The Boss's Proposal (14 page)

‘Just that work needs to be done on the place. There's some damp.' She reflected that the tone of voice used by the architect when he had said this implied
rampant
damp rather than just the odd patch here and there. ‘He's going to send a report through with all his suggestions and costings in a few days' time and—' she shrugged, folding her arms ‘—I'll have a look at it.' She looked at him, refusing to invite further debate on the subject. Things had gone quite smoothly, considering. She'd managed to school her features into a professional, unflappable mask and, more to the point, her daughter had remained obediently asleep upstairs, but it was best not to tempt fate. She had a nasty habit of kicking you in the teeth when you did that.

‘I take it that you don't feel the inclination to expand on that,' he said, turning to face her with the leather case tucked under one arm.

‘It's late.'

‘It's—' he looked pointedly and for an aggravatingly long time at his watch ‘—a little after nine-thirty.'

‘That's what I mean. It's late.'

‘I can't believe you consider nine-thirty
late
.'

Vicky shuffled on her feet and gave up the attempt to outstare him. ‘I've never been a night bird,' she mumbled vaguely, and he, even more aggravatingly, raised his eyebrows in amused cynicism at this non response.

‘Would you say that it's too late for a nightcap?' he asked, adding smoothly, ‘Of coffee? I wasn't implying a stiff drink.' His eyes caught hers and she could see the follow-up to that mirrored in the peculiar grey eyes.
We both know where alcohol can take us.
Or, at least, she was
certain that that was what she read there before he lowered his eyes.

‘A quick cup.' she fought against irritation. Her personal involvement with him, her feelings for him, were not appropriate, and she would have to fight against allowing that to seep out into her voice. It occurred to her that she could take the craven way out of the whole situation and put him in a position where he would have no alternative but to sack her. Gross impertinence, whatever that comprised, would do the trick, she was sure, but she quailed at the idea. Aside from anything else, it would not do to have a poor reference from him. He was an important person in the area, as she was finding out on a daily basis, and she knew that, if he wanted, he could easily scupper her chances of landing a good job locally.

‘Of course. I wouldn't dream of keeping you from your nightly routine,' he murmured politely.

‘I didn't say that my
nightly routine
involved going to bed at nine. I do
get out
, you know.' She turned on the tap to fill the kettle with a ferocity that had the water splashing out at her.

‘Oh, do you? Where? Are there many night spots around here? I must say, I tend to head back to London for night life.'

‘Depends on what kind of night life you're looking for.' She hoped she sounded calm and mysterious and in possession of a night life, instead of evasive because a night life was something she had given up on a long time ago. Even when she'd lived in Australia fear of reprisal from Shaun had altered her social habits, so that, in the end, she had tended to stay put with her daughter, inviting the occasional girlfriend over to her aunt's house for supper, but avoiding anything that indicated fun.

Fun, she'd been told, was not to be on her agenda.
Shaun had not wanted her, but the thought that someone else might had driven him into a frenzy. He'd liked controlling her life, dropping in when it suited him, watching her with sadistic amusement as she scurried nervously around, fully aware that one wrong word might just be enough to threaten the quality of her life. Looking back at it, she was amazed that she'd allowed herself to live for so long in the grip of perpetual fear, but at the time she'd really imagined that there was no way out. She'd never questioned that he would take Chloe away from her if she didn't do as he said. She'd witnessed his rages and his unpredictable behaviour and she'd always known that he was more than capable of it. Now, she could reason that the law would have stopped him, but back then the law had played second fiddle to fear.

‘I suppose so.' He reached out for the mug of coffee and their fingers briefly brushed. ‘What kind of night life would
you
be looking for? You're a young girl. Still clubbing?'

‘Oh good grief. I haven't been clubbing since…since for ever.' She almost smiled at the thought of going to a night club with a young daughter in tow.

‘Why not?'

‘Because…I don't enjoy that sort of thing,' she said vaguely, which anyway was the truth.

‘So you…?'

