It Started With A Look

Justin’s office beyond was just as spacious, as well as having two large adjoining rooms, one furnished for meetings, the other for relaxing and entertaining. Rachel had never seen a better-stocked bar, not to mention such a lavish bathroom, tiled from top to bottom in black marble, with the most exquisite gold fittings.

Justin had confided to her during her first interview that this suite of rooms had previously been occupied by an AWI superannuation-fund manager who’d redecorated as if he owned the company, and been subsequently sacked. No expense had been spared, from the plush sable carpet to the sleekly modern beech office furniture, the Italian cream leather sofas and the impressionistic art originals on the walls.

Clearly, Justin being allotted this five-star suite of rooms showed how much his skills were valued by his temporary employers.

Rachel valued him as her boss, too. She admired his strong work ethics and his lack of personal arrogance. Most men with his looks and intelligence possessed egos to match. Justin didn’t. Not that he was perfect, by any means. He did have his difficult and demanding moments. And some days his mood left a lot to be desired.

Still, Rachel already knew she’d like nothing better than to go with him when he left to set up his own company. He’d already implied she could, if she wanted to. He seemed as pleased with her as she was with him.

A shaft of sunshine lit up Rachel’s red hair again as she pushed her way into the building’s foyer through the revolving glass doors. The top of her head fairly glowed in the glass and she groaned again. She would definitely be going out at lunch time and buying that brown dye. Meanwhile, she would explain to Justin the reason behind her change of hair colour, and that it was as good as gone. Then he couldn’t jump to any wrong conclusions.

No one gave Rachel a second glance during the lift ride up to the fifteenth floor, which was because none of the smartly dressed men and women in the lift even knew her. Few people who worked in the building knew her. Justin worked alone, with only the occasional fund manager actually dropping in for advice, face to face. Mostly they contacted Justin by phone or email, and vice versa.

So far, he hadn’t held a single meeting around the boardroom-like table in his meeting room, and only once to her knowledge had he entertained an AWI executive in the other room. Sometimes, he had a nap in there on one of the two sofas after he’d been working all night. He did attend monthly meetings upstairs with all the fund managers, but he never attended the company’s social functions, and he resolutely refused to become involved in AWI’s internal politics.

The truth was her boss was a loner.

Which suited Rachel just fine.

She’d found that since her lengthy stay-at-home absence from the workforce—and the outside world in general—she’d become a bit agoraphobic. She liked the insular security of her present office situation, plus the little contact with strangers which her working day held. She no longer seemed to have the confidence she’d once had to make small talk with lots of people. She’d actually become quite shy, except with her very close friends, like Isabel and Rafe, which wasn’t like her at all. She’d once had a very outgoing personality.

Isabel kept saying she’d get back to her old self eventually.

But Rachel was beginning to doubt it. Her experiences over the last few years had definitely changed her. She’d become introverted. And serious. And, yes, plain.

That was one of the biggest changes in her, of course. She’d lost her looks. And dying her hair red wasn’t going to get them back. All it made her feel was foolish.

The lift doors opened and Rachel bolted down the corridor, hopeful of still arriving before Justin. He worked out in the company gym every day before work, and occasionally lost track of time. Hence his tardy arrival at the office on the odd morning.

The door from the corridor was still locked, heralding that this was one of those mornings. Rachel sighed with relief as she found her key, already planning in her mind to be sitting at her desk, looking coolly composed and beavering away on her computer when Justin finally came in.

She was doing just that when the door burst open fifteen minutes later. Her heart did jump, but not for any sexually charged reason, as Isabel had fantasised the other night, just instant agitation. What would her boss say when he saw her hair?

Justin strode in, looking his usual attractive but conservative self in a navy pinstriped suit, white shirt and bland blue tie. His damp dark hair was slicked back at the sides, indicating that he’d not long showered. He had the morning papers tucked under one arm and was carrying his black briefcase in the other. He was frowning, though not at her, his deeply set blue eyes quite distracted, his thick dark brows drawn together over his strong, straight nose in an attitude of worried concentration.

