his pockets. ‘It was something of a relief when she decided to retire.’
Sabrina swallowed, biting her lip. By the sound of it, this job was certainly not going to be stereotypical, as he’d made clear from the start. But she’d not envisaged it including her having to offer her opinion on the esteemed writing of one of the most successful authors in the world. But then, she thought, she’d read most of the classics—read and re-read them—and was a regular visitor to the library and bookshops, keeping up with all the modern output. Maybe she’d be some use after all, in a small way. She wanted to be useful to Alexander McDonald. And it might prove to be an interesting diversion for her.
He turned around now, picking up a large diary and handing it over to Sabrina
‘This is an essential part of my life,’ he said. ‘And from now on, you’re in charge of it, Sabrina. I need you to remind me at frequent intervals what’s coming up and where I’m meant to be, and who with. I tend to be forgetful most of the time.’ He moved beside her, flicking the pages over. ‘Oh, and I would rather you always answer the telephone—just tell the caller to hold while I decide whether I want to talk or not. If I do, I’ll pick up my extension; if not, I’ll give you the thumbs down and you can think up some excuse.’
For the next hour, Sabrina listened as he explained how he liked everything done, and learned that he didn’t like things moved about unnecessarily. ‘If you tidy up too much, we’ll never remember where anything is,’ he said flatly, and Sabrina smiled inwardly. She’d been right in thinking that Maria wasn’t welcome here. She threw discretion to the winds; she did have some requests of her own.
‘Am I at least allowed to clean some dust from my desk—and from yours?’ she said. She feigned a dainty sneeze. ‘It would be advantageous for both of us,’ she added.
He shrugged, as if the matter of dust had never entered his head. ‘Feel free,’ he said casually.
Finally, she was handed an A4 note pad with pages full of scribbled writing.
‘Type this up and print it out, will you? See if you can make sense of my scrawl.’
Sabrina took a long, deep breath, feeling upbeat for a moment. She knew she could handle this job, because she wanted to, desperately. Twenty-four hours ago she hadn’t even met Alexander McDonald, but she owned up again to a feeling of warmth towards him. He seemed quite nice, as new bosses went, though it was obvious to her that he might be touchy at times. Well, she could handle touchy, she thought.
They were standing close together now, their heads bent over the script they were looking at. His tall frame made Sabrina feel tiny, insignificant and distinctly shivery as he towered above her, the titillating musk of his bronzed skin reaching her nostrils. As he turned another page, their hands touched briefly and Sabrina was painfully aware of his long, sensitive fingers.
She moved away from him slightly, trying to keep her mind from intrusive thoughts, and went across to boot up her computer, thinking that all that writing didn’t look too impossible to interpret, but it was full of alterations and crossings-out which would take time to sort. She bit her lip, feeling that the worst part of the job was the fact that she and her employer were going to be here in this room together all the time. She’d much rather have an office of her own—a decent cupboard would do—where she wouldn’t feel those eyes judging her, assessing her every move. Surely he’d go out sometimes and leave her in peace?
Reading her thoughts, as usual, he said, ‘I’m due at the gym for a couple of hours this morning. But first I’m going to make us some coffee.’
Sabrina stood up. Surely making the coffee was one of the duties of his personal assistant? ‘I’ll do it,’ she said quickly. ‘Maria showed me where the kitchen is.’
He nodded, walking towards the door and glancing back at her. ‘OK,’ he said, relieved that he was feeling more in charge of himself by this time. ‘And I might as well show you the domestic side of things straight away. We may need to make ourselves something to eat at the end of a long day.’
He led the way down the stairs and along the hall to the kitchen, Sabrina following in his wake. She remembered him saying yesterday that he would expect her to stay on after normal working hours when necessary, and she shrugged inwardly. She’d do whatever it took to keep this highly lucrative position. Her expression clouded briefly as she remembered how low Melly had been this morning when she’d looked in on her in her bedroom.
The kitchen was large, immaculate and welcoming. There was a spotless Aga, a large refectory table and chairs. Holding prime position in the centre of the room was a double oven with overhead lighting and shining granite surfaces. Goodness me, Sabrina thought, what does he need all these facilities for when he is the only occupant of the house? Perhaps he was always entertaining, she thought, though somehow that didn’t seem likely. She sighed inwardly, thinking of her own small kitchen that was badly in need of a refit.
Alexander threw open the door of one of the cupboards. ‘Everything you may need is here, or in the fridge,’ he said, looking back at her. ‘Maria does all my shopping, makes sure I don’t run out of essentials—though I do eat out rather a lot.’ He paused. ‘I’ve become adept at scrambling eggs, and that’s just about it.’
Sabrina smiled up at him briefly and went over to the sink to fill the kettle.
‘I’ll go and get changed and come back in a minute for my coffee—which I like black,’ Alexander said. ‘And feel free to help yourself to anything you want, whether I’m here or not,’ he added.
Sabrina set out the things she needed, putting coffee granules into the cafetière, and was just reaching for two mugs when the telephone rang. She frowned. It wasn’t the land line, it was a mobile, and it certainly wasn’t hers. Then she saw that Alexander had left his on one of the surfaces, and she went over to answer it. Before she could open her mouth, a woman’s rather strident tones filled her ears.
‘Alexander? You have not been returning my calls. That is extremely naughty of you!’
‘Excuse me,’ Sabrina said hastily. ‘Um, I’ll see if Mr McDonald is in.’
There was a second’s pause. ‘Is that Janet?’ the voice demanded.
‘No, I’m Mr McDonald’s new secretary,’ Sabrina said. ‘Janet does not work for him now.’
‘Really? He didn’t tell me anything about getting a new secretary,’ the voice said in a rather complaining tone. ‘Oh, well. I want to speak to him, please.’
‘I’ll see if he’s in,’ Sabrina repeated. ‘May I ask who’s calling?’
‘This is Lydia,’ the voice said, as if that should have been obvious to anyone with half a brain cell.
‘One moment,’ Sabrina said, putting the phone down carefully and leaving the room, running up the stairs two at a time. Alexander was just coming out of one of the rooms dressed in a white T-shirt and shorts, his brown, muscular thighs and calves shadowed with dark hair. He was looking so unutterably seductive that Sabrina almost forgot what she was supposed to be doing.
‘There’s a call on your mobile—which you left in the kitchen,’ she faltered.
‘Oh, I’m always mislaying the wretched thing,’ he said. ‘Who wants to speak to me?’
‘Someone called Lydia,’
