To Have and to Hold (12 page)

❧

Brenda grabbed her like a long lost sister when she walked into the office the next morning.

"Oh, Maddy, you just don't know how good it is to have you back!" her friend exclaimed.

Madeline raised both eyebrows. "Really? Or did McCallum just drive you up the wall?"

Brenda smiled sheepishly. "Well, a little bit of both. I've never worked for anybody like him! Honestly, when he wasn't yelling, he was throwing things out of the filing cabinet looking for accounts. I thought I'd have to quit, if you didn't come back. Just look!" she wailed, pointing at the two stacks of file folders on top of the cabinets. "And I haven't even had time to file them again!"

Madeline sighed. "Looks like the morning's already accounted for. It took hours to file them the first time."

"It's really strange," Brenda sighed. "McCallum's old secretary—you know, Elaine, who works over in accounts receivable? —said that he's the easiest man in the world to get along with. Do your suppose Elaine's deaf?"

Madeline smiled wistfully. "I'll bet we'll wish we were before we're through."

"What happened?" Brenda asked softly.

"I can't tell you." She drew a shaky breath. "Well, I'll get to...."

About that time, the door to McCallum's office flew open, and the tall, dark man came through it, his face like a thundercloud. In his expensive dark suit, and a white silk shirt with its very sedate blue pinstripe tie, he looked every inch a corporation magnate, and every inch a stranger. He waved an overstuffed file at the two women.

"Will you tell me where the hell I'm supposed to look for the Johnson Corporation file?" he asked in a soft dangerous tone. "This is Johnson Securities, and it's the only 'Johnson' listed."

Calmly, Madeline opened the filing cabinet and quickly flicked through the files to the'S' section.

She handed him a new file, accepting the one he was holding out. "Johnson Corporation is a subsidiary of McCallum Corporation," she told him. "We file it under the 'S's for subsidiary. And if you'd keep your fingers out of the files, Mr. McCallum, I wouldn't have to waste an entire morning, of your time refiling them," she added just as calmly.

Brenda turned white from her shoes up, but Madeline stood her ground, staring up at him, without flinching, without emotion.

His head lifted, and he looked down his arrogant nose at her through slitted eyes.

"Think you're tough, don't you?" he asked without a hint of expression on his dark face.

"I'd have to be to work for you. Sir," she added sweetly.

One dark eyebrow went up. "You thought you were tough before." He turned around and started back toward his office. "But Suleiman didn't."

Brenda relaxed against her desk in an exaggerated pose as the door closed behind the big man.

"How can you talk to him like that?" she gasped. "My gosh, he scares me to death! And, who's Suleiman?"

Her face flushed slightly. "Uh, that's his dog."

Both Brenda's eyebrows went up. "His dog doesn't think you're tough? Why?"

"He sits on people."

"McCallum?"

"The dog!"

"Oh." Brenda frowned at her. "Madeline, you aren't making a bit of sense to me."

"It's not important." She turned to the filing cabinet. "If you'll help me rearrange this mess, I'll treat you to lunch."

"At that new fish and chips place?" came the wheedling reply.

She grinned. "You're on!"

❧

The first few days were stilted ones, and she had to fight to keep herself from bristling when McCallum sent his barbed remarks in her direction. But unflappable Madeline managed to regain something of her old, somber self, and she reverted to her former status as super secretary. Before long she was a step ahead of him in making appointments, getting letters out, making reservations—for two, usually—for his out-of-town trips. She became his right hand, as she's become Mr. Richard's, quietly efficient, practically indispensable. And through it all, she maintained her silence and her temper with pride and dignity—which seemed to drive him to the brink of madness.

"What the hell kind of reply is this?" he demanded late one afternoon as he waved a draft letter at her over his desk. "I told you, madam, to inform Mr. Digsby that he could take his off of a merger and...!"

"I am not putting that in the letter," she replied calmly, "and if you want to fire me for refusing, go ahead."

His eyes glittered darkly at her. "Little Miss Prim and Proper," he mocked. "The unflappable Miss Blainn. My God, how did I ever deserve such a paragon of virtue?"

