‘I’ll bet,’ Martin said aggressively.
They had been walking briskly in the cold air towards the Italian restaurant which was only minutes away from the cinema, and he pulled her against him and said huskily, ‘Do you think that I’m a creature of habit?’ and she looked up into those wide, normally unchallenging, eyes which weren’t quite so placid now, with a sigh.
‘Is that such a bad thing?’ she asked, avoiding the question.
‘No,’ he conceded grudgingly, ‘I suppose not.’
They were regulars at this particular restaurant, and the manager smiled at them as they entered, showing them to the nicest table in the place, in a discreet corner, close to the window yet shielded from casual eyes by a scattering of climbing plants on the window-ledge.
Martin allowed the conversation to drop, but it was still on his mind. She could tell from his distracted manner for the rest of the evening. It was stupid, she wanted to say, to let Ross Anderson influence the way he behaved, but on the other hand she knew that it was stupid of Martin to allow it to. He was nice and reliable and easygoing, but he was essentially weak, and this was something which she was only now beginning to realise. He went with the flow, let himself drift along the currents of life, and avoided anything that promised an uphill struggle. Wasn’t that why he had stuck it out in his job for so long? It wasn’t invigorating, but it was undemanding, and the option of actually wading his way back into the job market was a task that wasn’t, as far as he was concerned, worth the effort.
She had no idea whether this realisation had crept up on her slowly or whether it had advanced in one easy stride when she was least expecting it, when she had thought her life to be safely tied up with string, but now that it had reared its head, it worried away at the back of her mind, and they parted company, for the first time, without any of the warmth that they normally did.
She arrived at work the following morning to find that Ross was late. Unusual for him, and at nine-thirty her telephone rang. It was Fiona.
‘Ross doesn’t know I’m calling you,’ she breathed down the line, and Abigail had no difficulty in conjuring up that feline, white-blonde beauty that could be as hard as nails or as malleable as putty, depending on the company, ‘but I know what an efficient little thing you are, so I thought I’d call to let you know that he’ll be a little late this morning. We’re at my place and——’ she laughed throatily ‘—I’m afraid time just seemed to run away with us. You understand.’
‘Of course,’ Abigail said stiffly. Why are you telling me this? she wondered. ‘When can I expect Mr Anderson?’ she asked, and Fiona replied with a low, conspiratorial gurgle,
‘Soon, my dear. He’s in the bathroom right now. We had an awfully late night, I’m afraid. It seems to be something of a habit with us lately. Anyway, please don’t tell him that I called you. He can be terribly dramatic over the silliest of things. You know men.’
‘I’ll take your word for it, Miss St Paul.’
‘How, incidentally, is that super fiancé of yours?’
‘Fine,’ Abigail said abruptly, ‘thank you.’
‘Have you set a date for the wedding as yet?’
‘No.’ She began doodling on a piece of paper in front of her, fierce little designs.
‘You ought to, you know. Time flies so quickly. One minute you’re over the moon with an engagement, and the next minute you’re looking at five wasted years and wondering when that little gold band will ever get on your finger!’
‘I don’t think that would be a problem for me.’
‘No,’ Fiona agreed, ‘he did look desperately keen on you. So absolutely touching.’
Abigail stopped the hectic doodling. Actually, she meant something quite different. She meant that the five years would not really bother her very much, and that thought made her frown heavily. Surely she should be dying to tie the knot? She knew people who had practically booked the church even before they announced their engagements.
‘Actually, and this is positively between the two of us——’ Fiona’s voice was low and hurried and a little embarrassed ‘—I may soon be in the same position as you! Ross and I, well, I wouldn’t be surprised if this man were the one to finally coerce me into marriage. I’ve had more than my fair share of suitors, my dear, but not tempting enough. Until now.’
Abigail’s mouth felt stiff, and she said politely, ‘Oh, really? How interesting. Well, I really must get back to work now, if you’ll excuse me. Thank you for calling to let me know that Mr Anderson will be in later.’
