CATHERINE GEORGE - Bargaining With The Boss

He scowled impatiently. ‘Don’t talk rot, Eleri. I assume you’ve tried to contact your friend?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘He no longer works for Renshaw’s.’

‘That was inevitable.’ The grey eyes held hers relentlessly. ‘You tell me you haven’t spoken to him on the subject, so Maynard obviously got the information from someone else.’

‘He doesn’t know anyone else at Northwold,’ she said unhappily.

‘Then you must admit I had no choice. I was forced to ask you about it.’

‘Of course. So in the circumstances, Mr Kincaid, I don’t have a choice either. I shall leave immediately. One of the other girls will fill in for you until you can find a replacement.’ She smiled coldly. ‘After all, it would hardly do to keep me on in a position of confidentiality. I’d never thought about leaking information for profit until you gave me the idea. How could I trust myself in future?’

‘Nonsense,’ he snapped, and jumped to his feet. ‘Listen to me, Eleri. Your word is good enough for me. If you say you had nothing to do with it I believe you. And I understand your reaction. It’s only natural you’re angry. But don’t act on impulse. Take time to reconsider.’

For a moment Eleri was tempted. But anger and bitter hurt stiffened her resolve. She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. It’s out of the question.’

James Kincaid moved swiftly around his desk and seized her hand. She recoiled, startled, and he dropped her hand as though it burnt him.

‘I’m not into sexual harassment,’ he assured her coldly.

Eleri flushed. ‘Of course not. I’m—on edge.’

‘I merely meant to assure you that any reference you require is yours for the asking, if you’re adamant about resigning. But I strongly advise you to change your mind. Go off now for the weekend, think things over.’

‘I intend to find out what actually happened, certainly, but I won’t reconsider. Nor will I need a reference,’ she added.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’

‘A job is ready and waiting for me any time I say the word. With people who will never doubt my integrity,’ she added, with a cold little smile.

‘Eleri, I don’t doubt your integrity,’ he said with emphasis. ‘I regret this as much as you do.’

‘I doubt that,’ she said bitterly, and went from the room, closing the communicating door behind her.

Bruce Gordon beckoned her into his office.

‘James told me what happened—in strict confidence, of course,’ he said. ‘Go to that boyfriend of yours, beat the truth out of him, then come back here and get on with the job, my dear.’

‘I’ll certainly do the first bit, but I won’t come back, Mr Gordon.’ Eleri shrugged, her face set. ‘Even if I prove beyond all doubt that I said nothing about the takeover I can’t work here now. But thank you for the vote of confidence,’ she added warmly as James Kincaid came in.

‘Eleri, come into my office before you go, please.’

‘Of course.’

Eleri packed up her belongings, tidied her desk, deposited the morning’s mail with one of the other secretaries, then went in to James Kincaid, who was standing at the window again, looking out on the blizzard conditions outside.

‘You’ve been here for four years, Eleri,’ he said, turning to her. ‘This is a hell of a way to leave.’

‘Yes. It is,’ she agreed.

‘When my predecessor handed over the baton he said he had only one piece of advice to give me. “Make sure you hang on to Eleri. She’s worth her weight in gold.”’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Damn good thing he’s not here at the moment.’

‘Mr Reeder and I got on well together.’

‘Does that mean you’ve found it harder to work with me?’

‘No.’ She looked away. ‘I believed we had a good working relationship too, Mr Kincaid. Until today.’

‘We did. We do. I flatly refuse to look on this as final. Find out what happened,’ he ordered, ‘then come back to work on Monday.’

Eleri almost gave in, then and there. She liked her job. And she cared for James Kincaid even more. But his suspicions had cut like a knife. Yet in one way she had cause to be grateful for them. They had pushed her into the resignation which was the only cure for terminal hankering after a man who thought of her solely as a piece of efficient office equipment. ‘I won’t do that, Mr Kincaid,’ she said at last. ‘The mere fact that an official explanation is necessary makes it impossible for me to stay.’

He shook his head irritable. ‘The explanation is purely for me. I’ve told no one about this, other than Bruce Gordon, and I only told him because he was about to offer me physical violence for upsetting you.’

Eleri smiled wryly. ‘He’s known me a long time.’

‘I’ve known you a fair time myself—long enough to find your involvement in anything shady hard to believe.’ He eyed her moodily. ‘If you hadn’t mentioned a friend at Renshaw’s it would never have crossed my mind.’

She looked at him blankly. ‘But the friend I told you about is a girl—Victoria Mantle. We grew up together.’

He frowned. ‘Then where the hell does Maynard come in to it?’

‘Vicky introduced him to me a few months ago at a party.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Toby’s just a friend. I wasn’t even aware you knew anything about him.’

‘I didn’t. My sister’s husband, Sam Cartwright, told me Maynard confessed he got the information from someone at the brewery, but wouldn’t disclose the name. I put two and two together—and got five,’ he added, his jaw tightening.

‘I can see why you thought it was me,’ she said bleakly.

‘You say it wasn’t, so I believe you. Nevertheless, I was forced to ask for an explanation, Eleri.’

‘I want one, too,’ she said bitterly. ‘I’m leaving right now for London to get it.’

‘I can’t tell you how much I regret all this, Eleri,’ said James heavily. ‘Do you really have another job waiting for you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, resigned. THE be welcomed with open arms.’