She didn't even flinch at the criticism, standing pat. If he wanted to call her names, let him. After what he'd already said, it was water off a duck's back.

"You've got a Rotary Club meeting at twelve-thirty," she reminded him. "If you're quite through insulting me, tell he how you'd like the letter to read, please, and I'll do it again.

He studied her quietly, smoldering. "I can't get a rise out of you, can I?"

"I'm here to work for you, not to argue with you, sir," she replied formally. "Is there anything else?"

"No, damn you!" he shot back.

She turned and walked toward the door.

"Burgundy!"

She stiffened at the use of her nickname, but kept on walking out the door.

❧

It was one of the longest afternoons she could remember. McCallum didn't come back in after he left for the Rotary meeting, for which she offered up a silent prayer of thanks at quitting time. But thinking he would, and dreading it, wore her out. She was more than ready to go home.

When she drove up under the carport, it was to find another car sitting there—with Cousin Horace sprawled out over the hood.

"Horace, what are you doing?" she laughed.

He slid off the hood and stretched with a grin. "Catching up on my sleep while I waited for you," he said. "Mind a houseguest for another couple of nights?"

"Heavens no, you're a godsend!"

"Cuz, you'll make my head swell," he laughed.

She unlocked the door and let them in, pausing to feed Cabbage while Horace took his bags upstairs.

"Did you win the case?" she called up after him.

"I sure did!" he called back. "I got my client a half million in libel."

"I'm proud of you!"

"Thanks, Cuz!"

She shook her head, mulling over the pitiful contents of the refrigerator. "Horace, how do you feel about cottage cheese and half a dish of yogurt for supper?"

"What?"

She shrugged. "That's all I've got unless you want to go to the store with me."

He came bounding down the stairs, straightening his tie. "I've got a better idea. How about letting me take you out for a steak?" He lowered his voice in a conspirationial whisper. "If you're a good girl, I'll even buy you a baked potato to go with it."

"Throw in some sour cream and chives, and you're on!"

"Okay," he said reluctantly. "But only because it's you."

She smiled at him. "Horace, I like you."

"I like you, too. Sorry I can't say the same for your neighbor," he added, feeling his jaw, which was still a little blue.

"Times have changed since you were here," she sighed. "He's not my neighbor anymore, but he's still my boss—temporarily."

"Huh?" he said.

"I'll tell you all about it over supper."

"Blackmail, is it?" he said warily.

"Now, Horace, you wouldn't call buying your favorite cousin a steak blackmail would you?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"Could you repeat the question?"

She dragged him out the door.

❧

They went to a well-known restaurant, where the atmosphere was plush and cozy, and the service was almost too good to believe.

"Are you sure you can afford this place?" she whispered across the table.

He looked insulted. "I told you, I won the case."

"But it's been a while since then."

He laughed. "I eat onions on my steak, remember? How can I spend money if I don't have girls?"

She looked hurt. "I thought I was a girl."

Smiling, he laid his lean hand over hers on the table. "You're my favorite girl, and if we weren't first cousins, I can't think of anybody I'd rather have for my girl."

She smiled back at him. And in the middle of that innocently affectionate tableau, McCallum and his blond happened to walk past the two cousins on their way to the table a little farther along the wall.

"Good evening, Miss Blainn," he said formally.

She looked up and felt her face going white. She tried to ignore the voluptuous blonde at his side, but it wasn't easy; the woman was giving her a catty smile.

"Good evening, Mr. McCallum," she replied tightly.

As they passed, she heard the blonde say loudly, "Isn't that my neighbor—the one you spent so much time with while I was away? Honestly, Cal, I thought you had better taste! And she's a child...]"

Madeline's fingers tightened around her water glass until the knuckles showed white.

"Want me to go belt her for you?" Horace asked with a toothy grin. "I can always plead justifiable mayhem."

She forced an answering smile to her lips. "You're better than a tonic. Gosh, I hope I can finish my steak without choking."

