A Question of Pride (5 page)

Max was seeing another woman, and that did more than hurt, it crushed her. She leaned her brow against the cool cleanness of the tiled wall, feeling the heat slowly diminish. If she got through the rest of today, it would be a miracle.

It was a while before she felt fit enough to leave the toilet cubicle. Mandy was leaning against one of the washbasins, her arms folded across her front, her pretty face concerned. Clea came to an abrupt halt, disconcerted to find her
malaise
had been witnessed.

'That was some performance,' Mandy drawled, her soft brown eyes searching Clea's pale face. 'I heard you, when I came in ... You look awful, Clea. Shall I get Max to take you home?'

'No! No,' Clea repeated more calmly. 'I'm fine—really. I ate something last night that has been upsetting my stomach ever since.' The lying was definitely easier, she thought heavily, too easy for someone who usually prided herself on her honesty. 'I'm only glad that it's decided to come up at last. Maybe my stomach will settle down now.'

Mandy looked sceptical, to say the least, but forbore to say any more, lingering to watch Clea as she splashed water on her face then began letting down her hair, as though the severely confined knot was an unbearable irritation. She gave the glistening mass a shake, then started reapplying her make-up.

Mandy was madly in love with a big, tanned muscle-builder. He stood six foot three in his bare feet and was nearly as broad. She was older than Clea by five years, she was petite and pretty—and very wise.

Clea wasn't sure if Mandy knew of her affair with their boss, but she suspected that she did.

'Is Joe in the meeting?' asked Clea. Mandy was Joe's secretary—and Clea's replacement if ever she was away. She flicked a comb through her hair, studying herself dispassionately in the mirror. She looked a wreck! Little Orphan Annie, she taunted herself, no one to love her and no one to love. She watched the bitter tilt that changed the shape of her generous mouth, sighing at it as she began covering the ravages of her recent nausea with a thin layer of foundation.

'Yes.' Mandy wasn't fooled by Clea's diversionary tactics, but she was prepared to go along with them for now. 'They should be finishing soon. I thought you'd be taking the minutes?'

Clea shook her head, her attention on her reflection. 'I've had to plough through the Stanwell contract.

Max got Geoff Bradley's secretary to take the minutes—thank God! I detest those board meetings.'

'So do I,' Mandy agreed with verve. She was still levelling her shrewd gaze on Clea. 'Some more blusher,' she quietly advised. 'Under the cheekbones. Clea, why don't you stop seeing him?'

Clea went very still, her blue gaze flicking guardedly, to look at Mandy through the mirror, her blusher brush poised half-way to her face. 'I—I don't know what you're talking about,' she prevaricated on an unsteady laugh.

'Yes, you do,' the other girl quietly insisted. 'Max is no good for you. You're too sensitive—too conformative in your ways to cope with his brand of living.'

Clea applied the blusher, then collected up her make-up utensils, her face suddenly very grave. 'Who told you?' she asked huskily. 'Joe?'

Mandy sighed heavily. 'You know Joe wouldn't say a thing to anyone. He's Mr Confidentiality himself.

No, I saw the signs,' she revealed gently. 'Although you and Max have covered yourselves very well,' she hastened to add when Clea looked appalled. 'Take my advice and get out from under it,' Mandy appealed earnestly. 'He'll consume you if you don't.

Clea smiled at that, a tight little smile that gave a lot away. 'I'll think about it,' she clipped, then stood back to view the results of her labours in the mirror. 'Will I pass muster, do you think?'

Shut up and go away, her tone said, and Mandy's smile was lop-sided as she levered herself from the washbasin and made for the door. 'You'll do,' she assured, then added on a dry note as she left the Ladies, 'Enough for him not to notice, anyway.'

And that said it all, thought Clea bitterly. It said it all.

It wasn't until after lunch that she had an opportunity to sneak in to see Joe. Max had kept her piled under with work all morning and Clea had been grateful for it—being busy meant she couldn't find time to brood. There was no use denying that the phone call from his latest conquest had knocked her for six. It had changed her whole outlook on what she was going to do about her future, and if there had been any weakening inside her to confess all to Max and let him share some of the burden—whether he'd be angry or not—then the idea had flown out of the window.

She didn't even want to look at him, never mind hold a personal conversation with him.