‘And no reference needed.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m curious. You speak Italian, of course. Will the new job use your bilingual talents?’

‘More or less.’ The telephone interrupted them, and Eleri answered it automatically. ‘Mr Kincaid’s office.’

‘Camilla Tennent,’ said a light, feminine voice which had become all too familiar to Eleri over the past year. ‘Is James there?’

Eleri handed the phone over. ‘Miss Tennent,’ she announced, and left the room to collect her belongings, feeling deeply depressed. James Kincaid was a clever, ambitious man, relatively young for the post he held, and with his sights very obviously set on a seat on the Northwold board. He’d been at the Gloucestershire brewery only a year, but already he’d streamlined the plant to an efficiency which surpassed the other Northwold operations. She would have liked to stay, to be part of James Kincaid’s success story. But Toby Maynard had put paid to all that in the space of a few minutes’ trading.

Before leaving, she rang her mother. ‘I’m leaving for London early.’

‘I thought perhaps you wouldn’t go in this weather,’ said the familiar lilting voice. ‘Drive carefully to the station, cariad. When are you coming back?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ll ring and let you know.’

‘Don’t forget. You know what your father’s like.’

‘Who better?’ said Eleri dryly. ‘Must dash. See you soon. Bye.’

Then she rang Vicky to give her appalled friend the news. Afterwards she took one last look round her office, said goodbye to her colleagues on her way out of the administration block, then left to drive to the station, thirsting to confront Toby Maynard. She kept mulling over his treachery in the train, cursing the day she’d ever laid eyes on him. Early in life, disaster had taught Eleri to keep to strictly platonic friendships with the relatively few men she knew. Toby was young, fun to be with, and had taken her out sometimes when she spent weekends at Vicky’s London flat, but Eleri had always slept in Vicky’s spare bed afterwards. Her relationship with Toby had been pleasant, but unimportant. Yet, unbelievably, it had cost her the job at Northwold.

When Eleri left the train in London she took a taxi, hoping Toby would at least be able to provide her with some hot coffee. Wine was usually more available than milk in his smart Chelsea flat. Toby preferred to eat out. Even his breakfast cappuccino and toast had been, until recently, bought en route to Renshaw’s to eat at his desk.

Toby was not at home. Eleri ground her teeth in frustration, and was halfway down the street on her way to the Underground, and Vicky’s flat in Ealing, when Toby came loping into view, laden with grocery sacks. He looked tanned and casually elegant in a hooded ski-jacket and thick jogging pants tucked into costly leather boots. Normally he often looked haggard, like most young men in his profession, but his holiday had smoothed away the telltale signs of stress, and even dressed for a snowy day he looked immaculate—as always. He smiled in delight, and tried to kiss her cheek.

‘Eleri, you’re early—hey, what’s the matter?’

She pushed him away, glaring. ‘You’ve actually got the nerve to ask me what’s the matter?’

He thrust flopping, expensively cut fair hair back from his face, looking sulky. ‘Oh, hell. I suppose you rang me at the bank.’

‘Yes, Toby, I did exactly that. You weren’t there, so I spoke to Vicky—’

‘And she gave you all the dirt, I suppose.’ He unlocked his door, eyeing her morosely. ‘She told you I got the push?’

‘Of course she did. Not that it came as a surprise.’

He glared at her indignantly as he ushered her inside. ‘Why not?’

Eleri controlled her temper with effort. ‘Apply the little grey cells, Toby!’

He sighed. ‘I suppose she told you about my little profit-making venture.’

‘Actually, no, she didn’t.’

‘Really?’ He shrugged. ‘All I did was take a chance. I’d been unlucky lately, El, I needed to recoup.’

‘Recoup?’ Eleri stared at him stonily. ‘What for, Toby? A Ferrari instead of your Chelsea Tractor?’

‘You got that stupid name from Vicky, I suppose!’ he snapped. ‘It’s a Range Rover, and I’ve no intention of getting rid of it.’

‘So what did you want the money for? But never mind that. For starters, I heard you came back on Monday, not last night.’ Her dark eyes speared his. ‘It doesn’t matter a toss to me when you came home, Toby. But why on earth lie about it?’

He reddened. ‘I was going to tell you about it today. But—oh, blast, you assumed I’d just got back, so I left it. Why the fuss?’

She advanced on him like a tigress. ‘Don’t worry, Toby,’ she bit out when he recoiled, ‘I’m not going to hurt you, but I am going to make a “fuss”, and you are going to listen.’

‘Can I put this stuff away first?’ he said, backing away in mock alarm.

‘Yes, of course. And I hope you bought milk. I’m dying for some coffee.’

A few minutes later they were seated on opposite sides of the fireplace where Toby put a match to the logs for the blaze he liked—as much for image, Eleri suspected, as to keep warm.

‘So carry on, Eleri,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Make your fuss. Though I could do without it at the moment.’

‘Tell me what happened first.’

He eyed her mutinously, then shrugged. ‘In a nutshell, I gambled and lost.’

‘But gambling’s your job.’

‘My job, sweetheart, is to make money for Renshaw’s. Only recently I began to lose it more than make it. I began to get panicky—bad news for a trader. Another significant loss, and I was in the mire.’ He stared at the crackling flames. ‘Then in Val d’Isere I met a girl.’