‘Go to the movies, all the usual stuff. Drink your coffee or it'll go cold.' By way of example, she swallowed some large mouthfuls of hers and laid the mug on the counter with finality. She was exasperated to see that he refused to take the hint, sipping at his as though he had all the time in the world to kill.

‘You're distracting me, standing there tapping one foot and fiddling with your fingers.'

Vicky, who hadn't realised that she was doing either of those things, promptly stopped both. Annoyingly, her mind seized on the word
distracted
and she wondered what he'd meant. Did he mean that he couldn't take his eyes off her? Hardly, she thought with a trace of wry realism. Shaun had been fond of reminding her that, were it not for the striking colour of her hair, she would have faded into the background; she lacked spark.

He drained his cup, stood up and headed out of the kitchen with an abruptness that had her scurrying off behind him after a few seconds of disorientation.

‘Right. Thanks for your help, Vicky,' he told her in a clipped voice. ‘Grudging though it was.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to appear grudging.' Even when she said that, she knew that she
sounded
grudging. ‘It's just that I'm one of those boring creatures of routine, and having my routine put out of joint makes me go into a funny mood.'

‘I'll remember that for the future,' he said drily. He pulled open the front door and at that split instant two things happened.

A sharp gust of wind blew into the hall, lifting her hair and then rushing past her to the kitchen door, which had been left open.

The slam of the kitchen door reverberated in the house like the sudden, startling clap of thunder, and there was an answering cry from up the stairs.

Vicky's blood froze in her veins. For a second or two she truly thought that she might have been turned to ice, then she was galvanised into action. It was as though her brain, temporarily disabled, had suddenly shot into overdrive and in the space of a few seconds had processed all the horrific possibilities that could arise for the sound of that childish voice crying out from a bedroom upstairs.

‘What the…?' He stepped back into the hall and she placed the palms of her hands flat on his chest in a vain attempt to prevent him coming in any further. ‘What's going on here?' he said sharply, his eyes narrowing on the empty staircase.

As if on cue, Chloe yelled, ‘Mummy! Where are you?'

Vicky turned on her feet and raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, her heart beating like a steam-engine in her chest. She was out of breath by the time she made it up to the bedroom. She shot in, shutting the door behind her, because she was pretty sure that Max would now be back in the house, waiting for her to return and offer some explanation, if not heading up the staircase in a mission to find out what was going on.

‘Shh!' she hissed, edging over to the bed where her daughter was sitting up, bolt upright, yawning and rubbing her eyes. ‘The wind blew the kitchen door shut, honey.'

‘Oh. I thought it was thunder.'

‘You need to go back to sleep. Tomorrow's school.' She stroked the forehead and plastered a soothing smile on her face. It made her feel one-dimensional. ‘And you know Mrs Edwards doesn't like sleepyheads in her class!' If she sounded any more hearty, she thought, she would end up alarming her daughter instead of reassuring her. She held the little face between her hands.

‘Can I come downstairs for something to drink?'

‘No, honey.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because there's nothing in the fridge. Must go to the supermarket tomorrow.'

‘Can I check for myself?'

‘Too dark, Clo.'

‘Pleeeaaaassssseeee…?'

Instead of uttering a few calm words that would send
her drowsy daughter back off to the Land of Nod, it appeared, Vicky thought, that she had succeeded in rousing her completely. In a minute Chloe would be out of the bed and ready for fun and games.

‘Tell you what,' Vicky said, ‘I'll go and have a look and bring you up a milk shake. I might just be able to rummage up some milk, I think.'

‘When?'

‘In a minute.'

That explanation seemed to do the trick, because Chloe subsided in a satisfied heap back onto the bed and within minutes her eyes were closed and her breathing was regular.

Very quietly, Vicky tiptoed out of the bedroom, closing the door gently behind her, then she flew down the stairs, half hoping that Max would have somehow left the house, ignoring his understandable curiosity, respecting her need for privacy. Her hopes, such as they were, were dashed by the sight of him looming darkly in the hallway, front door ominously closed, a grim expression on his face.

‘Care to tell me what's going on?'

