Piping Her Tune Read online

  Victoria smiled as Malcolm Hardy entered the room. The Chairman of the Board of Directors was not only an old friend but a father figure as well. Even in his midsixties he was handsome, though the years were winning. His thick dark hair was shot through with silver, his once angular features padded out with age. He was gazing at her as though he wished he were somewhere else. She felt a niggling feeling of concern—it wasn’t a social call. “You look like you’ve something important to tell me, Malcolm.”

  Malcolm fidgeted, seemingly of two minds about where to start. “You’re probably not going to like what I’ve got to say.”

  Her smile faded. It wasn’t like him not to be forthright. “Well, out with it. What am I not going to like?”

  “It’s about your trip to negotiate the contracts. The board has agreed you’re the one who has to go and you’ll be gone for six months. As a single woman, you may be hassled.”

  “So what? I’m used to it. I’ll have two support staff and can take care of myself.”

  Malcolm shook his head. “Only Fiona can go. That’s our dilemma. We can’t spare anyone else for that length of time. The board would like you to take a person—a partner—with you for your protection.”

  “A partner?”

  “Not an employee, but someone who can act not only as your assistant, but also will serve as your personal—shall we say—companion. Six months on the road is a long time. Though you’re no stranger to the demands of negotiating in a high-powered man’s world, we’d feel more comfortable if you were…ah…taken. In a foreign country, it can be difficult for a woman alone, and you’re going to look at factories and mines. We feel that, if you present yourself as though you were ‘in a relationship’, it will make things safer for you overall.”

  Annoyance fizzled through Victoria. “You know I’m gay. I’ve no intention of hooking up with a man for the business, even if it’s purely platonic.”

  Malcolm’s hands fluttered up in the air. “Whoa, we weren’t suggesting that. A woman would be better—if it was a male, most negotiators might expect to deal with him.” He cast her an embarrassed look. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “When do I get any time off to date? I’m married to this goddamn office for god sake. So, what do you want me to do, pluck someone off the street?”

  “Would any of your friends be willing to go?”

  “They’re all professionals with careers of their own. It would be asking too much.”

  Malcolm formed his fingers into a steeple. “I presumed that such would be the case. I’ve been giving the situation a lot of thought. The alliance would be simply one of convenience, so she would only be a consultant and a binding contract would ensure that.”

  Victoria shrugged. Fiona, a dour Scotswoman, while being an excellent administrative assistant and good friend, poorly lacked in the social department and retired to bed early. “Okay. It’ll be someone else to talk to. If Fiona were my only company, I’d definitely need someone else for more conversation.”

  The chairman patted her hand. “Good. I’m glad you’ve agreed. It’ll take a load off my mind to see you have another person with you for safety reasons.”

  “So how are we going to find someone?”

  “I’ll set up some interviews. Let’s make a list of what her accomplishments should be, shall we?” said Malcolm.

  Victoria rapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I don’t want anyone too young. I’m thirty-seven, so I would expect her—whoever she is—to converse with intelligence and maturity.”

  “Point taken. Naturally she must have another language other than English. It’ll help if she’s multilingual, but Mandarin or Japanese would certainly be necessary.”

  “We’ll have to have another requirement as well to narrow the field down or Fiona will be days trying to sort it out.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Okay. What about speaking two other languages and being proficient in some form of martial art? It’ll be handy in some places you’re going.”

  “And single. I don’t want a jealous lover chasing me.”

  “Good point,” Malcolm chuckled. “Reasonably attractive, do you think?”

  “Sounds fine.” Victoria forced a laugh. “So where are we going to find such a paragon? With these added attributes, such a woman is not going to be out there hanging on a tree.”

  “Since it’s a partnership of convenience, it won’t matter if she’s straight or gay. Most women would be willing to go if we offer enough money.”

  “She’ll have to be well compensated to give up a career for that length of time.”

  “We’ll work the wage out later, just as long as it’s enough to attract good applicants. Let me place an ad in the Saturday paper and Fiona can whittle the list down to four. I’ll invite them to a dinner party and you can choose which one would suit. It’ll be an opportunity as well to set down the ground rules; you’re the one who has to live with her. Bring a friend with you for support if you like.” He got up, then hesitated. “Do try to make sure you relax and treat some of the trip as a holiday. You haven’t been your usual self the last couple of months, so it’s time to reduce your stress.”

