Dark Avenging Angel (7 page)

I knew I would be the one to decide. She had already made that clear. Such knowledge did, of course, give me immense power. Power over Stuart’s life and death, while all he controlled was my job.

That put things into perspective.

But, deep inside me, my conscience stirred. Other people didn’t have this power, did they? Why me? For some reason, I had been singled out. Was someone, or something, testing me to see if I made the right decisions? Why was I to choose three for my angel’s ledger? What would happen if I wanted more—or fewer?

I went to bed that night with jumbled thoughts tumbling over each other to make their voices heard.

When I eventually fell asleep, I had the dream again. This time, the man with the dark eyes and flashing smile fed me tasteless black grapes and succulent-looking strawberries dipped in chocolate. He leaned close to me and his breath caressed my ear.

“You can have anything you want. Everything.”

Chapter Eight

“I gave you plenty of notice, Carly. I expected you would have prepared for it. This is your six months’ probationary review, after all.”

I stared at him. Yet again, my inexperience had left me exposed. “I had no idea what you wanted me to prepare. I did ask you if there was a format I should follow and you told me there wasn’t.”

“And I was right. There isn’t. But I expected you to reflect on all areas of your job, on what you’d felt you’d achieved—if anything—your weaknesses, where you had learned lessons, what those lessons were and how you saw your future.”

“I didn’t know that’s what you wanted. We didn’t do things that way at the
Chronicle
.”

“No, you obviously didn’t.”

The urge to hit this man almost overwhelmed me. Worse than that, I felt stupid. I should have prepared, irrespective of what we did at the
Chronicle
.

I caught him looking at me in that odd way I’d seen once before. As if he saw something—or someone—I wasn’t aware of. After a few seconds, he rubbed his eyes and laid his hands flat on the desk. When he spoke, his voice seemed quieter, almost sympathetic.

My hairs tickled as they rose on the back of my neck. I felt as if my angel was standing behind me, but I couldn’t turn around and look.

“Carly, it isn’t good news,” he said.

I stared at him. I sensed what was coming and white-hot rage boiled inside me. I kept my mouth shut and waited for it.

“I’ve decided I really don’t need a deputy advertisement manager. There isn’t enough work to justify it. I am going to increase the responsibilities of the telesales supervisor and introduce a field-sales supervisor. Either Rick or Steve. I haven’t decided which one yet. Between them they should easily cover the duties and tasks required. This means I have to let you go.”

He expected me to react. I didn’t. Why should I give him the satisfaction?

I sat there. Sat and stared at him. Concentrated hard on keeping my face as expressionless as possible.

It worked. He coughed, and from the movement I could see above the desk, he was probably crossing and uncrossing his ankles. He tidied the neat stack of papers in front of him.

Still I would not speak.

I wanted to. Oh yes, I wanted to shout at him, berate him for the lies he had made me support, for the lack of promised training, for contributing so greatly to my now-imminent departure. For constantly comparing me to some woman he clearly lusted after but couldn’t have. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Seconds ticked by. I didn’t move.

His fidgeting grew more pronounced. He fingered his neck under his collar, which seemed to have suddenly grown too tight.

Then, he could clearly stand it no longer. “Well, say something, Carly. Call me a bastard if it makes you feel any better.”

I had achieved my immediate aim. He had been forced to speak first. That gave me the higher ground and, right now, I welcomed any victory, however small and petty.

“Calling you a bastard wouldn’t achieve anything.” I stood, my head held high, my hands at my sides. The effort was crippling. “Is there anything else?”

“Er—no. Go home early if you like.”

Oh, the temptation to accept. But, no, that would be like accepting his charity and he mustn’t be allowed any prizes today.

“I’ll go home at the usual time. I have work to finish.”

“As you wish. You will, of course, get this in writing and you’ll have the full three months’ notice. As you know, this isn’t obligatory at the end of a probationary period, but I’ve discussed it with Maurice and he felt it was only fair, in the circumstances.”

I nodded. If he thought I was going to thank him, he’d have a long wait.

I opened his office door, left, closed it and went back to my desk. All the while, I could feel his eyes watching my every move. Maybe he expected me to dive into the ladies and dissolve into tears.

Not this time. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. And he had no idea what decision I had just made, or why I smiled.

Our eyes met briefly before he looked away, but not quickly enough for me to miss his astonishment. I must have looked triumphant. He wouldn’t expect that. But from now on, Stuart Campbell would have to learn to expect the unexpected.

