A Daring Proposition

‘I aim to talk you out of going.’

‘You can try. Meanwhile I’ll ring the head-hunters and line some interviews up for you.’

‘Don’t bother,’ he snarled.

‘Guy...’ There was no mistaking her exasperated tone.

‘If I have to I’ll take Mrs Walton,’ he said with a sigh. ‘At least I know her. The last thing I want is one of those ambitious, vampirish secretaries who try to run the show, their boss included.’

‘She’ll be thrilled,’ Samantha said. ‘I’ll ring her right away.’

‘You do that.’ He let out another sigh. ‘God, Sam, hospitals are depressing places.’

‘How is your father?’ she asked with genuine concern. She didn’t know Martin Haywood very well, but what she had seen she couldn’t help liking. He was a charming rogue, just like his son.

‘Not good. The triple bypass is scheduled for tomorrow morning, most unusual for a Saturday, it seems. They only have theatre during the weekend if it’s a life and death matter, so I’m not getting my hopes up.’

‘He’ll have the best of care,’ she reassured.

‘Maybe so. But I feel very pessimistic about it all.’

‘He’s not old, though. What is he? Late fifties?’

‘Fifty-seven. But he’s abused himself over the years. No proper exercise. Wine...women...’

Samantha thought it best not to add anything about the smoking at this moment, knowing Guy himself was probably puffing away like mad at the other end of the line. He always did when he was tense or worried about something.

‘I’ve only just realised I might have to face his dying and, damn it all, Sam, I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit!’

He sounded terribly distressed, which made Samantha feel guilty. She’d picked a rotten time to resign on him, but it had to be done, even more so after what had happened earlier today. Out of sight was out of mind, she hoped. And if it was cowardly of her to run away then she was a coward! There was no viable alternative. If there were she would take it.

‘I wish there were something I could do to help,’ she murmured truthfully.

Any normal secretary could have offered to cook him a meal, since his housekeeper was away, but she didn’t dare. Her feelings towards Guy had tipped over a dangerous edge today and it worried her that she wouldn’t always be able to control them. Best she keep well away from him in any social sense. It would be hard enough dampening down these newly wayward desires at work without inviting disaster elsewhere.

‘There’s nothing you can do for me,’ Guy stated, ‘except stay on as my secretary.’

‘Please, Guy, drop it.’

‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll drop it. For now... See you Monday morning, Sam.’

He hung up.

Monday morning, she mused, replacing the dead receiver. That was three days away. In three days she should have herself firmly under control again.

CHAPTER THREE

AS FATE would have it, Samantha was not to see Guy the following Monday. Or the Tuesday for that matter. His father’s operation had been a technical success, but his recovery less so. He remained in Intensive Care in a coma, with Guy hardly leaving the hospital except to ring the office.

‘You’d think one of those precious ex-wives of his would have shown up to see how he’s faring, wouldn’t you?’ he growled during his second call for Tuesday. It was four-fifteen in the afternoon. ‘I let each one of them know about the operation and they all mouthed meaningless wishes for Dad’s welfare, but not an appearance between the three of them.’

‘You sound tired, Guy,’ Samantha said gently. ‘Why don’t you go home and have a proper night’s sleep?’

‘Can’t.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Dad needs me.’

‘But he’s unconscious,’ she pointed out. ‘You can’t really do anything.’

‘Yes, I can. I can talk to him, let him know it’s important to someone for him to pull through. I’ve read where coma patients can hear more than people realise.’

‘Yes...I’ve read that too.’ Samantha thought it wonderful for a grown man to love his father so much, and would have dearly liked to be by Guy’s side at the hospital, helping him in a more personal way during this time of trial. But a secretary could hardly presume to take such an intimate role and she supposed she was helping by looking after his business in his absence.

‘I’ve lined up the bookings for the tour,’ she said, knowing that talking about work would distract him from his worry for a little while.

‘Already?’

‘Mrs Walton helped me. She came in for a few hours yesterday and today. Of course, I couldn’t get the Entertainment Centre for Sydney. That’s booked out solid for a year. It’ll have to be the racecourse. Open-air stuff. Risky, I know. We’ll have to insure against rain. Oh, and the Midday Show want Frankie for a regular spot. His guest appearance last week was a big hit.’

Frankie Myers was the only comedian Guy handled. Mostly he concentrated on rock singers, musicians and bands. But Frankie was a special case. A Vietnam veteran, he’d initially made a modest living doing a stand-up comedy routine in hotels and clubs. But a growing drinking problem had shown him to be an unreliable gig and, in the end, no one would hire him. He’d been on skid row when Guy had literally tripped over him one night eighteen months ago in the gutter near his home. He’d recognised him, taken him inside, cleaned him up, dried him out and told him he’d make him a success if he gave up drinking for good.

Frankie did just that, and Guy had kept his side of the bargain, helping him update and polish his material and finding him work. But to get a regular spot on the top daytime programme on Australian television would mean unlimited exposure and a guarantee of success.

‘That’s terrific,’ Guy said, his voice smiling. ‘He deserves a break, the poor bastard.’

‘He’d never have done it without your encouragement and help.’

‘True.’ Modesty was not one of Guy’s virtues. ‘Anything else to report?’

‘No. Nothing I can’t handle.’

‘I don’t know when I’ll be in...’

‘Don’t worry. Mrs Walton and I will keep the home fires burning.’

‘You’re a girl in a million, Sam. See you.’

Samantha’s heart turned over as she heard the line go dead. Oh, Guy... You like me. I know you do. And liking can turn to love, given the chance.

Darn it all, she thought with a surge of irritation. Why couldn’t I have been born tiny and blonde?

When the phone rang again twenty minutes later she was about to pack and go home. She looked at the phone with a measure of distaste. She seemed to have spent the whole day on the thing and had had enough.

‘Hayward Promotions?’ she said somewhat impatiently as she snatched it up.

‘It’s your boss again. Guess what? Dad’s conscious. Sam, I think he’s going to make it!’