No Need for Love

‘Hi,’ she said to the droning dial tone, ‘it’s me. Yes, I’m afraid I’m going to be even later than——’

‘Please be brief, Miss Lewis.’

She looked up. Grant was watching her with that same expression of distaste on his face she’d seen there earlier. ‘I would have thought better of you,’ he’d said, as if she weren’t a woman—but then, he didn’t think she was a woman, did he? He’d made a point of telling her she was an office automaton.

Her spine stiffened. ‘Yes,’ she said into the phone, ‘I’m disappointed, too, but I’ll be there as soon as—’

Grant tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he said coldly.

‘As soon as I can,’ she said. She gave Grant a malicious stare. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. If you’re asleep, I’ll wake you when I get——’

‘Dammit!’ He grabbed the phone from her hand and slammed it into its cradle. ‘I haven’t got all night,’ he said, dropping the report on her desk. ‘Now get your things together and——’

‘My things?’

‘I need your help.’ Frowning, he glanced at the clock behind her. ‘And I’m running out of time.’

Hannah stared at him. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I need your assistance.’

She folded her arms over her breasts. ‘In the office or out of it?’

‘Look here, Hannah——’

‘Maybe you’re forgetting, Mr MacLean, but we went this route before. And I’ve no intention of——’

‘The stores close at eight, don’t they?’

‘The stores?’

‘I’ve an hour to buy a suitable gift.’ He thrust his hand into his hair and glared at her. ‘Now, how the hell am I supposed to do that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hannah said coldly. ‘Perhaps you should ask Marilyn.’

‘I did. And she told me she didn’t want to influence me—damn, but isn’t that just like a woman?’ He grimaced. ‘She suggested I get your help.’

‘Did she, really?’ she said, even more coldly.

He nodded and, to her surprise, doubt darkened his eyes. ‘Look, I know this isn’t part of your job. Not technically, anyway. But I’ve no idea what’s appropriate, and——’

‘No,’ she said, as she thought of last Christmas when he’d asked her to order chocolates and perfume for a handful of women with spare, elegant names, ‘I’m sure you don’t. That’s my job, isn’t it?’

‘Exactly.’ He gave her a little smile of relief. ‘You’re a woman, Hannah, you know about these things…’

Something cold clamped around her heart. ‘I’m your assistant,’ she said, ‘which means that all I know about these things is that choosing them is part of my job.’

Grant’s smile shut off as if someone had thrown a switch.

‘Exactly,’ he snapped.

‘Exactly,’ Hannah repeated, and she picked up her handbag and marched to the door.

When they reached the street, Grant paused and looked around. ‘Where do you think we ought to start?’

Where, indeed? She had ordered the chocolates and perfume over the phone, but clearly this was to be a special gift, lingerie, perhaps, or jewellery, and suddenly she wanted no part of it. It was one thing to make impersonal purchases for faceless women but quite another to be asked to select a nightgown or a bracelet for someone named Marilyn. How dared she? How dared he?

‘There,’ he said, and, before Hannah could tell him he could go ahead and stumble through the next few moments on his own, Grant clasped her arm and drew her forward. He stopped just inside the doors of the shop. ‘OK. Now what?’

Hannah spun towards him. ‘Now you walk up to the counter. And you tell the clerk you need something black and filmy——’

‘What?’

‘Or gold and glittery, whichever you prefer, and—and…’ Her angry words faded to puzzled silence as she looked past him. Plush tigers and lions roared silently from the far corner, just beyond a miniature train that raced in endless circles around a Lego city. Hannah frowned. ‘This is a toy store,’ she said.

Grant glowered at her. ‘A toy store that closes in less than an hour. Now, where shall we begin?’

‘I don’t understand. Marilyn wants you to buy her a toy?’

‘Marilyn wants people to jump through hoops,’ he muttered as they made their way down an aisle crammed with toy trucks and automobiles. ‘Tommy’s birthday party is next Saturday, but my dear sister suddenly decided the family had to celebrate on the actual evening on which he was born.’ His hand closed on her arm and he manoeuvred her towards a display of toy aeroplanes. ‘Which means that I’m supposed to find the right gift and give it to him tonight.’

Hannah started to smile. ‘Let me get this straight,’ she said. ‘Marilyn is your sister?’

‘Marilyn is a thorn in my side,’ he said, but the way he said it made it clear she was anything but that. ‘How about something like this?’ He had stopped beside an Erector set, bristling with a complex of motors and miniature winches. ‘Do you think Tommy would like it?’

