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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.’
Rachel frowned. ‘Guy Walters. Who’s he? I can’t place him.’
‘You must know Guy. Big, beefy fellow. Fortyish. Bald head. Exec in charge of property investments.’
Rachel searched her memory. ‘No. No, I don’t think I do. I’d remember someone who looked like that.’
Now Justin frowned. ‘You’re right. Guy hasn’t been down here to see me personally since you started. Anyway, I do weights with him every morning. When I arrived this morning he wasn’t there. He raced in half an hour later and explained that he was off to the airport to fly to Melbourne because his dad was ill, after which he explained about where he was supposed to be going and begged me to go in his place. Apparently, the CEO of AWI is super-keen on buying this place and is expecting a report on his desk first thing Monday morning, no excuses. Guy said I was the only one he could ask to go in his place whose opinion he would trust. He said he knew an old cynic like me wouldn’t be blinded by surface appearances and would look for the pitfalls. At the same time, he also wanted a woman’s opinion. He said women see things men don’t always see.’
‘So what woman was he going to take? His secretary? Or a colleague?’
‘No, actually, he’d been going to take his wife. When I pointed out I didn’t have a wife he said that shouldn’t present a problem for a man-about-town like me, and I got all that male nudge-nudge, wink-wink crap. Guy’s always implying I must have a little black book filled with the phone numbers of dozens of dolly-birds available for dirty weekends at a moment’s notice.’
Rachel stopped sipping her coffee, her curiosity piqued. ‘And you don’t?’
‘God, no.’ The distaste on his face was evident. ‘That’s not my style.’
Rachel didn’t know what to think. Maybe he simply didn’t like women. Or maybe he just had old-fashioned principles and standards.
The thought that he might be right off sex—and women—was swiftly abandoned. The sceptic in Rachel couldn’t see any heterosexual male of Justin’s age and health being totally off sex no matter what. It went against everything she and all her female friends had come to believe about the human male animal.
‘I told Guy I would be taking my valued and very astute PA,’ Justin added. ‘If you’re available to go, of course. Are you?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘But what?’
‘What about the accommodation? If this chap had been going with his wife, then…’
‘I’ve already thought of that and there are no worries there. AWI’s been allotted a two-bedroom apartment with two separate bathrooms, so there’s no privacy issue. Also, you don’t have to spend every minute of every day with me. You’re free as a bird. I’d expect you to accompany me to the dinner on the Saturday night, however.’
‘Er—what would I have to wear to something like that?’
‘Guy said it’s black tie. Lord knows why. Someone’s being pretentious as usual. Probably their PR person. Do you have something suitable in your wardrobe? If not, I’m sure AWI can spare the expense of a dress. You could buy one up there tomorrow. Tourist towns usually have loads of boutiques.’
‘No, I’ve got something suitable,’ Rachel returned, thinking immediately of her bridesmaid dress, which Isabel had chosen specifically because it was the sort of dress you could wear afterwards. At the time, Rachel hadn’t been able to imagine where, but it would be ideal for wearing to this dinner. As much as Justin might not like her coming into the office done up to the nines, surely he wouldn’t want her to accompany him to a dinner looking totally colourless and drab.
A tiny thrill ran down her spine as she thought of how surprised he might be if she wore her hair down and put on a bit of make-up. Nothing overdone, of course. A classy, elegant look.
‘Great. And don’t forget it’s going to be a lot warmer up there at this time of year,’ Justin went on. ‘You’ll need very light clothes for day wear. Very casual, too.’
Rachel saw the expression in his eyes as they flicked up and down the severely tailored black suit she was wearing.
‘It’s all right, Justin,’ she said wryly. ‘I do have some other more casual clothes.’ Again, thanks to Isabel.
When Isabel’s ex-fiancé broke off their engagement earlier this year Isabel had given Rachel her entire honeymoon wardrobe, bought to be worn on a tropical island. Rachel had thought at the time she would never have an opportunity to wear any of them, same as with the bridesmaid dress.
Now, suddenly, she did. What a strange twist of fate!
‘So when is the flight?’ she asked.
‘It departs at four, which doesn’t leave all that much time to do what has to be done here before we go. Unfortunately, I can’t abandon my other work today entirely. I still need to check last night’s markets and you’ll still have to update the files. So, let’s see, now…you live at Turramurra, don’t you?’
‘For the moment.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean, for the moment?’
‘It’s my friend’s place. I’ve been staying with her temporarily since my foster-mum’s funeral. Don’t you remember? I told you all about Lettie and her illness at my interview.’
He slapped his forehead with the ball of his free hand and shot her an apologetic glance. ‘Of course you did. You also said you’d be selling her old house and buying yourself a unit closer to the city. Sorry. I did listen to you that day. Honest. I’d just forgotten for the moment. So how’s all that going? Found a buyer yet?’
Rachel sighed. ‘Unfortunately, things haven’t worked out the way I thought they would. Lettie did will me everything she owned, but it turned out she didn’t own the house and contents in the first place. It was all still in her husband’s name. I could have taken the matter to court but I just didn’t have the heart. The solicitor said I probably wouldn’t end up with much, anyway.’
‘He’s right there. Litigation is to be avoided at all costs. But gee, Rachel, that’s a damned shame. And not fair, after all you did for your foster-mum. But then, life’s not fair, is it?’ he added with the bitterness of experience in his voice. ‘So what are you going to do about a place to live?’
