Secretary on Demand (2 page)

It was intensely satisfying to hear Eric Gallway's yelp of pain as hot food hit the thin covering of expensive wool. It reverberated through the restaurant like the crash of breaking crockery in a china shop. He stood up and frantically began wiping the food with his napkin, while everyone in the restaurant stopped eating and positioned themselves the better to look at what was going on.

‘How dare you?' he growled. ‘How
dare
you throw a plate of food over me? I don't know who the hell you are, miss, but I'm damn well going to make sure you're sacked! Get me your boss! This instant!'

Shannon had a strong urge to laugh and covered her mouth with her hand. No need to get her boss. Alfredo was hurrying over towards them while trying to encourage the other diners to carry on with their meals. Perhaps
pretend that this was nothing but some simple Italian jollity.

‘What is going on here?' Alfredo ignored Eric's frantic cleaning-up process and stared at Shannon who hung her head. Hopefully, he would interpret that as a gesture of shame instead of an insane desire to stifle her mirth.

‘What,' snarled Eric, ‘do you think the problem is? This…this…
so-called
waitress of yours has dumped a plate of food all over me and let me tell you right now that unless she's sacked immediately, I'll sue you for everything you possess! I'll personally make sure that this restaurant is out of business!'

‘It sort of fell, the plate,' Shannon said, her green eyes wide and luminous. If he could pretend not to know who the hell she was, then she could pretend that it had all been an unfortunate accident. ‘Sorry.' She grabbed a serviette and made a flicking motion, which was venomously brushed aside. ‘I think some of the carrots oozed into your pocket,
sir
…and there are a few mange-tout on your left shoe…'

Eric seemed incapable of responding to the helpful observations and stared at her murderously as Alfredo launched into a profuse apology, ending with assurances that any dry-cleaning costs would be covered.

‘Oh, dear, your lovely patent leather shoes seem to be ruined,' Shannon observed with extravagant seriousness.

‘Please, allow me to offer you a full replacement for your suit and your shoes.' All eyes followed a path down the soaked trousers to the ruined shoes under discussion. Someone burst out laughing a few tables away.

‘You sack this
creature
immediately, my man, or you won't be able to afford your next loaf of bread, never mind my clothes. And let me tell you something, I happen to know quite a number of people in high places!'

‘I think it's time you took yourself off to the bathroom and cleaned up,' drawled a familiar voice. ‘You're making a spectacle of yourself.'

For a minute, Eric looked as though, now in his stride and regardless of the state of his clothes, he was more than prepared to stand his ground and continue his litany of threats, but after a few seconds he nodded and walked off, watched by everyone in the restaurant. Someone yelled for an encore and Shannon felt a rush of appreciation for the bawdy clientele who frequented their establishment.

‘I hope your friend will calm down,' Alfredo began worriedly. ‘Of course, it was a dreadful accident, but all these threats of closing down my restaurant…well, I have a family to support! Perhaps I better go see what is happening in the bathroom, hope he listens to reason…' He extracted a handkerchief from a pocket to wipe his brow and then hurried off towards the direction of the bathroom.

‘Sit down.'

Shannon slowly turned to look at the man, who seemed to be the only person in the restaurant unaffected by what had just taken place.

She slumped into a free chair and rested her head against her hands.

‘Feel better?'

She looked at him for a while in silence. ‘Not really, no, but thank you for asking.'

‘What was that all about?'

‘I'm very, very sorry that I ruined your lunch.' She stared at the congealing halibut on his plate. There was nothing funny about what had just happened, she realised. Alfredo had had nothing to do with anything, but he had taken the brunt of it and it had all been her fault.

‘Forget the lunch,' he said drily.

‘Poor Alfredo,' she said miserably to herself. ‘I shouldn't have dropped the plate of food all over your friend. It was wrong of me.'

‘He's not my friend. You certainly know how to create a scene, don't you?'

‘Were you very embarrassed? I'm very, very sorry.'

‘Will you stop apologising? And, no, I wasn't embarrassed. It would take rather more than that little incident to embarrass me. Tell me what you're going to do now.'