She was waiting for me. As soon as I closed my front door, I sensed her presence. All my earlier satisfaction at having discomfited Stuart had evaporated at the realization that for the first time in my life, I was about to become unemployed.

Her cloak concealed most of her body, as usual, and without touching me, she enfolded me in a blanket of calm that belied the terrifying images she had shown me on our last meeting.

In the bedroom, I curled up on the bed and closed my eyes. I let her soothing touch restore my peace of mind. Sleep came and when it did, my dream returned.

This time, I started off just outside the entrance to the hotel. The tall man opened the door for me, flashed me that stunning smile and took my hand.

“They’re all here,” he said. “They’ve been waiting for you.”

Before I could ask who
they
were, he opened another door and thirty sophisticated, well-groomed heads turned. As before, their party was in full swing. To my astonishment, they raised champagne flutes to me. Some applauded or nodded at me. Others just smiled.

I smiled back and acknowledged the gestures and applause.

Presently, they carried on with their conversations. A band struck up some background music I didn’t recognize and the man led me to a small table where a bottle of champagne lay chilling in a silver bucket, accompanied by two glasses. He pulled a small gilt chair out for me and I sat, carefully arranging the smooth folds of the familiar floor-length, white gown I was now wearing.

“I still don’t know your name,” I said.

He laughed. “Shall we dance?”

He took my hand and whirled me around the floor where my steps were—as always in this dream—spot on. We matched each other. The perfect couple.

Then we sat again and I sipped tasteless champagne. “Why did they applaud when I came in?”

He kissed my fingers and the softness of his caress unnerved me. “Today has been momentous for you. They are happy.”

“Today has been a total nightmare. I lost my job.”

“You won a victory.”

“A victory? It didn’t feel much like one.”

“You beat him.”

“Who? Stuart?”

“
Certo.
Of course.”

“Bit of a hollow victory, though. He gets to keep his job, while I have no idea how I’m going to find another one. And there’s the problem of how to tell my parents. My father will have another stick to beat me with.”

“But not for much longer.”

What did he mean by that? Was he linked somehow to my angel?

“But this is a dream,” I said out loud. “You can’t possibly know her.”

He set down his glass and laughed. And then, as if they had all been listening, everyone in the room started to laugh. Some wiped tears from their eyes.

I stared from one to the other. Why were they doing this? They were humiliating me. “Stop it!”

But they carried on. Their laughter grew wilder, hysterical rather than joyous. Fear clawed its way up from the pit of my stomach. I threw back my chair and it broke as it clattered to the floor. I raced out of the room and straight onto the arid, barren road.

I looked around. In the distance, a cloud of dust rolled toward me. Somehow I knew I didn’t want to see what drove it.

I woke. Sweat poured off me. The birds were singing their dawn chorus as the first golden rays of sun poked their way under the curtain in the airless room.

When I pulled the drapes aside, I blinked as the sun hurt my eyes. I slid the window up a few inches and the welcome breeze tickled my arms and smelled of fresh grass, dew and new leaves.

Five a.m. I had two hours before I needed to get ready for work. As if that mattered now. What if I arrived late? What could Stuart do? Sack me? I shook my head. I knew myself a little too well. I wouldn’t be late. I’d never been late for work.

I decided to stay up, and made myself a mug of strong coffee. I sat in my pajamas at the dining table, lost in thoughts that grew more resentful by the second. In a few hours I would have to walk into that office, where people would feel sorry for me. I hated that. It was kind of them, of course, but it represented humiliation.

Just like the crowd laughing at me in my dream. And what had they been laughing at, anyway? What was so damned funny about what I’d said?

It had just been a stupid dream, I told myself. But I knew if I met that guy to whom I was becoming increasingly drawn, I would recognize him. Not only did I want him to exist, I was increasingly convinced he did.

A faint rustling sounded behind me. Just like a breeze ruffling sheets of paper. I turned but saw nothing.

I drained my coffee and took a shower.

Stuart stopped by my desk. “I’ve got an appointment with a potential client over in Cambridge. I’ll be taking him out to lunch and discussing the deal. Don’t expect me back until tomorrow.”

“Fine,” I said, and he left.

I glanced outside. Sure enough, the sun still shone brightly in a perfect blue sky.