‘Well, I’m house-sitting Isabel’s town house whilst she’s on her honeymoon. She won’t be back for another fortnight. But I plan on renting a place of my own closer to the city after she does get back.’
‘Flats near the city are expensive to rent,’ Justin warned. ‘Even the dumps.’
‘Tell me about it. I’ve been looking in the paper. I can only afford a bedsit. Either that, or I’ll have to share.’ Which was a last resort. The idea of moving in with strangers did not appeal at all.
‘Can’t see you sharing a place with strangers,’ Justin said, startling Rachel with his intuition. ‘Can’t you stay where you are in your friend’s place? She won’t be needing it, now that she’s married.’
‘She did offer it to me for a nominal rent.’
‘Then take it and don’t be silly,’ he pronounced pragmatically. ‘So, how long do you think it would take you to go there, pack, then get back to the airport? I’ll pay for taxis both ways, of course.’
‘I don’t think I could do it in less than two hours, and that’s provided I don’t hit any traffic snags. It is Friday, you know.’
‘True. That means you’ll have to leave here by one at the latest. Guy gave me the plane tickets, so I’ll give you yours before you go and we’ll meet at the allotted departing gate. OK?’
‘Yes. OK.’
Justin smiled over the rim of his coffee mug. ‘I knew I could count on you not to make a fuss. Any other woman would have had hysterics about how she’d need all day to get packed and changed, but not you.’
Rachel gave a rueful little laugh. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a criticism.’
‘A compliment,’ Justin said drily. ‘Trust me. Come on, let’s get back to work. I want to have a clear desk and a clear head by the time that plane takes off this afternoon. I don’t know about you, but I’m rather looking forward to having a break away from this office, not to mention this rotten weather. I’ve always been partial to some sun and surf. Which reminds me. Don’t forget to pack a swimming costume. Even if you don’t like the surf, the hotel has a great pool, I’m told.’
He plonked down his empty mug and marched off, leaving Rachel to stand there, staring after him, her stomach revolving as she recalled the bright yellow bikini amongst the clothes Isabel had given her.
The thought of swimming in a bright yellow bikini in front of her boss sent her into a spin.
‘Hop to it, Rachel,’ he threw over his shoulder.
She hopped to it, but she still kept thinking about that bikini. Though modest by some standards, it was still a bikini. That, combined with the colour, would not present the non-flashy, non-flirtatious image Justin had of her and which he obviously felt comfortable with. She knew it was a stretch of the imagination that he would ever be sexually attracted to her—especially if he didn’t like women—but in the end Rachel decided that the bikini would be accidentally left at home. She had a good thing going with her job and she didn’t want to risk changing the status quo.
With this thought in mind, she decided not to wear her hair down for the dinner tomorrow night, either. It could go up as usual. And her make-up would be confined to a touch of lipstick. That was all she owned, anyway. It would be crazy to race out and buy a whole lot of stuff for one night. For what? Just to satisfy her feminine pride? Because that was all that was at stake. Her pride. Nothing to do with Justin. He obviously didn’t give a damn how she looked.
Feeling much better with these decisions, Rachel put her mind to her job. At one o’clock on the dot she was off, the taxi making good time to Turramurra. Packing was a breeze. Isabel’s discarded honeymoon gear was already in a very nice suitcase. It was just a matter of taking some things out, and adding some, namely her bridesmaid gear, along with her toilet bag. She did also add some white sandals from Isabel’s wardrobe, knowing her friend wouldn’t mind.
She didn’t have time to change but she did put a simple white T-shirt on under her black jacket so that she could take the jacket off once they reached Coolangatta.
By two-ten she was back in a taxi, heading for Mascot, but this time the going was slower, because it had started to rain quite heavily. They fairly crawled down the Pacific highway. There was an accident at an intersection at Roseville, which caused a back-up, and they moved at a snail’s pace again right down to Chatswood, after which the flow of traffic improved, courtesy of the new motorway. But her watch still showed five after three when she climbed out at the domestic terminal at Mascot. By the time she’d waited in line, been booked in and gone through Security, it was twenty-five to four, only ten minutes from the scheduled boarding time.
As she hurried along the long corridor towards the nominated gate Rachel hoped Justin wasn’t worrying. She knew he’d already arrived because the lady on the check-in counter had been left instructions on her computer to give her the seat next to him.
Gate eleven came into sight at last, and so did Justin. He was sitting on a seat at the end of a row in the waiting area, reading an afternoon newspaper, and not looking at all anxious, though he did glance up over the top of the pages occasionally. When he spied her walking towards him he folded the newspaper, smiled and patted the spare seat beside him.
‘You made it,’ he said as she dropped down into it.
‘Just. The traffic back into town was horrendous. I was wishing I had a mobile phone to call you and tell you my progress.’
‘No worries,’ he said. ‘You’re here now.’
‘Yes. Yes. I’m here now.’ Breathless, relieved and quite excited, now that she wasn’t stressing about her clothes, or how she would look at tomorrow night’s dinner. It had been years since she’d gone anywhere for the weekend and here she was, flying off to the Gold Coast in the company of a very attractive man. OK, so he was only her boss, and there was nothing remotely romantic between them. But other people didn’t know that. Other people might look at them and think that they were going off for a dirty weekend together.
