caviar round, and we could snack while you unpack.’
She laughed and decided she liked him. ‘Some other time,’ she said, and rang off.
Chesnie had a change from mental exhaustion on Saturday, when she met the delivery van from Cambridge and set about placing her belongings and hanging up curtains.
On Monday Barbara Platt afforded her the most wonderful, if scary, compliment by telling her that Joel Davenport had a meeting at one of their other businesses and that Barbara was going with him. ‘We won’t be back again today, but I know you’ll cope.’
Chesnie wished she had Barbara’s confidence in that, but, to her delight—though bearing in mind it had gone seven in the evening before she finally switched off her computer—cope she did. She was not complaining—she was starting to really enjoy her job. She went home to her new flat feeling on top of the world.
Friday, Barbara’s last day, arrived all too quickly. Chesnie spent the morning eagerly absorbing all and everything that Barbara was telling her of the more confidential details of their work. She supposed that with Barbara divulging such matters it must mean that she had satisfied herself that the new PA was worthy of such confidences.
Feeling enormously pleased with Barbara’s trust, Chesnie was further delighted when at half past twelve the good-looking Joel Davenport came into their office and, instead of going over to Barbara’s desk, came over to Chesnie.
‘I’m taking my number one PA for an extended lunch. The office is all yours, Chesnie Cosgrove.’
Indeed, so delighted was she at this further show of trust in her abilities that her cool exterior slipped momentarily. She smiled, a natural smile. ‘Bon appétit,’ she replied.
She became aware that Joel Davenport was staring at her as if seeing something new in her for the first time, but before she could change her smile back to her more usual guarded smile he muttered, ‘Those incredibly long eyelashes can’t be real.’
‘I’m afraid they are,’ she replied.
‘Amazing,’ he commented—and took his ‘number one’ PA off for a parting lunch.
Feeling a mite disturbed by Joel Davenport’s personal comment—even if it had sounded more matter-of-fact than personal—Chesnie was soon over any disquiet when she realised that if Barbara was his number one PA today, then on Monday yours truly, Chesnie Cosgrove, would be number one!
She had plenty to do, and was fully involved in her work when at five to three Barbara came back from what it transpired had been a champagne lunch.
‘Joel has gone on to keep his three o’clock appointment,’ Barbara explained. ‘Now, what can I help you with?’
‘I think you’ve filled in as many blanks as you can,’ Chesnie replied.
And guessed she must have sounded a mite apprehensive when Barbara replied that she was confident she would cope admirably. ‘A bit different from your predecessor.’
‘My predecessor?’ Chesnie was puzzled. Mustard had nothing on Joel Davenport’s present PA.
‘Didn’t I mention it?’ Barbara realised that she hadn’t, and went on to correct that oversight.
Apparently Barbara’s life had changed dramatically when she had met Derek Platt. In no time she had fallen in love and married him. Derek had been in the process of purchasing a small holding in the Welsh borders, and that had been fine by Barbara. A smart and mature woman, she’d looked forward to this change of lifestyle.
‘I gave ample notice, and we thought we’d selected the right person. But she proved not up to the job, and Joel didn’t think the other candidates were any better, so we advertised again. And—’ she smiled ‘—here you are. And, I’m certain, more than up to the job.’
Chesnie fervently hoped she was right. ‘That won’t prevent you from leaving me your phone number, I hope?’ It had been Barbara’s suggestion that she would. But she laughed and, having more or less cleared her desk, began to expand on matters other than the work which Chesnie would be dealing with.
Barbara was full of praise for Joel. Yeatman Trading had been going through a very tough time when he had joined the firm. He had seen at once what needed to be done, and had done it—had transformed the company—and been rewarded with a seat on the board.
‘And now,’ Barbara continued, ‘within the next year Winslow Yeatman is going to retire.’
‘The chairman?’ Chesnie had picked that up from somewhere during the past two weeks.
‘None other,’ Barbara agreed. ‘And Joel wants that job—very badly. He has very progressive ideas, and believes that to be able to put those ideas into effect he needs to be chairman.’
‘Will he get it?’ Chesnie asked.
‘If there’s any justice he will,’ Barbara answered. ‘It’s largely through his efforts that a firm that was heading for the rocks has gone from strength to strength this past ten years. He, more than anyone, is responsible for its growth and expansion. He’s ambitious and hard-headed when it comes to business. But he’s good. They certainly don’t come any better.’
Chesnie had seen that much for herself in the short time she’d been there. ‘You think he might not get it?’ she asked.
‘Nothing’s certain. The problem here is that this started off as a family firm a hundred or so years ago, and, although new blood such as Joel has gradually infiltrated, over half the board are family members. Three of whom I know for a fact want a Yeatman to head the company. There are nine people on the board, excluding the chairman, and while I know there are three of the directors who are for Joel, he can’t vote for himself, so that leaves two other votes as yet unaccounted for. Should the vote be split and Winslow Yeatman have to make the casting vote then it’s more than likely he’ll favour a family man.’
‘One of his family?’
Barbara shook her head. ‘A man with a family. He also wants what is best for the firm.’
‘Doesn’t J…Mr Davenport have a family?’
‘He’s not married.’
Chesnie felt a little surprised. ‘Some woman named Felice phoned for him last week, and a woman named Gina phoned to speak to him on Monday. I put them in the wife and daughter slot.’
‘Girlfriends.’ Barbara corrected Chesnie’s assumption. ‘He’s more than happy with his bachelor lifestyle.’ She gave a wicked grin. ‘Though his fellow director, Arlene Enderby, née Yeatman, recently divorced, non-working but taking her cut just the same—and who just happens to be the chairman’s niece—has got her eye on Joel.’
‘Does he know?’
Barbara gave a whoop of laughter. ‘I’ve an idea that there’s not much that goes on in the female mind that Joel doesn’t know. He’s taken her out a couple of times, so I’m positive she will have filled in any gaps.’ At that point Barbara seemed to collect herself. ‘And I’m talking too much—must be the champage—I’m not used to it. Either that or some instinctive feeling that you’ll be better able to help him get what he deserves and has worked
