One Night with His Virgin Mistress

However, it was her last day as a member of the employed, and she wasn’t going to break her self-imposed rule of never taking her personal problems into the workplace. So she straightened her shoulders, nailed on a smile and marched through the double glass doors into the open plan office beyond.

In the event, it turned out to be a much shorter afternoon than she’d expected. Before it was half over, her boss called the other staff together, champagne was produced and the managing director made a brief speech about what a valuable team member she’d been and how much she’d be missed.

‘And if the next job doesn’t work out as planned, we’re only a phone call away,’ he added, and Tallie heard a wobble in her voice as she thanked him.

When she called at the temps bureau later to collect her money, the manageress there also made it clear she was loath to lose her services.

‘You’ve always been so reliable, Natalie,’ she mourned. ‘Isn’t there a number where I can reach you in case of emergency?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Tallie said firmly. Apart from her family and Lorna, no one was having the contact number at Albion House. Kit had made it clear she was not to hand it out to all and sundry, and she was happy to go along with that.

Besides, she was going to need every ounce of concentration she possessed for her book, which completely ruled out being at the beck and call of The Relief Force, as the bureau titled itself. They would just have to manage without her, she thought, although she had to admit it was nice to be needed, if only in a work sense.

Meanwhile, finishing early today meant she would have the flat to herself when she got back, and she could do her packing before she set off for her final stint at the wine bar. So many doors closing, she thought, but another massive one about to open in front of her, and who knew what might lie beyond it.

At the flat, she made herself some coffee from what little was left in the jar. In theory, they all bought their own groceries. In practice, Josie and Amanda were always too busy for a regular supermarket shop, and they used whatever was available.

The prospect of living on her own for the first time was fairly daunting, but at least there would be fewer minor irritations to cope with, Tallie told herself as she unzipped the storage box. She didn’t have many clothes—just the plain black skirts she wore for work with an assortment of blouses and a grey checked jacket, the three pairs of jeans that constituted leisurewear, a few T-shirts, a couple of sweaters and a handful of cheap and cheerful chain store undies.

And right at the bottom of the box, neatly folded, was the shirt. Almost, but not quite, forgotten. Slowly, she took it out, letting the ivory silk slide through her hands, watching the shimmer of the mother-of-pearl buttons. Allowing herself the pain of this one last memory.

She’d been working for a firm of City accountants, she recalled, and had been sent to fetch a tray of coffee for a clients’ meeting from the machine in the reception area. As she’d been on her way back, going past the lift, the doors had opened and someone had emerged in a hurry, cannoning into her and spilling the coffee everywhere.

‘Oh, God.’ A man’s voice, appalled. ‘Are you all right—not scalded?’

‘The drinks are never hot enough for that.’ But there was a hideous mess on the carpet and her once-crisp white shirt was splashed and stained across the front and down one sleeve, plus damp patches on her skirt too, she realised ruefully.

She knelt swiftly, reaching for the scattered paper cups. Aware, as she did so, that her assailant had also gone down on one knee to help her, but that he’d paused and was staring at her rather than the job in hand.

Looking up in turn, she recognised him instantly, her lips parting in a shocked gasp. ‘Gareth,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I mean— Mr Hampton.’

‘Gareth will do.’ His sudden smile dazzled her like the sun breaking through clouds. ‘And you’re Guy Paget’s little sister. What on earth are you doing here, miles from Cranscombe? Apart from being drowned in coffee, that is?’

‘I live in London now,’ she said quickly. ‘Mr Groves’s assistant is on holiday. I’m the temp. Or the ex-temp unless I get this mess cleared up quickly,’ she added, seeing Mr Groves himself approaching, his face a mask of disapproval.

‘All my fault, I’m afraid.’ Gareth rose to meet him, spreading his hands in charming apology. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going and nearly knocked poor little Natalie for six.’

‘Oh, please don’t concern yourself, my dear boy.’ The look he sent Tallie was rather less gracious. ‘Bring another tray to the conference room, Miss Paget, then call maintenance. This carpet will need to be properly cleaned. And tidy yourself too, please.’

The last instruction proved the most difficult to follow. Tallie did her best in the cloakroom with a handful of damp tissues but felt she’d only made matters worse. And the most sickening thing of all was the knowledge that Susie Johnson was in the meeting in her place, taking notes and feasting her eyes on Gareth at the same time.

