it down and Cory was crying her head off. Mrs Jones had to get her mummy.’
The chatter continued during the ten-minute walk to their bedsit, situated in a terraced street which was grim by any standards. A young married couple and several students occupied the other four bedsits the narrow, three-storey house contained, with a shared bathroom for all occupants on the top floor next to Kim’s room.
The fact that the bathroom was right next door for Melody and that their elevated position cut out the possibility of noisy neighbours overhead were two small advantages in their somewhat miserable surroundings, but Kim fought a constant war against mould and damp, ancient plumping and poor lighting. It wasn’t so bad in the summer, but the two winters they had spent at the house had been abysmal.
Kim had made their home as bright and attractive as she could with the minimum of expenditure, making bright red curtains and a matching duvet cover and cushions for the bed-settee she shared with Melody, and scattering several rugs over the threadbare carpet, but nothing could hide the general run-down ambience of the old building.
Once home, and with Melody settled in front of the fire with a glass of milk and a biscuit, happily watching her favourite TV programme, Kim set about preparing the evening meal. But in spite of all her efforts to the contrary she found she was constantly replaying every minute of the interview earlier that day over and over in her mind.
It had been a travesty. Her eyes narrowed and she sliced a hapless carrot with uncharacteristic savageness. From the second her eyes had met those of Lucas Kane in the reception area she hadn’t stood a chance. The moment she had seen who was seated behind that desk she should have turned right round and marched out with her head held high. Instead… She gritted her teeth and another carrot met the same fate as the first.
Instead she had sat there and answered his barbed questions as though she wanted his precious job, and let him walk all over her in the process.
No—no, she hadn’t, she argued in the next instant. He hadn’t had it all his own way, and besides, she did want the job. She wanted it so much she ached with it—or, rather, she wanted what the position as secretary to the chairman and managing director of Kane Electrical would do for Melody, for them both.
But it wasn’t going to happen. She added two pieces of chicken breast to the vegetables and popped the casserole in the dilapidated oven the bedsit boasted. And in spite of the huge financial rewards it was probably just as well. She couldn’t even begin to imagine herself working for Lucas Kane.
At eight that evening, when the telephone rang in the hall downstairs and Juliana—one of the students—banged on Kim’s door to say a Mr Lucas of Kane Electrical was asking for her, Kim found herself having to do just that very thing.
‘This is Mrs Allen.’ She didn’t like the fact that her voice was so breathless but hoped he would put it down to the fact that she lived on the top floor—something Juliana had apparently pointed out to him, according to the raven-haired Italian girl.
‘Lucas Kane, Mrs Allen.’ The deep husky tones were just as compelling over the telephone and she could just picture him, eyes like silver ice and mouth a hard line in the darkly attractive face, sitting at that massive desk in what must now be a deserted office block. Not that he had to be there, of course, she amended silently. He could be calling her from home, wherever that was. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything—you don’t have guests?’
Guests? Once she and Melody were ensconced in the limited space within the bedsit, there was barely room to swing a cat, Kim thought drily. ‘No, Mr Kane, I don’t have guests.’ Her voice was better this time; less of the Marilyn Monroe and more of a Katharine Hepburn briskness to it.
‘Good.’ It was cold and crisp, very much like the man himself. ‘I’m ringing you to offer you the job, Mrs Allen,’ he said, without any preamble. ‘If you haven’t changed your mind, of course.’
‘I… You—’ Pull yourself together, woman, she told herself silently. He’s obviously looking for a secretary who can string two words together! ‘That’s wonderful, Mr Kane,’ she managed faintly.
‘Then you accept?’
‘Yes—yes, I do, and thank you. Thank you very much indeed.’ She forced herself to stop babbling, realising she had gone from one extreme to the other, and took a long breath before she said more slowly, ‘When would you like me to start, Mr Kane?’
‘Well, that was one of the points in your favour, Mrs Allen, the fact that you can begin immediately,’ he said coolly. ‘June is understandably anxious to join her fiancé as soon as she can and oversee the arrangements, the wedding being in the spring, but even allowing for the possibility you are an exceptionally quick learner—’ did she detect a note of covert sarcasm there, Kim wondered, or was she getting paranoid about this man? ‘—it will take several weeks to pick up all the strings.’
‘You want me to start tomorrow?’ she asked with a calm she was far from feeling.
‘I was going to suggest Monday, to give you time to make any provision for your daughter which might be necessary, but if you are able to come into the office tomorrow that would be excellent. June normally arrives about nineish, so any time after that would be fine.’
There was no trace of emotion or feeling in his voice and the lack of humanity was disconcerting, to say the least. As his personal assistant-cum-secretary, she was going to be working very closely with this intimidating machine—could she handle it? Kim asked herself frantically, before answering in the same instant, Don’t be silly, of course you can handle it. You can’t miss the chance of a lifetime through sheer cowardice.
‘I’ll be there, Mr Kane,’ Kim said steadily.
‘Good. I’ll get Personnel to draw up a contract and arrange for a car to be delivered some time tomorrow so you can have it to drive home. Any particular colour you’d like?’
She almost said, Colour? before she bit the word back, but her hands were beginning to shake and her stomach was swirling with a mixture of amazement and delight at how suddenly her circumstances were changing and bone-chilling shock at her temerity. ‘I don’t know,’ she said dazedly. ‘This is all rather sudden.’
‘Has your daughter got a favourite colour?’ The deep, dark voice was as expressionless as ever, but the content of the question totally threw Kim in view of the robot asking it.
‘Blue,’ she faltered weakly.
‘Just as well it’s not shocking pink—BMW might have objected,’ came the dry response. ‘Blue it is, then, and I’ll see a child’s seat is fitted, of course. Goodnight, Mrs Allen.’
‘Goodnight, and thank you for letting me know so promptly,’ she said quickly, her head spinning.
‘A pleasure.’ It was soft and smooth, and although Kim told herself his reply was just a formal nicety, something in the silky tones sent a trickle of awareness down her spine.
He would be one sexy customer in bed. The thought—coming from nowhere as it did—horrified Kim so much it was just as well the phone had gone dead at the other end because she was quite unable to speak or move for a good thirty seconds.
Was she mad? she asked herself as she replaced the receiver with elaborate carefulness and then put both hands to her burning cheeks. Lucas Kane was her new boss and that last thought had been inappropriate to say the least. And machines weren’t sexy.