‘Morning, Rachel,’ he said with only the briefest sidewards glance as he hurried past. ‘Hold the coffee for ten minutes, would you?’ he tossed over his shoulder as he forged on into his private sanctuary. ‘I have something I have to do first.’

When he banged the door shut behind him Rachel glared after him, her hazel eyes showing some feminine pique for once.

‘Well!’ she huffed at the closed door. ‘And good morning to you, too!’

So much for his having noticed her red hair. It came to Rachel that she could have been sitting there stark naked this morning, and Justin would not have noticed.

Not that her being naked was anything to write home about these days. Despite having put on a couple of pounds during the past month, she was still thin, her once noteworthy breasts having long ago shrunk from a voluptuous D-cup to a very average B plus. She’d complained about it to Isabel on Saturday when they were getting dressed before the wedding.

‘You still have bigger boobs than me,’ Isabel returned as she surveyed Rachel in her underwear. ‘OK, so you’re thin, but you’re in proportion. Actually, you look darned good in the buff, girl. You’ve surprised me.’

Rachel had laughed at the time. She laughed now, but with a different type of self-mockery. What on earth was she doing, even thinking about what she looked like naked? Who cared? No one was going to see her that way, except herself.

Again, it was all Isabel’s fault, putting silly thoughts into her head about Justin and sex.

Sex! Now, that was a subject not worth thinking about.

So why was she suddenly thinking about it?

Rachel filled in the next eight minutes trying to work through her irritability, before giving up and rising to go pour Justin a mug of coffee from the coffee maker, which she kept perking all day. Justin liked his coffee. She figured that ten minutes would have passed by the time she carried it in to him. Any further delay was unacceptable. The sooner he noticed her red hair, and the sooner she explained the reason behind it, the sooner she’d be able to settle down to work, and put aside the fear of looking ludicrous in her boss’s eyes.

‘Come in,’ Justin snapped when she tapped on his office door exactly ten minutes after his order.

She entered to find him sitting at the bank of computers which lined the far side of his U-shaped work station. His back remained to her as he rode his swivel chair down the long line of computers, peering at each screen for a couple of seconds as he went. His jacket was off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. His tie, she knew without being able to see it, would be loosened.

As Rachel made her way across the room Justin slid down in front of the furthest computer on the right.

‘Just put it down here,’ he directed, patting an empty spot next to his right elbow without looking up.

Grimacing with frustration, Rachel put the coffee down where ordered and was about to leave when she stopped.

‘Justin…’

‘Mmm?’

He still didn’t look up.

She sighed. ‘Justin, I need to talk to you,’ she said firmly.

‘What about?’ Again, no eye contact.

‘I wanted to explain to you about my red hair.’

‘What red hair?’ He spun round from the computer, his eyes finally lifting. He frowned up at her, his head tipping slightly to one side. ‘Mmm. It’s a bit bright for you, isn’t it?’

Rachel winced. ‘It looked all right for the wedding on Saturday,’ she said, her pride demanding she say something in her own defence.

His blue eyes widened. ‘Wedding? What wedding? My God, Rachel, you didn’t go and get married on the weekend without telling me, did you?’

Rachel almost laughed. As if.

‘I don’t think you need worry about that ever happening, Justin,’ she said drily. ‘No, I was a bridesmaid at my best friend’s wedding on Saturday and she insisted on having my hair dyed red for the day. It was supposed to wash out afterwards but, as you can see, it didn’t. I just wanted to reassure you that I’m going to dye it back to brown tonight.’

He shrugged his indifference, then picked up his coffee. ‘Why bother?’ he said between sips. ‘It doesn’t look that bad. And it’ll wash out—or grow out—eventually.’

Rachel’s shoulders stiffened. It would take two years for it to grow out. Did he honestly think she had such little personal pride that she’d walk around with half-red, half-brown hair for two years?

Clearly, he did.

‘It looks dreadful and you know it,’ she said sharply, and whirled away from him before she did something she would regret.

Rachel could feel him staring after her as she marched towards the open doorway, probably wondering what was wrong with her. She’d never spoken to him in that tone before. But when she turned to close the door behind her he wasn’t staring after her at all. Or even thinking about her. He was back, peering at the maze of figures on the computer, her red hair—plus her slight outburst—clearly forgotten.

