spend some time with Jenny and help train her in how you like things? Or we do have some excellent temps already signed up. Would you like me to find you someone suitable while HR recruits someone permanent?’
She mentally ran through the CVs she had already received. Deangelo needed a certain type of temp. Someone strong enough to cope with long hours, no thanks or gratitude and brusque interactions, but also someone calm enough to deal with abrupt volte-faces, exceedingly high standards and comfortable working with extremely privileged information. Someone prepared to travel. And, most importantly, someone who wouldn’t develop a crush on the very rich, very masculine man lounging opposite her. That was why Jenny had seemed the ideal candidate—experienced and newly married. No rustling, she added to her mental list—whatever that might mean. And no jumping. Maybe she could test for both at interview.
Deangelo leaned forward, his penetrating gaze still fixed firmly on her. ‘I want you to come back.’
Heat suffused her cheeks. ‘That’s very flattering...’
‘I have no interest in flattering you.’ That was her told. ‘It’s a fact. I have an extremely important trip coming up and I need everything to run seamlessly. I don’t have time to train someone new or worry about details.’
‘The trip to Rio?’ She couldn’t stop curiosity creeping into her voice. Harriet had no idea why Deangelo had turned his attention to buying a chain of hotels an ocean away. He was from Brazil, but had left at the age of eighteen to take up a scholarship to Cambridge and, as far as she knew, hadn’t been back in the intervening twelve years. ‘The paperwork was sorted before I left, the jet already notified of your timings, all that was left to do was book the hotel and...’
‘I need you to accompany me.’ He cut her off ruthlessly. ‘All I ask is a month of your time. Then you are free to do whatever you would like.’
Harriet managed to bite back a retort that it was very kind of him. If they could start to supply temps to Aion then that would be a huge coup, exactly the kind of contract that would propel them straight into the top league. But could she really take off when she’d just started up her new business—and, more importantly, did she want to take a step back, even for just a month?
‘Why me?’
‘This assignment is very—’ he paused ‘—unusual.’
The curiosity she was trying to keep at bay flared. ‘Unusual?’
‘I need someone I can trust. This is not simply a matter of accompanying me as my PA.’
‘Then...’ But before she could formulate the question her phone rang. Pulling it out to silence the jaunty tune, she caught sight of the name of the caller, her heart stopping as it flashed on the screen: her father’s care home. ‘I’m sorry; I really need to take this.’
She barely registered the surprise on Deangelo’s face—he probably hadn’t been asked to wait once in the ten years since he’d set up Aion as an undergraduate—getting to her feet and walking out of the office and into the mercifully empty kitchen. ‘Hello? Harriet Fairchild.’
Numbness consumed her as she listened to the home manager explain that there had been another incident, another fall, that her father’s physical health was beginning to deteriorate along with the disease destroying his brain. Blinking back tears, Harriet tried to concentrate as the manager calmly took her through the options for stepping up his care. It was so unfair! So wrong that this should happen to her brave, strong, funny dad, who had cared for her after her mother’s death, after already raising her half-sisters alone before that. He’d deserved the most relaxing of retirements, the travels he’d never had a chance to go on, the opportunity to play golf and drink fine wine and read all the books he had planned to get around to. Harriet had never cared that he was older than her friends’ fathers, that people often mistook him for her grandfather. He was her wonderful, loving father and she’d do anything for him.
But the truth was she had done all she could; now he needed her the most she had no idea how not to fail him. She’d only got enough for six months’ fees as it was. The extras the manager was detailing were bound to be way beyond her reach.
‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘I understand. Of course. If you could send me a forecast of how much extra you think the enhanced care will cost I would be very grateful.’ On autopilot she thanked the manager for the home’s quick response and promised to be there in time for the doctor’s visit in the morning. As she finished the call Harriet stood still for a moment, blinking rapidly to stop the threatened tears, trying to get her face back to cool and professional.
But it was hard to turn her hostess persona back on, not to think about how much this new level of care would cost. Hard not to panic when even six months no longer seemed possible. She could try her sisters again, see if this time they would help out with the cost. Beg them if need be.
They were her last hope. And she knew that meant that she had no hope. ‘Damn,’ she whispered, the tears this time refusing to be kept away, no matter how she swallowed and blinked.
‘Why are you crying?’
How had she not heard Deangelo creep up behind her? Harriet half jumped, swiping her eyes swiftly. ‘I’m not,’ she lied.
Before she had a chance to compose herself properly, Deangelo had taken hold of her elbow and marched her through the galley kitchen and into the room beyond. The kitchen had been purposely made a contrast to their calm public space, the walls of the narrow room a bright, warm pink, polka-dotted crockery in the same colour on the white-painted dresser. It opened out into a bright glass-roofed conservatory, furnished with a red velvet sofa and chairs and a round table set with four dining chairs. It wasn’t a huge space for four grown women to cook, eat and relax in but so far it had done very well. Deangelo deposited her on the sofa before sauntering to the fridge, returning with a large glass of white wine.
‘Drink this,’ he commented as he handed it over.
‘That’s Alexandra’s; she’s the only one with any palate between us.’ And the only one happy to spend her hard-earned cash on luxuries like expensive wines and luxury make-up brands.
‘Why were you crying?’ Deangelo asked again, small talk and niceties dismissed now the tears had stopped.
‘It’s nothing,’ she said, desperate to get the conversation back on track, the thought of the commission from the Aion millions slipping away filling her with panic. ‘I’m sorry; this is so unprofessional. Let’s go back to the office and begin again. You said this was an unusual assignment?’
‘Is it your father?’
Harriet stared. ‘My father?’
‘He’s in a home, no?’ The brusque voice was gentle, Deangelo’s usually subtle accent stronger, as if the effort cost him.
‘I...yes. How did you know?’
‘Harriet, you worked less than six feet away from me for a long time; the door is not soundproof.’
Oh. God. She had always thought him oblivious. Did that mean he had heard every tear-filled begging phone call to her sisters, every long conversation with the healthcare professionals? ‘I’m sorry. I always made the time up.’
‘Harriet, your professionalism was never in doubt.’
‘No.’
