From Humble Beginnings (Joe Steel) (7 page)

“Come to bed with me?”

Her soft question has my heart rate surging. “I don’t… I want to, Juliet. But, I’m just a man.”

“No. You’re not, Joe. You’re special, like my dad has always said.” She purses her lips. “My vow still stands, but I want your arms around me tonight. Will you be there for me?”

When she put it like that, how could I say no?

For a man who hadn’t had sex the night before, I was surprisingly chipper upon awakening. But even though the lower half of my body had gone numb, it was almost blissful being curled about Juliet.

My lower extremities were numb for obvious reasons; I’d had a hard-on for almost the entire night and the only way of keeping Juliet in the dark about that was to arch my spine and jut my arse out.

Christ Almighty, I’ve never gone to so much effort to hide my arousal from a woman! Ordinarily that’s the whole reason for me being in a strange bed; but not last night.

Not making a pass had been difficult. Every nerve ending in my body, every hormone within my bloodstream had been urging me on, even after Brook’s out-of-the-blue call. But Juliet had cuddled up to me so trustingly, so innocently, that I couldn’t betray those gentler emotions.

I’d never really believed that I had a soft side. Juliet brings out the strangest tendencies in me; one of them, a smile as I walk into the office even though, in the scheme of things, l
ast night was pretty much a sleep over with hopes of things to come.

But maybe I’m changing;
I know I am. A few years ago, coke addict and slut that she is, I’d have kept Sandra on. She was a gorgeous girl, hotter than anyone I have had in bed and while she was using me for who I am and what I earn, she was easy to control and divert away from her original intentions.

That sounds cold, but that’s me.

I’m no virgin and I can’t and don’t expect that from my bed partners. My recent fastidiousness is a new development. The side Juliet brings out is new and disconcerting. I’ll grow accustomed to it, but it’ll take time.

I’m so damned cheerful as I walk through the grand atrium, head towards the lift and soar forty floors upwards that I’m on the cusp of whistling. I only manage to contain it by the skin of my teeth. The lift is packed as usual and my bursting into song would do more than raise a few eyebrows. I’ve grown rather a reputation during my career here. I’d believed in that reputation and that’s why reconciling myself with this other side to my nature is bound to be difficult.

As soon as I pass through the outer office and into my own, I see the blue envelope on my desk. Intrigued, I pick it up as soon as I’ve dumped my briefcase and tear into it. Spotting a ticket to Milan’s Malpensa Airport and a departure’s date of Tuesday morning, a mere four days from now, I grin.

It will hardly be a holiday, but still, it’s always good to get away from London. Even if London is Juliet’s home. It never did anyone any harm to be away from someone you cared about.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
and all that.

Tucking the ticket into my briefcase, I settle myself before my computer. With my finger hovering over the standby button, there’s a knock at my door. Distinctly lacking a PA, I’ve been keeping the door open so that I can call anyone into the office without having to move. My head jerks up at the sound and inwardly, I wince as my eyes clash with Cass’, who is leaning against the doorjamb.

I’m a grown man, but the militant look about her is enough to have any man quaking in his boots. Even her outfit makes her look as though she’s on a mission. What with the epaulets on her jacket and the two columns of buttons; she’s ready to go to war and I’m the unlucky soldier with my name painted on her bullet!

“You got your ticket?”

“Yes, I didn’t realize we’d be flying over so soon.”

She shrugs and steps into my office. Without awaiting an invitation, she takes a seat opposite me and after a few minutes of silent study says, “Bernard’s gone ahead and bought the factory near Milan.”

“But I thought that’s why we were going out there? To scout?”

There’s no ire in my voice; the last three factories brought under Rustin Corp’s wing were purchased on the hoof by Bernard. It comes as no surprise to learn that he’s acted without counsel. Bernard only trusts himself.

“You know Bernard. Plus, I saw the purchase amount. It was a steal.”

“Yeah, something we’ll be paying for later, no doubt. That lace factory we bought up in Scotland was a steal and we had to spend a bloody fortune to make it payable!”

