A Taste of Honey (3 page)

“And admirably. Thanks for doing a great job.” He wanted the interview over. “You can apply for the position the same as everyone.”

“Gee, thanks. Who’ll be doing the interviewing?”

“Me.”

“So it’d be a waste of time, wouldn’t it, Mr. Knight. I mean if you were interested in me as your CE then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“It’s not fair to the other employees who might like the CE’s job. They, like you,” he hastened to add, “want the chance to get it.”

He left her to return to his chair. He picked up his pen and wrote furiously on a pad. He could feel her eyes burning into the top of his head. “Thanks, Honey. That’ll be all for now.” What could he do to alleviate the tension between them? His eyes fell on the crystal vase of flowers. He imagined Honey would have been responsible for placing them on his desk. Nice gesture.

• • •

Interview over.

Charli made her way to his office door. The realization of what was happening descending like a wet blanket. Her anger turned to despair and a lump as big as a concrete block filled her throat. He was getting rid of her. A real don’t-call-me-I’ll-call-you type of bloke. All her wild fanciful suppositions suddenly held no comparison to the truth. This couldn’t be Malcolm Knight’s nephew. Surely none of Malcolm Knight’s genes were in this man’s body. William Knight’s Y gene was definitely Y for yobbo, yokel and, and — she couldn’t think of another Y word.

“Before you leave, Honey.”

Hope flared as she turned to face him. He stared at her. Her legs weak under the spellbinding gaze of crushed emeralds.
Get a grip here, Charli, this guy is public enemy number one and he sees you as Dick Tracy.
“Yes, Mr. Knight?” she said eagerly.

“Thank whoever put the flowers in my office. It’s a warm welcome.”

“It was Judy. Your receptionist.” Charli wanted no thanks from him.

“Oh, my receptionist. Great. Great, and very thoughtful.” He smiled. It did nothing to alleviate her intense disliked for him, and giving him a glare she hoped would shrivel his gorgeous hair from the top of his equally gorgeous head, Charli marched out of his office.

She slumped into her chair and leaning her elbow on top of her desk, cupped her chin in her hand.

This was the worst thing that could happen. Tears flooded. She blinked them back. She didn’t want to leave Knight Books. She loved her job and had thought she’d be here until retirement.

She’d been so prepared to work like a dog for the young Mr. Knight. Stand loyally by his side through thick and thin. He hadn’t even given her a chance.

He’d said her name had confused him. So he’d thought her a man, and, obviously working alongside a woman, for the illustrious William Knight, was akin to working with a psychopath with hedonistic tendencies. And she knew why. Judy had told her about William Knight’s ex and how she’d cut the matrimonial rug out from under him. So he was bitter? So he’d had a raw deal? Did that mean he had to punish every woman that came his way?

She had truly forgotten about the temporary part of her job. She’d been working so long in the capacity of CE it’d slipped her mind. Mr. Knight’s original CE had found another job and practically walked out on him.

He’d always liked her, Charli knew this, and he’d placed her in the job of CE saying she was right for the job, and he knew they’d get on well together. He’d been so right.

How she wished she’d reminded Malcolm Knight that the job was only temporary. He’d have immediately made her position permanent. No use lamenting.

She ripped a tissue from the box and blew her nose. Feeling sorry for herself, she conjured up all the bad things that had happened to her in the last few years. Her mother’s untimely death — at only forty-eight, her mother had succumbed to breast cancer. It had been difficult enough coming to terms with her death, but her father had dropped his bundle and withdrawn into the shadows, unable to cope with the grief.

Then, two years ago, there’d been that ghastly fling with Robert Bentley, a book distributor she’d met at a book fair. She had to be honest and say that she went into the affair with Robert because she wanted to lose her virginity. She wanted to know what sex was about and at twenty-one knew it was about time. He was handsome enough and she’d been attracted to him from the beginning, but her heart hadn’t danced the tango at the mere sight of him and she definitely didn’t hear bells when he’d kissed her.