'How much of what I say to you here are you honour bound to pass on to Max?' she asked Joe without preamble. He was sitting behind his desk, looking cool and elegant in a dark grey suit and a crisp white shirt. He was perhaps only about two years older than Max, and very attractive. But in character, Joe was nothing like Max. He was very much married, and content within it. His attention sharpened at the question, grey eyes narrowing on her pale face as he tried to work out why Clea felt he need to ask it.

'Only in as much as what you say will affect the company itself,' he said levelly. 'I can be as confidential as any doctor—until what you say crosses the line between personal problems and company policy.

Why?' he asked quietly. 'What's the matter, Clea?'

Clea sighed, and dropped down in the chair Mandy usually used. 'I want to give notice to leave,' she informed him heavily. Joe's fair brows rose. 'Without telling Max?' Clea closed her eyes, nodding and swallowing at the same time. Her hair fell around her as a black backcloth to her incredible beauty. It wasn't just the perfect balance of her features that made her stand out as something very special, there was something almost sybaritic about her; her eyes reflected a cool serenity, but couldn't quite mask the innate sensuality of her nature, her mouth was too generous—too pleasurably inviting for a man to believe the impression of inner reserve she liked to portray. Those long, thick black lashes did a lot to hide the real Clea right now, and her mouth was being held in tight control, her skin paler than it usually was. The black tailored suit she was wearing seemed symbolic, somehow. She was tall and slim, but the feminine curves were all there in abundance; full high breasts and a narrow waist, hips which curved deliciously, a stomach which was flat and firm. Clea had legs that any model would envy. But that cloud of blue-black hair, combined with an ivory smooth complexion and the biggest pair of pansy eyes ever seen, made Clea look, in every way, an exotic creature.

'Joe ... ' She said his name on a husky sigh that stirred even his very married loins, and he smiled inwardly at himself for it. 'Will you let me work just a week's notice—and not tell Max that I'm leaving?'

Her eyes anxiously appealed. His were narrowed and assessing.

He lifted an elbow on to the arm of his chair, his fingers playing absently with his clean jaw. When she had come in here, asking him if she could speak to him, he'd been alerted to something serious. But this?

He shook his blond head thoughtfully.

'I think you'd better explain
why
you want such a quick release from your contract before I comment.

And why you don't want Max told. He'll be furious—and you know it.'

Her full mouth widened into a semblance of a bitter smile. 'I should think that he'll be relieved,' she drawled, then tossed her head defiantly; sometimes her Latin blood showed through startlingly. 'It's over, Joe,' she told him heavily. 'Max and I are in the final throes of a staling relationship.'

Joe revealed surprise, then disbelief. 'Then why the cloak-and-dagger routine? Surely, if both you and Max are of the same mind, then there's no reason for you to leave the company behind his back.'

Clea shrugged her slender shoulders. 'We haven't actually discussed any of this. I just know it's time to get out ... and I prefer to do it this way. It—it will be less embarrassing for both of us like this.'

Joe studied her narrowly for a long moment, while Clea trembled a little under his gaze. Then he got up, striding over to the coffee machine bubbling away in the corner of the room. He came back with two cups and placed one in front of Clea. The aroma made her stomach object, and she had to swallow on a lump of nausea. Joe watched her from his new position, half seated on the corner of the desk near to her.

'Are you pregnant, Clea?' he asked gently.

Clever Joe. Ever shrewd and perceptive Joe! With a muffled sob, as she stumbled from her seat, moving unsteadily over to the window behind his desk and staring blindly out, hugging herself as though cold.

Joe said nothing. Clea had just given him his answer with her reaction. She knew that as well as he did.

He felt at a loss to know what to say. He felt furious with Max. But, above all, he felt sorry for Clea.

'Mandy mentioned about your—sickness earlier,' he explained on a shrug. 'I put two and two together

... Have you told him?'

'No.' She hugged herself tighter.

'Don't you think you should?'

The waist-length mane of hair shook adamantly. 'He—he doesn't love me, Joe.' And it was all there, the pain, the misery, the fear and the heartache.

Joe's mouth thinned. 'He's very fond of you, Clea,' he said gruffly. 'I know he is.'

'No.' She refused to believe him. She looked so lonely, and young—painfully young, he thought.

