‘Yes, please,’ she said, expecting him to take her into one of the small local restaurants. But instead he ushered her back into the car-how did this man manage to get a park when the whole world was looking for a park today?-and she almost groaned. She wanted to eat
But she’d worked for too long for this man to complain when meals took too long coming, so she stifled her groan and folded her hands in her lap and thought she looked ridiculous. She should be smiling and waving. But then they should be driving an expensive sports car instead of Letty’s farm wagon. At least the silencer was fixed, she thought, and then she saw where they were going and she forgot about anything else.
He was driving up to the cliff above the town. He was taking her to the most expensive restaurant in the district.
She’d never been here.
‘This place is… Oh, it’s where you go to celebrate wedding anniversaries. When you’re rich. They don’t do breakfast,’ she breathed.
‘They do today. I rang them. I spoke to the chef personally. Bacon and eggs and fried bread and strawberries and fresh juice and sourdough toast and home-made butter… We had a long discussion. Anything we want, we can have.’
‘If we pay.’
‘If I pay,’ he said gently and he was out of the car, striding round to her side and handing her out as if she was one of his dates instead of Miss Jardine, his PA.
He never handed her out of his car. He opened doors for her, the natural courtesy of a polite man, but to walk around and help her out of the car… no. She was his employee and the extra cosseting was reserved for…his women?
She no longer fitted either category, she thought, as she brushed past him and his touch made her feel even more as if this was not real, it was something out of a movie. The lines were blurring.
But if the lines were blurring… The question was huge and for some reason it was drumming in her head- insistent, urgent. There was never going to be a good time to ask-so why not now?
‘Who’s Elinor?’ she asked, and he looked at her for a long moment and then smiled and shrugged and led her inside.
Maybe the lines were blurring for him too, she thought, and then she thought, all the more reason why her decision was the only possible one.
‘I’ll tell you over breakfast,’ he said simply, and she knew she was right.
The restaurant was almost empty. This place started lunch at what it deemed a respectable hour and this didn’t quite qualify. Maybe they wouldn’t have taken his booking if he hadn’t…thrown his credit card around? Thrown his name around?
‘You’ll have the paparazzi in your face before you know it,’ she said darkly and he shook his head.
‘You think the paparazzi has nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than take photos of me? I’m low-key in the celebrity world.’
He was, she thought, but only because he created little stir. He didn’t do the society thing. Even though his name was known worldwide, for the most part he deliberately kept away from cameras. He was seen in the celebrity magazines, stepping back into the shadows as his woman of the moment smiled and posed. If the women he escorted started to like the limelight too much, he moved on. Was this why she hadn’t heard of Elinor until now? Did the woman have sense enough to stay low profile?
She shouldn’t have asked. She had no business asking.
She really wanted to know.
The head waiter was leading them to what must surely be the best table in the house, in an alcove which gave a semblance of privacy but where the view stretched away across the ocean, as far as the eye could see. There were windsurfers on the waves below them. Meg thought suddenly, how long had it been since she’d swum?
Their farm was almost an hour’s drive from the sea. There was never any time to indulge in anything so frivolous. Maybe
The thought was inexorably bleak.
‘Eggs and bacon and toast and fruit and juice and coffee,’ William said to the waiter. ‘Any way you want to serve them, as long as it starts coming fast. Is that okay with you, Miss Jardine?’
Miss Jardine. It sounded wrong. Maybe it sounded wrong to William too, because he was frowning.
‘Yes. Wonderful,’ she managed.
The waiter sailed off as if he’d just been given an order which was a triumph of creation all on its own-how much had William paid to get this table, to get a breakfast menu, to simply be here? To take his woman somewhere beautiful.
She was not his woman.
Neither was she Miss Jardine.
Deep breath. Just do it. ‘Mr McMaster, this might not be the time to tell you, but I think I should,’ she said and she faltered. Was she mad? Yes, she was. She knew it, but she still knew that she had no choice. ‘I need to resign.’
William had glanced out to sea as a windsurfer wiped out in spectacular fashion. He turned back to face her and his expression had stilled.
‘Resign?’
‘I’ll train my replacement,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I won’t leave you without anyone. But you’re going back to the States anyway. If you’re gone for a couple for months I’ll have someone sorted before you return. I’ll work side by side with her then for a couple of weeks until I’m sure you’re happy, but…’
‘I hire my own PAs,’ he snapped.
‘So you do. Then, please, you need to find my replacement.’
‘Can I ask why?’
There was the question. A thousand answers crowded in but he was watching her face-and this was William… No, this was W S McMaster…and she knew him and he knew her and only honesty would do.
‘The work we do…we need to travel side by side. We need to be totally dependent on each other but we need to stay detached. Today… Up on the roof I got undetached.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning I don’t think of you as Mr McMaster any more. I think of you as the man who saved my grandma.’
His gaze didn’t leave her face. ‘So take a pay cut,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t see how abandoning me is showing your gratitude.’
‘You know what I mean.’
He did. She saw a flicker behind his eyes that might almost be read as pain if she didn’t know how aloof this man was. How he stood apart.
‘There’s no need to leave.’
‘I think there is.’
‘You’re under contract,’ he snapped.
‘No.’ She met his gaze calmly, hoping he couldn’t guess the tumult behind her words. ‘My contract’s up for renewal. It expires next month.’
‘You’re responsible for keeping contracts up to date.’
‘So I am. So I have. My contract expires. It’s not to be renewed, so we move on.’
‘So you tell me now?’ he snapped. ‘And you expect us to calmly go on sharing Christmas when you no longer work for me?’
She flinched, but there was no avoiding what needed to be said. She knew him well enough now to accept the only way forward was honesty.
‘It’s the only way I can go on sharing Christmas,’ she said simply. ‘Feeling the way I do.’
‘Feeling…’
‘Like you’re not my boss any more.’
‘This is nonsense.’
‘It’s not nonsense,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I’m sorry but there it is. I’ve quit. If you want me to keep working until you get a replacement…’
