tonguelashing-let him try-he had plans for Kevin Veasey to tell her she had washed her last car at Addison Kirk. Somebody had almost certainly instructed Kevin not to let her take any of the vehicles out that day; of that Yancie all at once realised she could be certain. Silence, just then, however, seemed the better part of discretion.
'So,' Thomson Wakefield went on, `perhaps, Miss Dawkins, you would care to tell me your version of the events yesterday. The events that led up to you almost demolishing not one motor vehicle, but two-leaving aside the perilous way you very nearly dispatched the two of us into the next world.'
Well, no, actually, I wouldn't. But he was waiting. 'It's very kind of you to give me a fair hearing-er-in the circumstances,' she smiled; he had no charm, so she tried him with some of hers.
Water off a duck's back! Those grey eyes were staying on her, and were noting her smile, her lovely even teeth-her boardingschool had been most particular about teethbut Yancie soon saw that not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash was he to be charmed.
'So?' He was waiting.
'Well, as I mentioned, I suddenly saw that I was driving with a nearly empty tank.' Silence, he was still waiting; it forced her to go on. `It was then that, simultaneously, I realised several things.' Silence. Oh, bubbles to it! If she'd known for certain that she was going to be out of a job after all this, Yancie was sure she would have packed it in right then. But hope sprang eternal-so she ploughed on.
'At the same time as realising I was driving on a nearly empty tank, I realised I wouldn't have enough juice to get me back to London, let alone to pick up Mr C-' Yancie broke off abruptly. Oh, grief, she shouldn't have been driving to pick up Mr Clements, she should have been there, waiting. 'S-so…' Damn that stutter, this man was making her nervous-it had never happened before-and she didn't like it. 'And-er-and then, coincidentally, I saw the 'services' sign and there just wasn't time to think…
'Merely to act!' Thomson Wakefield butted in sharply.
Who was telling this, her or him? With a start of surprise, Yancie realised that she was beginning to get angry. She seldom, if ever, got angry. Though, having been left cooling her heels for near enough forty-five minutes while waiting for this man to deign to see her, perhaps, she considered, getting a little angry was justified.
Though hang on a minute. Didn't she truly want this job? Yes, she did. `You're right, of course.' She tried another charm-filled smile that had absolutely, one hundred per cent not the slightest effect on the stern-faced individual opposite. `I was wrong, wrong, totally wrong to cross over into your lane the way I did,' she added hurriedly. `It was a momentary lapse of attention. Add I promise you I have never, ever, driven- so carelessly before. Nor will I ever again,' she further promised, having in fact learned a very salutary lesson yesterday, but hoping he didn't think she was laying it on with a trowel.
Thomson Wakefield had nothing to say for many stretched, long seconds, and rather than let him gain the impression she was desperately toadying up to him Yancie said nothing more.
'So you concede,' he said at length, `that the error was yours yesterday, and not my keenness to 'be the centre of attention' in my Aston Martin?'
Did he have to bring that up? That niggle of anger flickered again-and she realised, much though she wanted to hang onto her job, that she had grovelled all that she was going to. `I've admitted I was totally in the wrong,' she answered, unsmiling. To blazes with trying to charm him-she guessed he lived on a diet of lemons and vinegar.
He was as unimpressed by her unsmiling look as he had been by her smiling one. `I see you're wearing some identification today.'
Which meant, she was positive, that he'd taken note yesterday that she'd covered the firm's logo on her shirt with a brooch. `My name tag was on my jacket yesterday,' she replied pleasantly. Well, it had been-when she'd been driving Mr Clements. `My jacket was on the passenger seat,' she explained.
She had thought he might keep on that theme, reprimand her for pinning the motherof-pearl brooch over the Addison Kirk logo on her shirt. But, to her surprise, he left that particularly issue there, and commented instead, `You've been with us a very short while,' and with a straight, cold, no-nonsense kind of look asked, `Do you enjoy your work, Miss Dawkins?'
