Kim took a steadying breath, turning away from the mirror and picking up her handbag. She had never been to the head office, which was located in a super-deluxe building not far from Hyde Park. West International had branches all over England as well as America and Europe, and she had worked in the Surrey division for nearly two years as secretary to the sales director. Before that, on leaving university she had had a fairly mediocre job which she’d seen as a stop gap until she married David and they started a family. Her dreams had been centred around David since they’d met at a barbeque in the first week of university life.

Stupid. She closed the door of the bedroom behind her. She’d had to learn the hard way that men said one thing and did another, that they weren’t to be trusted.

She had to get going; she couldn’t afford to be late. Nevertheless she paused in the small sunlit hall, glancing around her. She had moved into this tiny flat courtesy of getting the job at West International when her salary had doubled in one fell swoop and had never regretted it. Before that she had still lived with her parents because she had been saving hard for her wedding.

Kim loved her home. She nodded to the thought. She could walk to the office from here in fifteen minutes if she didn’t want to drive, and she had a terrific boss in Alan Goode. She had plenty of good friends and a fairly active social life; one or two girlfriends had got married in the last little while but there were plenty of others who were single and enjoying themselves. She was content.

She opened the front door, stepping into the large vestibule of the tall Victorian house which had a flat on each of its three floors.

Not happy exactly—she walked to the main door, exiting into the quiet street beyond—but after the trauma of the time when David had left her and she’d thought she’d never experience peace of mind again, content would do.

And there would be no more attempts at trying to be ‘normal’, as her mother put it—anyone who wasn’t married by the time they were twenty-five or at least in a serious relationship that was going somewhere was dubbed abnormal by her mother. She wouldn’t make a mistake like Peter again.

Kim walked over to her little Mini, which was waiting for her in the street outside. There were benefits to being autonomous. She was able to please herself what she did and when she did it and with whom. No more standing in the rain on a windy Saturday afternoon watching a football match she didn’t want to see. Her Saturdays with David had been a litany of those. No more putting someone else first constantly. No more allowing someone to turn a good day bad simply because they were in a disagreeable mood. The list was endless.

Why was she thinking about David so much today? she asked herself as she climbed into her car. He rarely crossed her mind from one week to the next these days. When she did think of him it was with a feeling of thankfulness for the narrow escape she’d had. The man she had thought he was would never have treated her as cruelly as David had done; she hadn’t known him at all and she had been forced to acknowledge that in the weeks and months after he had walked out on her. That had been scary in itself and more than a little humiliating, but it had taught her a valuable lesson: no one ever really knew what another person was thinking or feeling, however transparent they appeared.

She started the engine, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. Time to drive to the railway station and then make the journey into the city. She would acquit herself as well as she could at the interview and then put the whole sorry episode behind her.

And at least she had been offered an interview. A small smile touched her lips. According to one of the other girls, Kate had been gutted when she had heard about it, having failed to secure one herself. That had been, oh, so sweet. The smile widened into an unrepentant grin as she drove off.

* * *

An hour and a half later she was sitting in the office of Blaise West’s present secretary, an attractive young woman who was enormously pregnant. She had arrived a little early, just as another interviewee had been about to go into the inner sanctum. This woman had been tall and slim and beautifully dressed, with a hundred-watt smile she’d kept for Mr West’s secretary. Kim she had looked up and down, her face portraying the fact she didn’t think she needed worry about the competition.

Kim agreed with her. Surprisingly, it helped her nerves. She was probably the wild card in the ensemble, and if the gossip about the dynamo who was Blaise West was true, he’d realise this immediately he set eyes on her. She expected only a very short interview.

The office building was all lush carpets and glass lifts, as befitted an entrepreneur of Blaise West’s standing. She’d done a little research after applying for the job. Apparently Blaise West had diversified into various money-making stratas after making his first million or two in property when he’d barely been out of short trousers. His other main forte—the manufacture and distribution of commercial and home soft furnishings— was known throughout the western world as second to none.

Kim had never even seen a picture of him, but she knew what to expect from company gossip. He was nearly forty years old, a powerhouse of energy who had a reputation for ruthlessness and cold-blooded tenacity that was legendary. He’d been married and divorced. One child. Umpteen girlfriends. Attractive, rumour had it, but then there would be plenty of women who found power and wealth attractive whatever the man in question looked like physically.

Her thoughts sped on as she pretended to flick through the glossy magazine which was one of many on the low coffee-table in front of her. The secretary had asked her if she’d like coffee when she’d first arrived, ordering it by telephone. Kim had been impressed. Blaise West’s secretary and personal assistant didn’t stoop to such mundane duties, then.

She’d been even more in awe when a tray had arrived almost instantly, holding a cup of coffee in an elegant, wafer-thin cup and a small plate of expensive-looking iced biscuits. It made the tea and coffee machines in the Surrey division with their paper cups and murky charcoal contents even less palatable.

She’d barely taken more than two sips of the coffee, which had proved to be scalding hot, before the hundred-watt woman emerged with a flounce from the inner office. Kim got the impression the interview hadn’t gone too well. The lady in question didn’t stop to exchange pleasantries with Mr West’s secretary, marching straight out of the office with her head held high and her cheeks burning.

A moment after the door had closed behind her, a buzzer on the secretary’s desk sounded. ‘Pat?’ It was a deep voice, throbbing with irritation. ‘I thought you said you’d picked the best of the bunch from the applications? If what I’ve seen thus far is the best, I hate to think what the others were like. I trust there’ll prove to be at least one who isn’t completely moronic.’

Kim saw the woman glance swiftly at her as she hastily pressed a button and murmured something about ‘highly qualified’ into the receiver she’d picked up. Now, she couldn’t hear what was being said at the other end, but after a moment or two the secretary spoke in such a low voice Kim had to strain her ears while keeping her eyes on the magazine. ‘One more this morning and then one this afternoon; we agreed on half a dozen, remember? And Miss Abbott is already here.’

Another pause, and then, ‘Yes, I’ll do that. And I’ve organised the conference with the McBain people for a week on Monday, which will give our sales team time to get their presentation spot-on. You’re aware your lunch engagement is one o’clock?’ Replacing the receiver, the woman said to Kim, ‘Mr West will see you now, Miss Abbott.’