Sleeping With The Boss. CATHY WILLIAMS

her, trying to persuade confidences out of her. She had given him the irresistible—a shady past lying underneath the crisply ironed shirts and the sober working suits. When she thought about it, she realised that it had been a mistake to react to those photos. She should have agreed instantly to the trip up and then promptly cancelled at the very last minute, when it would have been too late to rearrange the whole thing. True, she would not have been thanked by any of the secretaries who might have found themselves replacing her, but then she would have been spared the ordeal that lay ahead. And, almost as important, she would have been spared Victor’s curiosity, which, once aroused, might prove unstoppable.

      ‘What kind of book was he writing?’ he asked casually, and Alice suddenly realised where all his questions were leading.

      Victor Temple thought that she had been having some kind of affair with Henry Claydon. Except he had no idea that Henry Claydon had been her employer at the time. She could almost hear his brain ticking over.

      ‘Documentary of sorts,’ she said, thinking that this could be her way out, as far as revealing too much of her past was concerned.

      ‘Lots of research?’ He gestured to her to check the map, glancing across as she laid it flat on her lap and followed the road sequences with her finger. They had left London behind and she felt an odd stirring of nostalgia as the open spaces became more visible. Over the past two days the weather had cleared, and as the Jaguar silently covered the miles everywhere was bathed in sunshine. The sky was a hard, defined blue and everything seemed to be Technicolor-bright.

      ‘A fair amount.’

      ‘You’re not very forthcoming on this chap of yours,’ he said idly. ‘Can’t have been a very interesting job. How long were you there?’

      ‘Three years.’

      ‘Three years! My God, he must have been a methodical man. Three years on a book! And one that wasn’t even completed by the time you left.’

      ‘Oh, yes, he was terribly methodical.’ That was the truth. Henry had indeed been very methodical, despite a charming inclination to side-track down little paths, little reminiscences that brought his recollections to life. ‘And, of course, he wasn’t writing all the time.’ If Victor thought that she had been having an affair with this mysterious stranger, then let him. He should never have assumed that she was fair game as far as his curiosity was concerned anyway.

      ‘No, I guess he had to work occasionally? To pay the bills?’

      ‘He did work in between, yes.’ She paused, leaving his unspoken assumptions hanging in the air. ‘Do you mind if I have a quick look at the file on Highfield House?’

      Victor glanced at her with a quick smile. ‘Sure. Good idea. You can tell me what you think. We never got around to that, if I recall.’

      ‘So we didn’t,’ Alice agreed. She stretched back, just managing to grab hold of the file, and began to leaf through it, grateful that Victor was driving and couldn’t read the expression on her face as she scanned the photographs of Highfield House.

      It hadn’t changed. The grounds looked as immaculate as she remembered them. There was a picture of James, standing with his back to the house, leaning elegantly against the side of his Land Rover, and her heart gave a little leap of unpleasant recognition. It was difficult to define any sort of expression on his face, but he appeared to have changed very little. Some weight had settled around his middle, but it did very little to detract from the overall impression of good looks. Was he married now? Victor had said nothing to intimate that he was. No Mrs Claydon had been mentioned. On that thought, she snapped shut the folder and returned it to the back seat.

      ‘Well? What are your thoughts?’

      ‘It’s a large place. What does the owner expect to do if it’s opened to the public?’

      ‘Restrict his living quarters to one section of the house. Shouldn’t be too difficult in a house of that size.’

      ‘I can see why he might need the money,’ Alice said, injecting as much disinterested speculation into her voice as she could. ‘Must cost an arm and a leg running a place that big. The grounds themselves look like a headache. Heaven only knows how many gardeners he would need to employ.’

      ‘Not as many as in the past. I gather, from the covering letter that was sent, that quite a bit of the land has already been sold off. Still, there are still two formal gardens, including a rose garden, a miniature maze and a small forested area.’

      Alice remembered the forested area well. She used to enjoy walking through it in the early evening, after they had stopped working. In spring it was quite beautiful, with the trees coming into bloom, and in autumn the leaves lay like a rich russet carpet on the ground. The three years she had spent there seemed as elusive as a dream, yet as clear as if she had been there yesterday.

      She worriedly bit her lip and hoped that James would not overreact when he saw her. If she played her cards right, she might even manoeuvre to confront him on her own, when Victor was safely tucked away somewhere. That way, she could tell him to keep quiet about their relationship, that she had moved on from the past and she did not need reminding of it. He had always, she thought reluctantly, been a very decent sort of person. Things had ended on a sour note but in retrospect that had been mainly her fault. Reading too much into a situation. Not understanding that wealth preferred to stick to its own.

      She felt faint with humiliation, even now, as she remembered the surprise and dismay on his face when she had mentioned marriage, commitment, a long-term solution, the apology in his voice as he’d stammered through his explanation. That he wasn’t ready to settle down. Oh, he liked her well enough, and he was basically too decent to say outright what had been written all over his face: that as a long-term proposition she simply was not suitable.

      Alice rested her head back against the seat and could feel her heart hammering madly in her chest. She hadn’t thought of that traumatic conversation in years. At first, she had been able to think of nothing else. Every word had burnt itself into her brain until she had thought that she was going mad, but gradually, over time, she had made herself think of other things whenever the temptation to dwell on it had risen inside her.

      She had learnt to reduce the entire episode to a philosophical debate. It was the only way that she could put it behind her. It had altered her whole approach to the opposite sex, she had sealed off her emotions behind locked doors, and that was how it would have stayed if fate had not intervened. If Victor Temple had been more sympathetic. She heard him dimly saying something to her and she murmured something in response.

      ‘What the hell does that mean?’ he asked harshly, breaking into her reverie, and she pulled herself up with a start.

      ‘For God’s sake, Alice! What turn-off are we supposed to take? That map’s in front of you for a reason!’

      ‘Sorry.’ She studied the map, not having a clue where they were, and eventually, when she asked him, he pointed out their location with an ultra-polite precision that only thinly veiled his irritation with her.

      She was never like this at work. Usually, he had only to ask something once and she caught on, competently carrying out his instructions. But then, her head had never felt as woolly as it did now.

      ‘Look,’ he said, after she had stumbled out their route, frowning hard in concentration because her brain just didn’t seem to want to co-operate. ‘I don’t know what the hell happened up here, but it was years ago. Haven’t you managed to put it behind you by now?’

      ‘Of course I have,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m just a little rattled at coming back here after all this time.’

      ‘Must have been quite a miserable business if it’s managed to keep you away from your home for so long.’

      Alice could feel her defences going into place. She had been a private person for such a long time that the ability to confide was alien to her. And anyway, Victor Temple, she thought, was the last person on earth she would wish to confide in.

      She