thought. Wonderful, vulnerable…He turned abruptly to leave the room just as her eyes flickered open, and she struggled to sit up.

‘Heavens! What’s the time?’ she faltered, looking up at him. ‘I only meant to sit down for a moment. I must have dozed off…’

‘Well, from what I can see all around me, I’m not surprised,’ Alexander said, reaching his hand out to raise her up. ‘It’s six. It took me a bit longer to get back, I’m afraid.’ He paused. ‘Sabrina, you’ve transformed the study. Thank you—thank you very much.’

She smiled up at him. ‘I quite enjoyed doing it, but I haven’t done any of the rather more important work you left for me, Alexander…’

He placed his hand briefly on her shoulder. ‘There’s always tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And now I’m going to take you home. You’ve had a long, long day.’

O
N
T
HURSDAY
, two weeks later, Sabrina was feeling so involved with Alexander McDonald’s work and lifestyle, she felt she’d known him for ever. They seemed to have developed a rapport so quickly that any dread she might have felt about working for such an important man—who’d left her in no doubt at the interview that a lot would be expected of her—had disappeared almost overnight. But she did concede that her own qualifications had been an advantage because she had learned to read his mindset straight away, and knew when it was wise to say something or when to keep quiet. And she took it as a great compliment that he sometimes asked her opinion about something he was agonizing over as he wrote. She realized, with some surprise, that even great writers seemed to need constant reassurance and encouragement. The fact that he ran something by her occasionally made her feel ridiculously proud.

To her relief, the penultimate chapter of his current novel had been approved, and now they were well into the final moments, the denouement of the story. How on earth was he going to bring it all together? she asked herself.

As she typed up the first draft of the last chapter, she felt herself completely caught up with the plot, as if
this total fiction of his mattered, really mattered. She would buy his books from now on, she decided, all of them. Because now she had an intensely personal interest in anything and everything that concerned Alexander McDonald.

Of course by now his dreadful scrawl had become as plain as day to Sabrina. What she’d found so difficult to make out on that first day was not difficult any more. He seemed amazed at how quickly she was able to pass him the most recent printout.

Sabrina’s present feeling of being so upbeat had a lot to do with Melly’s experience in Spain. They’d only had three phone conversations since she had left, and each one had been full of how well everything was going over there; how Melly was being complimented on her work and attitude; how much fun she was having. Sabrina could barely recognize the voice at the other end. Her sister was usually the one whose pint was always half-empty rather than half-full, but there was no hint of pessimism now. She was having a ball, and although Sabrina was careful not to mention anything about health it was quite obvious that her sister was feeling on top of the world, with no talk of her being depressed or anxious about anything at all. A hasty text this week had informed Sabrina that the tour had been extended, possibly for two or three weeks.

At around midday the front-door bell rang and Sabrina stopped typing and looked up in surprise. They seldom, if ever, had any visitors.

Going downstairs, she opened the door to see the instantly recognizable figure of Bruno McDonald standing there, casually dressed in black trousers and blue rugby-shirt. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and although there was an obvious likeness to his brother it
was clear at Sabrina’s first glance that it was Alexander who’d been especially endowed by nature. For one thing, Bruno did not possess the same spectacular jet-black eyes, the same magnetic, searching expression…

His smile was friendly, and more than interested in Sabrina as he looked down at her.

‘Ah, you must be the new secretary—the lovely Sabrina,’ he drawled lazily, his glance sweeping from Sabrina’s face, down the entire length of her body and back again, making her feel as if she was standing there with nothing on.

‘Yes, I’m Sabrina, Mr McDonald,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’m afraid your brother is not here at the moment. He goes to the gym on Thursdays.’

Bruno waited a second before answering. ‘Yes, I know, and I realized he probably wouldn’t be back yet. But I was in the area and thought it worth dropping in. I want to talk to him about something he’s looking at for me.’ He smiled slowly. ‘I’ll come in and wait for him.’

Sabrina stood back at once for him to come inside. ‘Of course. Can I make you a coffee?’

‘That would be most kind, Sabrina.’ The words which anyone might use, but spoken in that particular way, made Sabrina feel distinctly uncomfortable. She hoped Alexander wouldn’t be long.

Bruno followed her along the hall into the kitchen, and presently stood idly leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, watching Sabrina as she filled the kettle.

‘So, how long has…Sabrina been working for my brother?’ he enquired.

‘Oh, just a few weeks,’ Sabrina replied, not looking at him, not wanting to make eye contact.

