In a cupboard above the vanity unit she found his toiletries: aftershave, an electric razor, shower gel, shampoo. Somehow it was too intimate to stare at them. She quickly shut the door on them and opened her bag.
She found a comb and ran it through her hair, renewed her make-up, considered her reflection, disturbed by the feverish brightness of her eyes, the faint tremble of her mouth, the fast beating of that pulse in her neck.
It was crazy to let him do this to her. She had to pull herself together and somehow talk her way out of this suite. She had given him time to calm down, to think—maybe now he would realise he had to let her leave?
Turning away, she picked up her bag and left the bathroom, quietly opened the door of the bedroom. If he wasn’t in earshot she might be able to get away now.
She couldn’t hear a sound so she began tiptoeing back along the little hall towards the outer door. Before she reached it, however, a voice spoke softly behind her.
‘Don’t even think about it.’
She froze, looking round.
He was leaning on the open doorway into what she glimpsed to be a sitting room, his arms crossed, his body lounging with casual grace, those long legs relaxed, making her forcibly aware of his intense sexual allure, the gleaming display of the peacock. And he knew it, too; he was watching her with that infuriating mockery, knowing what she was feeling, amused and sure of himself.
She probably still had time to make a run for it, but he would only take a few seconds to catch up with her and her self-respect wouldn’t allow her to make a fight of this. In any case, she knew she would only lose. She had to use other weapons against him.
‘I have to get back to work.’
‘I’ve already rung your office and told them you fainted and would be going home to rest instead of going to work.’
She furiously broke out, ‘You had no business to do that!’
He ignored her angry splutter. ‘I’ve ordered lunch, too—something simple. I thought you wouldn’t want anything elaborate. Salad, some cheese, cold beef and chicken, some wholemeal bread, pickles, some fruit, yogurt, and a pot of coffee.’
‘I’m not hungry. You eat lunch; I’ll get back to my office.’ She turned towards the door of the suite.
‘Do I have to carry you in here?’ his voice silkily enquired, and she froze.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she burst out. ‘What’s the point? You’re married; I’m getting married—we have nothing to say to each other.’
Four years ago she had joined his firm after the company she had been working for had gone into liquidation. Pippa had been shocked by the news that everyone was being made redundant, but by sheer good luck she had got a new job the same day. During her lunch hour she had gone into an employment agency to register and had been given an immediate interview with a nearby office.
She had walked down the road, very nervous, a little shaky, and been shown up to the personnel officer, who had tested her various secretarial skills and spent half an hour questioning her.
Pippa hadn’t expected to be given a job there and then, but the personnel officer had leaned back at last and said, ‘When can you start?’
Heart lifting, Pippa whispered, ‘Do you mean I’ve got a job here? You’re taking me on?’
The woman smiled, eyes amused. ‘That’s what I mean. So when can you start?’
She didn’t need to think about it; she knew she would be out of a job by the end of that week and would need to be earning again as soon as possible. She had no one to help her with her rent and the cost of living. She only had herself to rely on.
‘On Monday?’ Relief and delight were filling her.
‘Wonderful. Report to me at nine o’clock and I’ll have someone show you to your desk. You’ll be working in the managing director’s office. His private assistant will be in charge; she’ll tell you what she wants you to do. It isn’t a difficult job, but it’s vital that everything runs smoothly in that office and Miss Dalton is a tough organiser. Be careful not to annoy her. The MD insists on a smooth-running office.’
It sounded rather nerve-racking to Pippa, but the salary was good and the work not too onerous. She left there walking on air, and got back to find everyone else in her office gloomily contemplating living on social security until they found work elsewhere.
‘What about you, Pippa?’ asked the girl whose desk was opposite hers. ‘What will you do?’
‘Oh, I’ve got a new job. I start there next Monday,’ Pippa airily told her, and everyone else stared in disbelief.
‘How on earth did you manage that?’
‘Just luck.’ She told them what had happened and they were envious and incredulous.
‘I’m going there as soon as I’ve finished work,’ one of them said, and others nodded their heads.
By the end of the week at least half of them had managed to find new jobs—some just about adequate, although one of them had got a much better job. There was a much more cheerful atmosphere in the office. They had a big party in a local Chinese restaurant on the Friday evening, knowing that they would probably not see each other again, although some close friends would keep in touch. Working together was a matter of propinquity. Once they all split up their friendships would begin to fade.
It had been Pippa’s first job. She had only been sixteen when she started work there and now she was twenty but felt older because ever since she’d left her last foster home she had been living alone, in one room, managing a tight budget, always struggling to make ends meet. That had made her grow up fast, had taught her a discipline she relied on to help her through each day. She couldn’t allow herself to buy anything she could do without; thrift was essential on such a small amount of money.
Her clothes had to last and look good in the office so she bought inexpensive but well-made skirts and blouses which she could vary daily, and wash again and again. She ate little, bought cheaply in street markets, mostly vegetables and fruit, pasta, some fish now and again, or more rarely, chicken. She only had one electric ring to cook on; she had to choose easily cooked food.
She had never been able to afford to entertain so she didn’t accept invitations from other people, since she couldn’t reciprocate. Once or twice she had had a date with one of the young men in the office, but none of them had attracted her much and the dates had been rather dull.
She felt a little sad, saying goodbye to people she had worked with for four years, though. She was going to miss them. All the same, she was deeply relieved to have another job to go to immediately. She couldn’t imagine how she would have paid the rent otherwise. The life of the street people, homeless and hopeless, gave her nightmares for a while. Being made redundant like that had destabilised her life, made her feel threatened, even after she’d got that new job.
On the following Monday she nervously made her way to the office block where she would be working, was taken up in the lift from the personnel office by one of the girls who worked there.
‘You know who you’ll be working for? Mr Harding, the managing director.’ Her voice had a reverent