  Back in her office, Victoria gave some thought to suitable women she knew but rejected them almost immediately. Living together in close proximity could lead to unwanted familiarity. A stranger would have no expectations. Annabelle perhaps? They were best friends—not lovers. Heavens no, Annabelle’s too much of a loose cannon, too indiscreet. Not good for diplomatic relations. The thought of a complete stranger as her partner, roiled Victoria’s stomach into knots. Chantal was in town. Maybe she would consent to come along to the dinner to help vet the applicants. She was planning to see the Frenchwoman now that she was in Sydney.

  Victoria shook her head, despondent. What a washout she was, in her late thirties and they had to pay someone to be with her. Where had all the years gone? Why hadn’t she ever met anyone special enough to want to settle down? Her few relationships in the last ten years had fizzled out in a matter of weeks. She tried to think about the last time she’d had a date. One—maybe one and a half years ago. Marge or Meg someone.

  God help me. I’m married to my vibrator. But at least it can be turned off while I answer the phone.

  * * *

  The advertisement in the Saturday paper immediately got Abby’s attention:

  Wanted: Personal Assistant for a six-month assignment overseas. Must be energetic, multilingual, diplomatic, flexible and competent in some form of martial art. Generous compensation and benefits. This position offers an exciting opportunity for travel and to be a part of a progressive organization. Please remit a letter on interest, vita: M Hardy, Esq, P/O Box 1756, Vaucluse 2030.

  Excited, Abby reread it—the position seemed made for her. If she could possibly score such a post, it would solve all her pressing financial worries. With her mother’s constant medical bills and no commissions following the Archibald fiasco, she was struggling to keep her head above water. The Packing Room prize, although prestigious, only netted her fifteen hundred dollars. A pittance for all the work she put into the painting. Her job with Legal Aid was only part-time and not well paid, which left her to live from one pay packet to the next. As much as she hated to do it, it was time to abandon her art and seek well-paid employment. The ad signalled perhaps the start of a promising future.

  She typed out a required letter and composed her résumé with no mention of her artistic experience. The position was solely related to her linguistic skills and judo training.

  Two weeks had elapsed before an email informed Abby that she had been successful in gaining an interview. She was over the moon. The news that the interview was to be held at a dinner party, she found rather odd, but accepted it pragmatically. As it seemed to be something of a diplomatic appointment, the employer probably wanted to view her social skills.

  Two days before the event, Abby took a shopping trip to find something to wear. As her budget was limited, it took all mor
ning to find a suitable dress. As luck would have it, she found a stunning one at a small boutique, reduced to half price because of a small stain on the hem. The low-cut red dress fit her snugly, making her look quite sophisticated.

  On the day of the dinner, her work at the office was particularly busy. She had no time to waste. As she flew home to get ready with only an hour to spare, a nagging thought persisted. Maybe she should have done more research before she jumped in boots and all. There had been only a Vaucluse house address on the letterhead, which probably meant she’d be paid by a private person. But hey—what the heck—at the very worst, I’m getting a free meal. Better than vegging out with a take-away in front of the telly.

  With the final touches to her outfit completed, Abby put on her glasses reserved for social functions. At six she dialled for a taxi. Half an hour later, it reached an avenue of luxurious homes overlooking an expanse of parkland. The cab slowed. Abby gazed in awe. While her street smelt of mortgage, this one reeked of money. She was pleased she’d opted to take a taxi rather than drive her minivan. After ten years, the van had settled comfortably into a rent-a-bomb look. Not an appropriate vehicle for the occasion.

  The driver nosed the cab through an iron gate, and followed a silver Jag up the tree-lined driveway to a stately Italian-style house surrounded by tailored shrubs and manicured lawns. Abby alighted from the cab, blinking through the bifocals, rather shell-shocked at the opulence of the marble portico. As she walked up the path, one of her heels, which she knew were ridiculously high, caught in a crack between the pavers. She stumbled and two hands reached out to steady her. A voice, smooth like a good malt whiskey, purred in her ear, “Are you all right, mon ami?”

