Buttoned-Up Secretary, British Boss. Susanne James
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forget—Sunday the sixteenth. And don’t be late!’ was the parting shot.
He ended the call and Alexander turned to pick up his coffee, glancing down at Sabrina, his eyes narrowing slightly.
After a moment he said thoughtfully, ‘Could you possibly arrange to be available on the evening of the sixteenth to come to this function it seems I can’t get out of?’ He paused. ‘It might be useful to have you there.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry it’s a Sunday, when I wouldn’t normally ask you to work, but it would be helpful if you could.’
Sabrina frowned thoughtfully. She hadn’t realized how demanding this job was going to be, but if needs must she’d better do as her employer wanted. She made a mental note to bring a note pad and pen with her.
‘When I get home I’ll double check I’m free,’ she said. ‘But I think I can do as you ask.’
‘Great. Thanks.’ He finished his coffee and turned to go. ‘I very rarely see my mother these days, and sometimes I just have to fall in with her wishes.’
‘Your mother?’
‘Yes—Lydia. My mother,’ Alexander said as he left the room.
Chapter Three
BY THE middle of the following week, Sabrina felt she was beginning to get to grips with her secretarial duties, starting with the countless pieces of mail which arrived in the post each morning, and fielding all the telephone calls—most of which Alexander refused to follow up.
‘They’re always about being asked to go places, attend functions,’ he grumbled once, as she showed him the list. ‘Can’t be bothered.’
After Alexander had left to go to the gym the previous Thursday, Sabrina had concentrated on trying to decipher his terrible handwriting. Bit by bit she had managed to unravel the meaning of the subtle and sophisticated prose, all of it, naturally, in perfect English—even if his spelling didn’t quite match up. She even felt privileged to have sight of it, to be the first to read this particular new piece, to share the inner workings of his illustrious mind.
But more of those warning bells began to ring for her when, after a particularly poignant page or two, Sabrina had found herself stopping to trace the script gently with her forefinger, as if by touching the words he’d written she was touching him. Getting close. How dreadful was that? Alexander McDonald was arousing dangerous feelings in her which she thought she’d ruled out for ever.
By Friday afternoon she was able to hand him the countless pages, everything he’d asked her to type up, and he seemed genuinely pleased with the result.
‘Thanks very much,’ he said later, after scrutinizing each page carefully. ‘That even makes some sense to me now.’ He shot Sabrina a quick glance, thinking his new secretary had cottoned on to his requirements quicker than he’d dared to hope.
One thing which Sabrina was grateful for was that Alexander went to the gym on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, so she did have some time when he wasn’t sitting a few feet away from her. He’d also been away on two occasions for meetings with his agent. It was so much easier to concentrate when she was by herself—especially as several times when they’d been together she’d looked across briefly to see him watching her, one finely arched eyebrow raised thoughtfully, his perfect, sensuous lips parted slightly. Sabrina had coloured immediately, a surging tide of feeling seeping down to her groin.
Sensing her discomfiture, Alexander had said hurriedly, ‘I was admiring the speed at which you type, Sabrina. I can never manage more than one finger at a time.’
‘Well, what I do is the easy bit. I mean, where does all this come from, or start from, Alexander? I mean, Alex?’ she’d asked, feeling uncomfortable at using his Christian name. ‘How on earth do you compose such intricate and beautiful work?’
‘With the utmost difficulty, most of the time,’ he’d replied. ‘Someone once said that writing was the same as hacking lumps out of granite—and it often feels like that.’
‘Well, you’d never know it from this,’ Sabrina had said, meaning it. ‘All these words which I’ve typed seem to just spill off the paper, like oil running from a spoon.’
He had seemed pleasantly surprised at that. ‘Does that mean you might even read one of my books one day?’ he’d said, only half-teasing. She’d looked up at him, hoping she hadn’t said the wrong thing or been over-familiar with her boss.
But Sabrina readily admitted that in the short time she’d known him he’d appeared far less demanding than she might have expected. There’d certainly been no evidence of the moodiness he’d hinted at during the interview. But it was early days. Perhaps this was the calm before the storm.
The thing which she was dreading was Sunday evening being spent with Lydia, and it seemed a host of other people as well, none of whom Sabrina would know. To hang around for hours with a load of complete strangers, not to mention her very new boss, wasn’t exactly an enticing thought. Why had Alexander asked her to go with him, anyway? Surely he’d find her a hindrance? What would be expected of her? Thinking about it again, she shrugged inwardly. However boring she found it, it could only last a few hours, and the almost outrageous rate which Alexander was paying her to do his every bidding should be compensation enough.
Now, with the end of her first full week in sight, Sabrina looked across at Alexander as he sat bent over the desk with his head in one hand and scribbling furiously with the other. Her heart missed a beat or two as she watched him silently, unable to resist her body’s reaction to the powerful sexuality he exuded. It wasn’t just his achingly seductive appearance, it was something far deeper and totally indefinable.
Alexander McDonald should wear a warning notice around his neck, Sabrina thought: to all females everywhere: danger. Keep away. Clearly, he had no wish to be tied down to any female, otherwise he should surely be committed to someone by now. But his single status was a well-known phenomenon, and was an occasional topic in the gossip magazines. As she continued studying him thoughtfully, Sabrina felt she was beginning to understand him a bit. He was obviously married to his work, she thought, and living his life through his characters. That was what steered him through. And it was enough.
‘Are you going to make some tea?’ he asked suddenly without looking up. With a rush of self-consciousness, Sabrina wondered if he’d known she’d been gazing across at him.
‘Yes. I was just going to do that,’ she said, getting up and leaving the room.
In the kitchen, she was just filling the kettle when her mobile rang and she took it from her jeans pocket, frowning briefly. It could only be Melly.
It was, and the girl’s excitable voice almost deafened Sabrina as she listened.
‘Sabrina? You’ll never guess! You know those dancing classes I took over at short notice because the girl was ill? Well, they’ve asked me to step in again, only this time it’s something much more exciting!’
‘Go on, tell me,’ Sabrina said patiently.
‘I’ve been asked to go to Spain! To teach at a summer school—well, an autumn school, really. And it’s a two-week contract to include musical theatre, aerobics and dance, and I think some singing as well. People have enrolled from all over the place to take part, and participants, as well as those of us who’ll be running the classes, will all be put up at various houses. Everything’s taken care of, Sabrina. All I need is to take my clothes and passport—oh, and some money, of course—and turn up on Sunday morning when the minibus will be taking us to Heathrow!’
Melly hardly paused for breath, not giving Sabrina a chance to interrupt. ‘It’s a wonderful opportunity, Sabrina—and I know two of the teachers who are going. They’ve done this sort of thing before and they say it’s fantastic fun, and a holiday as well—all expenses paid—and we get a respectable cheque for our services at the end! What do you think?’
Well,