Forbidden Kisses with the Boss Page 2

  Long ago she had learned the necessity of playing down her looks. In the career she had chosen, to look feminine in the way she herself looked feminine was not an asset. The full softness of her mouth made men think thoughts that were not at all businesslike. The high curves of her breasts concealed by her silk shirt and the businesslike cut of her suit jacket caused male concentration to wander, and in the early days of her career she had encountered more than her fair share of sexual harassment, before a kindly and far more worldly colleague had taken her on one side and pointed out that in their line of business, a lushly feminine figure such as hers was definitely not an asset—not if she wished to be taken seriously, that was. And so Hannah had learned to disguise the narrowness of her waist and the fullness of her breasts.

  She had learned to adopt a severe, almost cold expression. She had learned to modulate her voice so that it never betrayed any emotion. She had had her hair cut and kept it straight and sleek in a businesslike bob, and most of all she had learned to control her terrible betraying temper, to distance herself from the slights and snubs she had endured in the early days of working her way up the career ladder.

  She had come a long way from the girl she had been when she had first left university, but there was still a long, long way to go. She thought about the new job she had applied for. She had heard about it on the grapevine, a prestige appointment as vice-president of a small but extremely highly geared financial services group. The post would involve working very closely with the chairman of the group, someone whom Hannah had never met, but whom she had heard much about. His name featured frequently in the pages of the Financial Times. It was spoken with awe over the lunch tables of their small, élite world.

  Silas Jeffreys was a man who guarded his privacy with the utmost stringency. She had never even seen a photograph of him, never read a word of gossip about his private life, never even met the man, but what she had heard of his reputation, what she knew of the way he ran his business, told her how much she wanted to work with him. It would be like sitting at the feet of a master.

  She had applied for the job a week ago. She had an interview on Monday, a good sign. She could feel cautiously hopeful. Her qualifications and work experience were good, but there were still intelligent and otherwise sane men who did not believe that women could work in finance, and she had no way of knowing if he was one of that number.

  No amount of discreet probing could elicit enough information for her to draw a composite picture of the man, which was aggravating to someone like Hannah who had trained herself to have a neat, orderly mind and to keep her mind empty of clutter but full of information.

  As they walked into the building, she and Linda were moving at the same pace, but by the time they had entered the reception area Hannah noticed that Linda was lagging slightly behind her. She hid a small smile. After all, her friend wasn’t the only person to be intimidated by the vast anonymity of the Revenue offices.

  The girl on reception was young and smiled warmly at them. Obviously she hadn’t been in her job very long yet, Hannah reflected cynically, as she turned enquiringly to Linda, asking her for the name of the tax officer they were due to see.

  Linda had it written down, and she handed the piece of paper over to the girl nervously.

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s on the fifth floor,’ the girl told her, giving them another warm smile.

  The lift was old and creaked as it moved slowly upwards. A symbol of the tax system itself, or simply symbolic of a careful husbanding of national resources? Hannah wondered, as she and Linda stood silently side by side. Her friend was very nervous. Hannah wanted to tell her not to be, but she knew that it wouldn’t do the slightest good. She wanted to tell her that tax officials were only human, after all, capable of standards that were good, bad and indifferent, just like anyone else, and merely trained to appear distant and sharply suspicious of the motives of the public. However, Linda was very vulnerable and emotional where her weakness over figures was concerned, and Hannah suspected that, like somebody with a phobia about visiting the dentist, no amount of reassurance from someone else would tend to lessen her apprehension.

  They found the office down a long corridor, a small boxlike room furnished with a basic desk, a chair behind it and then two other chairs in front of it. Behind the desk was a set of filing cabinets and some open shelves full of bulging files, books and other papers. Hannah could see all this through the glass partition of the door as she knocked briefly on it and waited for the young man working behind the desk to lift his head and invite them in.

  He did so very politely, and Hannah read in the grimness behind the polite words and the tiredness she could see in his eyes the kind of strain that comes from long, long hours of work, when the worker knows that no matter how many hours that he or she puts in the work itself will never diminish. Hannah introduced herself, firmly shaking his hand and advising him that she would be representing Linda.

  She sat down and explained calmly and concisely that an error had occurred, but that it was merely an error and not an attempt to defraud the Revenue. The inspector looked unconvinced, which was no more than Hannah had expected. Linda, however, shot her a nervous, agitated glance, quickly bursting into a muddled explanation of how the error had first occurred.

  The interview lasted far longer than the young inspector could have anticipated. Hannah was tireless and relentless in putting forward Linda’s case, checking every move that the young man made, calmly and coolly putting forward a very strong defence of Linda’s errors. Hannah saw him glance surreptitiously at his watch. A date? she wondered, seeing the tiny frown touch his forehead.

  His telephone rang and he excused himself to answer it. He listened for a few seconds, and then said tersely, ‘Yes, thank you. Can you ask him to wait down there for me, please?’

  Whoever was at the other end of the line said something else, and then the tax inspector said, ‘Oh, well, if he’s already on his way up…’

  As soon as he had replaced the receiver, Hannah said smoothly, ‘I’m sorry we’re taking so much of your time, but you can understand Linda’s concern over the whole matter.’