"Rule number one, Madeline—don't ever let them know they're getting to you." He pushed her plate farther toward her. "And if that advice doesn't work, please remember the rising cost of beef. You may never eat it again."

That made her laugh. She shook her head as she cut another strip from the perfectly cooked steak. "By the way, remember I was telling you once about my plans for that hedge next door? Tomorrow morning, first thing, I'm going to start burying mines."

"Good girl! Want to borrow my Sherman tank?"

"With the cost of gas sky high?" she said in mock horror. "Better lend me something that gets better mileage!"

❧

Somehow she finished her meal, ignoring the dark stares that came her way periodically from the other side of the restaurant.

It was a relief when Horace paid the bill and led her outside into the warm, dark night with the colorful dotting of streetlights.

"What an ordeal that was," she sighed without thinking.

"You never told him about me, did you?" he asked.

"That we were cousins? Why should I?" she grumbled. "I didn't owe him any explanations. I don't owe him anything."

He turned toward her as they reached the car "Little Maddy," he said gently, "hasn't it yet occurred to you that a boss doesn't go around punching other men when he catches them with his secretary?"

She felt the shock all the way to her toes. "But, he didn't...he doesn't..." she stammered.

"Are you sure?" he persisted.

She stared into the darkness, remembering the words, the anger, the bitterness. "Yes," she sighed bitterly. "I'm very sure. I can't explain it to you, but yes, I'm sure."

Horace was silent for a long time. When they reached the driveway, he parked the little car beside Madeline's and switched off the engine but didn't get out.

"Remember what you promised me last time I was here?" he asked suddenly.

"Huh?"

"You know, about your friend Brenda," he said, jogging her memory. "I'd really like to meet her before I have to go home."

"Well, I guess it would be okay. Hew about meeting us for lunch tomorrow?" she asked.

"Fine. I'll pick you both up at noon, okay?"

"Okay." She studied him. "You know, I think you just might hit it off with her. She's a lot like you."

"I thought you said she was a girl."

She laughed loudly. "Oh, you idiot!"

She took his arm as they went inside, oblivious to the dark car passing the driveway, slowing as they were silhouetted going into the house together.

There was an ominous atmosphere in the office as she walked in the next morning and put her things in her desk drawer. Brenda, at the next desk, was trying to signal something, but the sudden jerk of McCallum's door stifled it.

"Miss Blainn, come in my office, please," he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

She followed him inside. He slammed the door behind him and walked around his desk, seating himself at it with a leisure that belied the fury in his narrow eyes.

"I want you out of here by next Friday," he said without preamble.

She gaped at him. "But you said..." she gasped.

"To hell with what I said." His jaw set angrily. "I will not have the moral fabric of this corporation disgraced by the behavior of any employee. Is that clear? My God, did you think no one would notice?"

"Notice? Notice what, that I had supper with my...."

"With your lover," he finished the sentence for her, his voice deep and slow and cutting. "If you'd been reasonably discreet, it would be a different matter. But to have him living with you...."

"Living with me?" she interrupted, her eyes widening, flashing fire. "You hypocrite, how do you know that he is? And you're a fine one to talk about morals, you don't have any!"

"Who the hell are you to sit in judgment on me, you little tramp?" he thundered.

She went white. Absolutely white. Her eyes closed momentarily until she could get control of herself again. When she opened them, they were misty with unshed tears and unvented temper.

She clasped her hands in front of her. "I'll have my desk cleaned out by next Friday—or this Friday, if you prefer," she said in a ghostly whisper.

"I can stomach you for another week," he replied coldly. "Now get out of my sight."

With a spine that felt like a T-square, she marched out of his office, through hers, past a startled Brenda, straight into the ladies' room. And she cried and cried, until the gasping sobs bordered on hysteria. Dimly, she was aware of Brenda's arm around her, of soothing words that made her, of soothing words that made a jumble of sympathy in her mind. Finally, they penetrated, and she dried her eyes and swallowed down the pincushion that seemed to catch in her throat.

"How much longer are you going to take that kind of abuse?" Brenda asked sadly.

