CHAPTER 30
Harry
September 1996
Harry flicked through the Times as he sipped his first coffee of the working day. There was more fallout from the Charles and Diana divorce, now finalized after four years of separation.
Divorce, divorce, divorce. Harry couldn’t escape the topic. This year’s also included the Duke and Duchess of York—but not Harry and Katie Rose.
Tom Wolston had let him down. After Ana had ramped up the pressure, Harry tasked the lawyer with finding a loophole. He’d failed. There was simply no way, Tom said, if Katie contested the divorce. They would have to wait another two years, at least.
Ana was furious, pushing Harry to sack Wolston and find someone who could bend the law to Harry’s will. Perhaps he should. The faithful old lawyer had been with Rose for years, his understated, old-school manner masking his ability to deal ruthlessly and efficiently with anyone who stood in Harry’s way. But this time, Wolston seemed to be mixing up legal technicalities with the importance of doing as he was told.
Harry took another sip of his coffee.
Ana was obsessed with making their relationship official, and it seemed to be more about her position at work than her love for him. She somehow thought being his wife would consolidate her new role. Six months ago he’d promoted her to managing editor of six Rose titles, including the Rack and Hooray! It hadn’t been easy, persuading the board, but he prepared a convincing argument. She’d been at Rose for four years, her work was consistently outstanding, and she was well respected by her colleagues, even if her demeanor (“quite haughty”—Janette’s words) rubbed people up the wrong way.
He’d anticipated trouble from Terri, but she’d shrugged her shoulders and said, “She’s welcome to it.”
“You don’t mind that it’s not you?” he’d said. “I really don’t want you in management, you were meant to be an editor.”
“Management schmanagement,” she’d said. “I’m happy where I am, and Ana won’t bother me. However, a few grand extra to show your appreciation wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Your wish is my command. Genie boss will make it so. And I won’t even make you rub me.”
Harry buzzed Janette. “Can you come through when you’re ready?”
“Of course, Harry! Won’t be a tick.”
Handling Mia Fox had been a different matter entirely. She’d sounded off about how she’d given her life to Hooray! and all this time had been answerable only to him. Now she was expected to take orders from a junior? And everyone knew the real reason why Ana was being promoted, and . . .
He’d tuned out at that point.
Mia was excellent at her job, but she wasn’t irreplaceable. When she’d finally run out of rant, he’d said, “Mia, if you don’t feel comfortable continuing in your role, we can look at transferring you to a different publication. Or perhaps across to online.”
Defeat had settled around her shoulders. “It’s not a good look, Harry,” she’d spat out, “promoting your . . . lover, above more experienced staff. Do you think Ana will be respected in her new role? She’s a great designer, but she’s shit with people. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when it all comes tumbling down.”
Nothing had crumbled, at least so far, but the move didn’t seem to have made Ana any happier.
Janette sat down opposite, as she did every day about this time. Harry was firmly old-school. A man at the top needed a secretary with a shorthand notebook and a good pair of legs to perch it on. And Janette’s were very good.
She crossed them, pencil poised. Her black tights made a gentle rasping noise.
Harry cleared his throat. “I need to go to Manchester to rally the troops up north. Can you organize it for early December? Talk to Barry up there.”
“Sure, Harry.” She finished scribbling, then uncrossed and recrossed her legs.
After a momentary pause, Harry added, “And you’d better come with me.”
Her eyes flew to his, surprised, then she dropped them again and scribbled something else down.
He smiled inwardly. Janette didn’t blush so much these days, but she was still easy to read.
“Barry’s asked me to do a presentation about Rosenews to his advertisers. Far be it from me to point out that electricity isn’t standard up north yet, never mind the internet.”
Janette giggled.
“Anyway, you know how I am with technology—you can come and sort it all out for me.”
As she left the room, he couldn’t help comparing her shapely behind to Ana’s rather flat, boyish bottom.
Janette
December 1996
The hotel receptionist handed over two keys. “Here we are, Ms. Morrissey. No relation to our own Morrissey, I take it?”
She giggled. “No! I have an auntie from Manchester, though.”
“Let’s go, shall we, Moneypenny?” said Harry.
