Elizabeth Power - A Passionate Affair

‘Hmmm.’ Penelope glanced at the other top executive in the room, who was effectively Jeff’s boss. ‘Do you think Marsha has collected enough data, Tim? My fear is that her… enthusiasm for the story has made her a little slapdash.’

Timothy Cassell joined his hands in front of him on the table, studying them for a second or two before he looked up. He had worked with Penelope for more than a decade and knew her very well. For some reason she was gunning for Jeff’s assistant, and when she was like this she could be as awkward as blazes. The story was a good one, and they all knew it, but delaying it for a week or two on the pretext of collecting more information wouldn’t be the end of the world. Certainly he had no wish to get on Penelope’s bad side. They had a policy of ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ which had worked exceedingly well over the years.

He cleared his throat, avoiding looking at Marsha’s burning face as he said, ‘See what else you can find out, by all means, and we’ll look at it again in a couple of weeks. Now, is there anything else while we’re all together?’

‘Well, yes, this new equipment we’ve been looking at? I’ve got the quotes in now, and one in particular is most attractive. Kane International?’ And then, as if suddenly realising she was speaking out of turn, Penelope turned to the others in the room, saying sweetly, ‘Thank you, everyone. I don’t think we need to keep you any longer.’

‘What was all that about?’ Once they were in the lift, returning to their more lowly floor, Jeff scratched his head in bewilderment as he glanced at Marsha’s hot face. ‘There’s enough information in this lot to satisfy anyone.’

‘I think it’s my fault.’ Marsha had decided that prevarication was pointless. ‘Penelope found out I was married yesterday, and was offended she hadn’t been informed of the full situation before.’

‘You told her?’

‘Not exactly.’ Marsha took a deep breath. ‘The Kane of Kane International is my husband, Jeff. He was here yesterday with Penelope.’

‘Ah…’

Much as she would have liked to say Penelope’s spite had not affected her, Marsha sat and seethed for the rest of the morning. She had been unfairly criticised and held up as negligent and it was all Taylor’s fault, she told herself furiously, refusing to acknowledge the little voice inside which said she was being a mite unfair. But if he hadn’t announced they were married yesterday to all and sundry Penelope wouldn’t be any the wiser right now and the Baxter story—the first project Jeff had given her sole responsibility for—would be in the bag. His pique at her attempt to cold-shoulder him at the cocktail party yesterday had resulted in her looking a fool this morning in front of everyone. It just wasn’t fair . But then when had fairness ever been in Taylor’s vocabulary? She loathed him, absolutely and utterly loathed him. Penelope too. If ever a pair were made for each other, they were.

By lunchtime Marsha had the beginnings of a major headache drumming away behind her eyes, and was as tense as piano wire. She was aware of the small hurried glances Nicki had been giving her ever since she and Jeff had returned from the meeting, but hadn’t given her secretary a chance to engage her in conversation once she had informed her that the Baxter story was not yet approved.

Now, as Nicki said carefully, ‘We can do lunch another day if you’d rather, Marsha?’ she suddenly felt enormously guilty.

‘No, not at all.’ She forced a smile. ‘And I’m sorry for being like a bear with a sore head all morning. Come on, let’s go now—and if we’re late back, who cares?’

‘Fighting talk.’ Nicki grinned at her.

To make up for her reluctance, Marsha decided to treat Nicki to lunch at Lyndons—a plush little restaurant a short taxi ride away. Once they had arrived, and were seated at a table for two with an open bottle of wine between them, Marsha relaxed back in her seat with a long sigh. ‘Wine in the lunch hour,’ she said ruefully. ‘I’m slipping, and dragging you down with me.’

‘Drag away,’ Nicki said with relish as she took a hefty swig at her glass. ‘And don’t worry about the Baxter story. Everyone knows it’s a good one and that Penelope is just having one of her turns.’

‘It’s the reason for the turn that’s bothering me more than the story,’ Marsha said soberly.

‘Him?’ Nicki was nothing if not intuitive.

Marsha nodded. Suddenly she found herself telling Nicki all of it—something she hadn’t planned to do at all. She even related her upbringing in the children’s home, the two failed attempts at being adopted, which had occurred mainly because she had been convinced her mother would come back for her, her inability to make close friends after her best friend at the home had been adopted and had never contacted her again—the whole story. This between mouthfuls of smoked salmon salad with potato rosti and horseradish cream, followed by lemon chicken and wild rice with courgette strips and peppers. She finished as they were waiting for the dessert menu.

‘Wow…’ Nicki had shaken her head at regular intervals throughout the account. Now she astounded Marsha by leaning over the table and hugging her with such genuine warmth and sympathy it brought tears to Marsha’s eyes. ‘And you’re still only twenty-seven.’

Nicki hadn’t meant to be funny. Whether it was the other girl’s face, which was so concerned it was comedic, or the amazed note in Nicki’s voice, or yet again the half-bottle of wine, Marsha wasn’t sure, but she was relieved to find herself laughing rather than crying. ‘I feel decades older,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘Especially today. I was just getting my life back and he has to turn up again.’

‘Some men are like that,’ Nicki said, with her vast knowledge of just one. ‘Especially when they look as good as he does. They think they just have to snap their fingers and women fall into their lap like ripe plums.’

‘He doesn’t even have to snap his fingers,’ Marsha said truthfully.

Dessert was a wonderful caramelised lemon and orange tart, which they followed with coffee and the restaurant’s special homemade truffles. By the time Marsha paid the bill, she knew she had found a wealth of affection and friendliness in the other woman.

She had never had a sister, she reflected as the two of them walked out into the bright sunny afternoon, but if she had she could imagine her being just like Nicki.

It was as they were riding back in the taxi that Nicki said thoughtfully, ‘You are absolutely positive that this person who told you about Tanya and said there had been others couldn’t have had an ulterior motive for lying?’

Marsha nodded. It was the same thought which had occurred to her more than once since last night, but each time she had known she was clutching at straws. She didn’t know why she had not told Nicki it was Taylor’s sister who had informed on him—it was the only thing she had kept back. Perhaps it was because she had promised Susan she wouldn’t divulge her name to Taylor, although there was no chance of Nicki ever telling him.

‘You don’t have to say a name, but was it a woman?’ When Marsha nodded again, Nicki frowned. ‘Having seen the man, I’d say there could be an element of doubt there, then.’

Marsha dragged in a deep breath and expelled it resignedly. She’d have to tell her or Nicki would be like a dog with a bone. ‘It was his sister, Susan,’ she said quietly. ‘And she adores him and he, her. So, no motive.’

Nicki glanced at her, her frown deepening. She said nothing, but suggested volumes.

‘What?’ Marsha stared at the other woman.