‘Since your husband died you have worked for Mr Curtis of Curtis & Brackley, is that right? And the firm went into liquidation four weeks ago.’ He was reading from her CV again and the relief of having that laser-sharp gaze off her face was overwhelming.
‘Which is when I saw this job advertised,’ Kim agreed.
‘Mr Curtis seems to have thought a great deal of you. He has written what I can only describe as a glowing reference.’
And she had earned it. Hours of overtime a week; calls in to the office to deal with minor panics at weekends; interrupted holidays—Bob Curtis had had no compunction in wringing every last working minute he could out of her. But the salary had been good and Curtis & Brackley had been practically on her doorstep and just down the street from Melody’s nursery. But it had been the memory of trailing from interview to interview, in the span between Graham’s death and securing a job, that had induced her to put up with almost anything.
Bob had been kind enough in his own way and she had found the running of the small office exerted no great pressure or stress; indeed in the last six months she had been becoming increasingly bored.
‘It was a nice family firm to work for,’ Kim said now as she realised Lucas Kane was waiting for a response.
‘Kane Electrical is not a nice family firm,’ came the dry reply as the eagle eyes flashed to meet hers again. ‘Do you think you are capable of making the transition?’
It wasn’t so much what he said but the way in which he said it, and again it caught Kim on the raw, calling forth a terse reply that was not like her, she thought confusedly even as she said, ‘I wouldn’t have wasted your time or mine in applying for the position if I didn’t, Mr Kane.’
She saw the dark brows frown and his mouth tighten, but June chose that precise moment to knock and enter with the coffee, and Kim had never been so pleased to see anyone in her life. She knew she was flushed, she could feel her cheeks burning, and she acknowledged her tone had not been one which a prospective employee would dream of using to their future employer, but it was him, Lucas Kane, she told herself in silent agitation. She had never met such a patronising, arrogant, downright supercilious man in all her life.
‘Do you own a car, Mrs Allen?’
‘What?’ She had just settled back in her seat after accepting her cup of coffee from June and was bringing the cup to her lips when the question, barked as it was, made the steaming hot coffee slurp over the side of the china cup into the saucer as Kim gave an involuntary start.
‘A car?’ he repeated very distinctly.
The tone was now one of exaggerated patience, and it brought the adrenalin pumping again as she took a deep breath and forced herself not to bite back, instead speaking calmly and coolly as she said, ‘No, I do not own a car, Mr Kane.’
‘But I see you have passed a driving test. Are you a confident driver?’ His eyes were like narrowed points of silver light. ‘Or perhaps I should ask if you are a competent one?’ he added silkily.
‘I’m both confident and competent,’ she answered smartly. ‘Maggie has me on her insurance so I borrow her car when I need to.’
‘Ah, the ever-helpful Maggie.’
She definitely didn’t like his tone, and she had just opened her mouth to tell him so, and to point out what he could do with his wonderful job, when he said, ‘If you were offered this post and accepted it a car would be provided for your use. A BMW or something similar. I don’t want my secretary trailing about waiting for buses that arrive late, or being unable to get from A to B in the shortest possible time.’
She stared at him, uncertain of what to say. Was he telling her all this so that she would be aware of what she had missed when he turned her down? she asked herself wretchedly. She wouldn’t put anything past Lucas Kane.
‘And there would be a clothing allowance,’ he continued smoothly, his gaze running over her for a second and reminding her that her off-the-peg suit—although smart and businesslike—was not in the same league as the couturier number June was wearing. ‘There is the occasional function here in England which requires evening dress, but certainly on the trips abroad you will require an array of clothes.’
If she had been flushed before she knew she was like a beetroot now. He had put it fairly tactfully, she had to admit, but the end result was that he considered her an office version of Cinderella! But clothing for herself had been the last priority since Graham had died, in fact she couldn’t remember buying anything new since then, apart from items of underwear. She just hadn’t been able to afford it…
‘Yes, I see.’ She forced the words out through stiff lips and then took a hefty sip of the hot coffee, letting it burn a fortifying path down into her stomach.
He didn’t have a clue how the other half lived, she thought savagely, shading her eyes with her thick lashes so he wouldn’t see the anger in her eyes. For the last two years she had lain awake nearly every night doing interminable sums in her head, even though she knew the end result would be fruitless.
Her marriage had been a nightmare but Graham’s death—following a drinking binge when he had fallen through a shop plate-glass window—had unleashed a whole new set of horrors. Her husband had left debts—frightening, mind-boggling debts, as far as she was concerned—and, Graham being Graham, he hadn’t been concerned about tying her into the terrifying tangle. She had been so stupid in the early days of their marriage; she’d trusted him, signed papers without enquiring too much about the whys and wherefores, and the payments she’d believed had been as regular as clockwork just hadn’t happened.
Not only that but he had borrowed from friends, business colleagues, anyone who would lend him money to finance his failing one-man business and—more importantly, to Graham—his alcohol addiction.
She had known, once she had become pregnant with Melody, there was something terribly wrong. The handsome, charming, flashing-eyed Romeo from university days had changed into someone she didn’t recognise, but she had put it down to work stress, the unplanned pregnancy—she had become pregnant following a stomach bug which had made the Pill ineffective—all manner of things but the real cause.
She had loved him, made excuses for him—fool, fool, fool. And all the while the debts had been mounting, debts she was now struggling to pay off, month after painful month, as well as providing for her daughter and herself.
Maggie had been great. The two thousand pounds Graham had borrowed from her had been written off as far as Maggie was concerned on the day of the funeral, but there were plenty of others who hadn’t been so magnanimous.
She was constantly torn all ways. She wanted Melody to have nice clothes, good food and a happy environment, but although she had struggled to make the best of the tiny bedsit she had rented since the funeral it was hardly the best place in the world in which to bring up a young child. And the debts diminished so slowly. She couldn’t believe how slowly.
‘I take it you could start immediately, Mrs Allen, should you be offered the post?’
Kim had been so entrenched in the morass of the past that her eyes were almost bewildered when she raised them to meet Lucas Kane’s.
‘Yes, I… Yes.’ Pull yourself together and act like the efficient secretary he’s looking for, she told herself bitterly. You can’t afford to be choosy about who you work for, even though you disliked this man on sight. Not that she had any chance of securing the post; he had made that very clear.
‘And would you accept the position, should it be offered?’ he asked softly.
She stared at him, her stomach muscles tightening as she acknowledged again that she felt he was playing with her. And she had had enough of that—manipulation, half-truths, deceit—to last her a lifetime.
‘Oh,