"For exactly one more week and one more day," she replied. "After which you can have the pleasure of McCallum's company at the office full time until some other poor soul replaces me."

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry, I tried to warn you about the temper he was in."

"Thanks anyway." She dabbed at her swollen eyes. "Oh, by the way, I've got a surprise for you for lunch."

"You have? What is it, an apple pie?"

"A man."

Brenda's eyes widened. "A man. For me?"

"Cousin Horace," she said with a wry smile. "He's wanted to meet you for a long time. Do you mind?"

"Who, me?" Her mouth fell open. "He really did? What does he look like, what is he like?"

"He's tall and thin and full of fun. He's also a very successful lawyer, but you knew that, didn't you?"

"Well...I did talk to him a time or two on the phone when you weren't here." She smiled. "He sounded nice."

"He is nice. I think you'll like him." Brenda hugged her. "You okay now?" She nodded. "Let's get back to work."

McCallum came out of his lair long enough to ask for a file, an d she gave it to him without comment. If he noticed her swollen eyes or the hollow look about them, he didn't say a word.

It took forever for twelve o'clock to come, but it finally did, and when Horace walked in the door in his stylish tan suit, she wanted to run to him. But she caught Brenda by the hand, and led her over, not noticing that Mr. McCallum's door had opened.

"Brenda, I'd like you to meet my cousin, Horace Blainn. He's Uncle Fred and Aunt Johnnie's son. You've heard me talk about them enough, I know," she laughed softly. "Horace, this is Brenda Lyle, the best friend I have in the world."

Horace shook her hand with a toothy grin. "Hello, best friend, do you believe in long engagements?" he asked.

"The shorter the better," Brenda shot right back, "why, are we getting married right away?"

"Not before lunch!" he returned. "But, maybe by dinner...."

"Miss Blainn."

The voice was deep and husky and had a note in it that was unlike anything Madeline had ever heard before. She turned to find Mr. McCallum coming out of his office, his face like frozen marble, his eyes strange and haunted.

"Yes, sir?" she asked quietly, unflinching.

"I'd like to dictate one last letter before you leave for lunch," he said.

She turned a smile on Horace and Brenda. "You two go ahead. I'll meet you at Tom's as soon as I can."

"Suits me," Horace said, with a wink at Brenda.

"Hello Mr. McCallum," he added in a voice like ice as he met the older man's eyes.

McCallum only nodded, his gaze whipping back to Madeline.

"We won't elope until you get there," Brenda called over her shoulder as they walked out and closed the door behind them, leaving Madeline alone with the big, quiet man.

"He's your cousin," he said, making a statement out of what sounded like a question.

"My first cousin," she replied dully.

His eyes searched her face like a detective looking for an elusive clue. "Why in God's name didn't you tell me that?" he asked softly. "Why did you let me think...."

"I owe you nothing!" she choked in a softly furious tone, her eyes warring with his. "Nothing, Mr. McCallum! If you like to think that I'm like that blonde you had with you last night, go ahead. I don't care what you think, what you do, where you go, or what happens to you. I don't care, do you hear me?! After next Friday, I don't ever want to see you again!"

His eyes narrowed, this time as if in pain. "I hurt you very badly, didn't I, little girl?" he asked gently.

Th at soft note in his voice made her want to cry. "You flatter yourself," she replied tightly.

He searched her eyes deeply, his own eyes solemn, intense. "I know what it is to hurt," he told her. "I haven't stopped since the day they buried my son."

Her eyes fell. "I'm sorry. But taking it out on me won't bring him back."

"Is that what you think I was doing?" He laughed shortly. "It's just as well. Caring carries a high price, Burgundy, I don't intend ever paying it again. Go eat your lunch."

She glanced toward his broad back as he stared out the window. "The letter...."

"There wasn't one." He drew in a deep, bitter breath. "I wanted to apologize for making you cry this morning. I don't know how." He brushed his hair back from his brow. "I'm through crucifying you," he added, self-contempt lacing his words. "From now on, you're my secretary. I won't treat you any other way."

She opened the door quietly and went out.