Buttoned-Up Secretary, British Boss. Susanne James
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I’m sure you’ll have to work pretty hard for your holiday!’ She bit her lip, hoping that Melly wouldn’t suffer from any depression during the proposed assignment. Her attacks were so unpredictable, and she’d be too far away for Sabrina to help her.
‘Oh, I know that. There will be several sessions each day, but time for breaks as well.’ There was a pause at the other end. ‘The only thing is, I don’t have much money at the moment—as you know, Sabrina—so could you lend me a bit? I’ll be able to repay you when I get home.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about the money, I’ll sort that out,’ Sabrina said, suddenly elated at her sister’s news. This could be stimulating for Melly, she thought, a complete change—and a much-needed boost to her confidence.
Early on Sunday morning, Sabrina waved the minibus out of sight. She was thinking that, if nothing else came from this experience for her sister, it was going to be the first break away from her, Sabrina, and from home, for a very long time.
She sighed briefly, biting her lip as she watched the bus disappear around the corner, before walking back the short distance to where she’d parked the car. Melly was twenty-six years old, after all. Yet she was the kid sister, vulnerable and easily hurt, her fragile emotional state often rocked by outside influences. Sabrina fervently hoped that this trip would turn out to be everything Melly thought it would be, with no complications.
Sabrina did feel relieved to have met the leader of the excursion this morning—a youngish man called Sam—who’d reassured her that everyone would be in safe hands and that these events were always well organized.
Driving slowly back home, Sabrina tried to think about this evening and how she was going to get through it. She had not liked the sound of Lydia one little bit. And how strange that Alexander called his mother by her Christian name—what was that all about? Perhaps that was what elevated people did, she thought idly. Then something else struck her: what should she wear to this do? Alexander hadn’t given her a clue about any of it; his only directive as they’d parted company on Friday was that she must be ready when he arrived to pick her up at seven o’clock.
Still, she thought now as she parked outside their modest front gate, her black dress would have to be her salvation again, her suitable-for-anywhere item. It was well-cut, of good-quality material and wearing it always made her feel sure of herself, confident. If she kept it plain and didn’t deck it out with any jewellery, it could be classed as a perfect number for her role as secretary to Alexander McDonald. Not that he would bother about what she was wearing, or even notice what she had on, Sabrina thought.
The traffic that evening was abnormally heavy, and it had gone eight by the time Alexander drove his sleek, bronze Aston Martin slowly up the wide approach to his parents’ mansion, set in the Surrey countryside.
As Sabrina peered ahead at the imposing building, she saw lights from every open window shining out like beacons. As reverberating waves of high-pitched chatting and loud laughter could easily be heard, she felt like jumping out of the car and running away. But that thought lasted for less than a second as she remembered who she was with, who her employer was, and she hardened her resolve to be the perfect personal assistant to Alexander McDonald. To be ready for anything he might need her for, and to remain professional and businesslike.
The huge oak door was thrown open by a uniformed maid, who ushered them straight away into a brightly lit room, which to Sabrina seemed to stretch almost out of sight. There must be more than a hundred people present, she thought, realizing in those first few seconds that everyone seemed extravagantly dressed.
Alexander, his dark eyes sweeping the scene at a glance, knew he’d been right in not wanting to be here. It was one of his mother’s usual parties, he thought with distaste, where she invited just about everyone she knew—many of them young women, some not so young, who laughed too loudly and drank too much. His perceptive gaze had already spotted two whom he knew to be immensely rich, thanks to the well-known escort agencies they owned and ran in town.
Putting his hand lightly on Sabrina’s arm, he guided her across the room towards the long, white-clothed table laden with alcohol of every description. Before he could pour either of them a drink, the easily recognizable voice of Lydia reached Sabrina’s ears as the woman bore down on them.
She was wearing a three-quarter-length sheath dress in a brilliant purple colour, and its smooth, satiny material perfectly accentuated her hour-glass figure. Her silver hair was an elegant, shining knot on her head, her sculpted lips painted a bright glossy red. Alexander’s mother was certainly a very handsome woman who had clearly passed on her looks to her son. Her arms outstretched in welcome, she embraced Alexander carefully, offering him her cheek and making sure her make-up was not disturbed.
‘Alexander! Darling! I was afraid you weren’t going to turn up!’
Yes, mother dearest, I know exactly how that feels, he thought cynically, remembering the countless times his mother had not bothered to turn up at the regular boarding-school events to which parents were always invited. Remembering how he’d kept on hoping, until the very last minute, that she’d arrive. But she’d clearly felt that her maternal obligations ended the moment her sons left home at the tender age of seven; she had never left them in any doubt about that.
Alexander could recall her exact words as she’d waved him off on that first day.
‘Remember, Alexander,’ she’d said, ‘that you are no longer a child—and you must accept responsibility for yourself.’ She’d paused only briefly. ‘And from now on I want to be known as Lydia, not Mummy—do you understand? Mummy is a silly, childish word.’
‘But when I write to you can’t I put “dear Mummy”?’ Alexander had asked earnestly.
‘Certainly not,’ his mother had replied. ‘Someone might see it. Just put “dear Lydia”. That is my name, after all.’
Staring down at his mother now, Alexander realized that he and Bruno, who was two years his senior, had never discussed the matter but had accepted their mother’s directive without question. At least their father, Angus, had made no such demands and was always affectionately known as Dad. The older man didn’t seem to be here tonight, Alexander noticed, but that was nothing new. Their parents had lived separate lives for years.
‘Yes—a lot of traffic, I’m afraid,’ Alexander said, in answer to his mother’s remark.
‘Never mind, you’re here now. Though, of course, Bruno is otherwise engaged this evening—what’s new?’ Lydia sighed with a little pout. ‘A heavy meeting with some influential new backers, apparently. Still, there are masses of your friends here tonight, all desperate to see you again. It’s been too long since you’ve been circulating; someone said it’s as if you’ve disappeared off the face of the planet!’
‘Well, I hope this evening will lay that supposition to rest,’ Alexander said flatly. He paused, flickering a glance at Sabrina. ‘As I’m aware that your guest list is always flexible, Lydia,’ he went on, ‘I’ve brought someone along with me tonight—my personal assistant, Sabrina. Janet’s replacement,’ he added.
Sabrina was only too aware that Alexander’s mother had barely noticed she was there at all—or, if she had, she’d chosen to ignore it.
The woman turned now to look briefly at Sabrina. ‘Oh yes, I remember speaking to you on the telephone,’ she said dismissively. ‘How do you do?’ she added as an afterthought. Then she took hold of Alexander’s arm firmly. ‘Now, come along,’ she said. ‘Dinner is going to be served in half an hour, so you’ve a little time to catch up with everyone first.’
Alexander’s lips set in a hard line as he deliberately prised his mother’s hand away from him. ‘All in good time,’ he said. ‘Sabrina and I would like a drink first.’
‘Well, don’t be long,’ Lydia said, waving to someone at the other end of the room. ‘Look, there’s Danielle, I must go and talk to her…’ she said, moving away.
Waving