'Your travel plans are interesting,' he said, 'even if they aren't strictly relevant to the Distraint Act of 1987.'
Rachael laughed uncertainly.
'I wish I could come with you.'
'With your . . . wife . . .?'
He took his fingers away. 'We're separated,' he said. 'Last year. She's suing for divorce. Unreasonable behaviour, she says.'
'Oh.' Rachael blinked. There had been rumours. It was said that Everett was a much too frequent visitor to the Grapes next door as well. 'Are you? Unreasonable?'
He sighed, gave her a searching, hooded look. 'Probably. I probably am.'
'Oh,' she said again, feeling as if she had just been flung out of a plane with a parachute bag and no instructions. Which cord was the right one? Would she float or would she crash? 'You don't seem that bad to me . . . I mean . . . you know . . .'
'I don't know, Rachael, and I don't think you do either. Anyway. Enough of this. Administrative duties don't seem to suit you. You're overqualified for them, and yet you still manage to mess them up. I need a new PA. Why don't you do it?'
'What? Shouldn't you advertise?'
'It's just temporary. She's gone to visit relatives in Canada for three months. I believe that takes us up to the start of your World Tour, doesn't it, Rachael?'
The way he said it, and his accompanying flash of teeth, made her stomach flip-flop. It was playful and yet steely. It said, 'Don't mess with me, unless I give you permission.'
She would not have believed it, but it took just those few minutes in Everett's office for Rachael to decide that she wanted him, but only in a very particular way. Only if he took her.
He took his time with the taking. For the first four weeks, their working relationship was close, cordial, but professional. She performed all her duties well, even taking calls from the soon-to-be-ex Mrs Everett, who often made dark and cryptic remarks while leaving messages about solicitor's fees and decree nisis.
'Make sure you don't get on his wrong side, dear.'
'I bet he's got you taking dictation.'
'Just obey orders and I'm sure he'll give you a leg over, oops, I mean up.'
In the fifth week, there was a three-day taxation conference. Everett and Rachael had interconnecting rooms at the Luxe Noir. For Rachael, a luxury hotel was a new experience. Sitting opposite Everett at dinner, she was so self-conscious about using the right cutlery and not calling the napkin a serviette that she knocked back her first glass of wine a little too quickly.
'This place is amazing,' she said, staring up at the ceiling, spotlit to look like a night sky. 'Do you come here every year?'
'I spent my honeymoon here,' Everett revealed. 'Before the refurbishment, that was. There were crystal chandeliers on the ceiling back then.'
'Oh. Wow.' Rachael very much wanted to ask him about his wife, about what sort of behaviour she considered 'unreasonable'. Did she dare? She reached for the wine bottle to pour another glass, but Everett got there first and moved it beyond her reach.
'Slow down,' he said warningly. 'The starter hasn't even arrived yet.'
'Is that what your wife didn't like? Did she think you were too controlling?' Rachael kicked herself violently on the ankle at the way it had come out, but it was too late to unsay it.
'I'm surprised you'd take an interest in my marriage, Rachael, but if you must know, there was an element of that, I suppose. Just probably not in the way you mean . . .'
'In . . . what way . . . then?'
'I am quite controlling, but not as part of day-to-day life. Our marriage was an equal partnership in every area except one.'
'Except . . . one . . .'
He looked down and smiled into his wine. 'There's no reason why you'd want to know, Rachael, so perhaps we should leave it at that.'
'I do want to know,' she said. Where were all these mad words coming from? What was she trying to do?
'I'm not sure you'd be comfortable with it,' chided Everett.