This time, Hannah permitted the smile to spread across her face. ‘How old is Tommy?’

‘Four. He’s four.’ Grant looked at her. ‘The thing of it is,’ he said gruffly, ‘I don’t really know a hell of a lot about kids.’

Her smile dimmed. ‘No,’ she said softly, ‘neither do I.’

‘It’s not that I don’t like them…’

‘You needn’t explain.’ It was none of her business. Besides, she was sure she understood. Grant MacLean wasn’t the sort of man who’d have very much to do with children. He was too busy, too dedicated, first to his career and second to the pursuit of his own pleasures. Perhaps that was what had gone wrong with his marriage. Perhaps his wife had wanted a real marriage, a husband who was home every night by six-thirty, and two or three jam-smeared children.

That was easy to understand, Hannah thought. She’d harboured the same dream herself, and it came back with special poignancy at moments like this, when she saw mothers and children laughing together, because she knew that that was all it ever would be, a dream. It was too late for her now; having a family was out of her grasp unless she married again, and she had no wish to do something so foolish. Let the Bettys and Sallys of this world do as they liked, but she——

‘Well?’ Grant was looking at her, his brow furrowed. ‘What do you think? Would my nephew like this Erector set?’

‘Four, you say?’ Hannah smiled. ‘He’ll love it—in a couple of years. But I think I see something he’ll love at first sight now.’

They emerged from the toy shop half an hour later, Hannah clutching half a dozen gaily wrapped packages, Grant toting an enormous stuffed lion. It had started to drizzle, which meant that every taxi that passed them was filled.

When an empty one finally appeared, Grant bustled Hannah inside, then climbed in after her.

‘You don’t mind if we share this cab, do you?’ he said. ‘I’ll get out at Marilyn’s, and you can continue on home.’

Hannah agreed. Sharing a cab wasn’t a problem, especially after the past few minutes. Her anger at Grant had vanished. How could it have done otherwise, after an intense debate over the comparative merits of plush lions versus shaggy sheepdogs?

The lion’s smiling face poked into her shoulder.

‘Sorry,’ Grant said, shifting the creature in his arms.

‘That’s OK.’ She smiled as she stroked the tawny mane. ‘I hope Tommy’s pleased with his gift.’

‘Yeah. Me too.’ He chuckled. ‘I never realised just how big this guy really was until we got him out of the store.’

The cab’s tyres dipped as it hit a pot-hole, and the lion’s soft black nose poked into Hannah’s cheek.

‘Hey,’ she said, grabbing fiercely at its velvety ears, ‘watch that stuff, lion!’

Grant grinned. ‘See what I mean? He’s huge.’

‘Uh-huh.’ She laug

hed as the lion flopped against her again. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to share this cab.’

Grant’s smile vanished. ‘Yes.’ His voice was suddenly chill. ‘I almost forgot—your young man will be getting impatient.’

‘My…?’ She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘Oh,’ she said quietly. ‘I—I suppose he will.’ Hannah swallowed. ‘About that,’ she began, but Grant’s uplifted hand cut her off in mid-sentence.

‘Please. You don’t need to explain your behaviour to me.’

The disdain in his voice made her glad she hadn’t said anything more. She gave him a cool look, then turned and stared straight ahead.

‘You’re right. What I do is none of your——’

‘But it is,’ he said coldly. ‘I’ve no desire to hear you justify yourself, but——’

‘Justify myself? Why would I——?’

‘—but,’ he said grimly, ‘your morality is very much my concern, so long as you’re in my employ.’

She swung towards him. ‘What?’

‘You heard me, Hannah. If you value your job, you’ll hand your lover his walking papers.’

Her face darkened with anger. ‘That’s ridiculous! You can’t dictate what I do on my own time. You’re my employer, not my keeper!’

‘Perhaps you need a keeper!’

‘Just who do you think you are?’

‘I told you. I’m your employer, and I expect you to live with a certain amount of decorum, even if——’

‘We’re here, mister.’

They had pulled up outside a handsome white brick house. Grant glared at Hannah, then at the cabbie, who was watching them in the mirror, a bored, I’ve-heardit-all-before look on his face, and then he threw open the door and stepped on to the pavement. He shifted the lion to one arm as he dug out his wallet, and Hannah took small but satisfying pleasure in how ridiculous he looked with the big, tawny head propped against his shoulder.