“Perfect gardening weather,” Rick said. “Fancy coming on some calls with me? I’m about to finalize an annual contract for one of the biggest car dealers in the county. I thought he might like to meet the boss.”

“Are you seriously going to take him round to Stuart’s house? If you’re right and he’s there, you’ll never get that promotion.”

Rick shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t want it anymore. I’m leaving. Keep it to yourself, but another client of mine has offered me a job and it’s five thousand a year more than I’m making here. Easy decision, really. You’re looking at the soon-to-be-appointed area sales manager for Amalgamated Steel Extrusions.”

“Wow. Do they have any other jobs going?”

He laughed. “I’ll ask. Anyway, are you coming with me? I need to get going.”

“I’ll get my bag.”

Clive Shakespeare was a big, gruff bear of a man who clearly enjoyed his wealth, indulged in good food, even better wine and, judging by the aroma in his office, expensive cigars. He greeted Rick like an old friend and smiled at me.

“Carly’s a colleague. Just getting to know the area.”

“Where are you from?” He shook my hand.

I concentrated on not wincing as his grip cut off the circulation to my fingers. “Most recently, Leeds.”

“Know it well. My son’s at university there.” He let go of my hand and the feeling throbbed back into my fingers.

“Now then, Rick, are we signing that contract today?”

“Yes, I’ve brought all the paperwork. Stuart Campbell would like to meet you. He’s my boss and he always likes to get to know our best advertisers. Would you be free for a half hour now?”

Clive glanced at his watch. “Tell you what. Make it an hour, throw in lunch and you’ve got yourself a deal. Or should I say
another
deal.” He laughed—a bellow as big as he was. He turned to me. “And as for you, little lady, it looks like you haven’t had a decent meal in a long time. Need to get some flesh on those bones of yours.” He squeezed my arm.

I flinched and wished I hadn’t. He didn’t mean any harm, but I suppose when you’re as big as him, size is relative.

I sat in the back of Rick’s car, allowing Clive plenty of legroom in the front. We headed out on the main road before turning off down a country lane leading to the village of Waterbourne.

Stuart’s house turned out to be a modern detached, with a gravel drive and neatly tended lawn. The borders were all planted with bedding plants and roses. In a few years, this would be a picture-perfect place to live.

Rick rang the bell, and when the door opened, the look of shocked amazement on Stuart’s face made the whole excursion worth any potential risk.

There he stood, in old trousers, his hands covered in soil. So much for wining and dining a potential client in Cambridge.

Of course, he couldn’t say much. Not with one of our biggest advertisers standing there.

“This is Clive Shakespeare, Stuart. He’s just signed an annual contract with us. Guaranteed minimum, two full pages, in color, every week. I knew you’d want to meet him straightaway and…er…shake his hand.”

All eyes, including Stuart’s, focused on his grubby hands.

“Ordinarily I would,” Stuart said.

“Could we come in for a minute?” Rick said. How he kept his composure and that smile pasted on his face, I couldn’t imagine.

Stuart stood back. “Sure. Of course. Please. Come in.”

He glared at me. He probably wondered why I was even there. Or maybe he guessed.

We stayed five minutes. Clive became twitchy for his lunch, and in any case, Stuart’s feeble attempts at polite conversation were painful to witness. The point had been made. We knew he had been lying and, pretty soon, so would everyone else.

“How’s the garden coming, Stuart?”

The whole office seemed to hold its breath as Rick’s voice rang around the room.

Stuart must have guessed everyone knew. The expressions on the faces of the sales and administrative staff revealed everything. Sniggers, diverted eyes. He must have taken them all in as he scanned the office.

“Fine, thanks.”

Full marks for brazening it out. But he wrecked it ten minutes later when he summoned Rick to his office.

“Here we go,” he said.

“Got your notice, Rick?” Steve asked.

Rick tapped his top pocket. “We’ll see what he has to say first.”

We couldn’t hear the exact words, but as he stood behind his desk, we saw the gesticulations and anger-reddened face. Stuart’s voice rose in proportion to the vigor with which he stabbed the air as he underlined each point.

In contrast, Rick stood calm, collected, and seemed to let the tirade wash over him. He made a short remark, reached into his top pocket and set a white envelope on the desk in front of Stuart. Then he sauntered out of his office and closed the door.

I shook his hand. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him I’d let Maurice know where he was yesterday and that I didn’t like working for cheats and liars, so I was leaving.”