Rachel didn’t realise the extent of her anger till she tried to get back to work. Why she was so angry with Justin, she couldn’t understand. His indifferent reaction to her hair should have made her happy. It was all rather confusing. But there’d been a moment in there—a vivid, violent moment—when she’d wanted to snatch the coffee out of his hands and throw it in his face.

It was perhaps just as well that her boss didn’t emerge for the rest of the morning, or call her for more coffee to be delivered. Clearly, he was steeped in something important, some sudden programming brainwave or financial crisis which required his undivided attention.

In the month she’d been his PA, Rachel had discovered that Justin was a computer genius as well as a financial one, and had created several programs for following and predicting stock-market trends, as well as analysing other economical forces. Aside from her general secretarial duties, Rachel spent a couple of hours each day entering and downloading data into the extensive files these programs used. They needed constant updating to work properly.

She was completing that daily and slightly tedious area of her job shortly before noon, when the main door from the corridor opened and Justin’s mother walked in.

Alice McCarthy was in her early sixties, a widow with two sons. She’d been one of Rachel’s best customers during the four years she’d made ends meet by using her sewing skills at home. A tall, broad-shouldered woman with a battleship bust and surprisingly slender hips, Alice had difficulty finding clothing to fit off the peg. But she loved shopping for clothes, rather than having them made from scratch, and had more than enough money to indulge her passion. Mr McCarthy had been a very successful stockbroker in his day, and, according to Alice, a bit of a scrooge, whereas Alice veered towards the other extreme. Consequently, she was in constant need of a competent seamstress who could cleverly alter the dozens of outfits she bought each season.

Till recently that person had been Rachel, whom Alice had discovered when Rachel had distributed brochures advertising her sewing skills through all her local letterboxes. Alice lived only a couple of streets away from Lettie’s house.

Despite the thirty-year age gap, the two women had got along well from the start. Alice’s natural joie de vivre had brought some brightness into Rachel’s dreary life. When her foster-mum passed away and her friends thought Rachel needed a job working outside of the home Alice had been generous enough to steer her into her present position, despite knowing this meant she had to find another person to alter her clothes. Fortunately, a salesgirl in one of the many boutiques Alice frequented had recommended an excellent alteration service in the city, run by two lovely Vietnamese ladies who were extremely efficient as well as inexpensive.

After Rachel had gone to work for her son Alice had rung her at the office a couple of times to see how she was doing, but this was the first time she’d made a personal appearance.

‘Alice!’ Rachel greeted happily. ‘What a lovely surprise. You’re looking extremely well. Blue always looks good on you.’

Alice, who was as susceptible to a compliment as the next woman, beamed her pleasure. ‘Flatterer. Nothing looks all that good on this unfortunate figure of mine. But I do my best. And my, aren’t you looking a lot better these days? You’ve put on some weight. And you’ve changed your hair colour.’

Rachel’s hand went up to pat the offending hair. ‘Not for long. It goes back to brown tonight. I had it dyed for Isabel’s wedding on Saturday. You remember Isabel, don’t you? You met her at Lettie’s funeral.’

‘Yes, of course I remember her. Very blonde. Very beautiful.’

‘That’s the one. She wanted my hair red for the day. Of course, it wasn’t done like this. It was down and curled. I also had more make-up on than a supermodel on a photo shoot.’

‘I’ll bet you looked gorgeous!’

‘Hardly. But I looked OK for the occasion. And for the photographs. I’m well aware this colour red doesn’t look any good on me normally.’

‘But it might, you know, Rachel, if you wore some make-up. It’s just that against your pale skin it looks too bright. And without any colour in your face that black suit you’re wearing is too stark, by contrast. Now, if you were wearing blue,’ she added, her own blue eyes sparkling, ‘like the blue I’ve got on, and a spot of make-up, then that red hair just might be perfect.’

Rachel really wasn’t in the mood for another woman to start trying to make her over. Isabel had been bad enough on the weekend. On top of that, she was still upset over Justin ignoring her this morning.

