Old Desires/A Stranger's Kiss (2-in-1 edition) (30 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

HER grip on the telephone was painful, her knuckles white with the strain of holding onto her temper.

‘Good afternoon, Adam,’ she said, crisply. ‘I have reason to believe you need another secretary.’

‘I do. And would it be too much to ask for one who can take down a few simple notes without having hysterics this time?’

‘Mary has never had hysterics in her life,’ she said, coldly. ‘I don’t understand your problem, Adam. She was exactly what you asked for. Even down to the underwear,’ she added rashly, her fingers firmly crossed. ‘With the added bonus that she can actually type.’

 Beth’s eyebrows were working overtime on the other side of the office, but Tara studiously ignored them, furiously wishing she hadn’t allowed herself to say anything so stupid. The common sense she had always prided herself on appeared to have deserted her. She wondered if Adam Blackmore had stolen it, along with her heart.

‘You remembered?’ he asked, softly.

She swallowed. Of course she remembered. She would never forget anything he had said or done. She would never forget the way he had held her, the kiss that had driven every thought from her head leaving only him to fill her mind, until the cold draught of sanity had dragged her back to reality.

‘Tara?’ he prompted.

‘Of course I remembered,’ she said, with all the outward appearance of calm. ‘Nothing is too much for a client. Any client,’ she added, and quickly continued. ‘You can expect a suitably qualified senior secretary by the name of Lisa Martin at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’ He made no response to this and Tara was beginning to find it difficult to breathe. ‘She is our very best shorthand secretary. She doesn’t normally work during the school holidays, but I have managed to persuade her to work for you,’ she rushed on.

‘I’m glad you have a good memory. It will help keep you warm on cold winter nights.’ His voice was without emotion, yet as he dropped the receiver back onto the cradle she shivered.

She put the phone down quickly and snatched her hand away as if somehow he could reach out through the receiver and hold her. She had tried to be business-like, but he continued to torment her. Why? He was the one who said he didn’t want to see her ever again. So why couldn’t he just leave her to get on with her life?

What life? forlornly echoed back in her head. Before she had met Adam she’d had work, a new business to build up with Beth, a pleasant social life and a godmother in the Lake District who emerged only for weddings and funerals these days and who she didn’t see enough of, but who she loved dearly.

She still had all those things, but none of them seemed to matter very much. Perhaps if she had had a family, brothers and sisters it would have been different. But she had never known her parents. Mr and Mrs Lambert had taken her in when she was orphaned as a baby. She smiled at the memory of that life. She had been lucky she knew. They had cared for her as if she had been their daughter and she had always thought of Nigel as a nothing more than a big brother until he went away to college to study design.

She had missed him so much more than she had expected. Other girls seemed to quarrel endlessly with their brothers, but Nigel had always been there for her, protecting her, the very best friend she had ever had. When he asked her to marry him it had seemed so obvious, so right.

She sighed. There had been none of the searing, blazing passion that Adam generated by his very presence, by the sound of his voice on the telephone. Nigel hadn’t turned her bones to jelly, her blood to fire. It had been a comfortable, easy relationship. They would have been happy, given the chance. But a small doubt niggled at the back of her mind. If she had met someone like Adam Blackmore, would it have been enough? Perhaps that’s what Jane’s marriage had been like. Comfortable. Until Adam Blackmore settled like a thorn under her skin.

The afternoon seemed to drag interminably. Despite work left on her desk, as soon as the clock turned five-thirty Tara pulled on her coat.

‘What’s the hurry?’ Beth asked, surprised.

‘I’ve had enough. I need a hot bath, a bowl of spaghetti and a very large bar of chocolate. In no particular order.’

Beth looked sympathetic. ‘I recognise the symptoms. Go and wallow. You’ll feel so guilty tomorrow that you won’t have to time to worry about the heartache.’

Tara was going to deny it, but it would be pointless. Beth was an incurable romantic, falling in and out of love at the drop of a hat.

‘Is it like this for long?’ she asked.

‘It varies, sweetheart. What was it like when Nigel died?’

Tara tried to remember. ‘It wasn’t like this, Beth. I grieved for Nigel. I loved him. I’d loved him all my life.’ She shook her head. ‘But it wasn’t like this.’

Beth shook her head. ‘Maybe you should go away for a few days. You could do with a break.’

‘Perhaps, later.’

‘Not later. We’ll go to Alberto’s and have a carbfest. Pasta, Chianti and some of that amazing chocolate cake he makes. It’s the very best sticking plaster for a broken heart, I promise.’ She grinned. ‘Trust me, I know. You can fall into the bath later.’

Tara suddenly laughed. ‘Fall is probably the right words, but you got me at chocolate cake.’

‘Oh, well done.’ Beth said, approvingly. ‘You’re going to make an excellent patient.’

Beth had her giggling through the meal, telling her the most outrageous stories about the many boyfriends she had had over the years. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she finally, protested. ‘That’s too much.’

Beth shrugged. ‘Ah, well. It’s my contention that you should never spoil a good story by sticking too closely to the truth.’

When they parted in Victoria Road to go their separate ways, Tara felt better. The laughter had helped. She didn’t think it would last, but tonight she would have a soak in the bath and she would sleep.

‘Good evening, Mrs Lambert.’ The security guard raised his hand in salute as she passed him.

She let herself in, her good mood evaporated in the space of a second. She glared at the telephone. She should ring him and tell him to call off his watchdog right now, but the morning would do. And she wouldn’t telephone. She would have to keep her distance from Adam if she was ever to recover her equilibrium. She would send him a polite little note instead.

The light on the answering machine was winking and she pressed the play button. There were a couple of calls from people she hadn’t seen for a week or two. A message from Jim, sounding quite desperate, asking her to ring him. The last call was a voice she had heard before, but couldn’t quite put a name to.

