stared at Torre and wished she could confound him by telling him that she had a successful career. It had been Giuseppe who had first inspired her interest in engineering, and eight years ago when she had started university she had switched from a maths degree to study civil engineering. She had found that designing and being involved in the construction process of roads, bridges and other vital infrastructure might not be a glamorous job but it allowed her to be creative and innovative with an opportunity to make real changes to people’s lives. A trip to Africa organised by her university to take part in the construction of a fresh water supply and sanitation facilities in a rural area of Sierra Leone had reinforced her decision to become an engineer.
But her greatest regret was that she had not finished her degree. She had met David Keegan halfway through her final year of studying, and part of the course had involved her being sent on placements to civil engineering projects to gain practical experience. David had disliked her working in a predominantly male environment. In hindsight she could see that he had revealed signs of his obsessive and jealous nature before their wedding in Las Vegas three months after they had met in a bar where she had worked as a waitress to supplement her student grant.
She’d been flattered by the attention from a good-looking sports star and her romance with David had been a whirlwind affair. After they had married he had persuaded her to drop out of university so that she could travel with him when he played international matches with the England cricket team.
Orla smiled at the waiter who had replaced her uneaten starter with a plate of seafood risotto. Unfortunately her appetite hadn’t improved and her thoughts were still on the past.
It had always been her intention to go back to university to finish her studies and qualify as a civil engineer but by the end of her marriage her self-confidence had been in tatters. She’d left with nothing but a few of her clothes, none of which had been bought with David’s money. Earning an income had been vital, but her only work experience was bar work or as an office assistant during her gap year after she’d left school.
The additional worry about her mother’s medical bills had prompted her to take an intensive secretarial course, after which she had been offered a job as a secretary with a construction company, Mayall’s. Her knowledge of civil engineering had proved useful and she had quickly been promoted to the role of PA to the company’s director. However, she had been fired from her job when she’d had to take an extended period of time off to rush to her mother’s hospital bedside in America. Since then she had been turned down for every job she’d applied for, and now her financial situation was at crisis point and her self-confidence had taken another battering.
Eight years ago Torre’s rejection had made her feel worthless. He was still waiting now for her to reply to his question. ‘I assume you do work,’ he drawled, ‘unless your living costs are funded by someone else.’
Orla looked across the table at him. He was so handsome that he made her heart clench, so arrogantly self-assured that her brief spurt of determination to stick up for herself withered and died. ‘I don’t have a job currently,’ she said flatly.
His eyes gleamed like cold steel. ‘And yet Giuseppe mentioned that you live in a highly sought-after area of London. How can you afford to live at an address in Chelsea when you do not work?’
‘It’s none of your business,’ she said coolly. She had not told Giuseppe that she’d sold the luxurious apartment he had given her mother as part of the divorce settlement so that she could pay off some of Kimberly’s debts.
Deep down, Orla was shaking at her temerity in answering Torre back, and she tensed, waiting for him to lose his temper as David had invariably done if she had ever disagreed with him. But he said nothing, and she could almost believe that she had seen a flicker of reluctant respect in his eyes.
The discovery that her mother had taken out a mortgage on the Chelsea apartment had been another blow. She had hoped to use the money from the sale to cover Kimberley’s medical expenses at a hospital in Chicago where she had been receiving treatment ever since she had suffered a stroke that had almost killed her. But there was no point explaining the situation to Torre. He had made it clear that he despised her mother and Orla knew he would not feel any sympathy.
Jules finished his conversation with Giuseppe and turned his head towards her. ‘You haven’t eaten much. Are you feeling unwell again? That was a nasty virus you contracted last week.’
Jules was such a good friend. Orla gave him a grateful smile. ‘I’m fine.’
Against her will, her eyes darted to Torre and his sardonic expression infuriated her. But Jules seemed oblivious to the simmering tension. He glanced across the table at Torre. ‘You and Orla must have a lot to catch up on after eight years.’
‘I was interested to know what job Orla does but she has informed me that she doesn’t work,’ Torre said drily.
‘I hope she explained that what happened with her previous employer was not her fault.’ Jules quickly sprang to her defence. He turned to Giuseppe. ‘Orla is a very good secretary and she is ideally suitable for the position of PA to the audit manager of ARC UK, but her application was rejected by the managing director, Richard Fraser. I am certain that Orla would be an asset to the company if you would give her a chance to prove her worth.’
Orla felt uncomfortable when Giuseppe gave her a shrewd look. ‘It is not a chairman’s role to interfere with decisions made by senior executives, except in rare circumstances,’ he murmured. ‘I like Richard Fraser and respect his judgement. That said, I would like to help you, Orla. You are my stepdaughter and I am delighted that you wish to work for the company. But I am no longer in charge of ARC. I intend to make a formal announcement and give a press statement at the company’s centenary party that I am stepping down from my role as joint Chairman and CEO in favour of my son. I began the legal process of handing the company over to Torre a few weeks ago while I was in hospital, suffering from pneumonia. My illness forced me to accept that I am getting older, and it is time for a younger man with more energy and new ideas to lead ARC into the future.’
Around the table everyone turned their heads to look at Giuseppe when he rose to his feet and picked up his wine glass. ‘I would like to propose a toast to Torre. I am certain that under his leadership ARC will continue to flourish and expand.’
There was a scrape of chairs on the stone terrace as everyone stood up and raised their glasses. Orla murmured her congratulations, but her heart had plummeted when Giuseppe had made his announcement. She had let herself believe that she would be able to persuade her stepfather to give her a job at ARC UK. But Giuseppe, who had only ever been kind to her, had handed the company over to his son and heir—and Torre was as friendly towards her as a rattlesnake.
When everyone had resumed their seats, Jules leaned across the table and spoke to Torre. ‘I’d appreciate it if you would intervene on Orla’s behalf and tell Richard Fraser to offer her the job she applied for. If you read her CV you will see that she has the right qualifications.’
‘I cannot promise anything. Recruitment is dealt with by HR,’ Torre said smoothly. ‘But I suppose I can spare five minutes to look at Orla’s CV.’
She wanted to tell him not to bother. It would save them both time because she was damned sure that Torre would not give her a job. She didn’t even want to be a PA. She did not enjoy office work but it was the only thing she was qualified to do. Even if she found the confidence to go back to university for the final year of her degree in civil engineering, she could not afford the fees or the lack of income while she studied. She had to have a job so that she could pay her mother’s medical expenses, and she couldn’t risk throwing away the