He wouldn’t ignore her, however, if she started seriously tarting herself up. He’d think something was really up and then there would be hell to pay.

‘Alice,’ she said, slightly wearily. ‘You were the one who told me about my predecessor, that flashy, flirtatious temp your son was so relieved to eject from his office. The reason Justin gave me this job is because he likes the way I look. He likes me au naturel.’

Alice rolled her eyes. In her opinion, no man liked women au naturel, even the ones who said they did. They all liked women to doll themselves up. You only had to watch men’s eyes when a glamour-puss walked into a restaurant, or a party. Justin was simply going through a phase, a post-Mandy phase.

The trouble was, this phase was lasting far too long for her liking. It wasn’t natural. Or healthy, either, for her son’s mind or his body.

‘That boy doesn’t know what he likes any more,’ she grumbled. ‘That bitch of a wife of his certainly did a number on him. If ever I run into her again I’d like to…’

Whatever it was Alice was about to vow to do to her son’s ex-wife was cut dead when the door to Justin’s office was suddenly wrenched open, and the man of the moment appeared.

‘Mum! I thought I heard a familiar voice. What are you doing here? And what were you talking about just then? Not gossiping about me to Rachel, were you?’

Alice’s cheeks flushed but she managed not to look too guilty. ‘I never gossip,’ she threw at her son defiantly. ‘I only ever tell the truth.’

Justin laughed. ‘In that case, why are you here? And no white lies, now. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’

Alice shrugged. ‘I came to the city early to do some shopping, didn’t see a single thing I liked and decided on the spur of the moment to pop in and take you to lunch. Rachel too, if she’d like.’

‘Oh, no, no, I can’t,’ Rachel immediately protested. ‘I have some shopping that I simply have to do.’ Namely, some brown hair dye.

‘And neither can I,’ Justin informed his mother. ‘There was some unexpected bearish rumblings on the world stock markets last night and I have to have a report ready for the powers that be here before trading ceases today. So I’ll be working through lunch. I was going to get Rachel to pop out and bring me back some sandwiches.’

‘Poor Rachel,’ Alice said. ‘I thought the days of secretaries doing that kind of menial and demeaning job were over. I dare say you have her bring you coffee twenty times a day as well. I know how much you like your coffee. What else? Does she collect your dry-cleaning too?’

Justin looked taken aback. ‘Well, yes, she has collected my dry-cleaning. Once or twice.’ His eyes grew worried as they swung towards Rachel. ‘Do you object to doing that kind of job, Rachel? You’ve never said as much.’

Rachel sighed. Of course she didn’t object. If Alice thought those jobs were menial and demeaning, let her try changing urine-soaked sheets every morning.

‘No, I don’t mind at all. Really, Alice,’ she insisted when Justin’s mother looked sceptical. ‘I don’t.’

Now it was Alice’s turn to sigh. ‘No, you wouldn’t. Just make sure you don’t take advantage of Rachel’s sweet nature,’ Alice warned her son.

Rachel wished Alice would simply shut up.

Justin’s eyes met hers again and she knew by their exasperated expression that he was thinking exactly the same thing. Rachel gave him a small smile of complicity, and his blue eyes twinkled back.

‘I would never take advantage of Rachel,’ he told his mother. ‘I value her far too much to do anything to risk losing the best PA a man could have.’

Rachel’s cheeks warmed at his flattering words.

She didn’t realise at the time how ironic they were.

CHAPTER THREE

MOST city singles loved Friday afternoons. Their moods would lift as the working week drew towards an end, anticipation building for that wonderfully carefree moment when they poured out of their office buildings and into their favourite bars and drinking holes for the traditional Friday-night drinks-after-work bash. Even the non-drinkers liked Fridays, because there was still the weekend to look forward to, two whole days without having to sit at their desks and their computers; two whole days of doing exactly as they pleased, even if that was nothing.

Rachel was one of the exceptions to the rule. Since coming back to work she hated the week to end because she hated the prospect of two whole days of doing just that. Nothing.

