Husband On Trust. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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silent partner Lee, had died.
Her parents had transformed the factory into one of the leading producers of Tiffany lamps and designer glass in Europe. The Lee heirs had had no interest, other than the twice-yearly dividend, and had made no objection to the change of name to Lawson Designer Glass. Her mother had looked after the financial side, and her father, the more artistic, had simply loved designing. Unfortunately he had died in a car crash when Lisa was nine. Two years later her mother had married Harold Watson, a man who had worked for the firm as sales manager for several years and was a true friend.
Lisa had worked here in the school holidays, and then after graduating from university full time. She loved the place; it had been her whole life so far, but now she had Alex. Juggling a husband and a business would be no easy matter. There were going to have to be some changes.
In fact the changes had already started with the death of her mother last year from stomach cancer. Three short months after the diagnosis her mother had been gone. But when she was dying she’d confided in Lisa; she had loved Peter completely, they had been soul mates, and she had thought it her duty to carry on with his work after he died. Her marriage to Harold, she’d admitted, had not been built on the same kind of love.
Harold had been alone ever since his first wife had left him with a small son to look after years before. That small son had been a twenty-seven-year-old man, with his own commercial estate agent business in London, by the time Lisa’s mum had married Harold. As her mum had later confessed, it had been more for companionship than love on her part, but she had hoped Harold would be a good father figure for Lisa.
In that respect her mother had been right. Lisa adored Harold, and the brief visits of his son Nigel had not really impinged on her life. Except for the year when she was sixteen and Nigel had made a pass at her. But, as she’d already been a big girl, she had quickly disabled him with a hard knee to the groin, and it had not been a problem. On the subsequent rare occasions they had met they’d managed to uphold a polite façade.
Smoothing the fine linen of her short skirt down over her hips and adjusting the collar of her jacket, Lisa entered the building, a worried frown pleating her brow.
Her mother had died in Saint Mary’s Hospice, and her dying wish had been that five per cent of Lawson’s be gifted to the hospice. She’d had no time to change her will to encompass this, so Lisa had received fifty-two per cent of the company, and Harold had got the house. He also owned thirteen per cent of the company—shares he had accrued in bonus payments over the years in a scheme her father had set up. The will had passed probate the week before Lisa had married and against her better judgement, she had done as her mother requested the Friday preceding her wedding. The trouble was, she had yet to tell Harold, because she knew he would have insisted on making the donation himself. But realistically she could not see it being a problem as between them they still controlled the company. Now, Lisa had no more time to dwell on the subject, as various members of the staff greeted her return with huge smiles and a few suggestive remarks.
Mary was already in the office when Lisa walked in. A widow of forty with two teenage children, she had worked for the firm for seven years, and as Lisa’s PA for the last year.
‘Welcome back,’ Mary said, looking up from behind her computer terminal. ‘I won’t ask if you had a good honeymoon; I can see it in your face.’ She grinned.
Lisa had invited all the workforce to her wedding. It had been a traditional service in her local church on a Monday afternoon. The reception afterwards at Stratford’s leading hotel, apart from the fact that the best man had taken off immediately after his speech, had been a great party. Lisa and Alex had finally left late in the evening to spend the night in Alex’s London apartment, before flying out to Athens the next morning to board his yacht at the port of Piraeus. Thinking about it now brought warmth to her cheeks.
‘Yes, it was very nice,’ Lisa responded primly, and then winked. ‘My husband is all that, and more!’ Crossing the room, she lingered for a moment at the picture window, glancing at the view of the River Avon and fields beyond. It was a clear, blue-skied June day. A day for lovers to take a picnic and explore the countryside hand in hand. ‘And why I am here working when Alex is in London, I do not know,’ Lisa said out loud, before sitting down on the chair behind her desk and glancing up at Mary. ‘I must be mad.’
‘Madly in love,’ Mary quipped, placing a sheaf of papers on Lisa’s desk. ‘Priority messages, okay?’
Two hours later, musing over a cup of coffee, Lisa realised that Harold was right, all the work was up to date except for a few items that demanded her personal attention.
‘Congratulations, Mary, you’ve done a great job in my absence,’ she surprised the other woman by remarking.
Mary beamed back at her from her desk. ‘Thank you. It’s good to know I’m appreciated, but can I ask you something?’
‘Sure, ask away.’
‘Well, there have been rumours, now you’re married…’ Mary hesitated. ‘Well, rumours you might sell up.’
‘I promise you, Mary, the rumours are completely without foundation. In fact, I was about to ask you if you would like to take on more responsibility. A promotion; doing what you have been doing the past three and a half weeks. Obviously we’ll hire someone else to take over a lot of your existing work. And it would mean a substantial increase in your salary.’ Lisa mentioned a sum more than double Mary’s present salary. ‘Does the notion appeal?’ Lisa asked, grinning at the stunned look on Mary’s face.
‘Appeal? I would love it.’
‘Then get on to the agency and see if you can set up some interviews for Monday, for someone to replace you.’
‘But what about you?’ Mary asked. ‘I mean, you love your work.’
‘Oh I’m not giving up all together. But, let’s face it, most of the work I have left to do today could as easily be done from my laptop at home, or wherever Alex and I happen to be.’
‘Which reminds me,’ Mary chuckled. ‘Have you checked your E-mail since your wedding? I’ve had a couple of messages from a Jed Gallagher in Montana on the office computer which were obviously meant for you.’
Lisa grinned from ear to ear. ‘Jed! I must get back to him.’
‘Don’t forget you’re a married woman now,’ Mary reminded her. ‘Alex Solomos might be drop-dead gorgeous, but you know what they say about Latin types. Jealous to the bone. What would he have to say about your on-line romance?’
‘You don’t understand.’ Lisa grinned at her assistant. ‘Jed is nothing like that. He’s almost like a brother to me. I can remember the first time we linked up. Mum had bought me a new computer for my eighteenth birthday, and I got on-line. One day, whilst flicking through a list of subscribers to one of the chat rooms, I came across Jed. His profile said he was tall, blond, nineteen, and lived on a farm in Montana. I sent him an E-mail and he replied the next day, and that was it. We’ve been mates ever since. I can confide my deepest thoughts to him and he responds in kind. But it’s completely platonic, and as for Alex minding—the man hasn’t a jealous bone in his body.’
Something Lisa had been made very aware of the second week of their honeymoon.
They had berthed in Monte Carlo for the night and Alex had taken her to a glittering party on the yacht of a friend of his father’s. They had been dancing on the deck to the music of a well-known quartet when a man had cut in and, much to Lisa’s chagrin, Alex had agreed with alacrity. Seconds later she’d been in the arms of an overweight man, who had to be sixty if he was a day. And, looking over his shoulder, she had watched Alex talking apparently very seriously to a sultry eyed, black-haired woman, whom Lisa had thought vaguely familiar, until her partner had enlightened her: Fiona Fife, a model, who’d been staying on his yacht till the weekend.
No, if anyone suffered from jealousy, it was herself, Lisa thought moodily.
‘Cheer up, girl, it might never happen.’ Harold’s voice