noticed that about him that night—that and, of course, his spectacular good looks, his very obvious maleness...
‘Miss Linton?’
It was a statement, not a question, and she responded to it automatically, saying a little shakily, ‘Yes, I’m Nicola Linton, Mr Hunt.’
The smile he gave her wasn’t kind or warm.
‘Make it Matt,’ he told her coolly. ‘Outdated lip-service to respect, when it’s sycophantic and not genuine, isn’t something which appeals to me...’
His comment shocked her out of her personal terror, making Nicola stare and frown.
He hadn’t recognised her, she knew that, but it was evident from his manner towards her that he was not well-disposed to her. Her eyelashes flickered defensively; she knew she was not popular with the male workforce, who made fun of her behind her back and laughed about her primness, but better that than— She swallowed hard. This man was going to be her boss. Unless she gave up her job, which she did not want to do, she was going to have to find a way of getting on with him. Jobs weren’t easy to come by out here, and she had no wish to commute to the city, and certainly no wish to move there. Whatever had caused his antipathy towards her, it certainly wasn’t the past... She was safe from that horror, at least.
As she made some inane comment, she was aware of being in a state of intense shock, of speaking and moving automatically, as a means of defence, while really all she longed to do was to turn tail and run just as far and as fast as she could from the man watching her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alan coming out of his office. Evie beamed enthusiastically at Matthew Hunt, who gave her a surprisingly warm smile.
A sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced before seemed to pierce right through Nicola. It was like being stabbed, and she almost gasped out loud with the shock of it. To her disbelief she realised that the obstruction clogging her throat felt like a hard ball of tears... Tears, when she hadn’t cried since—since she was eighteen years old... Evie’s age. But at Evie’s age she hadn’t had one tenth of her confidence, her belief in herself as a woman...a person, even.
She turned away, blinking rapidly, clenching her hands and gritting her teeth as she willed herself to control her stupid reaction.
Tears because a man treated her with coolness and uninterest while smiling warmly and appreciatively on Evie... Why, for heaven’s sake? Especially when the man in question was this man. Hadn’t she learnt anything from the past? Hadn’t all these years of living with the burden of her own guilt taught her anything—anything at all?
‘It’s almost ten o’clock. I believe we have a meeting to attend... I want to keep it as short as possible. There’s a good deal of work to be done, and I’ve got a meeting in the City this afternoon...’
Silently Nicola walked towards the door. Her legs felt horribly weak, her head as though it were stuffed with cotton wool. As she reached the door, Matthew Hunt opened it for her. She made to walk past him, her body tensing, the fine hairs on her skin standing up on end as she drew closer to him. He was watching her closely. She could feel tiny beads of perspiration breaking out on her skin, but she refused to give in to the dangerous urge to turn her head and look back at him just to make sure that she was right that he hadn’t realised... recognised... And then mercifully she was through the door, with Evie behind her, Evie’s high heels clattering on the wooden floor.
All through the meeting she found it impossible to concentrate on what was going on.
Matthew Hunt, their new boss!
Even now she could hardly take it in. Matthew Hunt, their new boss, was the same man who...
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Evie pressed her. ‘You still look dreadfully pale.’
‘I’m fine,’ Nicola lied hollowly. ‘Just fine...’
* * *
SHE SAID MUCH the same thing to her mother later in the day when she returned home from work and was asked how her first meeting with her new boss had gone.
It wasn’t true, of course. All day she had been desperately conscious of the fact that Matthew Hunt was watching her, assessing her. She felt anything but fine. She suspected, from the questions he had subjected her to during the day, that he believed she had taken far too much of the day-to-day running of the firm on to her own shoulders, and he had given her the impression that under his control the company would be very, very differently run.
She could have explained to him that it had not been any desire for self-glorification or self-importance that had motivated her; that she had acted simply out of compassion and concern—but pride had kept her silent. Pride and a certain bitter stubbornness... He had misjudged her once before, and now he was doing the same thing again, and it made not one bit of difference that on both occasions, for different reasons, she was really the one who had been responsible for his misconceptions.
A new manager would be appointed to take over the running of the company by the end of the week, he had told her; until then, Alan would remain in charge in an advisory capacity.
Matthew had only stayed a handful of hours but, by the time he had left, Nicola had felt as wrung out and exhausted as though she had worked intensively and without sleep for a full week.
There was no doubt that professionally he was both dynamic and very, very well-informed. She could understand after listening to him just why he was so successful, but his success, his dynamism, weren’t the root cause of her tension.
And she could hardly tell her mother just what it was about him that disturbed her so much.
‘Oh, by the way, Gordon rang. He said to tell you that he had to cancel tonight. Apparently his mother isn’t feeling too well.’
Heroically her mother managed to keep her voice light and uncritical, but Nicola already knew her parents’ opinion of Gordon and her relationship with him. They had been going to play tennis this evening, but she was not sorry their date was cancelled.
‘I think I’ll have an early night,’ she told her mother wanly. ‘I feel rather tired.’
‘A good long walk would do you more good than an early night... Too much sleep can cause depression,’ her mother told her firmly.
Nicola managed a weak smile. Her mother was always forthright and open in her comments—unlike Gordon’s mother, who was exactly the opposite.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she agreed.
‘I am, and what’s more you can take that fat, lazy dog with you,’ she told Nicola.
Both of them looked at the placid labrador warming herself in front of the Aga.
Nicola laughed again.
‘I see. It’s not me who needs the walk, it’s Honey...’
‘It will do you both good,’ her mother reiterated firmly.
* * *
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, leaning on a gate studying the pastoral view in front of her, Nicola reflected that, while physically the walk might have done her good, mentally... She glanced down to where Honey