As she made her way to work the following Friday morning Rachel began thinking she might have to go shopping by herself this weekend after all, just for something to do. Last weekend had been OK, because of Isabel and Rafe’s wedding. But this weekend was going to be dreadful, with Isabel away and that strangely soulless town house all to herself.

She could hardly fill the whole weekend with housework. She already kept the place spotless on a daily basis. She could read, of course, or watch television. But, somehow, indoor activities did not appeal. She felt like getting out and about.

It was a pity that the town house didn’t have a garden. Unfortunately, the courtyard was all paved and the few plants dotted around were in pots. Rachel liked working with her hands. That was why she’d first taken up sewing as a teenager.

But sewing was on the no-no list for Rachel nowadays. She never wanted to see her sewing machine again. It was packed away at the back of a cupboard, never to see the light of day again. After the funeral, whenever she looked at it she thought of Lettie’s illness, and all that had happened because of it. No nice associations at all.

Sometimes, she wished Justin would ask her to work overtime on the weekend. She knew he went into the office on a Saturday, so surely there was something she could do. Extra data entry, perhaps. Justin often had to farm some of that work out to an agency.

But he never asked, and she wouldn’t dream of suggesting it. He might see her offer as evidence of a desire for more of his company, rather than the result of chronic loneliness.

Rachel glanced up at the sky before she entered her building. The clouds were heavier than the day before, the southerly change predicted earlier in the week having finally arrived yesterday, bringing intermittent showers.

The thought of more rain over the weekend dampened Rachel’s enthusiasm for shopping by herself. Maybe she would wait till Isabel returned. There was no real hurry, now that Sydney’s weather had changed back to cooler. Her black suits would do a while longer.

Yes, she decided as she swung through the revolving glass doors. Her shopping expedition could wait.

Justin was already in when she arrived. Surprisingly, he’d put on the coffee machine and was in the act of pouring himself a mugful when she walked into the tea room. He was wearing one of her favourite suits, a light grey number which looked well against his dark hair and blue eyes, especially when teamed with a white shirt and blue tie.

‘Morning,’ he said, throwing her a warm smile over his shoulder. ‘Want me to pour you one as well?’

‘Yes, please,’ she answered, her spirits lifting now that she was at work. She shoved her black bag and umbrella on the shelf under the kitchen-like counter, then took the milk out of the fridge, preferring her coffee white, though she could drink it black, at a pinch. Justin always had his black.

‘What’s it like outside?’ he asked, and slid her mug along the counter to where she was standing.

‘Overcast,’ she said as she added her milk.

‘Not actually raining, though?’ he queried just before his mug made it to his lips.

‘Not yet. But it will be soon.’

‘Mmm.’

Rachel detected something in that ‘mmm’ which made her curious.

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Do you have something on this weekend which rain will spoil?’

He took the mug away from his mouth. ‘Actually, no, just the opposite. I won’t be here in Sydney at all. I’m flying up to the Gold Coast this afternoon to spend the weekend at a five-star ocean-front hotel.’

‘Lucky you,’ she replied, wondering who he was spending the weekend with.

‘No need to feel jealous. You’re coming with me.’

Rachel was grateful that she hadn’t lifted her own coffee off the counter, because she surely would have spilt it.

Justin chuckled. ‘You should see the look on your face. But don’t panic. I’m not asking you to go away with me for a dirty weekend. It’s for work.’

Rachel closed her mouth then. Well, of course it was for work. How could she, even for a split-second, imagine anything else?

Silly Rachel.

‘What kind of work?’ she asked, finally feeling safe enough to lift her coffee off the counter and take a sip.

‘A different kind of investment advice from my usual. Apparently, this holiday hotel—it’s called Sunshine Gardens—is on the market and all potential buyers—of which AWI is one—are being flown up free of charge so they can see and experience first-hand the hotel’s attractions and assets. Generally speaking we can do our own thing, except for tomorrow night, when we’ll be wined and dined by management, after which there’ll be a video shown, along with a presentation of facts and figures to con everyone into believing the hotel is a rock-solid investment. Guy Walters was supposed to go, but he can’t, so he asked me to go in his place.’