“He moves in his own way; always does. He has instincts about these things; or so he says.”

I don’t argue, because I’ve heard Bernard say that himself. “Why are you here, Cass? I’ve got the ticket and you could have sent me an email telling me why the dates have been brought forwards.”

“We need to clear the air.”

“We really don’t.”

“We
do
,” she insists. “Notice that there’s no end date on that ticket? That’s because we’ll be there for as long as it takes. I’m not working with someone, in pretty close quarters, who thinks I’m a slut. Either that or I’ve slept my way to the top. What Juliet did was a moronic childish gesture that has made it uncomfortable for her father, myself and you. It was completely out of order but as usual, Bernard won’t say two words to her about anything.”

It seems ridiculous to come to Juliet’s defence, when Cass was speaking the truth but I wanted to. Juliet’s actions
were
out of order, but there was a reason for it and I truly believe that it was bitter hurt. Bernard, his relationship with women, her mother… they’re all festering wounds in Juliet’s mind.

“I don’t think that you’ve slept your way to the top; what you and Bernard do is your own private affair and the majority of the workforce thinks you’re a pair anywhere. What I saw just confirmed it and you’ll already know that I’ve been made to promise not to utter a word. As if I would!”

Cass grimaces. “Bernard said you weren’t pleased about that.”

Eyes flashing, I shake my head. “No. I bloody wasn’t. Bernard trusts me with tens of millions of the company’s money, but all of a sudden, he forgets that I’m trustworthy.”

“It was important to him that all of this be kept quiet.”

“And you wanting to talk about it is keeping it quiet?”

Mouth pursing, Cass sits back in her seat and studies me. “We’ve discussed this, Bernard and I. We want Juliet to know the truth. It’s time. I can’t do it, because she wouldn’t believe a word I said. And Bernard
won’t
do it, even though it would all be better coming from him. He’s trusting you with his life here, Joe,” she warns.

Wondering if her use of my nickname is for some purpose, nefarious or otherwise, I shake my head. “I don’t want to know. This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Rubbish. You care for Juliet; any fool can see that. She’s obviously hurting for her to have done what she did. I could see this happening years ago, but Bernard couldn’t. In many ways, he’s a visionary. But there are times when he’s a mere mortal. He likes to duck his head in the sand and hide.”

“Hide from what?”

“The truth, mostly,” her words are now cold. “Especially where Juliet is concerned. She’s the apple of his eye and can do no wrong.”

“Bo knows what you’re about to tell me?” I ask, inferring from her words that the only one not in the know is Juliet.

“Yes. To a point, at any rate. The mother Juliet adores was nothing more than a gold-digger. I was raised at the house; by the time Bernard brought his new wife home, I was nearing eighteen and did odd jobs in the house and in the stables. Just like he did with you, he saw a spark in me and paid for me to attend college with the proviso that I’d work for him afterwards. I was old enough to see Sara for what she was and so could my parents: money-grabbing.

She was a good Jewish girl though and that’s what Bernard wanted for his first wife; I know that because mum overheard him talking to a friend at a dinner party one night. She said he had a list of requirements and each had to be ticked off, like he was buying a broodmare.” Cass grimaces, but shrugs. “We both know how anal he can be, so I well imagine that was the case.

“I don’t think he ever really loved her, but she was under his protection and he gave her the world. Anything she wanted, she could have. Anywhere she wanted to go, she could go. But whatever she did, she was alone. Bernard is married to this place and that hasn’t changed over the years. When Sara had Bo, Bernard presented her with a Faberge egg. I can remember it now. Must have cost a bloody fortune. All mother of pearl with gold rim and diamonds decorating the egg. It was beautiful and an antique. Sara would have preferred a piece of jewellery. After hours of sweaty, disgusting childbirth, as she phrased it, she deserved something more than an egg. I had to sweep up the pieces from the floor, when she threw her tantrum and flung it against the wall. She was such a brat.”