They took the lift, Janette’s skin tingling at her closeness to Harry.
“Barry’s meeting me downstairs for a drink at seven,” he said. “Why don’t you join us at, say, seven thirty? Half an hour should be enough to get the business side of things out of the way, then we can spend the rest of the evening winding up Barry. He’s a professional northerner who loathes southern softies like yours truly.”
“Barry versus Harry!” said Janette as the lift bumped to a halt.
Harry’s suite was on the corner, while her room was a few doors down. “See you at seven thirty!” she said, letting herself in.
She dumped her case on the floor and flopped down on the bed, flinging her arms out to her sides. There was a massive smile on her face, and her heart was racing.
After all this time, here she was, about to have a sort of date with the man she’d fallen in love with during her first week at Rose. Dare she hope he might be starting to see her as more than a bringer of tea, a typer-upper of letters, a sorter-outer of challenging software? Was she now a friend, at least?
He was confiding in her more and more, even complaining about Ana sometimes. And his eyes often traveled down from her face, appraising, noticing. And she adored the way he called her Moneypenny.
She knew it was foolish, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she? Pretty Woman was her favorite movie of all time. (Not that Janette was at all a loose woman, of course.) And she enjoyed reading romance novels in which the nurse ended up with the surgeon, or the millionaire boss gently pulled out his secretary’s hair clips and removed her glasses, and she swung her hair free, and he noticed she was, in fact, beautiful.
She sighed. Down, girl! She was simply meeting Harry and his colleague for a drink.
Ana’s face came into her mind. Graceful, sophisticated Ana, who looked at Janette as if she were a piece of fluff to be flicked from one of her Chanel jackets. Well, Ana might be the epitome of style, but she was colder than a midwinter’s day in Antarctica. And she wasn’t married to Harry, she was only his girlfriend.
Three hours later, after changing her outfit several times (she was aiming for not too secretary, not too date night), plus three tries with hair and makeup, Janette made her way to the bar. She was wearing a little black dress from Next, with black court shoes and a pink bouclé jacket. Her lipstick matched the jacket. She hoped her Anaïs Anaïs wasn’t too overpowering.
Yesterday she’d hovered for a good thirty minutes over the hosiery display in Selfridges. Was she crazy, thinking Harry might be interested? Harry Rose—rich, devastatingly handsome, powerful, and living with a style icon. A woman who never blushed.
When she bought the stockings, it was as if she’d taken something out of the box labeled dreams and put it in daring to hope. By the end of this evening, she’d be feeling either stupid, or . . . or what? It seemed beyond possible.
Harry was sitting with a large man with a florid complexion. Both men were casually dressed.
“Moneypenny,” said Harry, rising out of his chair slightly. “You could have dressed up a bit.”
“Sorry, I thought—”
“Joking, Janette.”
She blushed.
“Forgive me, that was mean. You look very nice. Janette, this is Barry. Barry, meet my right-hand man.”
“Is he always like this, love?” said Barry in a Lancashire accent.
“Oh yes,” said Janette. “We have some fun in the office!”
“I’ll bet you do,” said Barry, his eyes traveling down her body.
Barry downed pint after pint, his cheeks going a little redder with each one. They talked business, while Janette sipped her drink and tried to look as though she understood what they were talking about.
Finally, Barry left, turning down the offer of dinner, as he had to “get back to the wife or there’d be trouble.”
“Christ,” said Harry. “And I thought I was a dinosaur. Come on, let’s eat.”
A waiter showed them to a cozy corner table in the dining room.
“How many years have we been together, Janette?” Harry said, his eyes flicking over the wine list.
“Four next week, actually!”
“Is it? Well I’d say that calls for champagne.”
The evening was straight out of the dream box. Harry was the greatest company, telling entertaining anecdotes, then talking about his daughter, Maria, his problems with Katie; he even shared some of his future plans for Rose.
As she ate the gourmet food, not tasting it at all, the glow from the candle between them reflected how she was feeling inside.
Harry encouraged Janette to talk about herself, his deep blue eyes warm and interested. She told him about her family in Wiltshire, and about her love of needlework and embroidery. “But you must think that’s so boring, Harry!”