  Her reply, Je vais bien, merci, brought a wide smile from the woman who clutched her arm. “Ah, you speak French. Très bon.”

  Abby stared, enchanted by the vivacious creature holding her. She was of average height like herself, but the aura radiating from her exquisite features made her seem much taller. She dominated the space around her.

  “Did you come alone?” asked Abby shyly.

  “Oui.” With a dimpled grin, she twined her arm through Abby’s. “Come. You would do me a great honour if we went in together.”

  The butterflies in Abby’s stomach vanished immediately. She leaned into the body beside her, mesmerized by the warmth spreading into her skin. “I’d be delighted. I’m Abby.”

  “And I’m Chantal. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you, chérie. So, let us go in.”

  The door opened after their first knock, the tuxedoed man who showed them inside as imposing as the house. Abby quashed down a moment of panic, but Chantal strolled down the hallway as if a butler answering the door was as common as breathing. Abby, humming “Money, Money, Money,” trotted along behind. The butler led them through the house to an outside patio where people stood socializing, while a waiter moved through offering drinks and nibbles. The house was on top of a hill; the view over the harbour was breathtaking. The last rays of sun shimmered on the water dotted with white sails. The garden setting was cosy, with clusters of flowers and a hint of sweet perfume in the air.

  Chantal and Abby stepped through the patio doors, and a woman hurried forward to greet them. A harassed expression clouded her face. “You must be Chantal and Abby. You’re the last to arrive. I’m Fiona McPherson.”

  Abby smiled, happy to see someone who looked more out of place than she felt. Fiona was short and dumpy, somewhere in her fifties, with grey hair tied severely back in a bun. A Scottish burr rolled off her tongue.

  “Come and meet your hosts, Malcolm and Jan Hardy,” she said as she led them to an older couple who chatted with a dark-haired woman. Malcolm flashed a broad toothpaste smile when he was introduced to Chantal, obviously charmed by the Frenchwoman. Then Abby shook his hand; his eyes widened and the smile faltered. He glared at Fiona. Thrown off balance, Abby squared her shoulders, and then relaxed as his wife stepped forward quickly to circle her arm in hers. “So you’re Abby Benton, the artist. How very nice to meet you. This is Emily Hawkins, another of our guests.”

  Emily was a tall, striking brunette, sporting an I’ve-just-been-to-a-tropical-island tan. She smiled shyly at Abby. “I’m a great fan. You painted a portrait of a friend of mine, Colin Harris. We all loved it.”

  “Ah, yes. Professor Harris. He was a good subject with quite distinctive features.”

  “We’re both marine biologists and work together a lot.” From the way his name spun off her lips, Abby had the impression Emily wished the professor were more than a colleague.

  Chantal lit up. “So you’re an artist, Abby. I’m impressed. Me, I’m hopeless when it comes to art. What about you, Fiona?”

  A soft laugh from Jan interrupted. “I’m afraid Fiona is a workaholic. I realize now she doesn’t follow the artistic scene.”

  Fiona eyed the chairman’s scowl, her accent more pronounced in her answer. “Nay, I’m far too busy.”

  Malcolm inclined his head in agreement. “Fiona’s got tunnel vision, all work and no play. It’ll do her good to get away for a while.” He tugged the secretary’s arm and pulled her out into the lawn. “Come, we’ve got a few things to discuss so we can leave my wife to do the introductions.”

  Abby relaxed as the two moved off, though perturbed by his reaction to her. She had no idea what it was all about. She could see him cast looks over her way and mop his brow as he talked to the Scottish woman.

  She returned her attention to her immediate companions. Her hostess introduced the two other women, Grace Newport and Karen Young. Grace was part Chinese with straight jet-black hair, cut short, layered around flat androgynous features. Her muscular build signalled she could kick some serious butt if pressured. Karen was small and dainty; her darkish skin suggested Mediterranean origins, although her accent was all Australian.