He was okay in the courting department, but unromantic and, well, boring. He’d taken her out a few times. On the fourth date, she’d asked him over for dinner. Set the seduction scene. Candles, soft music, dimmed lights. Worn her sexiest dress. Fluttered her eyelashes at him throughout dinner until she was quite light-headed. Put her brain into storage and hung onto every word he spoke. Laughed at his not-so-funny jokes and when the final act came and she was in his arms, he’d made the confession.

He was gay. Not maybe gay but positively, over the fence gay. The reason he’d gone out with her was that he needed a woman to take to his sister’s wedding. He hadn’t told his parents about his sexual orientation. He needed a front.

Charli withdrew another tissue and dabbed her eyes. After that debacle with Robert, she’d taken the vow that she’d have to love the next man before sleeping with him. Trouble was the next man hadn’t come along. She’d meet a man, he’d asked her for drinks at a pub, put the hard word on her, and when she refused she’d never hear from him again. Not that she’d wanted to.

She wanted so much more from a man, romantic dinners, dancing in the dark, holding hands in the back seat of the movies. She wanted him to get to know her and her him. His likes and dislikes, his favorite food, his taste in movies and music.

Was needing to be courted the crime of the century?

Anyway, she hadn’t felt sparks. No ringing bells. No earth tremors.

Result. She was still a virgin. Most probably die a virgin.

She glanced over at William Knight’s office door. Now when she’d finally met a man who made her heart dance, he turned out to be her worst enemy.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Enough tears already.

“Can we make lunch earlier? I don’t think I can hold out till one.”

Charli jumped. She hadn’t realized Judy had come into the room.

Judy studied her face. “What’s wrong?”

“The young Mr. Knight doesn’t like me,” she said.

“Whad-’d-ya mean?”

“Just what I’m saying.” She blew her nose. “I’d forgotten this job was temp. He reminded me. He’s going to advertise it.” She sighed.

“No kidding? Oh yeah, I remember now you took over from June Haddock. Heck, what a damn mess. What happens now?”

“I go back to my old position.”

“Eating crow don’t taste so good.”

Charli shrugged. “I’ve eaten it many times before. It’ll be a five-minute wonder in the office until something juicier comes along.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“He’s going to advertise the job in-house and outside.”

“Then go for it. You’re sure to get it.”

“I won’t have a chance in hell. He wants a man working for him. You wait and see, Judy. He’ll hire the first male CE that applies for the job.”

“Because of what happened with his ex? She sure did a job on him.”

“So that makes him a woman hater?”

“Not so much that he hates women, I’ve heard different on that score.”

“Oh, so he’s a love lord as well.”

“Seems so. I can tell you stories that would melt the enamel from your teeth.”

“So tell me.”

“Not now, at lunch.” Judy shook her head slightly. “I can understand him not trusting women in business.”

“He could have given me a trial period at the very least.”

“Not much you can do about it.”

Charli wriggled in her chair. “I never imagined for one moment that Mr. Knight wouldn’t want me. I thought we’d get on and things would stay the same. Instead I’ve got the bottom ripped out of my pants.”

She raked a hand back through her hair and exhaled. “What sticks in my gut is that he wouldn’t even give me the chance to prove myself to him. He’s so inflexible.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What every girl who’s just been demoted does.”

“Bite the bullet?”

“Find a witch and have a hex placed on the young Mr. Knight.” She closed her eyes, held up crossed fingers and intoned, “I wish that William Knight gets one swift kick in his backside.” She opened one eye. “So hard he can’t sit down for a week.”

Call each day to inquire about her health and well-being.

Charli woke early. Surprisingly, she’d slept well when she’d thought she’d toss and turn the whole night. Only once she’d woken, her mind full of William Knight. And she knew what she would do. She couldn’t stay at Knight Books and watch another person do her job. It was too much for any woman to bear.

The autumn weather had turned unexpectedly warm. Through the open window, she could hear the twittering of birds. The soft morning light filtered through the open lace curtains. She stretched down the bed and wiggled her toes. How could she ever feel unhappy in this lovely room? She loved this room with its combination of wicker baskets and timber boxes and floor length curtains in an all-white color scheme creating a quiet, airy harbor away from all distractions. Double doors led onto a small balcony that boasted a lilac cane and wrought iron table and chairs where she spent most of her mornings drinking coffee and reading.