“Not at all. Everyone should have a creative hobby, one that takes them out of themselves for a while. I like to write music. And poetry—but that’s between you and me.”
As she finished her coffee, she realized they were the only people left in the restaurant.
Harry put his napkin on the table. “Right then, we should call it a night. I have to speak to the good advertisers of Manchester tomorrow, and you, my dear Moneypenny, need to be PowerPoint ready.”
As the lift made its way upward, she wondered if he could sense her tension. She was ready to explode with it.
“Good night, then,” he said as they reached her door. He smiled, and there was a question in his eyes.
Wasn’t there?
“I, um, well, there’s a minibar, if you wanted a nightcap.”
“You’re blushing again.” He raised his hand and stroked her cheek with the back of it.
“Oh god, am I? I wish I knew how to stop it.”
“Don’t ever. Your blush is utterly charming.”
“No, it’s so embarrassing,” she said as her knees threatened to give way.
“It’s lovely. Now, are you going to stand out here being embarrassed, or are you going to pour me that nightcap?”
Once inside, she was so nervous that she missed the glass as she upended the miniature. As she tried to mop the whisky up with a paper coaster, Harry came over, taking the glass from her hand. “I prefer my drinks stirred, not shaken, Moneypenny. But I don’t really need another after all that bubbly.”
“No, I’m a bit squiffy myself!”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she nearly fainted with longing. Or was that just a line from one of the romance books? No, she really did feel awfully wobbly.
“You’re so ridiculously sweet and adorable.”
“Am I?”
“I don’t think you realize. You’re like an oasis of kindness and calm in the madness of my life. That’s a bit purple prose, but you get the picture.”
He ran his hand down her arm, making her shiver. When he reached her elbow, he slid his hand onto her waist. “I don’t even know if you have a boyfriend.”
“I don’t.” She didn’t want to sound too available, so she added, “At the moment.” She could hardly hear her own voice above the thumping of her heart.
His other hand moved up to her head, stroking her hair. “I like your hair up like this, it shows off your lovely neck.” He bent and kissed it gently, where it met her shoulder, then trailed more kisses up her neck, getting closer to her jawline.
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed. “I’ve imagined this for so long.”
He pulled away slightly, and looked down into her eyes. “Please don’t think of it as a boss-with-secretary cliché thing. You know how much I value you.” He bent again and softly brushed her lips with his.
She was melting.
“Harry?”
“What?” he murmured.
“Will you . . . would you mind . . .”
“Would I mind what?” He kissed her again, deeply, and all the romance-book things were happening. The weak knees, the fireworks, the things that went on “downstairs” when a woman was kissed by the man she’d desired for at least twenty chapters.
“Would you unclip my hair?”
Harry gave a low chuckle. She felt his hand fumbling with her bun, then her long fair hair was falling loose, and she shook her head so it tumbled across her shoulders.
“Why, Moneypenny, you’re beautiful,” said Harry. “Turn round.”
In a daze, she did as he asked, and he unzipped her dress slowly, then slid it down over her hips. She faced him again, and he smiled slowly as he took in the lacy underwear and stockings.
“Janette Morrissey, you dark horse you.”
She put her arms around his neck, and he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
Harry was only Janette’s second lover. The first had been at school, in the sixth form. She and her boyfriend had had a nice time learning the basics, but they hadn’t exactly scaled the heights of ecstasy, as it had always been a rushed affair, time snatched during babysitting or when parents were out. Janette had never truly been able to relax.
So sex with Harry was a revelation. Waves of pleasure flooded through her as Harry trailed his fingers over her body, stopping to stroke the skin between the top of her stockings and her panties. His kisses moved down her neck to her chest, then back up to her lips, then down, and down some more . . . oh! She felt something inside her building, and lay inert, apart from a little writhing. Her one coherent thought, as Harry played her body like a harpist creating music fit for heaven, was that Ana would know what to do back, whereas she had no clue. But the momentary worry was swept away by the tide of ecstasy that suddenly swamped her, leaving her gasping in surprise.
“Nice?” he murmured, coming back up to eye level.
