to come up for sale.
What could she say? ‘It’s what you want, Gramps?’ she asked quietly.
‘I should never have left,’ he answered simply, and she could only think, since he had never parted with his furniture but had put it in store, that perhaps without knowing it he had always meant to return.
‘What do my parents think?’
A wicked light she hadn’t seen in a long while entered his eyes. ‘Your father’s all right about it—er—your mother’s taken it personally.’
Chesnie knew all about her mother taking it ‘personally’—she would go on and on about it, and Chesnie suspected he would want to move out sooner rather than later. ‘When are you leaving?’ she asked.
‘I was wondering if you’re free to drive me there tomorrow?’ he asked, looking positively cheeky.
He had got everything arranged so quickly! She had to grin. ‘I’d love to,’ she answered, and was thinking in terms of availability of trains for the return trip when her grandfather seemed to read her mind.
‘You wouldn’t care to look after my car for me, would you? I’ll seldom need it, and it will only be until I can find a property in the village with a garage. There isn’t one at the cottage.’
That had been three months ago. Chesnie missed her grandfather but had driven to see him several times. When, six weeks ago, Hector Browning had accused her of having an affair with his father she had known she couldn’t possibly work at Browning Enterprises any longer.
Knowing she was going to part company with Lionel Browning, and having just received a letter asking her to vacate her flat, it had been decision time. She needed somewhere new to live and work; she could do both anywhere.
When Chesnie had seen the advert for the PA’s job at Yeatman Trading, and subsequently passed the first and second interviews, she’d crossed her fingers and hoped…
She still had a wide grin on her face when she drove up to the smart appartment block where her sister lived. She had a new job now, PA to none other than Mr Joel Davenport himself.
Nerissa was in, took one look at her beaming face, and squealed, ‘You got it!’
Later she calmed down enough to say that she had known she would get it. ‘The rest of us had to get married to afford to leave home. But not you, clever girl, you inherited the family brain.’ From Chesnie’s viewpoint it hadn’t been that easy. She had worked hard, but Nerissa was going blithely on, ‘Now to sort you out with a flat. Stephen was having a word with someone last night who may have something—’ She broke off waspishly. ‘He does have his uses.’
From that moment on everything seemed to move at lightning pace. Chesnie was not a partying person, but Nerissa made her promise to return for a party she and Stephen were holding on Saturday evening, and Chesnie returned to Cambridge and packed up her belongings ready for her move.
The party was a success; Nerissa wouldn’t have had it any other way. But, although Chesnie found the function enjoyable, she had other things on her mind—she had only two weeks to work alongside Joel Davenport’s present PA and get up to speed. It wasn’t very long—would she cope?
Chesnie arrived back at her sister’s apartment after her first Monday in her new job with her head spinning—and a sinking feeling that two months, let alone two weeks, wouldn’t be long enough for her to remember all that there was to absorb.
She was ready for bed and didn’t think she had energy enough to eat a meal. Her sister had other plans. ‘How was your first day?’ she asked straight away.
‘I’m on my knees!’ Chesnie confessed.
‘That good, huh? And how was the new boss?’
‘I haven’t seen him. He’s in Scotland until Wednesday.’
‘Right, now, don’t take your jacket off. The flat Stephen told me about has come up. Come on, we’ll go and take a look.’
Somewhere to live was a priority. From somewhere Chesnie conjured up some enthusiasm and, with her sister driving, went to view a small flat on the outskirts of the city.
The flat consisted of a sitting room, bathroom, a tiny kitchen and two bedrooms, though the second bedroom was no bigger than her parents’ broom cupboard. ‘If there’s a chance, I’ll take it,’ Chesnie declared at once. The rent was astronomical—but so too was her salary.
‘You’re sure?’ Nerissa questioned. ‘You’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you like—if you can put up with Tibbetts.’ ‘Tibbetts’ being her husband, Stephen Tibbetts.
‘This will do fine,’ Chesnie assured her, and in no time Nerissa was speaking to her husband on the phone.
‘You can move in any time,’ she said the moment she had ended her call. ‘Let’s celebrate!’
Chesnie was grateful that the celebration was nothing more than a meal out with a glass of wine.
Tuesday proved every bit as busy as the previous day, with Barbara Platt trying to break her in gently but as aware as Chesnie that there was not too much time remaining before Barbara departed a week on Friday.
Joel Davenport had already been at his desk for over an hour when Chesnie arrived at her office on Wednesday. She was not late, was in fact fifteen minutes early. In the short time she’d been there she had heard that he simply ate up work—throughout that day he proved it.
Not that she had much to do with him. Though he did leave his office at one point to speak to Barbara and to pause in passing to ask, pleasantly enough, ‘Settling in?’
She raised her head, maintaining her cool image to politely agree, ‘Yes, thank you,’ and he went on to Barbara’s desk and Chesnie went back to what she had been doing.
By Friday, although she was starting to grow more confident that she was up to the job, she was nevertheless mentally exhausted by the time she arrived at her sister’s home, to be greeted by Nerissa smilingly telling her, ‘Philip Pomeroy rang. He wants to take you out.’
‘You make me sound like a set of dentures! Who’s Philip Pomeroy?’
‘You’re hopeless!’ Nerissa complained. ‘You met him at my party last Saturday. Tallish, wavy brownish hair, very slightly receding, pushing forty. Ring any bells?’
Chesnie did a mental flip back to the party, and placed Philip Pomeroy as a rather amiable man, interested in her, but inoffensive with it. ‘Did you tell him I was busy?’
‘I told him you’d ring him.’
‘Nerissa!’
‘Oh, go on, ring him. He’s nice.’
Out of courtesy to her sister, who had promised a return phone call on her behalf, Chesnie reluctantly phoned Philip Pomeroy, who appeared pleased she had rung and straight away asked her to dine with him.
‘I’m very busy at the moment,’ she replied.
‘You’re too busy to eat?’