  Jan smiled as the five women looked at her expectantly. “I imagine you’re all wondering what the invitation is all about. We’ll fill you in over dinner, but suffice it to say that to whom the assignment will be offered, she will be well paid, as promised. You have all been handpicked as suitable applicants; those not successful will be awarded a two-week fully paid holiday in Australia to a destination of your choice. Your presence is most appreciated, especially those who have travelled so far to attend. The cost of your travel will be reimbursed, of course. Get to know each other while I organize the meal. The guest of honour will be arriving any minute.”

  “Let me give you a hand, Jan,” Chantal offered.

  “No, I’m fine. Stay here and relax and talk to the girls. I want you to get to know them.”

  After she moved off inside, Karen remarked. “Well, that was cryptic. Has anyone any idea what it’s all about?”

  Emily shrugged her shoulders. “I haven’t a clue. Maybe we can work it out, my friends. What do you all do?”

  “I’m a computer analyst,” said Karen.

  “A mining engineer,” offered Grace.

  “A marine biologist,” said Emily. “And Abby’s an artist. None of us have anything in common.”

  “Actually, my main job is an interpreter for Legal Aid. My art doesn’t exactly pay the bills yet,” said Abby.

  “And I am an event organizer. I own my own business. I’m here as a friend of our hosts,” said Chantal.

  Grace tossed her hands in the air. “So let’s just enjoy the party. All will be revealed.”

  Abby sipped her wine and plucked a caviar nibble from the waiter’s tray. Happy, she revelled in the intimacy among the women as they exchanged stories. She turned to the door when she heard it open.

  Victoria Meyers stood on the patio, elegantly dressed in a dark blue pantsuit, the yellow silk shirt underneath open enough to expose the soft swell of her breasts. Her hair hung loose over her collar, her makeup was understated and flawless. The overall impression was of a sleek jungle cat ready to pounce. By her side, Annabelle stood laughing. Flustered, Abby spun back around to look for an escape. As she du
cked past the waiter to hide behind the potted palm, she fought to stifle rising panic. “Hell! Hell! Hell!”

  Immediately Chantal came to her side, concerned. “What’s wrong, chérie?”

  She clutched the Frenchwoman’s hands as a life line and said in a low voice, “I’ve got to get out of here. I don’t want to see her.”

  “Ah, mon ami, how can you not be seen? Stay for a little while and compose yourself.”

  Abby straightened her shoulders, her chin jutted in defiance. “You’re right. I’m made of sterner stuff.”

  The older woman reached over and stroked her finger down Abby’s cheek. “Come, give yourself time to calm down and put your arm through mine and we will beard the lion in his den together.”

  Chapter Four

  Victoria knew something wrong when she spied Malcolm. His hands were clenched at his side while Fiona jiggled from one foot to the other. She quickly cut to the chase. “What the hell’s happened?”

  Malcolm swallowed and made an obvious effort to keep his voice even. “Everything’s fine. What makes you think there’s something wrong?”

  “So why do you both look like you’re at a funeral?”

  “It’s been a long day. We’re just tired. I’ll…I’ll have to go to my study to do a few things so Fiona can do the introductions. Have a half an hour chat with the girls before you come in to dine.”

  Victoria eyed him with suspicion and whipped her gaze to the Scot. The older woman wouldn’t meet her eye. Quickly Malcolm pulled free of Fiona’s clawing hands and hurried off.

  “Come on, Fiona. I’m interested to meet whom you’ve chosen,” Victoria said sternly.

  With a resigned slump of her shoulders, Victoria’s assistant led the way from the lawn to the patio. Annabelle appeared at her side with a scotch and dry and murmured, “You might need this.”

  Victoria took the glass as she sized up the applicants. She didn’t take long to form an opinion. Grace didn’t appeal at all. Although from the mining industry, which was a big plus, the engineer spent most of her time furtively looking down Vic’s front. Victoria had no wish to fight off advances the whole six months. Karen had a distinct charm. She was quiet, knowledgeable and definitely worth getting to know. Emily, too, had potential. She seemed astute, caring and interested in what everyone had to say. From her conversation, she was a seasoned traveller keen to see more of the world.