It came as something of a relief not to have to lie or prevaricate-she had an idea that she wasn't very good at either. `I love it,' she smiled.
She saw his glance flick from her eyes to her curving mouth, but he was as unreceptive to her charm as ever. `Presumably you wish to keep your job?'
Yancie at once saw another glimmer of hope. By the sound of it he was more interested in giving her a grilling than dismissing her. `I do,' she assured him sincerely.
'Why?' Just the one word.
Grilling? He was giving her a roasting! `I've never done anything but housekeeping before,' she began to explain, by then certain that this very thorough man who knew she had been with the firm a very short while also knew that the previous occupation she'd listed on her application form was that of housekeeper. `I thought I'd like a change. And I really love my work,' she smiled. She loved the freedom, the use of a car. `I am a good driver,' she thought to mention. Though at his steady, grey-eyed stare she felt obliged to add, `Normally.'
'You do appreciate that while you're wearing the company's uniform, and driving one of the company vehicles, that you are an ambassador for Addison Kirk?'
'Oh, yes,' she agreed, ready to agree to anything as the feeling started to grow that, by the skin of her teeth, it looked as if she might be able to hang onto her job.
'You also appreciate that any bad driving and subsequent insolence to another road user reflects extremely badly on the company?'
Oh, for Pete's sake! Yancie could feel herself getting annoyed again-what was it with this man? Quickly, she lowered her eyes. She couldn't afford to be annoyed. She couldn't afford that this shrewd man opposite should read in her eyes that she'd by far prefer to tell him to go take a running jump than answer him. She swallowed hard on her annoyance.
'Yes, I do appreciate that,' she replied as evenly as she could-and raised her eyes to see, astonishingly, the merest twitch at the right-hand corner of his mouth-for all the world as though she amused him!
In the next moment, however, his expression was as stern and as uncompromising as it had been throughout the interview. `Good,' he said, and a wave of relief started to wash over Yancie. Surely that `Good' must mean `Right, you've had a wigging, now clear off and don't do it again'. She consequently got something of a shock when, his expression lightening very slightly, he stared fully and totally imperviously into her lovely blue eyes, and enquired, `What were you doing on that stretch of the motorway yesterday?'
Crunch! With no little sense of disquiet, Yancie saw she had lost the tenuous hold she had on her job, as it suddenly went shooting from her grasp. And, because of it, her brain, usually lively and active, seemed to seize up. She should have been ready for this; but wasn't.
'I-er-I-er-paid for the petrol I used myself,' she heard herself say idiotically. `I have authority to book petrol and oil to the company, but wh-when I stopped at that service station I paid…' Her voice trailed off at the realisation that-oh, you fool-she had just, by her statement, confirmed that she hadn't been on that stretch of the road on the firm's business.
Thomson Wakefield looked over to her, but if he was waiting to hear more he wasn't getting it. Her tongue, like her brain, had gone into reverse.
'That was very fair of you, Miss Dawkins to pay for the petrol,' he commented silkily but she suspected that sort of tone. And a second later knew she was right to suspect it when he continued, `And the milometer? How did you square that?'
Like she was going to tell him! Like she was going to tell him any of the `wrinkles' that went on down in the transport section! How, when Wilf Fisher had asked her to make that fifty-mile round trip on unofficial business, he'd said to give the correct mileage but, if asked why the extra mileage covered, to state that her passenger had asked her to do an errand. Either that, or the said passenger had asked her to take him to see a friend or family member. Since their passengers were almost exclusively board members or someone very high up in the executive tree, nobody, according to Wilf, would dream of questioning why the top brass had needed to do the extra mileage. Certainly, no one in the transport section.
'I'm waiting!'
Oh, crumbs! Dumbly Yancie stared at him. If he'd only smile-he had rather an attractive mouth. She blinked. For goodness' sake pull yourself together-had this man totally scrambled her brain?