‘Tara? I hope this is the right number, I got it out of the phone book. I wondered if you would come into the clinic and see me if you can spare the time? Perhaps at the weekend. Saturday at about four o’clock would be a good time.’ Jane? ‘Sorry, this is Jane Townsend. I should have said that first. I’m absolutely hopeless with these things. I’m rather worried about Adam and I think it’s time we had a little a chat.’

Oh, yes, it was Jane. That warm breathless charm was unmistakable. And she wanted to have a little chat about Adam. Warn her off, more likely. Under the circumstances she would probably feel the same way. She angrily turned the taps on in the bathroom, her mood destroyed completely, wondering what friendly little voice at Victoria House had taken the trouble to pass on the information that she should watch her back.

Well, she would go. She owed the woman that. She would reassure Jane that she had no intention of disrupting her domestic arrangements with Adam. For her own peace of mind she hoped never to speak to the man again.

And Jim was back on her trail. It was time she put an end to that once and for all. She dialled his number but there was no reply. Then with a squeal of panic fled to the bathroom just in time to prevent a flood.

* * *

She did sleep. She awoke heavy eyed and heavy limbed to the alarm clock, hardly sure what day it was. She lay still for a moment collecting her thoughts. Thursday. The week was apparently endless. But it was Thursday, her busiest day. Time to get up.

She climbed out of bed. The paperboy had pushed the local weekly through the letterbox and the postman had delivered his usual quota of bills. She picked them up and dumped them on the kitchen table and went and stood under the shower to finish waking up.

She checked her diary. There were several appointments which caused a frown to gently furrow her brow. She and Beth had to make up the salary cheques for the girls today for collection on Friday. And there was the local newspaper to scan for advertisements for vacancies and follow-up contacts to make offering to take the pain out of staff hunting.

She swallowed her tea, grabbed the mail and newspaper and hurried to the office. It was only just past eight o’clock when she arrived, but Beth followed her in with the same idea of getting an early start.

They both settled down immediately to their respective newspaper advertisements and had a list to work through by nine-thirty. Beth did quite well, despatching a couple of her people for interviews and then prepared to depart for her chat with Jenny Harmon.

‘I can’t wait to see the inside of Victoria House. The atrium is lovely. Such gorgeous shops. So individual, not all carbon copy replicas of every other shopping centre.’

Tara half smiled. They might not look it, but every one of them was part of a countrywide chain. Like the wine bar they were all part of the Blackmore empire. A very small part. But instead of working at an instantly identifiable image, each shop had been individually designed for its locality and given its own name. Women who wouldn’t be seen dead in a chain store used them every day without a qualm.

‘The whole building is quite stunning. I’d love to be able to afford a suite there. People would have to take us rather more seriously if we could boast Victoria House as our address.’

‘Hey, listen, lady,’ Beth said, sternly. ‘We are being taken seriously these days. Business is looking up and the holiday season hasn’t started yet.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’ And there was the added bonus of her fee for working for Adam. Financially at least, things were getting better, and not just because of Victoria House, word seemed to be getting around. ‘It’ll be all smiles at the bank next week.’

‘Oh, it has been this week, my love. Quite a change of atmosphere. The manager actually spoke to me yesterday. Just to pass the time of day.’

‘Wonders will never cease. Here we go.’ The temps began the lunch time rush with their time sheets.

‘I’ll bring you back a sandwich.’

When Beth returned triumphant some time later, Tara took the opportunity to walk down by the river for a blow of fresh air. March had tipped over into April and suddenly it was warmer, spring-like, with blossom everywhere. She sat on a bench watching the river. The leisure-craft were being moved into position for the summer season and there was a general bustle about which would normally have enchanted her.

Nothing seemed to register, however. Tara watched it all happening as if she were seeing events taking place on a stage a long way off. She was no longer involved.

She sighed and opened the newspaper and instantly her eye was drawn to a photograph of a young dark-haired woman, baby cradled at her elbow, a smiling man leaning over to touch the tiny fingers.

Adam.

It was like a knife through her heart and, as she was caught up in a torment of guilt and jealousy the paper fell from her lifeless fingers, blew across the grass and sank into the river.

She had known, yet she had still fallen in love with him. She hadn’t believed such things happened. She had always imagined people were in control of their own destinies. If they were foolish and irresponsible they got hurt. She hadn’t wanted to fall in love. She had been content with her life. It hadn’t been exciting, but she had friends, had her work and the challenge of the new business. Her life would go on, she supposed. Outwardly it would hardly change at all. But she knew that contentment had flown out of the door the night she had thrown herself, unwittingly into Adam Blackmore’s arms.

* * *

She finally moved, surprised to find how cold she was. She glanced at her watch. She had been sitting there for two hours. Guilt carried her back to the office on winged heels, her arrival coinciding with that of Lisa Martin, who pounced on her.

‘I’m sorry, Tara. You’ll have to find someone else for Mr Blackmore.’

Tara’s heart sank. ‘Is it the children?’ she asked, hopefully. ‘There is a crèche at Victoria House. Maybe something could be arranged.’

‘It’s nothing to do with the children. It’s him.’

Beth raised her eyes speakingly to the ceiling, then poured a cup of coffee and sat the woman down. ‘Tell me about him,’ she said. ‘You’re the third secretary he’s had this week and I’m beginning to get interested. What did he do? Complain about your shorthand?

Tara flashed a warning look at Beth. ‘He does dictate very fast.’

‘That’s something of an understatement. I don’t know who his last secretary was, but I suggested if she was that good he had better get her back no matter what it cost him.’ She half frowned. ‘He said that money wasn’t the problem. I told him it wasn’t a problem for me, either. I wasn’t prepared to work for him at any price.’