  ‘We, too, have been concerned,’ the tax inspector responded tersely, but he wasn’t looking at her, Hannah realised. His attention wasn’t focused on them the way it had been before. Instead he was looking at the door.

  They heard the footsteps on the uncarpeted corridor, long before the door opened. Male footsteps, firm and very, very sure of themselves. The door opened, but Hannah didn’t turn round to look to see who had come in. Whoever the visitor was, she suspected from the look of strain on the tax inspector’s face that he wasn’t entirely welcome. She wondered if it was a more senior inspector come to check on the young man’s progress, and decided that she was right in her assumption when she heard him saying awkwardly, ‘I’m sorry, I’m not quite finished here.’

  Seeing an opportunity to put Linda’s case before a more senior authority, Hannah turned toward the newcomer, only just managing to suppress her shock as she saw him for the first time.

  Her first impression was that he made the small room seem even smaller. He was leaning on the back wall of the office, his arms crossed negligently in front of him, his tall, broad-shouldered frame encased in a suit that Hannah’s practised business eye recognised immediately as coming from Savile Row. The fabric alone must have cost a fortune—that kind of wool and silk mixture was unbelievably expensive, as she knew to her cost.

  His suit was charcoal grey—the same colour as his eyes, she noticed absently—his shirt impossibly white, the cuffs fastened with plain, expensive gold links, the old-fashioned kind of double links in wafer-thin old gold. Instead of the uniform striped tie, though, his was a bright, sharp red. She focused on it, studying it, a tiny frown touching her forehead, and as though he sensed her confusion amusement curled the corners of his mouth.

  Hannah didn’t see the amusement, though; she was too busy wondering in outraged disappointment ho
w a tax official, no matter how lofty, came to be wearing a suit which her astute brain told her had probably cost upward of one and half thousand pounds.

  Behind her, she heard the young inspector make a murmured comment which she didn’t quite catch. She suspected the young man was fully aware that Linda had had no intention of deliberately defrauding the Revenue, and she also suspected that he was being over severe with her friend to warn her in future to keep a better grip on the financial side of her business. But Linda was beginning to look pale and sick, and Hannah had tired of the unchallenging game of outmanoeuvreing the young inspector.

  Now, as she raised her glance from the older man’s tie to his face, she went crisply through the small saga once again, this time to the older man, pointing out that there were considerable losses for Linda’s first year of trading which she in her ignorance had not claimed back, and that these more than offset the amount she owed in unpaid tax.

  There was an odd silence in the room after she had delivered her argument. She saw the look the older man gave the younger: grave and considering. The younger man coloured slightly, opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again at a tiny shake of the older man’s head, which Hannah only just caught. She took advantage of it, adding smoothly, turning back to address the younger inspector, ‘In fact, if you had checked through the first year’s accounts, you would have seen that there were trading losses.’

  His colour deepened, and he looked uncomfortably over Hannah’s head towards the older man.

  How much older? Ten years—a little more? He was somewhere in his early to mid-thirties, Hannah estimated, with features that almost had too much visual impact. His skin was dark as though tanned, but she suspected the olive tinge was natural, hinting at perhaps Spanish or Italian blood somewhere in his background, his nose aquiline and emphasising the arrogance of his profile. High cheekbones jutted beneath the grey glitter of his eyes, his hair thick and very dark, immaculately shaped to his long skull.

  Now for the first time he spoke directly to her, his voice deep and paced, without holding any inflection other than a certain malicious silkiness as he pointed out, ‘But surely that’s your job as this young lady’s accountant to point those losses out to the Revenue, not theirs to point them out to you. The Revenue is hard pressed enough as it is, undermanned to an extent that in private industry would be considered criminal; its staff are expected to produce miracles and are constantly under siege from those sections of the population that deem it—er…unjust that they should abide by the taxation laws of this country, while of course expecting to have the full benefit from being a British citizen. Besides, I think you’ve tormented this young man enough, don’t you?’ he asked her wryly, wringing an unwary start of surprise from her.

  ‘An error appears to have been made—on both sides,’ he continued. ‘I suggest that you leave your papers here so that we can have time to go through in a less…combustible atmosphere. The Revenue takes no sides. It simply seeks to fulfil its duty in ensuring that the country’s citizens pay their full dues.’

  For the first time in a long, long time Hannah felt her colour rise. She was being told off… reminded very promptly and calmly of the stresses the young inspector was under…made to feel almost childishly unkind in her clear-cut definitions of his errors. She felt small and mean, and just a tiny little bit ashamed of herself.

  Which was surely completely ludicrous. If she hadn’t come with Linda to help and support her, her poor friend would have been in a state of complete panic and would have probably been browbeaten into paying out tax which she simply did not owe.

  She opened her mouth to say as much, and then closed it again. Taking her critic’s comments personally would not do Linda’s case any good. Summoning the self-control she had taught herself so hardily over the years, she curved her mouth into a cool, professional smile and said in an equally cool and professional voice, ‘Of course. We’ll leave it with you, then.’

