The Mistress Contract

The next few days proved to be an anticlimax.

The emergency in the States developed into more of a crisis than Conrad had first expected, and apart from one or two terse phone calls—one of which requested that Sephy visit Madge at the hospital with reassurances as to Angus’s welfare—he didn’t contact the England office.

Sephy had finished the work he had given her by the second day, and the third morning found her in the unusual position of searching out things to do. It was a useful breathing space in which to familiarise herself with current files, proc

edures, problems and the like, and the couple of visits she’d made to the hospital helped in that regard too.

Madge seemed to have taken a liking to her, and, far from being defensive and wary—as Sephy had half expected the elderly spinster might be in view of her fierce hold on both her boss and her job—she had proved to be a mine of information about matters great and small. Sephy discovered a wicked sense of humour under the austere outer shell, and also a wry, slightly cynical way of looking at things that helped Sephy to understand why Madge’s partnership with her young, dynamic boss was such a successful one. They were really very much alike.

The weekend was taken up with painting the flat’s sitting room. When Sephy had moved into her new dwelling place some weeks before she had loved the decor, apart from this particular room which had been a dingy shade of green. By the time Monday morning dawned she was eating her breakfast at the little table by the sitting room window surrounded by sunshine-yellow, her new curtains of warm ochre cotton and carpet of a pale buttery hue toning in perfectly, causing her to glance round several times in satisfied perusal of her hard work.

The flat was costing an arm and a leg, and she wouldn’t be able to afford anything more than paint after the extravagance of the new curtains and carpet for months and months, but it was worth it. Situated above the shops as they were, the row of flats looked out over rooftops and a wide expanse of light-washed sky, and after years of managing in a tiny rundown bedsit Sephy felt she had come home.

Life was good and it was going to get better. That was in the nature of a declaration, and she wasn’t quite sure why she had to emphasise it in her mind, but later, as she walked into her office and saw the interconnecting door open and Conrad already seated at his desk, she repeated the silent vow.

‘Good morning.’ He glanced up briefly from the papers on his desk, the vivid sapphire gaze taking in her upswept hair and the smart dusky-red suit she was wearing before returning to the open file in front of him.

‘Good morning.’ The all-encompassing glance had thrown her slightly, but her voice was cool and steady even as her face turned the same shade as her suit.

‘Order us some coffee, would you? And then bring in your notebook and pen. It’s going to be a busy morning.’ His voice was preoccupied and he didn’t look up again.

It set the tone for the next few weeks.

Conrad was an exacting employer, who expected his secretary to work long into the night when circumstances demanded it. He never tired—at least Sephy never saw any signs of it—and his mind was as razor-sharp at the end of a gruelling day as first thing in the morning.

Even on the days she left the offices at roughly the normal time she was too exhausted to do more than fix herself a quick sandwich at home before falling into bed, and the weekends were simply rounds of sleep, and more sleep, with the week’s washing being squeezed in somewhere along with a quick clean of the flat.

But even before she received her first pay-cheque in the role of Conrad’s temporary secretary—which was treble the amount she received in Customer Services and made her sit down very suddenly as she stared in disbelief at the row of figures—she relished the job. It was exciting and stimulating and she couldn’t wait to get to work in the morning.

All the years of covering for Mr Harper had stood her in good stead—she thrived on challenge and wasn’t afraid of responsibility or using her own initiative; all essential in her role as Madge’s replacement.

Conrad never once alluded to the night he had taken her to his home—he probably had never thought of it again, she told herself drily. Instead he simply used her as his right-hand man—more of a personal assistant than a secretary—and was always perfectly correct and businesslike, to the point where she couldn’t remember him so much as touching her. When he looked at her he probably saw a small compact computer on legs! Which was perfect, ideal, splendid! It was; it really was, she told herself when she wasn’t too tired to think. She was another Madge Watkins to him, which was…splendid.

On the sixth weekend her mother arrived unexpectedly on her doorstep, worried by the amount of times she had phoned an empty flat, only to learn later Sephy had been working late. The two of them spent a day sightseeing and acting like tourists, before staying up half the night drinking cheap red wine and talking about everything under the sun. Everything except Conrad Quentin. For some reason—and Sephy couldn’t explain it, even to herself—she couldn’t bring herself to discuss her boss.

And it was on the Monday morning following her mother’s visit that it happened.

The day had begun like every other working day over the last six weeks except that—the November morning being a stormy one, with dark skies and heavy rain—she had accepted the offer of a lift to work from Jerry, who was on his way to see his solicitor in Woolwich. They had collided on the doorstep just as Sephy was leaving for work, umbrella in hand, and she had been grateful to slide into Jerry’s old but very presentable BMW.

The ten-minute walk took just as long by car in the rush hour, but at least she was in the dry and travelling in comfort. She hadn’t seen anything of Jerry—she hadn’t seen anything of anybody!—since she had been standing in for Madge, although she had slipped along to Maisie the first weekend after the party and explained her new position. And it was Jerry, his manner somewhat diffident, who broached the matter of her absence from the social get-togethers.

‘There’s a bunch of us going to the theatre next week, but I suppose you won’t be able to make it with the new job and all?’ he said quietly, the windscreen wipers swishing frantically at the torrential flow.

Sephy hesitated. If she was being absolutely truthful she probably could—there had been several occasions over the last weeks when she could have joined in what the others were doing, especially at the weekends, but the job had been an opportune excuse to distance herself from Jerry’s affections. And she had been exhausted most nights, she told herself firmly to assuage the pang of guilt. ‘I might,’ she said carefully, ‘but there’s always the chance of some crisis or other.’

‘The thing is, Sephy…’ His voice trailed away and she was aware of him taking a deep breath before he went on, his voice resolute, ‘I need to ask you something.’

‘Yes?’ She prayed he wasn’t going to ask her out again.

‘I think I know the answer, you’ve made it pretty clear in the nicest way possible of course, but…’ The car had just reached the top of the road wherein Quentin Dynamics was situated, and Jerry negotiated the BMW past parked cars on either side before nipping into a parking space right outside the front doors of the building. ‘Is there any hope at all for me?’ he asked with sudden and surprising directness as he cut the engine and turned in his seat to face her. ‘With you, I mean?’

She had been expecting something of the sort, but it didn’t stop the flood of colour washing over her face as she stared back into his nice, good-looking face. ‘Jerry, I like you, very much, as a friend,’ she managed unevenly, wishing she was more adept at this sort of thing. ‘But as anything more… No. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right.’ He smiled at her, his puppy-dog eyes as friendly as ever, which made Sephy feel worse. ‘I needed to know, that’s all. You see, Maisie and I are hitting it off rather well, but I had to make sure with you first. But if there’s no chance…’ He shrugged and she saw he was keeping the smile in place with some effort. ‘I’ve nothing to lose, have I? And Maisie is a lovely girl. She’s had a rough deal in life, actually, rotten childhood by all accounts, and behind all the hair and rings and things she’s quite insecure and sensitive.’

Jerry and Maisie? The easy-going, public school, correct Englishman and the outlandish, wild, flamboyant Maisie? But why not? Sephy thought in the next instant. Opposites attract, and there was something very vulnerable about Maisie when she thought about it. Yes, she could see it working. He would look after Maisie, and she would bring out the fun-loving side of Jerry that was lurking under the surface. They were two very intelligent, ambitious individuals with more in common than was apparent at first. Yes, it could be a terrific partnership, given the chance.

‘I think you and Maisie are perfect for each other,’ Sephy said warmly, ‘I really do. She needs someone like you, Jerry, a real person and a gentleman to boot.’