1.
Liza Hartson pressed the buzzer on her desk and waited for her secretary to answer. A few seconds elapsed before Merle Bowman's lilting sing-song voice came floating through to her.
"Yes, Mrs. Hartson?"
"Merle, dear" said Liza, "I'm expecting a visitor shortly but I've still got a few things to attend to. When he arrives, will you ask him to wait for a few moments and then I'll buzz you again when I'm ready."
"Oh," came Merle's voice again, now sounding somewhat perplexed and biting her lip. She hated the way her boss kept referring to her as "dear".
Liza smiled to herself; she could see in her mind's eye Merle's puzzled face as she took stock of what she had just been told. Merle, for all her childish giggling and pouting, was and is an excellent secretary and knew every appointment at every time of every day but it was not surprising she knew nothing about this one since Liza hadn't mentioned it to her. Most of Liza's appointments were all documented in the day's diary but there was nothing down for the period from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m. which is when Liza usually went out for another boring business lunch with various yawn-inducing associates.
"There's nothing about any meetings in the diary until 3 p.m. today," Merle went on, cutting into Liza's reverie and thinking she was being as helpful as she always hoped her boss thought her to be.
"No," said Liza, "it's a private meeting."
"Oh, I see," replied Merle, not really seeing at all and now sounding more puzzled than ever but she quickly regained her professional composure. "Very well, Mrs. Hartson, I'll ask him to wait as you've instructed. May I ask his name?
"His name's Steven," replied Liza.
There was a click as the two women terminated the businesslike conversation and Liza smiled again as she glanced around the room. Apart from the desk and filing cabinets, everything in the room she had chosen herself, the expensive Turkish rug, the green leather armchair and an ancient framed picture of a girl on the catwalk, circa 1935, and who bore an uncanny resemblance to Ginger Rogers, which hung on the wall alongside the door. Yes, Liza smiled again to herself, she felt quite confident that Steven would find her new office everything he would expect for the newly-appointed Chief Executive of the Wellbeck Fashion House.
Liza went into her own private bathroom attached to her office and glanced in the mirror. She was still pleased with what she saw, despite her advancing years.
Liza was not conventionally beautiful, her somewhat aristocratic features were too sharply defined for that but men seldom noticed the fact, it was her striking presence that made them turn their heads as she shashayed down Madison Avenue. Not that Liza cared much what ninety-nine point nine per cent of the male population thought though she was, of course, grateful, not to say delighted, that she still had the ability to attract the attention of opposite sex but, as far as she was concerend, there was only one man whose opinion she cared about and that was all that mattered.
Today, for the duration of her lunch break, Liza was going to put business aside as she showed her visitor the new office she had acquired following her recent promotion. Any discussions about the Wellbeck Fashion House's latest designs could be put on hold; in any case, meetings were a waste of time in Liza's eyes since, most of the time, she had already made her mind up how she wanted to proceed and a few well-chosen words in the right direction soon saw off any opposition to her plans.
As for those who thought they were going to find things easy with the new Chief Executive, they very soon found themselves being required to revise their opinions. Despite her smile and undoubted elegance, one thing was for sure, Liza was no shrinking violet. An iron fist in a velvet glove - and very much so.
Liza smiled at her reflection, her eyes twinkling beneath her perfectly coiffured hair. She ate healthily, still worked out and went swimming regularly and, in summer, played tennis and there was not an ounce of fat on her very feminine frame. She was proud, too, of the fact that, as a top fashion designer, she could still get into some of the clothes she had designed fifteen years or more ago while the one or two lines that had begun to appear on her face in recent months were carefully disguised by the expert way in which Liza applied her make-up. This, she realised as she gazed in the mirror, would need a bit of seeing to now if she wanted to look her best for her visitor.
Liza bobbed her hair in front of the mirror and then went to work as she scrubbed her face of the morning's make-up and then went to town applying a fresh supply for the afternoon. By the time she was finished, she felt like a new person, as fresh at mid-day as she had been after she had showered at home early that morning.
Three floors below in the secretarial office, Merle was chewing her pen thoughtfully. She had a pile of letters to type up on the computer and get printed out and into the post before she went to lunch herself but she was still musing curiously on who her boss's mystery visitor could be.
"Maybe she's found a boyfriend," Merle said to herself, "it's gotta be five years or so since she and that husband of hers divorced." And if that was the case, Merle also mused, it's about time, too.
The buzzer rang again, emphatically so, breaking into Merle's thoughts and this time from the reception desk on the ground floor.
"Merle," came Alison Shepley the receptionist's voice, breathlessly, "there's a young man here to see Mrs. Hartson. He says she's expecting him."
A young man, eh, thought Merle. Seemed like Mrs. Hartson had not only acquired herself a boyfriend but a toyboy to boot. To the twenty-two years old Merle, Liza was very old, fifty at least, if she was a day.
"Yes," said Merle, "so I've just been told. Ask him to pop up to my office first will you, please."
Merle was expecting Alison to cut off the intercom but instead she kept it on and Merle could hear Alison's voice telling the visitor to take the elevator to the third floor and then turn right for the secretary's office. A few seconds later, with the man safely on his vertical travels within the Wellbeck emporium, and Alison's voice came back down the line to Merle, this time more breathless and tremulous than ever.
"Merle, he's absolutely gorgeous," she said with added emphasis on the last word, "I've come over all unnnecessary. Wonder how that boss of yours knows him?"
"I don't know," replied Merle, truthfully, "but if he's as terrific as you say he is, I can't wait to see him."
"Yes," said Alison, "don't leave me out. I'm coming up to you too, I'll grab a box or whatever and pretend its an important parcel just arrived, or something. I've just gotta see this guy again. Talk about sex on legs."
"Alison," said Merle reproachfully, "I don't think that's a good idea, besides you've got the reception to look after."