I had no idea he was a client, she thought wistfully, wishing that she’d put on eye make-up that morning and was now wearing something other than a coffee-stained rag. Something that would have made him see her as rather more than Guy’s kid sister.

Yet that was hardly likely, she acknowledged with a soundless sigh, remembering some of the girls he’d brought down to the cottage over the years. Slender creatures with endless legs, designer tans and artfully tousled hair.

Tallie’s hair was the same light mouse-brown she’d been born with and it hung, straight as rainwater, to her shoulders. And while her mother loyally told her she had ‘a pretty figure’, she knew she was an unfashionable version of thin. Her creamy skin and hazel eyes, with their fringe of long lashes, were probably her best features, she thought judiciously, but her nose and mouth hadn’t come out of any box marked ‘Alpha Female’.

In a way, it was astonishing that Gareth should have remembered her at all, particularly as natural shyness combined with inexplicable adolescent yearnings had invariably made her vanish into any convenient doorway at his approach. She wasn’t aware that he’d ever favoured her with a first glance, let alone a second.

And she’d now blown any chance she had of appearing cool, composed and efficient. A pillar of young serenity in the staid adult world of accountancy.

‘Oh, Miss Paget’s wonderful,’ she imagined Mr Groves saying. ‘I don’t know how we ever managed without her.’

And pigs might take flight, she told herself, turning away from the mirror with another sigh.

But if she’d hoped to catch another glimpse of Gareth, she was to be disappointed. Instead, she was immediately waylaid by Mrs Watson, the office manager, who looked her over, compressed her lips and sent her off to the cubby-hole where the photocopier was housed with a pile of paperwork to be replicated.

And, by the time she emerged, Gareth was long gone and Susie Johnson was smiling smugly and reporting that he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her legs during the meeting.

She was about to leave for her coffee and sandwich lunch, buttoning her jacket to conceal the worst of her stained shirt, when Sylvia, the receptionist, called her over. ‘This was delivered for you a few minutes ago.’

‘This’ was a flat package wrapped in violet and gold paper. And, inside, enclosed in tissue, was a silk shirt—soft, fragile and quite the most expensive garment she’d ever had the chance to own.

The accompanying card said:

To make amends for the one I ruined. I’ll be waiting to hear if it’s the right size from one o’clock onwards in the Caffe Rosso. G.

As she fastened the small buttons, the silk seemed to shiver against her warm body, clinging to her slender curves as if it loved them. A perfect fit, she thought. As if it was some kind of omen.

Against the ivory tone, her skin looked almost translucent and even her hair had acquired an added sheen. While her eyes were enormous—luminous with astonished pleasure.

Lunch, she thought with disbelief. I’m having lunch with Gareth Hampton, which is almost—a date. Isn’t it?

Well, the answer to that was—no, as she now knew. As it had been brought home to her with a stinging emphasis that had almost flayed the flesh from her bones.

Like the false bride in the fairy tale, she thought, who’d put on a wedding dress that didn’t belong to her and been destroyed as a result.

And kneeling there in her tiny room with that lovely, betraying thing in her hands, she shivered.

She folded it over and over again, her hands almost feverish, until it was reduced to a tiny ball of fabric, then wrapped it tightly in a sheet from a discarded newspaper and buried it deep in the kitchen bin on her way out to the wine bar.

Wishing, as she did so, that her emotions could be so easily dealt with—could be rolled up and discarded without a trace. Only it didn’t work like that, and she would have to wait patiently until the healing process was over—however long it might take.

It will be better, she told herself fiercely, when I’m away from here.

Everything is going to be better. It—has to be…

And when, the following evening, she found herself in sole occupation of her new domain, her belongings unpacked and her laptop set up in the study, she began to feel her new-found optimism could be justified.

It hadn’t all been plain sailing. There’d been a final confrontation with her cousin that she’d have preferred to avoid.

‘Quite apart from the inconvenience of having to find someone else for your room, do you realise the stick I’m going to get from Dad when he finds you’ve moved out?’ Josie demanded shrilly. ‘And that I don’t even know where you’ve gone?’

Tallie shrugged. ‘You’re not my babysitter,’ she countered. ‘Besides, I thought you’d be glad to see the back of me.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Josie glared at her. ‘You’re not still obsessing about Gareth, surely? Isn’t it time you started to grow up?’

‘More than time,’ Tallie returned crisply. ‘Consider this the first step.’