Her boss, Martin Longman, had been disappointed but understanding. ‘If you really think this friend of yours is in danger of losing her mind, then of course you must go,’ he said, when she first broached the subject with him. ‘But remember, the launch of Lady-Free takes place three weeks from Friday. I expect you to be back before then.’
‘Oh, I shall be.’ Jaime was determined, gripping the arms of her chair tightly as she sat across the desk from the man who was responsible for giving her this wonderful opportunity. ‘I’ve checked with Clifford Jacobs, and with the manufacturers, and everything’s going according to schedule. Unless there are any unforeseen problems, we should make it as arranged.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ Martin Longman lay back in his chair, regarding his personal assistant with faintly troubled eyes. It had been his decision to promote a woman to the position previously always occupied by a man, and so far he had had no cause for complaint. Jaime had accomplished her duties with efficiency and precision, bringing to the job a flair that her predecessors had lacked. Perhaps a woman was the logical choice, after all, Martin reflected, reaching for the box of cigars that was never far from his elbow. To listen to his board one would never have thought so, but even the most prejudiced among them had been forced to acknowledge that Jaime Forster had acquitted herself with skill and enthusiasm.
Jaime, watching the fleeting expressions crossing her boss’s face, knew a momentary anxiety. What did Martin really think of her asking for time off now with this important launch in the offing? Was he asking himself whether a male executive would have committed so unprofessional an offence? Or was he prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt? In the past, she had never let him down. Did he think she was letting him down now?
‘If you feel I shouldn’t be away at this time—–’ she began, but she didn’t get to finish her statement.
‘I know you wouldn’t have asked, if it hadn’t been a matter of life and death,’ remarked Martin wryly. ‘Come along, I’ll buy you lunch. That will give the hawks in the boardroom something else to worry about!’
Jaime’s smile was grateful as they went down in the lift. It wasn’t the first time Martin had bought her lunch, and she knew that fact was frequently seized upon by her opponents in their efforts to get her abilities disparaged. But her friendship with the managing director remained on a purely business footing, even though she knew he had marital problems of his own.
They went to the Highwayman, a hotel within walking distance of the offices in Holland Park. They went straight into the restaurant, and after the meal was ordered and pre-lunch drinks had been brought, Martin regarded her thoughtfully over the rim of his glass.
‘Who is this friend of yours?’ he enquired, his bushy brows drawing together interrogatively. ‘You’ve spoken of your friends before, but I don’t remember a Nicola being mentioned. How long have you known her?’
‘Since schooldays.’ Jaime sipped her Martini appreciatively. ‘Nicola was in my year at Abbotsford. We were quite—close friends.’
‘Are,’ corrected Martin drily, putting his glass aside. ‘Or was that a Freudian slip?’
Jaime gave a short laugh. ‘Perhaps. I haven’t seen Nicola for more than five years. Not since—not since she got married, in fact.’
‘Ah.’ Martin was looking intrigued. ‘Do I detect a thwarted romance?’
‘No.’ Jaime was delighted to discover she could speak quite calmly. ‘But—well, she married an Italian. A count, actually. The Conte di Vaggio. He took her back to Tuscany, and we just lost touch with one another.’
‘Yet she knew where to find you,’ Martin pointed out, and Jaime nodded.
‘I was already working for Holts when she left England. Just because I’m no longer in the typing pool it doesn’t mean the receptionist wouldn’t know where to find me.’
‘I suppose not.’ Martin looked at her humorously. ‘I wonder how you are regarded in the typing pool now. To travel so far in such a short time!’
‘Do you regret it?’
Jaime’s thickly-lashed grey eyes invited his opinion, and Martin shook his head. A handsome man, still only in his middle fifties, he attracted a lot of female attention, and they both knew that their relationship was the source of constant speculation throughout the company. But now he simply reached out and covered one of her hands with his, and said quietly:
‘You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had, and you know it. Just don’t get to thinking you might like to try the matrimonial state yourself while you’re out there. Italians are very keen on the family, I know, and if your friend’s husband has any eligible brothers or cousins or uncles desirous of a wife, remember you’ve got a professional family here, depending on you.’
Jaime smiled. ‘I’ll remember.’
‘Good.’ Martin nodded approvingly. ‘Ah, here comes our smoked salmon. Let’s enjoy the food and talk about this new idea I have for promoting our products alongside a matching range of garments. I mean, if we could create a certain image, a Helena Holt look …’
Jaime looked down at the screen of cloud cover which had emerged to hide the blue waters of the Mediterranean far below them. That lunch with Martin had taken place two days ago, two days in which she had been rushed off her feet, clearing up all outstanding matters at the office and finding time in her lunch hour to shop for one or two shirts and sweaters, suitable for early June in that north-western part of Italy known as Tuscany.
Mrs Purdom had been a boon, laundering and pressing and packing her suitcase with all the items necessary for a week-long stay at the Castello di Vaggio. Jaime had limited her agreement to accept Nicola’s invitation to one week only, allowing herself the other week in case anything should go wrong. She didn’t know what could go wrong, but Nicola had never been a particularly stable character, and although Jaime suspected she had exaggerated the situation, her hysteria on the phone last evening had not been pretence.
Mrs Purdom, on the other hand, persisted in regarding the trip as a holiday. She was the only one, apart from Nicola, of course, who welcomed Jaime’s enforced holiday.
‘I said you needed a break,’ she had declared smugly, as she prepared Jaime’s breakfast that morning. ‘A week or two in Italy will make all the difference to you—get you out of that office, and put some colour in your cheeks.’
‘It’s not a pleasure trip, Mrs Purdom.’ Jaime was half impatient. ‘I’m just helping out an old friend, that’s all. I’ll be back, I hope by the middle of next week.’
‘Well, don’t you hurry. There’s nothing spoiling here,’ declared Mrs Purdom irrepressibly. ‘Now, are you sure there’s nothing you’ve forgotten before I lock your case?’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the No Smoking sign has now been switched on, and passengers are requested to check that their seat belts are fastened, that chairs are in the upright position, and that all cigarettes are extinguished. No smoking is allowed until passengers are inside the terminal buildings. We shall be landing at Pisa airport in only a few minutes. Thank you.’
The stewardess smiled at Jaime as she put her microphone away and Jaime felt the familiar sense of tension she always experienced prior to landing. It wasn’t anticipation of the landing itself. She had flown to Paris and Rome several times during her years at
