Читать книгу Beyond All Reason - Кэтти Уильямс, CATHY WILLIAMS, Cathy Williams - Страница 8

ABIGAIL’S hand was still poised over her notepad. It was beginning to ache, and she lowered it.

The hard cold sunshine streamed in through the large glass panes and threw Ross’s face into disturbing shadow so that she found it difficult to read his expression. Was he merely expressing curiosity or was he really worried that she was about to stack her papers neatly together on her desk and take her leave?

‘I don’t know what gives you that idea,’ she stammered, and he stopped twirling the fountain pen in his fingers, putting it on the desk so that he could lean back in his chair, looking at her through his lashes.

‘Isn’t he?’ he asked by way of response, and she felt like a butterfly pinned against the wall.

‘These letters,’ she suggested coaxingly, in an attempt to change the conversation, and his lips twisted into a crooked smile,

‘Won’t work, Abby,’ he said softly, and she felt herself begin to bristle from head to toe. She didn’t have to sit here and be cross-examined! Explaining her personal life to him wasn’t part of her secretarial duties. She hadn’t asked him to turn up on her doorstep the evening before, but he had anyway, and now he was acting as though the brief visit entitled him to make sweeping statements on her relationship with Martin. It was ludicrous!

‘I understand that you might be worried about my leaving this job when I get married——’ she began, and be cut in in a voice that took her by surprise,

‘When? Has a date been set?’

‘No, but engagements normally lead to weddings, don’t they?’ she said in a dulcet voice.

His jaw hardened, and he stood up, walking to the window to stare down. She could see the reflection of his face on the glass, the stiff line of his back. She saw it all with a sense of dismayed fascination.

‘Of course he’s not suited to you at all,’ he informed her, not turning around, and she stood up, the notepad dropping to the ground. Her hands were trembling and she couldn’t believe her ears.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard me.’ He swung around to face her and his black, brilliant eyes swept over her from head to toe. ‘If you marry that boy you’ll be making the biggest mistake in your life.’

‘He is not a boy!’ was all she could find to say to that, which sounded utterly inadequate.

‘He’s way too pale, insignificant for you. You’d be bored to death within a year.’

‘I don’t believe that I’m hearing this! I don’t think I asked for your opinion!’

‘No, but you should be grateful for it. I’m saving you a lifetime of regret.’

He sat back down in the black chair, for all the world as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t just behaved in the most arrogant, high-handed manner conceivable. She looked at him furiously.

‘Oh, sit down,’ he told her impatiently, and she made a choking sound. ‘We have work to do, have you forgotten?’

‘How dare you tell me how to run my life?’ she bit out, sitting down with her hands pressed into her lap. ‘What gives you the right?’

‘I’m not telling you how to run your life,’ he grated, ‘I’m merely offering you advice.’

‘When I want advice, I’ll ask for it. Thank you!’

He shrugged in a gesture of dismissal, as though ready to move on to something else now that he had voiced his uninvited opinions, and she picked up the notepad from the floor, very tempted to hurl it at him.

‘Right,’ be said, staring down at the papers in front of him, and before she could utter another syllable he began dictating, his voice hard and rapid, the words flowing easily as he flicked through the stack of paperwork.

‘You don’t even know him,’ Abigail said through gritted teeth, when there was a pause before he moved on to the next document, and he said easily, expecting her to return to the subject,

‘I know enough. Don’t tell me that you’d be content to play the suburban housewife with a weekly allowance and a handful of screaming children.’

‘Lots of women do.’

‘But not you. You have an inner fire, Abigail. It’s there lurking-just beneath the calm surface.’

‘Thank you, Dr Anderson, for that valuable piece of insight. When can I expect your bill?’

He laughed. ‘Point proved. I don’t see that acid sense of humour going down at all well with the boyfriend.’

‘His name is Martin. And you’re never wrong, are you?’

‘I try not to make a habit of it.’ He began on the second letter and she stared down at the notepad, copying quickly as he spoke while her mind furiously tried to grapple with what he had just told her. Of course he didn’t know Martin, didn’t even know her, come to that, so as an onlooker he was highly unqualified to make sweeping generalisations about either of them. She knew that she should simply disregard every word he had just said, but anger tugged away at her, and as soon as he had stopped dictating she took up where she had left off.

‘Martin and I are very fond of each other,’ she said defensively, and he threw her an amused, mocking look.

‘I’m very fond of my cleaner, but I wouldn’t propose marrying her. So——’ he looked at her with gleaming eyes ‘—very fond of each other, are you?’

‘Yes, we are! I know that might not seem like a great deal to you, I know that that must seem the most boring thing on earth, but marriage is all about being fond of your partner.’

‘Oh, is it?’ He appeared to give this some thought, then he shook his head and drawled, ‘And I always thought a hint of excitement was a good thing.’

She knew what he was up to, of course. He was trying to provoke a reaction in her, trying to antagonise her into saying something which would compromise herself. She knew his tactics. She had sat in enough high-level meetings with him and had seen that particular ploy in action. He would needle in that cool, cynical way of his until he got the reaction he wanted, then he would pounce. She stared with intense fascination at the little scribblings on her notepad and didn’t reply.

‘I’ve jotted some notes in the margins of this report you did a couple days ago,’ he said, reaching across to slide it towards her, and she took it, still in silence.

‘Martin can be very exciting,’ she crossly heard herself say, ‘not that it’s any of your business.’

‘Of course,’ he murmured soothingly, and she wanted to hit him.

‘He’s a very warm, caring human being!’ she expanded in a high, indignant voice, her face hot.

‘I’m sure.’ The black eyes held hers for a moment, then he lowered them but not before she saw the amused glitter in them. Ha, ha, she thought, hilarious. What a riot, affording me the wisdom of his great mind.

‘Is that all?’ she asked stiffly. ‘May I leave now?’

He ignored her. ‘He told me that he’s looking forward to getting married, to settling down. He hopes to make it to accounts manager within the next two years. This was after he had delivered his informative lecture on the disgrace of being ambitious or having money.’

‘You brought out the worst in him. Anyway, what’s wrong with being an accounts manager? The world is full of very fulfilled accounts managers. You make it sound like a sin.’ Worse, she thought, he made it sound boring, which no doubt was exactly what he had intended.

‘A little dull, perhaps,’ he mused, and she scowled. ‘But to each their own, I suppose.’ He stood up and looked at his watch, then began rolling down his shirt-sleeves, tugging his tie into position. ‘I’ll be with Jim Henderson until lunchtime. Expect me back around two.’

He slipped on his jacket and she walked towards the door, her body rigid, as if she had just undergone an ordeal by fire. She should never have risen to his bait, of course. A bit late in the day to realise that now, but she would know better next time, if there was a next time. She moved towards the door, frowning, but before she could leave he had moved alongside her. She felt his proximity with a jolt of alarm. Silly. She started to brush past him through the doorway, but he barred her retreat with his arm and she was forced to look up at him.

As her eyes met his, her mouth went dry and she felt giddy.

‘You know,’ he said thoughtfully, his voice husky, ‘in that dress you wore, you looked…sexy.’