to go in to see him. She came out ten minutes later, emotional tears in her eyes, a cheque in one hand, a jeweller’s box in the other, and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers in her arms.
‘Oh, Chesnie,’ she said, emotion still with her after the presentation she had just received, ‘I do so hope you’ll be as happy working here as I have been.’
‘I’m sure I shall,’ Chesnie answered with a smile, but more hoped that she could do the job. For, aside from the everyday difficulties and stress that were part and parcel of the job, from what Barbara had said earlier it seemed there was a lot of in-fighting going on too.
For a fact, there were three board members who were against Joel Davenport getting the chairman’s job.
Chesnie suddenly felt swallowed up by an unexpected huge wave of loyalty, and she determined that if there was any small thing in her power she could do to help him get that chairman’s job, she would do it. Then she laughed at herself. What on earth did she think she, a PA, could do that would help when it came to electing the new chairman?
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS four weeks since Barbara had left, and Chesnie was thankful that in those four weeks she had not had to phone Barbara or needed to call on the services of Eileen Gray, a kind of floating PA who, while not wanting the pressure of being anyone’s full-time PA, was so good at the job that the company did not want to let her go.
Chesnie drove to work that Monday four weeks after Barbara’s departure and for the first time truly believed that she could do the job of Joel’s number one PA.
It had not been an easy four weeks. Joel Davenport, for all he made his job seem effortless, had an appetite for work that at first had caused her to work in overdrive just to try and keep up with him.
She worked late; once, when he was out for the day, staying at the office until gone nine at night to catch up and so have her desk clear for the next morning.
Most evenings she staggered home to make a quick snack, get her smart business clothes ready for the morning, and fall into bed. Sometimes she dreamed of him, but that was hardly surprising; he had become a dominant force in her life.
On one weekend she had visited her grandfather in Herefordshire, and another weekend she’d gone to see her parents in Cambridge. Robina had been there, having left Ronnie for a ‘final’ time. She was divorcing him, she’d declared in floods of tears, she’d had enough. Ronnie had phoned, and there were more tears as Robina had screeched a list of his faults down the phone at him.
All that hate and recrimination had served only to freshly endorse for Chesnie that she’d got the better bargain when 23 she’d decided never to marry. Though she had to smile—when would she get the chance? Working for and with such a high-powered, work-oriented man, she didn’t have the time to date, much less to build any kind of relationship.
Which reminded her. Nerissa had telephoned last night to say Philip Pomeroy had rung again and could he have her sister’s number?
‘You didn’t give it to him?’ Chesnie had asked, guessing that Philip wanted to ask her out; she didn’t have time to go out. By not letting him have her newly connected number, she was spared having to make excuses.
‘I promised you I wouldn’t,’ Nerissa had confirmed.
With her new-found confidence in her ability to cope with her job, Chesnie parked her grandfather’s car, swung into the building and took the lift to the top floor. It went without saying that Joel Davenport would already be hard at work. Unless he was out of town he was always in before her.
An involuntary smile lit her mouth as she recalled that first Monday after Barbara had gone. Hoping to look as cool and as poised as she was striving to look, Chesnie, feeling a bundle of nerves, had entered her office. No sooner had she sat down, though, and Joel Davenport had come to greet her as if it had been her first day.
‘Good morning, Chesnie,’ he’d said pleasantly. ‘We haven’t frightened you off, then?’
She had given him her guarded smile. ‘Good morning, Mr Davenport,’ she’d replied and, inwardly churning, ‘I don’t scare easily,’ she had added.
He’d studied her, nodded, and then commented, ‘That’s what I like to hear. The name’s Joel,’ he indicated, and her first day as numero uno had begun.
The door between the two offices stood open today, as it sometimes did when she went in. ‘Good morning,’ Chesnie called to the dark-blond-haired man absorbed in the paperwork in front of him.
‘Good morning,’ he answered, but did not raise his head. Business as usual.
Chesnie had barely stowed her bag when Darren, the post boy, arrived. ‘Good morning, Miss Cosgrove,’ he said huskily, and as their hands touched as she relieved him of the bundles of post he blushed crimson.
Chesnie took her eyes from him, giving him time to compose himself. ‘How’s your mother?’ she asked. ‘I do hope she’s on the mend.’ She glanced at him, glad to see his blush had died down.
‘She’s going back to work today,’ he answered on a gulp of breath. ‘Thank you,’ he added, and gave her a beautiful smile as his eyes glued to her face, he backed to the door.
Then he became aware that Joel Davenport had come from his office and was standing watching him—Darren bolted. ‘That young man idolises you,’ Joel said abruptly.
‘It’s only a crush,’ Chesnie replied, and was ready to deal with any query her employer had when she discovered he wasn’t ready to dismiss the subject yet.
‘He’ll never get over it while you treat him that way!’
What way was that? ‘I’d rather be pleasant to him than not,’ she answered, as calmly as she was able.
‘Is that the way you treat all your admirers?’
What had this got to do with work? ‘It depends how old they are,’ she replied evenly. ‘Young men like Darren, sensitive young men, deserve to have their blushes respected. Older, more cynical men,’ she went on, looking one such straight in the eye, ‘are too tough to need kid-glove treatment.’
A grunt was her answer. ‘Bring the post through when you’ve sorted it!’ he rapped.
Yes, sir, three bags full, sir. And, anyhow, he could talk! In the short time she’d been there she’d observed he had quite a fan club amongst the female staff.
The morning that had got off to a rancorous start did not improve much for Chesnie when, nearing one o’clock, Joel’s office door opened. Observing he wasn’t there, the most striking-looking blue-eyed brunette, sporting a sensational tan, fluttered through and into Chesnie’s office.
‘You must be Chesnie!’ She smiled. ‘Uncle Winslow told me all about you.’
‘Uncle Winslow’ must be Winslow Yeatman, the chairman. Chesnie had by then met him several times and found him a most charming gentleman. ‘You must be Arlene Enderby,’ Chesnie guessed—the non-working director of the company.
‘You have it. I’ve come to take Joel to lunch, but he doesn’t appear to
