At His Service: His 9-5 Secretary. Michelle Celmer
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with his father—admittedly someone he liked to chat and laugh and flirt with, but then he’d be the same with any female. End of story.
‘I didn’t think you liked London when you were at uni there. I remember you saying you couldn’t wait to get home.’
Gina frowned. ‘I said I was glad to come home.’ She corrected quietly. ‘That didn’t mean I didn’t like the city.’
He stared at her for a moment before hitching himself off her desk and standing to his feet. ‘Well, it’s your life,’ he said so reasonably Gina wanted to hit him. ‘I just hope you don’t regret it, that’s all. All big cities can be lonely places.’
‘The old thing about being surrounded by people but knowing no one?’ Gina nodded. ‘I’ve lots of old university friends living in London, so that’s not a problem. And I’m sharing a flat with another girl, anyway. I’m not living alone.’
She didn’t add she was feeling more than a little trepidation about that. For the last six years she’d had her own place, a small but beautifully positioned top-floor flat in a big house on the edge of town, with views of the river. After living with her parents, she had revelled in having a home of her own, where she was answerable to no one and could please herself at weekends, getting up when she wanted and eating when she felt like it. But renting in London was vastly different from renting in Yorkshire, and although her new job paid very well she couldn’t run to her own place.
‘Don’t forget to leave your new address.’ He was already walking to the door. ‘I might look you up next time I spend a few days in the capital. Doss down on your sofa for a night.’
Over her dead body. She took a deep breath and let it out evenly. ‘Fine,’ she said nonchalantly, wishing she could hate him. It would make everything so much easier—she wouldn’t be uprooting herself for one thing. Although, no, that wasn’t quite fair. Even before she’d fallen for Harry she’d acknowledged she was in a rut and needed to do something with her life. Both her sisters and most of her friends were married with children; going out with them wasn’t what it had once been. In the twelve months before Harry had come on the scene, she’d only had the odd date or two, as the only men around had either been boring or convinced they were God’s gift to women, or, worse, married and looking for a bit of fun on the side. She’d begun to see herself as a spinster: devoted to her job, her home, and godmother to other people’s children.
Her friends thought she was too choosy. She stared at the door Harry had just closed behind him. And maybe she was. Certainly she’d had offers, but she balked at the idea of trying to like someone. Either the spark was there or it wasn’t. Besides which, she wasn’t desperate to settle down. What she was desperate for was a life outside work that was interesting and exciting and carried a buzz—nightclubs, the theatre, good restaurants and good company. She was only thirty two, for goodness’ sake! So London had beckoned, and she’d embraced the notion.
It was the right decision. She nodded at the thought. Definitely. Without a doubt. Of course, if Harry had shown any interest … But he hadn’t. And so roses round the door, cosy log-fires and breakfast in bed for two with the Sunday papers wasn’t an option.
Gina swallowed the lump in her throat, telling herself she’d cried enough tears over him. However hard it was going to be to say goodbye, it would have been emotional suicide to stay. That one brief kiss at Christmas had told her that. Merely a friendly peck on her cheek as far as he was concerned, when he’d wished her merry Christmas. But the feel of his lips, the closeness of him, the delicious smell of his aftershave, had sent her into a spin for hours.
Christmas had been a bitter-sweet affair, and it was then she’d decided enough was enough. Self-torture wasn’t her style. And it had been added confirmation when on the afternoon of Boxing Day, whilst she’d been walking her parents’ dogs in the snowy fields surrounding the town, she’d seen him in the distance with the blonde of the moment. She had hidden behind a tree and prayed they wouldn’t see her, but once the danger was over and she’d continued her walk she’d realised merely leaving Breedon & Son wasn’t enough. She had to get right away, where there was no chance of running into him.
And now it was the beginning of April. D-Day. Outside spring had come with a vengeance the last few days, croci and daffodils bursting forth, and birds busy nesting—new life sprouting seemingly everywhere. And that was the way she had to look at this, as an opportunity for new life. No point feeling her world had come to an end, no point at all.
Nevertheless, it was with gritted teeth that she joined everyone in the work canteen later that afternoon. She was touched to see most of Breedon & Son’s employees—over a hundred in all, counting the folk on the factory floor—had gathered to say goodbye, and even more overcome when she was given a satellite-navigation system for her car to which everyone had contributed.
‘So you can find your way back to us now and again,’ Bill Dent, the chief accountant, joked as he presented her with the gift. She had a reputation—richly deserved—of having no sense of direction or navigation skills, and over the last weeks had endured a host of teasing about negotiating city streets.
‘Thank you all so much.’ As she gave a tearful little speech she kept her gaze from focusing on one tall, dark figure standing a little apart from the rest of the throng, but she was still vitally aware of every movement Harry made. She knew exactly when Susan Richards made her way over to him, for instance, and the way the other woman reached up on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear.
All in all, Gina was glad when after an hour or so people began to drift home. Loving someone who didn’t love you was bad enough at the best of times, but when you were trying to be bright and cheerful, and keep a lid on a mounting volcano of tears, it didn’t help to see the object of your desire receiving the full batting-eyelash treatment from an undeniably attractive blonde.
When there was just a handful of people left, Gina made her way back to her office to pick up the last of her things. She felt like a wet rag. Dropping into her chair, she glanced round the room, feeling unbearably sentimental.
Dave entered a moment later, Harry on his heels. Shaking his head, Dave said, ‘Don’t look like that. I told you, you shouldn’t leave us. Everyone thinks the world of you.’
Not everyone. Forcing a smile, Gina managed to keep her voice light and even as she said, ‘The big wide world beckons, and it’s now or never. It was always going to be hard to say goodbye.’
‘While we’re on that subject …’ Dave reached into his pocket and brought out a small, oblong gift-wrapped box. ‘This is a personal thank-you, lass. I’m not buttering you up when I say you’ve been the best secretary I’ve ever had. It’s the truth. If London isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, there’ll always be a job somewhere in Breedon & Son for you.’
‘Oh, it’s beautiful.’ After unwrapping the gift, Gina gazed, entranced, at the delicate little gold watch the box held. ‘Thank you so much. I didn’t expect …’ The lump in her throat prevented further speech.
‘Harry chose it,’ said Dave, looking uncomfortable at the show of emotion. He was all down to earth, blunt Yorkshireman, and prided himself on it. ‘I was going to give you a cheque, more practical in my opinion, but he thought you’d like something to remind you of your time here, and he noticed you hadn’t been wearing your watch the last few weeks.’
‘It broke,’ she whispered. He had noticed.
‘Aye, well, there we are, then.’ Dave clearly wanted to end what was to him an embarrassing few moments. ‘Don’t forget to look us up when you’re back visiting your parents. All right, lass? I’ll be off now, the missus and I are out for dinner tonight. Lock up the offices, would you, Harry?’ he added, turning to his son. ‘The factory’s already been taken care of.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Breedon.’ Gina stood up to shake her boss’s hand—he was of the old school, and didn’t hold with social pleasantries such as kissing or hugging—but then on impulse quickly pressed her lips to the leathery