‘Of course.’
There was a click as the receiver was replaced at the other end.
So that was the reason for the telephone call. Never mind an act of courtesy in letting her know that Ross would be late. Fiona had made that phone call to let it be known that Ross had spent the night with her, that, presumably, he spent most nights with her, and that if the wedding bells weren’t chiming loud and clear at the moment, then they very soon would be.
Abigail glowered at the word processor and tried to concentrate on what she had to do, but the phone call had thrown her off balance. She stared down at her pile of work and immediately her mind began to drift along all sorts of stupid, unreasonable lines.
They said that a man in love would very often act out of character. Ross Anderson had never before even thought of sacrificing business for the sake of pleasure, not that she had even known. His work had always come first, and the play afterwards. She had seen him, on occasion, drive himself virtually into the ground, and still have the energy to be in the office the following morning at the crack of dawn.
She had no idea why she was reacting like this. After all, he was entitled to do what he damn well pleased, with whoever, and she decided that it was because if she was forced to alter her view of him, then she might find her respect for him beginning to diminish, and then she would be tempted to look elsewhere for a job. This simple piece of convoluted logic was very appealing, and by the time Ross did make an appearance, she was more or less absorbed in her work.
‘Any messages?’ he asked, striding into the office with that vitality and dynamism that could still leave her taken aback, and she looked up at him with a blank face.
‘Two. I’ve left them on your desk.’
He divested himself of his jacket and threw her a glance. ‘Good. Bit late, I’m afraid, but that meeting with Williams isn’t till one, is it?’
‘That’s right,’ she said coolly, and he frowned at her.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, stopping by her desk so that she had to look up at him.
‘Nothing.’
‘Then why do you look as though you’re spoiling for a fight?’
‘I’m sorry if I gave that impression, Mr Anderson,’ she smiled sweetly at him.
‘You,’ he said, with narrowed eyes, ‘are no longer the predictable secretary I had a month ago. I never know what kind of mood I’m going to find you in when I walk into this office.’
‘I do apologise.’ She bared her teeth into another sweet smile. That’s rich, she thought, coming from you. It’s all right for you to be as predictable as a volcano, but if I so much as frown, I’m suddenly responsible for bringing the smooth office machinery to a grinding halt.
He didn’t look mollified at her sugary expression. His black brows met and he gave her an impatient, restless look as though he wanted to walk into his office but found that his feet were nailed to the floor by her desk.
‘No, you don’t,’ he snapped. ‘Oh, your work is still the same, you make sure that all the letters that I give you get typed and that all the phone calls get made, but you’ve changed.’ His eyes skirted over her briefly, then returned to her face, and when he looked at her it was with narrowed suspicion. ‘This isn’t some little ploy of yours for getting back at me, is it?’
‘Getting back at you for what?’ Her surprise was genuine.
He didn’t answer. He strolled across to the window by her desk and stared out, then moved across to where she was sitting and leaned right over her, so that when he spoke his breath on her cheek was warm.
‘Getting back at me,’ he said softly, ‘for the remarks I made about that boyfriend of yours being no good for you.’
‘No, it is not!’ She would have liked to spin around but he had her physically trapped. She couldn’t move without finding herself inches away from him, and she knew that that was one thing she didn’t want. She clenched her fists helplessly and thought that that would really make his day, to know that something he said casually could have had such an overwhelming effect on her. Especially, she felt obliged to add for her own benefit, when it wasn’t true.
‘Sure?’ he drawled, with amusement in his voice. ‘Your change of attitude looks like a severe case of sour grapes to me.’
She didn’t say anything, but her body was rigid with tension.
‘Is he your lover?’
The question took her so much by surprise that this time she did turn around, and her mouth went dry.
‘That’s none of your business.’ Her voice didn’t sound like hers and she didn’t feel as though she belonged to her body at all.