she’d reduced some of what she’d been wearing while shopping, and took a shower. Then she padded through to the kitchen, which was possibly her greatest triumph.
She’d transformed it from a dark and dingy nightmare to light and white with open-fronted shelves to show off her colourful crockery and basket containers.
She made herself a cup of tea and a sandwich, and carried it all through to the bedroom where she emptied her carrier bags onto her bed.
She looked down at the pile and thought with a tinge of irony that she might have been a restraining influence but the clothes were lovely all the same. Margaret Winston might have accepted her suggestion that she shouldn’t outshine the guests, that perhaps dark colours and simple lines would be the most suitable, but she’d insisted on the best quality available.
Alex had quailed inwardly at the prices, but Margaret had confided that they’d be but a drop in the ocean for Max Goodwin.
The result was beautiful materials, linen, silks, fine wools and crêpes. There were three pairs of new shoes and sets of exquisite underwear.
But a frown grew in her eyes as she stared down at it all. Very lovely, but quite different from her normal attire. Would the flair to wear them come from them? she wondered.
Then a strange little thought struck her. How would Max Goodwin view her in these elegant clothes?
To her amazement she felt her pulse beat a little heavily at the thought, and she had to take several deep breaths. She had also to remind herself that she needed to be very, very professional in her dealings with him…
The next day seemed to fly past.
The cocktail party was to be held in the penthouse, starting at six p.m. but Margaret Winston had asked her to be there by five-thirty. In the meantime, she did have a bevy of appointments and there’d been a message from Simon on her answering machine requesting her to pop in and see him.
But before she went anywhere, her neighbour Patti popped in for a few minutes.
‘Knock, knock! I peeked, I cannot deny it, although I wasn’t going to admit it,’ she said dramatically, ‘but I’m dying of curiosity! Who was the gorgeous man who brought you home in a Bentley, no less, last night?’
Alex had to laugh. ‘My new boss,’ she explained. ‘My very temporary boss, so don’t get your hopes up.
Patti sighed regretfully, then she brightened. ‘You never know!’
At midday, Alex stared at herself in something like disbelief.
The foils had come out of her hair, it had been trimmed, washed and blow-dried and the result was rather incredible. Not only that, her eyebrows had been neatened, her lashes had been tinted and her nails manicured.
But most of all it was her hair that amazed her. No longer mousey and unmanageable, wheat-fair highlights had lifted the colour, it now had body, bounce and shape as its slight tendency to curl had been taken advantage of.
‘Like it?’ Mr Roger, the hairdresser, enquired.
Alex swung her head and watched her hair sway elegantly. ‘It’s—I can’t believe it. But—’ she turned to him urgently ‘—I won’t be able to keep it looking like this!’
‘Of course you will!’ he replied, looking a little hurt. ‘It’s all in the cut and what I cut stays cut until the next cut, believe me. And you can still tie it back, put it in bunches, whatever! Mary,’ he called to the make-up girl over his shoulder, ‘let’s do her face. Really go for the eyes, talk about amazing, they are!’ He turned back to Alex. ‘And please don’t tell me you’re going to wear those glasses, lovey, because I couldn’t bear it!’
‘I won’t,’ Alex promised with a laugh. ‘I wouldn’t dare—I’ve brought my contacts.’
He patted her shoulder. ‘Anyway, come in and get it combed before any of your big “do’s” if you’d like to.’
‘Oh, my goodness!’ Simon Wellford said and dropped his pen as Alex slid into a chair across his desk. ‘I mean—’
‘It’s OK!’ Alex smiled at him sympathetically and explained rather humorously about the makeover she’d undergone. ‘I got a bit of a shock myself,’ she added. ‘To think, I’ve been battling with my hair for as long as I can remember and all it needed was one man to cut it, style it, and colour it. Mind you,’ she confided, ‘it cost an arm and a leg.’
‘It’s not only your hair.’ Simon’s gaze took in her carefully made-up face. ‘It’s your face and—no glasses now. It’s amazing. Although—’ his gaze dropped lower ‘—same kind of clothes.’
‘Ah. Not this afternoon, though. So what did you want to see me about?’
Simon reached for a folder. ‘Goodwin Minerals faxed through a confidentiality clause. I’ve had our lawyer have a look at it and he sees no problems, but it means that anything you learn during these negotiations has to stay confidential.’ He handed her a pen.
Alex signed the document with a flourish. ‘Of course.’
‘And they faxed through the programme of engagements you’ll be required to attend.’ He pushed another piece of paper across the desk to her.
‘Cocktail party tonight, lunch tomorrow at the Sovereign Islands, then a three-day break until a golf day at Sanctuary Cove, a day out on a boat on the river, a day at the races and finally a dinner dance—Sovereign Island again,’ Alex read and ticked off her fingers.
Simon looked a question at her.
‘I have seen this—Mrs Winston went through it with me. I was just going through the outfits we got for each occasion,’ she explained and added, ‘I think I’m going to enjoy the three-day break after tomorrow’s lunch. But what’s at Sovereign Island?’ she asked.
‘It’s on the Gold Coast. He has a house down there—make that a mansion.’ Simon looked wry, then opened a drawer and produced a gold badge with her name in navy enamel letters and the company logo artfully inscribed on it. ‘What do you think? Quite classy.’
Alex ran her fingers across the surface. ‘Yes.’ She put it in her bag.
‘So—’ Simon sat back and looked at her narrowly ‘—you reckon you can handle this, Alex?’
‘Have I ever let you down, Simon?’
‘No, but telephone interpreting and document translation is not the pressure thing on-site interpreting is.’
‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘But I spent a couple of hours last night immersing myself in a Mandarin DVD—I feel quite ready.’
He gazed at her. ‘Well, it’ll be mostly small talk, I imagine, but—good luck! You do realize this could bring us a lot of work?’
Alex rose. ‘Simon, that must be the sixth time you’ve told me that—I do. And if you don’t mind I’m off to smell the roses, metaphorically speaking, so—’
‘What’s he like? Max Goodwin?’
Alex
