she had let this tough-looking man see she had a softer side when it came to her ex-employer. ‘Hector Browning’s own firm went bust. So he decided he’d come and give his father a hand.’
‘You didn’t get on?’
‘It was part of my job to get on with everyone,’ Chesnie answered, not taking kindly to having her professionalism questioned.
‘So what went wrong?’
She had an idea this interview was going very badly, and decided she’d got nothing to lose by telling that which, hurt and humiliated, she had not told another living soul. ‘Everything!’ she answered evenly, adjusting her position on her chair, catching the flick of his glance to her long slender and shapely legs now neatly crossed at the ankles. ‘On the same day I heard from my landlord that he’d decided to sell the property—and, no desperate rush, but would I care to look for a flat elsewhere?—I had a row with Hector Browning.’
‘You usually row with the people you work with?’
‘Lionel and I never had a cross word!’ Chesnie retorted—and inwardly groaned. She’d be having a row with Joel Davenport any minute! And she wasn’t working with him, or for him—or ever!
He was unperturbed. ‘Hector Browning rubbed you up the wrong way?’
‘That I could, and did, cope with. What I was not prepared to stay and put up with was that—was that…’ Joel Davenport waited, saying not one word, which left her forced to continue. ‘From the various snide remarks Hector Browning had made I knew he resented my closeness to his father, my affection for him and his affection for me. He—Hector…’ Again she hesitated, but the fact that she knew herself innocent made her tilt her chin a fraction. ‘When he that day accused me of having an affair with his father,’ she made herself go on, ‘I knew that one of us would have to go. Blood being thicker than water, I also knew it would be me.’
‘You handed in your resignation.’
‘I left last week—the end of the month.’
‘And were you?’ Joel Davenport asked.
‘Was I what?’
‘Having an affair with his father?’
Her eyes widened in surprise and annoyance that anyone could ask such a thing. Somehow, though, she was able to maintain the outer cool she showed to the world. ‘No, I was not!’ she stated clearly, and, not wishing to say any more on the subject, she left it there.
To his credit, Joel Davenport allowed her to do so. He nodded, at any rate—she took it that he believed her. ‘Human Resources will have explained the package that goes with the position.’ He took the interview into another area. ‘Obviously the salary, pension and holiday entitlement are acceptable to you or you wouldn’t have proceeded with your application.’
‘It’s a very generous package,’ Chesnie stated calmly. Generous! It was a sensational salary!
‘The successful candidate will earn every part of it,’ he replied, which she felt hinted that she was not the successful candidate. Though when he continued she began to wonder… ‘The job as my PA demands one hundred per cent commitment,’ he advised her, and surprised her by adding, ‘Your qualifications aside, you’re a beautiful woman, Miss Cosgrove—’ he did not seem personally impressed ‘—and no doubt have many admirers.’
About to deny she had any, Chesnie, who just wasn’t interested in relationships, suddenly felt feminine enough to want to go along with his view that she had a constant stream of admirers at her door. ‘They wouldn’t interfere with my work,’ she replied.
‘I may need you to work away with me on occasion,’ he went on. She knew from the job description that there were times when Joel Davenport required his PA to accompany him on overnight stays when he visited their Glasgow offices, and had no problem whatsoever with that. ‘Supposing such an occasion arose at short notice—say, half an hour before a theatre date with your favourite man?’
‘I’d hope my favourite man would enjoy the theatre just as much without me,’ she replied promptly, and thought she caught a momentary twitch of her serious interviewer’s mouth—quite a nice-shaped mouth, she suddenly realised—but it was come and gone in an instant.
‘There’s no one man in particular in your life?’
‘No,’ she replied. Who had the time? Or the inclination, for that matter?
‘No marriage plans?’ he asked sternly, her one-syllable answer insufficient, apparently. But she resented his question. She hadn’t asked him if he was married or about to be! She studied him for a moment. Good-looking, a director of the expanded and still expanding multi-national Yeatman Trading—he had it all, which no doubt included some lovely wife somewhere.
Suddenly she became aware that as she was studying him, so keen blue eyes were studying her. ‘I’m not remotely interested in marriage,’ she stated bluntly, belatedly realising his question, in light of his statement that the job as his PA demanded one hundred per cent commitment, was perhaps a valid one.
‘You sound as if you’ve something against marriage,’ he commented.
With her parents and her sisters as fine examples, who wouldn’t have? Chesnie kept her thoughts to herself. ‘I believe the latest statistics show that forty per cent of marriages end in divorce. Personally, I’m more career-oriented than marriage-minded.’
He nodded, but when she was expecting some comment on her reply, he instead enquired, ‘You’re still living in Cambridge?’
‘For the moment. Though at present I’m staying with my sister, here in London, for a few days.’
‘You’re obviously prepared to move here. Have you found anywhere to live yet?’
‘I thought I’d better sort out a job first,’ she answered, and was surprised when, without a response, he got to his feet.
‘Perhaps you should set about finding your accommodation without delay,’ he suggested pleasantly.
Chesnie looked at him. Clearly the interview was over. She stood up as he came round his desk. She was wearing two and a half inch heels and still had to look up at him. ‘I’m not sure…’ she faltered, not at all sure she should believe what she thought he was saying.
He held out his right hand, and automatically her right hand met his warm, firm clasp. ‘I should like you to start on Monday, Chesnie,’ he confirmed, and for the first time he smiled.
Chesnie managed to keep her face straight while she was in the Yeatman Trading building, but once she had left the building so too did she leave her cool, sophisticated image, her lovely face splitting into an equally lovely grin. She’d got it! She’d jolly well got it! Only then did she acknowledge how very much she had wanted this job as PA to Joel Davenport.
It sounded hard work—she thrived on hard work. To be constantly busy had been her lifeline. She hadn’t been sure what sort of work she wanted to do when she had left school, but with her studies finished and no need to spend time at her desk in her room she had spent more time with her parents. Their constant sniping at each other had driven her to take various courses at evening classes, all to do with business management.
It