‘Resign, of course.' She stood up and his eyes followed her thoughtfully. ‘What choice do I have? Alfredo will never trust me with another plate of food, and I couldn't blame him. Who needs a waitress with a talent for flinging food over customers?' Besides, she
knew
Eric Gallway and she knew that he was more than capable of doing his utmost to get what he would see as just revenge for his humiliation.

‘Resign, reds? And who will serve me my morning coffee and bagel?'

He was trying to be nice. In the midst of her misery, she realised that he had called her ‘reds', a reference, she assumed, to her bright red hair, and the softly spoken intimacy was almost as powerfully unsettling as the prospect of her future without a job.

‘I'm going to pack up my things,' she said glumly. ‘Thanks for being so understanding.' She reached out to shake his hand, for some unknown reason, but instead of a shake, he casually linked his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand gently, then he reached for his glass of wine and sipped some, with his fingers still interlinked with hers. He rubbed his thumb idly against hers and she felt a curious sensation of prickling down the back of her neck. Then he released her.

‘I don't suppose you'd like your meal replaced?' she joked half-heartedly, and he raised his eyebrows, appreciating her attempt at humour.

Funny, during all their speculations about him, she had never noticed how strongly the curves of his mouth spoke of compassion and humour. Or maybe anyone would have seemed compassionate and humorous alongside Eric with his infernal vanity and monstrous self-absorption.

‘Strangely, I appear to have lost my appetite.' He gave her a little half-smile.

‘Well.' She heaved a sigh. ‘The halibut was very good. Trust me. Much better than the wretched steak.'

She walked the long walk back to the kitchens, and by the time she'd told Alfredo she was resigning, said her last goodbyes to everyone and cleared her desk of what belonged to her, her usual buoyancy was back with her.

She would find something else. She wasn't fussy. Hadn't she ended up enjoying Alfredo's even though initially the early start had put her off and the hours were often longer than her contract demanded? She would find something else and she would enjoy it. And if she didn't, then couldn't she always head back up to Dublin?

True, it felt good to be away from the claustrophobia of having all her large family around her but if she did decide to go back to Ireland, she knew that she would settle back in without any real difficulty. And after all this time, they would have at least stopped oozing sympathy about her wrecked love life and making endless remarks about adulterous men and young, impressionable girls.

Things would work out. She had a sudden, wild memory of the man with his fingers entwined with hers and
felt a little shiver of regret. One face lost to her for ever. For no reason whatsoever, the thought depressed her, and she was so busy trying to analyse the foolishness of her reaction that she didn't notice him until he was standing in front of her. Towering over her, in fact. Shannon just manage to stop before she collided with his immovable force and it was only when her eyes actually trailed upwards that she recognised him and gave a little gasp of surprise. Mostly because he seemed to have materialised from the sheer power of the thoughts in her head.

‘How did it go?'

‘What are you doing here?' She wanted to reach out and prod him to see if he was real.

‘Waiting for you, as a matter of fact.'

‘Waiting for me? Why would you be waiting for me?' It wasn't yet four-thirty, but the light was already beginning to fade and there was an unholy chill in the autumn air.

‘To make sure that you were all right.'

‘Of course I'm all right.' She stuck her hands in her pockets and stared at his shoes. She hadn't realised how big a man he was. Not just tall, but broad-shouldered and powerfully built. ‘Why shouldn't I be?' She raised her eyes to his and made fleeting contact.

‘Because, reds, you looked pretty shaken up back there in the restaurant.'

Shannon debated whether she should tell him to stop calling her ‘reds' and decided, perversely, that she liked the nickname.

‘Did I?' she said airily. ‘I thought I handled myself very well, actually. I mean, losing a job isn't the end of the world, is it?' Bills. Rent. Food. Not the end of the world but not far off.'

‘Look, it's cold trying to hold a conversation out here. Why don't you hop in my car. I want to talk to you.'