“You’re painting a lovely picture here, Cass.” This was not the martyr Juliet had painted, or should I say, inferred.

She jerks a shoulder. “It’s the truth. And that’s something Bernard has always protected Juliet from. She
was
a big baby, through and through and it only got worse. He let her run wild, let her do whatever she wanted and when she was pregnant with Juliet, she was two inches away from being an alcoholic. Probably addicted to some drug too. When he found out she was carrying, he took her and Bo away for a few months; disappeared and when they came back, Sara was three or so months away from her due date, but she was happy and healthy again.” Cass sighs. “Juliet’s probably told you that he spent no time with her. And she’s not wrong. He was always at the office. By that time, I’d started here, as his junior secretary.

“I won’t lie, if he’d given Sara more attention like he did during that break they had together, things would have been different. Sara needed to be controlled and in a way, she flourished under his care. That was evident to anyone.

“But when he got her health back on track, he returned to the company and stayed there. She gave birth; Bernard brought in a nanny. Sara had little to do with the girls according to my mum, but whenever she was with them, mum said she was a natural. She was let loose again, buying new clothes, jewellery. Had a new car every six months. He never said anything; just let her do it.

“Then, when Juliet was about seven, her drink problem was worse than ever. I know for a fact that Bernard was going to send her to The Priory, because I’d made the booking myself. She’d just bought a new sports coupé and had gone to the golf club to show it off to her pals. They said at the coroners that Sara had consumed just over two bottles of wine by the time she staggered away from the bar. She got into her car, smashed it into a tree and died instantly.”

It’s selfish, I know, but a part of me is wondering how the hell my morning could have sunk so low. From a high to this maudlin tale… and Cass and Bernard expect me to share this with Juliet?

God help me.

Not only would she not listen, she’d probably throw me out of her flat if I dared to mention anything against her mother. Telling the woman I’m starting a relationship with that her mother was a pisshead is not the way to get into her good books.

“Bernard blamed himself and in a way, he was right to. He was her husband; that’s a full time job not the half-arsed position he thought it was. She died, because he didn’t give a shit about her. Not really. Not when it counted. He only realized that though after she died. He started going all funny on us. Not turning up to meetings he himself had scheduled. Scribbling away at his notes and not letting me type them up. He went a bit paranoid for a while. He wasn’t sleeping; he was wired up all the time. I’ve never seen a man go through so much coffee. Paul Raymond, his doctor, you know him?”

I nod. “Yes. They’re friends, aren’t they?”

“That and golfing buddies. Paul was worried about him; I was worried about him. Everyone on the top floor was. He prescribed him sleeping pills, but Bernard wouldn’t take them. I doped him once with one of the tablets; by that time, our relationship had started. I had access to the pills and I felt no guilt in letting him sleep.” She pulls a face. “They made him worse. He was drowsy, but he didn’t actually drift off and he was just lying there, like a prisoner in his own body. I took advantage again, shifted him into the car, which was bloody hard, because he’s no lightweight and took him to Paul’s. When the pills wore off,
we
wore him down. Talked him into therapy; into this live-in centre that had been on the news. It’s a testament to how much guilt he felt that he agreed. I don’t think he’d slept, not properly at any rate, for at least two months. We booked him in and shifted him off there.”

“What about
Rustin? I can’t imagine him leaving this place.”

“He did. And unlike the last time, before Juliet’s birth, he didn’t telecommute. I took control of his office but the directors had to start pulling their weight. We managed. It was hard, but worth it. Bernard came back a month or so later and he was almost back to normal. A little more controlled, sleeping easier, but he was different. He never told me what happened there, but I think it brought back memories of his childhood.” Left unspoken was the word Holocaust. “He’d disappear a few days a week; I didn’t know where he was going. It wasn’t home, because I asked my mother. Turned out, he was going back to the live-in centre to visit one of the patients there.”

Wincing, I hazard a guess. “Rebecca?”

“Got it in one.” She smirks. “I can see why Bernard promoted you.”

“Thanks!”