  And she got up and shook hands briskly across the desk with the younger man, waiting for Linda to do the same.

  For some reason, as she walked the small distance to the door, she didn’t offer her hand to the older man; and she even found that she was deliberately keeping a greater distance between them than was at all necessary.

  Why? Because she found his sexuality intimidating? Nonsense. Why on earth should she? What was there to be frightened of? That he might try and pounce on her? She stifled a mirthless laugh. Hardly… On looks alone he could have women beating a path to his door, and was hardly likely to find it necessary to do something so unprofessional as to make a pass at her. So she stopped at the door and turned round, gravely proffering him her hand. She saw the smile that twitched at his mouth and frowned, wondering what had caused it. Not her, surely? She bristled a little at the thought and gave him a clear, frosty look from her tawny eyes.

  ‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ Linda breathed as soon as they were out of earshot of the office. ‘What do you think will happen?’

  ‘I’m sure you have nothing to worry about,’ Hannah soothed her, ‘but if you’re at all worried, just give me a ring at the flat. You’ve got the number.’

  The late summer sunshine was casting long shadows as they walked out of the building.

  Just as they were about to cross the road, Linda remembered that she had some letters to post, so they retraced their footsteps back to the post office.

  When they returned to the car park, Hannah discovered an elegant Daimler saloon was parked next to her own car. She looked at it enviously, wondering who it belonged to.

  ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Linda said wryly. ‘I only hope for its owner’s sake that it has better fuel consumption than my old one.’

  When Hannah stopped her car outside Linda’s shop, Linda invited her in for supper but Hannah shook her head. She would be late enough as it was, and she had some reading up to do on the Jeffreys Group before her interview on Monday.

  ‘What a pity you couldn’t have taken a longer break,’ Linda commiserated as they said goodbye. ‘You must miss Dorset…’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Hannah agreed honestly—an admission she would never have made to any of her colleagues who were such dedicated city dwellers. There were times when she felt almost claustrophobic in London, but living virtually on the river helped to banish that feeling, although nothing could ever really replace the spaciousness and rural beauty of her parents’ home village.

  ‘Unfortunately, London is where the jobs are. London and other capital cities.’

  She wondered what Linda would say if she told her she was taking a special language course in Japanese; not that she intended to go and work in Japan, but the world was shrinking every day and the Japanese money markets were fast-growing business areas. One had to think of the future…

  ‘Don’t you ever envy the girls we grew up with, Hannah?’ Linda asked her a little wistfully, her hand on the open passenger door of the car. ‘I mean, they’re all married now with children…families…’

  ‘Not at all,’ Hannah told her crisply. ‘I’m not decrying marriage, Linda, but how many of those girls ever fulfilled their true potential? Oh, I’m not saying that being a wife and mother isn’t fulfilling…of course it is, but I can’t help wondering how many of those girls will turn round in ten years’ time and find themselves alone, their marriages broken up and themselves the sole breadwinner, and how many of them then will regret not having trained for a career…in not having some sense of themselves, apart from their husbands and children.

  ‘I prefer to rely on myself, rather than to rely on others,’ she added firmly. ‘It’s much safer.’

  Linda’s mouth twisted a little bitterly. ‘And that’s a major consideration for our generation, isn’t it? Safety. Have you ever noticed how much the word ‘‘safe’’ occurs in our conversations? We’re almost obsessed by it.’

  ‘With every good reason,’ Hannah pointed out calmly. ‘The world—today is a very dange
rous place, made dangerous by we who inhabit it.’

  She gave her friend a final smile, and when Linda had closed the door and disappeared inside her home she set the car in motion again, heading for London.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘HANNAH, where the devil are those figures on Hanson I asked you for last week?’

  Refusing to react to the biting, bullying tone of her boss’s voice, Hannah went calmly to his desk and removed a file, which she handed to him without showing any signs of either chagrin or triumph.

  This was one of the main reasons she had applied for the Jeffreys’ job. Ever since Brian Howard had been head-hunted by the directors, and appointed into a senior managerial post with the company, he had made her a target for his prejudice against her sex. A prejudice, that was, of her sex working in the same professional field as himself.

  When he’d first joined the company, he had mistaken Hannah for one of the secretaries; his manner towards her had been insulting in the extreme and, as Hannah had told him coldly at the time, she sincerely felt for the secretarial staff if his behaviour towards her was indicative of the kind of sexual harassment they had to endure.

  He had resented the tone she had taken with him, resented her sheer skill in her work and the professionalism that would not allow her to betray how much she disliked working for him.

  He was forever needling her, criticising her and generally trying to put her down. And Hannah had resolved to herself several months ago that it would be sensible for her to look for another job. She was not a girl who believed in taking her problems to others, nor expecting them to solve them for her. The man was at fault, but since she knew quite well that what he wanted was a confrontation, whereby he could bully and browbeat her into feminine defensiveness and retreat, if possible accompanied by her loss of temper and, even better, her tears, she knew that to try and reason with him as she might have done with another man would be a sheer waste of time.