‘Well, now, and what’s he like as an employer?’
Bruno said. ‘Of course, the other woman—Janet—was with him for absolutely ages, put up with him for years, so I suppose she was used to his ways. But—’ he paused ‘—I imagine that Alexander can be difficult—a bit of a brute at times.’

Now Sabrina turned and looked at Bruno squarely. ‘On the contrary,’ she said coolly, ‘I have never found Mr McDonald to be anything other than entirely businesslike and professional.’

How dreadful was this? she thought. Discussing Alexander under his own roof with a complete stranger, even if it was with a member of the family. She was beginning to heartily dislike the man standing there beside her. If his manner and approach were anything to go by he couldn’t be less like Alexander. Even at the very beginning Sabrina had always felt relaxed and comfortable with her boss, which was not how she was feeling at the moment.

‘Well, well, perhaps you’re a good influence on him,’ Bruno said languidly. ‘Maybe a fresh face…and a fresh figure…was what he’d needed all along,’ he added with heavy emphasis.

By now, Sabrina’s nerve endings were really beginning to tingle. Any minute, Bruno McDonald was going to make a pass at her, she thought.

As she busied herself with preparing his drink, she turned and glanced back at him, changing the subject.

‘I think we’re having what they call an “Indian summer”,’ she said casually. ‘For October it’s really warm today, isn’t it?’

‘It certainly is,’ he agreed. ‘And I, personally,
love
warm weather because it encourages all you lovely girlies to dress in your scantiest, most revealing clothes.’ He paused, deliberately staring at Sabrina again; she
cringed, wishing that she’d not chosen to wear her rather low-cut top this morning. But it was the coolest one she owned, and it was sometimes rather hot working upstairs in the study.

‘Of course, in winter,’ he went on, ‘you all insist on covering yourselves up in layers and layers of thick things. Which is such a shame for all us susceptible males lusting in the wings for a glimpse or two of the female form.’

If he doesn’t shut up
, Sabrina thought, irritated,
I’m going to tell him where to go.

She was moving across to the cupboard where they kept the biscuits, standing on tiptoe to reach the tin, when Bruno immediately came up behind her. With one hand on her shoulder, he leaned across her and took the biscuits down from the shelf. With his face close to Sabrina’s now, he looked down at her solemnly, and she could smell alcohol on his heavy breath.

‘Now, Sabrina, if you had eaten up all your greens when you were a little girl, you would have grown a bit taller,’ he said reprovingly.

Then, unbelievably, he slipped his hand from her shoulder and cupped it deliberately over her breast, squeezing it gently for a second. To which Sabrina’s immediate response was to dig her elbow hard into the most vulnerable part of his solar plexus so that he staggered back, only just managing to stifle a painful, ‘Ouch!’

For a few moments, Sabrina stood and glared at him, her eyes like jewelled daggers ready to strike, when thankfully the door opened and Alexander stood there. He looked first at Sabrina, then at Bruno, then back at Sabrina—and he could see straight away that something wasn’t right. The atmosphere was undeniably charged,
and he’d never seen an expression on Sabrina’s face like that before.

Standing there in his shorts and T-shirt, his hair damp and tousled, he said, ‘What’s going on, Sabrina?’

‘Oh, it’s all right…it’s nothing, really,’ she began, her voice clearly unsteady.

But that tremulous remark of hers only confirmed Alexander’s understanding of the situation, and for a dramatic moment he had difficulty in not punching his brother squarely between the eyes.
Bloody Bruno!

‘Alex, dear boy!’ Bruno said, totally unfazed by his brother’s arrival, or indeed by the thunderous look on his face. ‘I thought I’d chance my luck that you might be able to see me for half an hour,’ he said. He looked back at Sabrina. ‘Your delightful secretary is just making me a coffee, which is sweet of her.’

But Alexander McDonald was nobody’s fool, and he knew his brother. He went over to stand between Bruno and Sabrina. Putting his arm lightly on her shoulder, he could feel her shaking. ‘Get out, Bruno,’ Alexander said in a way that brooked no argument. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Oh, but I was hoping to show you this latest thing I’m interested in,’ Bruno began. ‘Hoping for your…input, Alex.’

‘I repeat—get out,’ Alexander said, keeping his voice calm with great difficulty. ‘And please do not expect to just drop in any old time without letting me know first,’ he added.

For the next few moments, Sabrina really thought she was going to faint. Where had she landed
this
time? Although she could see that Alexander guessed that his brother had behaved inappropriately, just how was this going to affect her chances now, her position here? Might Bruno McDonald even accuse her of leading him
on, if Alexander demanded an explanation? She shuddered as she recalled his podgy hand mauling her.