Throwing back the cover and shivering slightly as the cool air hit her naked body, she donned a woolen bathrobe and headed for the shower.

She had to work out which way to head. She had to decide whether she wanted to work in another publishing house or try something different. That was the troublesome question.

Grabbing the bottle of shampoo and squeezing a generous dollop into her cupped hand, she lathered her hair.

She didn’t fancy starting a new job. Fitting in. Meeting new people. Learning the ropes. It didn’t sit well with her. What could she do besides what she knew? Open a business? Like what? A teashop? Hmm, she couldn’t even boil water successfully. Best she stay with what she knew best. A bookshop, now there was a great possibility. She personally knew many editors and writers and could ask — she wasn’t past begging — them to do book signings and book readings.

Excitement stirred the pit of her tummy. She had her savings and she’d borrow whatever she could, and start Charli’s Bookshop or Honey’s Hardcovers. It’d be difficult because she was still paying off her flat and the mortgage payments were enough to choke a horse.

She rinsed the shampoo out of her hair and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry off.

She padded into the bedroom and glanced out of the window. Because it was such a fine day, and because she was feeling so miserable, she decided to go for a jog around Albert Park Lake before work. It would shake away the cobwebs, maybe even convince her that what had happened was for the best and that her next adventure in life would be wonderfully exciting. And in a way it was exciting thinking about what she would do next. Which way to go? Whatever happened, she’d grab hold of it with both hands and do her best to be a success.

She placed a change of clothes into an oversized shoulder bag. She’d shower and change at work. She pinned her long hair into an untidy knot on the top of her head and not bothering with make-up, dressed in a pair of running shorts and skimpy T-shirt.

Charli glanced at the clock. Six thirty. She had plenty of time for her jog and time to give her father, who she knew arose at six every morning without fail, a quick hello. She desperately wanted to tell him she’d lost her job and how unhappy she was. Maybe she’d go to the farm for a few days to lick her wounds, give herself time to think over her next move.

She moved into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of icy-cold cranberry juice, and drained the glass in one long thirsty gulp. She’d grab a coffee and croissant after her jog and eat it at work.

She worried about her father and his general health. Before her mother had died, he’d been a happy and carefree man full of laughter and love. He’d become a recluse, spurning her as well as his lifelong friends who, now tired of lame excuses, had stopped making allowances for him and ceased to call on him. She’d tried to reason with him. Tell him how much she needed him and wanted to be with him, but it was as if he’d lost contact with the real world, preferring instead to stay inside the dark and lonely world he’d created for himself.

She reached for the telephone and dialed her father’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Hi, Dad. It’s me.”

“Hi, love, how are you?”

“Fine, how are you?”

“Good, good.”

“I haven’t seen you in such a long time, Dad. I was — ”

“I’ve been busy here on the farm, love, and besides you’re always at work and weekends you seem to have such a lot on. Still, it’s what a young girl should be doing. Working and playing hard. The years go so fast you wonder where they’ve gone.”

He sounded down. Miserable. She didn’t know how to help him. What to do to get him back to life. “Dad, I was wondering if I could come up and visit for a few days?”

“When were you planning to come?”

“Soon. Maybe next week or the week after.”

She sensed his hesitation, his reluctance to have her with him on the farm and her heart sank. “I don’t know, love. I’m not sure what I’ll be doing.”

“You’d only be doing farm work and I can help you with that. I’d enjoy helping you, Dad.”

“It’s other things besides that, love. It’s the town meeting, and I’ve got to go Echuca on farm business. I’m flat out.”

“You wouldn’t know I was there, I promise.”

“Can you leave it for a few weeks? You know, until I’m feeling more like having people around.”

People? She wound the telephone cord around her finger. “Sure, I understand.”

“We’ll make definite plans another time. Okay, love?”

“Yeah, Dad, another time.”

“Love you.”

“You, too. Bye, Dad. Bye.” She placed the receiver onto the hook.