‘I'd rather not, actually,' Vicky said, holding herself erect and willing herself to feel angrily invaded instead of guilty and terrified. Max Forbes would be able to sniff out the scent of guilt and terror and as soon as he did that he would be on her case like a ton of bricks. She decided that giving him some of the truth might be the best idea. ‘Or rather, not at this moment. Please.'

‘Because it's way past your bedtime?' His mouth twisted cynically and she flinched from the brutal disbelief in his eyes. ‘And of course, you weren't lying, were you? You
do
go to bed early because that's what having a child does to a woman, isn't it? Screws up her sleeping habits? How old is he? Five, six, seven, older?'

‘It's a she, not a he,' Vicky said wearily. ‘And I'll explain it all to you tomorrow, if you'll just go away now.'

‘Not,' he said coldly, ‘on your life. You lied about her at your interview and as your employer I have every right to know what other lies you've told.'

‘I haven't told any other lies,' Vicky said uncomfortably.

‘I think
I'll
be the judge of that.' He took a few steps further into the hall and Vicky couldn't resist it. She glanced towards the staircase, which was thankfully empty, then she turned to face him, her hands balled into tight fists, her mouth set in a stubborn line.

‘All right,' she muttered through clenched teeth, ‘I'll tell you what you want to know. In the sitting room. And then when I've finished I want you to leave. Is that clear?'

He ignored the command in her voice, as she had known he would, but at least he followed her into the sitting room. Somehow, pouring out her personal life, highly edited though the version would be, in a cold, dark hallway, was not what Vicky wanted.

He sprawled on the chair, filling it out in a way that made it seem diminutive and inadequate, and Vicky quietly closed the door behind her. Then she perched on the arm of the chair facing him, her fingers laced together on her knees, her mind whirling with the frantic need to get rid of him as soon as possible. All her initial fears, which had somehow been sidelined over the past few weeks, rose up and threatened to engulf her. In a stroke, he could bring her life crashing down around her ears. He could take Chloe away from her if he ever discovered the child's identity. He could certainly ensure that her working life in the area was ended. He was a man of influence and power, and that could speak in tongues she couldn't even begin to understand. She forced herself to think rationally. He
had no idea that Chloe was his niece and there was no reason why he should ever find out.

For a split instant, she felt a twinge of guilt that she was wilfully depriving her daughter of a blood relative, but then the instinct for survival took over and she drew a deep breath.

‘Okay. I have a child. She's five years old and I know that I should have told you about her, but I was scared.'

‘Scared of
what
?' The curl of his lips informed her that he was not prepared to be sympathetic.

‘You have no idea what it's like…'

‘No? Then why don't you enlighten me?'

The expression on his face made her feel like a whingeing damsel in a Victorian melodrama. ‘It's very hard being a single-parent family,' Vicky said quietly. ‘It's fine for you to sit there and offer comments about the situation, but you have no idea how difficult it is being on your own with a child.'

‘Where's the father?'

‘He's dead. He died in a car crash.'

‘Australian, was he?'

‘He lived there, yes. I lied about my daughter because I felt that having a child would be held against me when it came to getting a job. Most employers shy away the minute they hear that there's a young child on the scene. They foresee lots of broken appointments and late arrivals and days off. I was going to tell you, but I suppose I just kept putting it off because I knew you'd react the way you did.' She sighed. ‘You're right and I was wrong. I should never have taken the job with you in the first place.' That much, at any rate, was heartfelt.

‘I can't believe that you resorted to all this subterfuge to conceal the fact that you have a child. It doesn't make any sense.' He frowned and stared at her narrowly until
she looked away. ‘I can understand the patterns now,' he mused slowly, ‘the need to leave work on the dot, the evasiveness when it came to working late or overtime. All that slots into place. What
I'm
having a problem with is the
why
.
Why
lie in the first place? The majority of women working for me are married, with kids. We're not talking about an old-fashioned, chauvinistic, medieval establishment here. We're not talking about the sort of place where gossips would ferret out an unmarried mother and send her to the gallows for punishment.' He gave a dry, hard laugh. ‘So why don't you tell me the full story?
What else is there?'