But, feeling Alexander’s protective grip on her shoulder, Sabrina knew that he had assessed the situation straight away, and she began to relax a bit. For her part, she would never tell her boss exactly what had upset her just now, she thought. In any case, it had hardly been the most mind-shattering thing to have taken place. But, still, it had taken her completely unawares and all she wished now was that she was out of here and safely back at home.

Alexander strode across the room and opened the door wide. ‘Allow me to show you out, Bruno,’ he said bluntly. ‘And I repeat—next time, have the courtesy to inform me that you’re going to call in. It’s the least anyone should expect,’ he added.

Bruno raised his arms helplessly, as if he didn’t know why he was suddenly so unwelcome in his brother’s house. ‘Oh, deary me,’ he said laconically. ‘I have obviously hit a nerve or two this morning, haven’t I?’ He looked across at Sabrina whose cheeks had gone from rosy to almost deathly pale in the last few moments. ‘You must understand, Sabrina, that we creative types can be difficult, prone to moodiness from time to time, and today is clearly one of those times. My brother doesn’t seem to be a very happy boy, does he?’

Bruno sauntered over to leave the room, glancing back for a second. ‘I wish you the best of luck, my dear,’ he added. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day.’

Then he was gone, and presently Alexander came back into the kitchen and looked down at Sabrina, who was still rooted to the spot.

‘I…I won’t ask you to elaborate, Sabrina,’ he said quietly. ‘All I will do is to apologize, profusely, for any
inconvenience my brother put you to while I was out. Because clearly he had.’

Sabrina managed to smile faintly. ‘I don’t want to say anything about it, Alexander—as I said, it was nothing…not really. It was just a silly man behaving like silly men do. It’s not the first time I’ve experienced it, and it won’t be the last. Unfortunately,’ she added.

But not from Alexander, Sabrina thought; never from him. Despite Bruno’s ridiculous parting-shot, she had always felt comfortable, secure and totally at ease alone with her boss. How could two brothers be so unalike? Perhaps the touchy-feely theatrical world was to blame, she thought, glad that Melly had never been exposed to Bruno’s sickening advances for more than a few moments at those auditions she’d attended. If she herself was ever put in that position with the man again, she thought savagely, she’d find an even more tender part of his anatomy to make her point.

‘Well, anyway,’ Alexander said, still clearly ruffled. ‘Let’s not ruin the rest of our day by thinking about my brother any further.’ He paused. ‘Do you feel like making us a sandwich while I pop up and have a quick shower? We’ve an afternoon’s work ahead of us.’

‘Wilco,’ she said, touching her forehead in a mock salute.

As she prepared some toasted sandwiches for their lunch, Sabrina’s thoughts centred on Melly for a moment. It seemed such a long time since her sister had left for Spain—and the girl didn’t seem in any particular hurry to return! Although Sabrina was missing her a lot, she admitted to feeling carefree for the first time in ages.
Well, I’d better enjoy it
, she thought,
because when Melly returns nothing much will really have changed
and there’ll be the inevitable sense of anti-climax to deal with.

But she mustn’t think of all that now, she thought. She was looking forward to this afternoon, when she’d be reading aloud all the stuff she’d typed so far in this final chapter of Alexander’s novel. Knowing all his characters by now, she felt she knew exactly how it should sound. How she would make it sound, bring it all to life.

Soon, now wearing dark, well-cut trousers and a fine, light-grey shirt, Alexander sat in his chair facing away from Sabrina, staring out of the window as she settled down to read the printout.

Keeping her voice firm and modulated, Sabrina began to feel something like an electric thrill coursing down her spine. This wasn’t work, this was total, utter pleasure, she thought gratefully. As the simple yet masterful prose began to take shape as it was spoken aloud, Sabrina felt honoured again to be the first one, apart from the author, to hear it. It was like marking out the first footsteps on an expanse of freshly fallen snow. It was a privilege.

Alexander listened intently. She knew he wouldn’t interrupt her, but once or twice she was aware of him bending his head to write something briefly on the pad on his knee.

So intensely did Sabrina feel her emotions being stirred as the story developed that, as she came to a particularly poignant section in which the two main protagonists were having a terrible, violent quarrel, her voice rose and fell in anguish at the impossible situation they were in. Why would people say such dreadful things to each other? she thought, her own thoughts silently interrupting the plot. How could anyone be so
vicious? And further on, when it seemed unlikely that anything could ever be resolved, she felt such a degree of helplessness that her voice actually broke as she read out the plaintive dialogue, the longing in the sentiments expressed. It was magical writing, leaving her almost breathless.