Then he was moving inside her, and to her amazement it was all building again, and then after a spectacular moment they were both lying on their backs, catching their breath.
“Marvelous,” Harry said. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her.
“I love you, Harry.” There, she’d said it. Perhaps it was too soon, but after what they’d just done, he’d know anyway, surely?
“You do?”
“Of course. I don’t expect you to love me back, but I’m here for you, whenever you need me, on whatever terms you want.”
“I don’t deserve that. You’re an angel, and I’m . . . well, I’m often found wanting.”
They cuddled and dozed for a while, then he sat up. “I shouldn’t stay. I need to ring Ana. And you might not respect me in the morning.”
She giggled, though the thought of him phoning Ana hurt her heart.
“That’s fine, Harry. I’ll still respect you.” But would he still respect her?
He quickly dressed, then sat down again on the bed, taking her hand. “I know I can rely on you not to breathe a word, to anyone. Not even your cat.”
“How did you know I have a cat?”
“Inspired guess.”
“I won’t, Harry. I promise.”
Harry
In the taxi from Euston to Knightsbridge, Harry pondered on his evening with Janette. Quiet, adoring, sweet Janette, who never had a bad word to say about anybody. Janette, who had worn stockings and asked him to let her hair down, so they could properly play Bond and Moneypenny.
Who’d have thought it?
And now it was back to Ana, who would no doubt complain about the lack of cooperation at work, the tedious wait for his divorce—and she’d interrogate him about what he’d been up to in Manchester. Not that she’d ever suspect him of sleeping with Janette, whom she considered an annoyance rather than a threat.
What would it be like going home to someone like Janette, instead? Someone who’d cook him a delicious meal, followed by homemade cake; who’d massage his shoulders, ask him how his day had been. Someone like Katie, said a little voice inside his head.
When he opened the door to the penthouse, Ana was already home. She appeared in the living area, seductive in a red silk robe, her hair loose down her back.
“Darling, I’m so glad you came straight home.”
He caught a whiff of something delicious from the kitchen. This was all highly unusual.
“What’s going on?”
Ana smiled. “Well . . . I was going to wait until dinner. Yes, believe it or not I’m cooking. But what the heck, I can’t wait that long.” She wound her arms around his neck.
“For what?” He drew her close, feeling himself respond. “Me?”
“Yes, but . . . Harry. It wasn’t planned, but I’m so happy about it. We’re going to have a baby.” She was searching his eyes, nervous, waiting for a response.
He could feel her words knocking on doors in his brain, forcing a foot in the crack, pushing their way in. Then his brain unscrambling them, working out what to do with them. Send out shock waves? Happy vibes?
He waited for his body to tell him how he felt.
“Harry?”
Joy. Unanticipated, overwhelming joy.
“Ana, you bloody goddess!” He swept her up and spun her around, then put her down gently on the white carpet, like she was made of glass. “Ana, that’s the most incredible news. How—”
“Only five weeks. By my reckoning it’s due in August. Are you pleased? Really?”
Ana rarely showed such vulnerability, and he experienced a rush of some deep, primal, protective instinct. “Come and sit down. I can’t take this in.”
“I need to check on the dinner. But . . .” She twined her hands behind his neck again, and her robe fell open. “It won’t be ready for an hour or so.”
“I know I shouldn’t say this,” said Harry later, stroking Ana’s hair as she snuggled against his chest, “but I hope it’s a boy.”
“Why?”
“I guess every man wants a son, to play Lego with, take to cricket matches, pass the empire on to and all that.”
“Harry Rose,” she said, punching him lightly in the stomach. “You total dinosaur. Have the Spice Girls taught you nothing of girl power?”
“I like the one in the Union Jack dress.”
“Ginger.”
“Of course. And the posh one. She’s a bit like you.”
“Girls can do anything, Harry. This could be a daughter who grows up to change the world.”
“True. Hey, Ana?”
“Mm?”
“I’m really hungry.”
“Oh my god, the duck!”
Later, as Harry rang for a takeaway, he briefly thought about last night with Janette, and pushed away the guilt. Things were different now. Janette would understand.