‘
Hop in your car?
I'm very sorry but I can't do that.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because I don't know you. You could be anyone. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying you're an axe-wielding maniac, but you
could
be for all I know.'

‘An axe-wielding maniac?' he asked, bemused.

‘Or a fugitive from the law. Anyway, my mother told me never to accept lifts from strangers.'

‘I'm not a stranger! You've been serving me breakfast every morning just about for months! Nor am I a fugitive from the law. If I were a fugitive from the law, wouldn't I be hiding out somewhere less conspicuous than a busy Italian restaurant in the middle of crowded Notting Hill? Your imagination is obviously as vivid as your temper, reds.'

‘And stop calling me
reds
.' She'd decided she didn't care for the appellation after all. It was insulting.

‘Then accompany me, please, for a short ride in my car which is just around the corner. I want to talk to you.'

‘Talk about what?'

‘Oh, good grief,' he groaned. ‘Let me put it this way, it'll be worth your while.' He turned on his heel and began walking away, expecting her to follow him, and she did, clutching her coat around her and half running to keep up.

‘I don't even know your name!' she panted in his wake. ‘And where are you planning on taking me for this little talk that will be worth my while?'

He stopped abruptly and she cannoned into him. Instinctively he reached out and steadied her. ‘Kane Lindley,' he said, ‘in answer to your first question. And
a little coffee-bar two blocks away in answer to your last. We could walk but my time on the meter is about to run out so it's as easy for us to take the car and I'll find somewhere else to park.'

She realised that he was still holding her by her arms, and he must have realised that as well because he politely dropped his hands and waited for her to respond.

‘Kane Lindley…'

‘That's right. Have you heard of me?'

‘Why should I have heard of you?' Shannon asked, puzzled.

He said swiftly, ‘Absolutely no reason. I'm not a celebrity but I own Lindley publications and I'm now in charge of a television network.' He zapped open his car with his remote after a short mental tussle. Shannon hurried over to the passenger side and slipped in, slamming the door against the stiff cold.

‘I haven't heard of Lindley publications,' she told him as soon as he was sitting next to her.

‘It doesn't matter.' His voice was irritable. ‘I'm not trying to impress you. I'm merely trying to put you at ease in case you think I'm not to be trusted.'

‘Oh. Right. Well…' She stared out of the window. ‘I'm Shannon McKee. How long were you lurking around, waiting for me to come out, anyway?'

‘I wasn't lurking around, reds,' he growled. ‘As a matter of fact, I went to buy some ties at a little shop tucked away around the corner and then dropped back here. Coincidentally, you were leaving.'

The coffee-bar really was only a couple of streets away and they got a parking space instantly. It felt kind of nice to be the one sitting at the table and being waited on for a change. Meals out had been few and far between since she'd moved down to London, where the cost of
living had hit her for six and relaxed cups of coffee in trendy coffee-bars, as this one was, had been even more of a rarity.

He ordered a cafetière of coffee for two and a plate of pastries and then proceeded to look at her with dark-eyed speculation. ‘Now, tell me a little about yourself. I know you don't like football, like the theatre even though you never get there, loathe all exercise except swimming and are self-conscious about your hair, but what are you doing in London?'

Shannon blushed. She never would have guessed that her passing titbits of information had been stored away. She would have assumed that he had more important things to think about than the details of a waitress's life. ‘I am not self-conscious about my hair!' she snapped, a little disconcerted by this regurgitation of facts.

‘Then why you do always wear it tied back?'

‘Because it's convenient. And I'm in London because…because I wanted a change from Ireland. I lived in a little village about twenty miles outside Dublin and I guess I wanted to sample something a little different.' Now that he had mentioned her wretched hair, she found that she couldn't stop fiddling with it, tugging the ends of the braids. She had to force herself to fold her hands neatly on her lap.

‘I wish you'd stop looking at me,' she said after a while. Here they were, one to one, no longer in the roles of waitress serving customer, and their sudden equality made her feel breathless. She felt as though those unreadable, considering eyes could see straight past the dross and into all the secret corners of her mind that she preferred not to share with anyone.