'He'll think he has to marry me if he finds out,' she murmured, her voice so hoarse that Joe found difficulty in catching the words. 'And I can't let that happen. He'd hate me for it, I know he would.'

'You love him, don't you?'

'Yes.' She trembled, seeming to shake in a spasm that began at her shoulders and travelled down to her toes. Joe looked down at his feet. He was hating this. Clea was so proud, too proud to be reduced to this. He didn't want to witness it.

'You must tell him,' he stated grimly. 'He has a right to know.'

'Yes, I know,' she admitted wearily, still gazing out of the window. 'But he'll be angry—and rightfully so.

It was my fault.' She waved an empty hand. 'I have this stupid mental block where taking medication is concerned. It was my fault, and I'll shoulder the responsibility on my own ... I'll tell him,' she stated thickly, 'once I know what I'm going to do, once I have myself in hand again.'

'What about your parents?' Joe changed tack, he could see he wasn't going to get her to change her mind. 'They'll help you, surely?'

She turned at that, a wan smile on her too pale face. T'm certain they would—if I let them. But they've got themselves the most wonderful little love-nest going, and I can't intrude on that—not when they're only just getting used to being married.'

Joe knew her parents socially. He had been a friend of James's for years. It had been quite a joke at the time—when James had taken her and Amy to meet all his friends, and Clea found herself face to face with her personnel manager. 'They're so wrapped up in each other—it would be a crime for me to do anything to spoil it for them.'

Joe nodded solemnly in agreement. 'Then—what?'

Clea took in a deep breath and walked back to the desk, taking up a similar pose to Joe on the other corner. ‘I'm not suicidal,' she said with an attempt at lightness. T'm not going to have an abortion. I have my flat, and I can still work for a while yet, so I thought 1 would ring around the secretarial agencies ... '

'I may be able to help you there,' Joe cut in briskly. 'A colleague of mine is looking for a long-term temp, who's used to computer jargon, to step in while his own secretary visits her family in Canada. He runs a successful software distributors; he might be grateful to you for filling in. His secretary wants to make the visit a long one—months, I believe—but she won't go unless she's certain of her job on her return. She's an unmarried mother, you see ... ' His voice tailed off when he realised what he had said, looking uncomfortable.

Clea touched his arm to tell him it didn't matter. And, oddly enough, that aspect of her predicament didn't bother her much. It was the practical side of it all that concerned her. That, and losing Max.

'If you like, I could have a word with Brad,' Joe went on. 'I think she intends going until September.

How will that fit in with ...?'

'Fine—just fine,' she assured him. 'When does she want to go?'

'Next month, if they could find a reliable temp. He needs reliability, you see. There's only him, his secretary and a fleet of salesmen.'

'If I'll suit him, it would be a weight off my mind,' Clea remarked, then added grimly, 'A-about telling Max, Joe?'

'I don't like it, Clea,' he told her bluntly. 'I don't much like any of it. But we'll do things your way.'

Clea let out a sigh of relief. 'It will be easier this way,' she assured him. 'I hate uncomfortable goodbyes.

Max will thank us in the end for doing it this way.'

Joe took to his feet, moving away from her with a restlessness that spoke of a subdued anger. 'I'm not so sure you're right about that. I simply can't believe that Max is ready to let you go!' He sighed heavily and turned to face her. 'I wish you would change your mind and tell him before you take such a huge leap into the unknown—he might surprise you. He ... '

'He already has someone else.' She cut in on him with a quiet dignity that roused Joe's temper. 'So you see, I can't use—this, to hang on to him. He would never forgive me, and I couldn't live with myself for doing it.'

'Damn the bloody fool!' Joe exploded, his lean body stiffening with a need to hit out at someone—Max, preferably. 'He must be blind if he can't see just what he's passing up. You're too good for him, Clea—much, much too good!'

'Thank you for that.' She went to place a kiss on his angry cheek. 'I needed it.'

'Clea!'

'No.' She shook her head sadly. 'You must know I'm right, Joe. Let's just leave it now.'

It waslate, and Clea and Max were up to their eyes in paperwork, trying to put things in order before he went away to Devonshire to visit his mother for what was left of the week. They worked in companiable silence, speaking only when it was necessary to the task in hand.