A Nine-to-five Affair. Jessica Steele

‘What about your diplomacy skills?’ he wanted to know.

      Emmie knew that great tact was sometimes needed when dealing with awkward phone calls or difficult people. Now didn’t seem the time to mention that earlier in the week diplomacy had gone by the board when she’d belted her previous boss and left him sprawled on the floor.

      ‘Very good,’ she answered, looking him in the eye. Well, they were—normally. Anybody who made a grab for her the way Clive Norris had, deserved what they got in her book. Barden Cunningham asked one or two more pertinent questions with regard to her general business knowledge, which she felt she answered more than adequately. ‘When I worked at Usher Trading, communication skills were…’ She went to expand when he stayed silent, only to be interrupted.

      ‘Ah, yes, Usher Trading—they went into liquidation about a year ago,’ he cut in—just as though it was her fault! As if she had been personally responsible!

      Emmie clamped down hard on a small spurt of anger. Steady, steady, she needed this job. Perhaps he was just testing her to see how she reacted to the odd uncalled-for comment.

      ‘Unfortunately, that’s true,’ she replied, and gave him the benefit of her full smile—which had once been called ravishing.

      He was unimpressed. He looked at her, his eyes flicking from her eyes to her mouth and back to her eyes. He paused for a moment before, questions on her abilities seemingly over, he went on to refer to her work record over the past year. She’d had small hope that he would not do so. But, until she knew if this man was in the same womanising mould, Emmie didn’t think she would be doing herself any favours if she gave the true reasons for her previous ‘temporary’ employment.

      ‘As I mentioned to Mr Garratt—’ she started down the path of untruth without falter ‘—I felt, having worked for the same firm for three years, that I should widen my work experience.’ Usher Trading were no longer in existence, but if he wrote elsewhere for references—she was dead!

      ‘Which is why you applied for this temporary post?’

      There weren’t any flies on him! ‘I’m very keen to make a career in PA work,’ she answered.

      ‘You live with your parents?’ he enquired out of the blue. She wasn’t ready for it, and for a brief second felt unexpectedly choked.

      She looked quickly down at her lap, swallowed, and then answered, ‘My parents are dead.’

      His expression softened marginally. ‘That’s tough,’ he said gently. But after a moment he was back to being the interrogator. ‘As I’m sure Mr Garratt mentioned, Mrs Obrey, my PA, is having an atrocious time of it at the moment. While in normal circumstances she would frequently accompany me when I need to visit our various other concerns, she isn’t up to being driven around the country. That role will now fall to her assistant.’ He fixed her with his straight no-nonsense look. ‘Would that be a problem?’

      Emmie shook her head. ‘Not at all,’ she answered unhesitatingly, hoping with all she had that Aunt Hannah’s forgetful perambulations were a thing of the past. She’d been so good lately.

      ‘It could be that I’d be late getting back to London,’ Barden Cunningham stressed—and, those direct eyes on her still, he went on, ‘You have no commitments?’

      Emmie hesitated, but not for long. She guessed he meant was she living with anyone. Now, if she was going to confide in him about Aunt Hannah, was the time to do so. ‘None at all,’ she replied, again managing to look him in the eye. Well, her security was on the line here—her chances of getting this job would go cascading down the drain if he had so much as an inkling of her previous bad time-keeping and the erratic work hours she’d kept.

      ‘You’d have no problem working extra hours?’

      Her heart lifted—the fact that this was turning out to be no cursory interview gave her confidence that she was still in there with a chance. ‘Working extra hours, working late has never been a problem,’ she replied, back on the honesty track, and glad that she was.

      ‘You were called on to work late in your other temporary job?’ he questioned, before she’d barely finished speaking—was he sharp or was he sharp!

      ‘I never liked to go home before I’d got everything cleared,’ she answered—oh, grief, that sounded smug and self-satisfied! Better, though, than telling him she’d regarded her jobs more as permanent than temporary during her short stays there.

      Barden Cunningham had very few other questions he wanted to ask, and then he caused her hopes to go sky-high. ‘When would you be available to start?’ he wanted to know.

      ‘Straight away,’ she answered promptly.

      ‘You’ve nothing else lined up for Monday?’

      Oh, crumbs—had she answered too promptly? Emmie took a deep and steadying breath and then, her innate honesty rushed to the fore. ‘Well, to be quite frank, I was hoping this interview would go well enough for me not to need to apply for anything else.’

      Again Emmie wished she could have a clue as to what he was thinking. But he was giving nothing away as he sat and stared at her. Then, after some long moments, ‘You want the job?’ he enquired.

      He’d never know how much. She swallowed down the word ‘desperately’ and changed it to, ‘Very much.’

      Barden Cunningham’s eyes searched her face for perhaps another couple of seconds. Then slowly he smiled, and it was the most wonderful smile she had ever seen. But better than that were the words that followed, for, as he stood up, indicating the interview was over, he said, ‘Then, since you’re going to be working with her for a while, you’d better come and have a chat to Dawn.’

      ‘I’ve got the job?’ she asked, hardly daring to believe it.

      ‘Congratulations,’ he said, and shook her hand.

      CHAPTER TWO

      FEBRUARY was on its way out and they were in the throes of some quite dreadful weather. Last week it had seemed to rain non-stop. Today it had gone colder, and snow was threatened. Emmie had not slept well, and got out of bed that Wednesday morning feeling oddly despondent. Oh, buck your ideas up, do. A month ago she had been overjoyed that she’d actually managed to be offered the job of assistant, shortly to be acting, PA to Mr Barden Cunningham. So—what had changed?

      Emmie padded around her flat, trying to pin-point why she felt so—well, not exactly dissatisfied with her lot, but certainly sort of restless, out of sorts about something.

      Which was odd, because she no longer had any worries about her step-grandmother. Aunt Hannah was now cheerfully established in the double room she had so wanted, and was more settled than Emmie could have hoped. Indeed, so content did Aunt Hannah seem that Emmie realised how right she had been to think it was important to the dear soul to feel safe during the long hours while Emmie was away at work. Safely ensconced in Keswick House, gradually, bit by bit, Aunt Hannah’s confidence was returning. Her confidence—and her spirit of independence. Twice in the last month Aunt Hannah had declined to stay with Emmie for the weekend—though she had permitted Emmie to collect her for Sunday tea.

      So it wasn’t on Aunt Hannah’s account that she felt so unsettled, Emmie decided. Her thoughts turned to her job, and how, without bothering to take up references—clearly he was a man confident in his own judgement, and that had been one tremendous worrying hurdle out of the way—Barden Cunningham had appointed her.

      She had been working at the head office of Progress Engineering for four weeks and two days now, and loved the work. Had, in fact, taken to it like a duck to water. Sometimes she worked under pressure but she absorbed it, enjoyed the challenge—and felt that she did well enough that her employer could not have one single solitary complaint about her output.

      She got on exceedingly well with Dawn and was glad to be of help to her whenever she could, because, as well as being