She started down the hall; he crossed it to what she could see from the open door was a study. Another door was open further down the hall; she saw it was a drawing room, and went in. She'd wait there.

Yancie was staring out of one of the long windows-for all it was a murky wet morning, she could not help but admire the peace and tranquillity of the setting-when Thomson Wakefield, briefcase under one arm, an overnight bag in his hand, came into the room.

She turned at the small sound, and, feeling suddenly her old sunny self, but attributing it to the restfulness of his home, she gave him the benefit of her natural smile. `It's lovely here,' she said without thinking, and for a moment thought, as he stared at her, that he was about to smile back. Perish the thought.

He glanced down to the small table which wasn't littered with a coffee cup. `We'll go,' he unsmilingly announced.

Yancie's sunny side went into hiding. She went out to the car with him, enquiring politely, `Shall I take your bag for you?' when they reached the boot of the car, and found herself surplus to requirements when he opened the boot himself and dropped down his expensive-looking overnight bag next to her expensive-looking overnight bag.

Still trying to get it right, Yancie dutifully had the rear passenger door open for him when, boot lid closed, he walked round the side of the car. Without so much as a glance to her, he tossed in his briefcase and then got in. Yancie civilly closed the door, and went up front to the driver's seat.

She owned, as she drove along-carefully and solicitously to other road users-that, whereas with other executives she would very soon forget she was carrying a passenger at all, somehow, she couldn't forget about Thomson Wakefield in the back.

And why would she forget him? Didn't she have to be on her toes today where he was concerned? No way did she want this weekend's work to end with laughing-Jack back there giving her the big heave-ho.

Yancie took a glance in her mirror, not at the road behind, but at him. Their eyes met! Her tummy did the most peculiar somersault. Quickly, she looked away. 'Er-would you like the heating turned up-er-or down?' she enquired, purely from a sudden need, never before known, to say something.

'No,' he answered briefly.

Suit yourself! Yancie carried on driving, and a short while later realised Thomson Wakefield was not gripping onto the leatherwork for dear life-as she'd supposed he might-but had so far forgotten his driver, he was getting on with some work. Surely that meant he was comfortable with her driving! Yancie, while alert to the rainy road conditions, started to otherwise relax.

An hour and a half later and he was still hard at work. If he wasn't reading reports and making notes, he was making calls on the car phone, or dictating material for Veronica Taylor to type back. Did the man never rest?

'We'll stop at the next service station,' she heard him say, and for a moment she thought he was still dictating a letter.

When the service station was duly reached, however, and Yancie decided to stay in the car and wait for him, Thomson Wakefield came round to her door and opened it for her to step out.

'I don't want…' she began.

And got the shock of her life when he said curtly, `You need a break,' and she realised that the stop was for her benefit. To realise he wasn't risking her getting eye-strain or overtired in the wet weather.

'You're right, of course,' she murmured, pleasantly, and stepped out of the car-but, as he blocked her way, found she wasn't going anywhere for a moment or two.

'Take your name tag off,' he instructed.

She blinked-she had been told to wear it at all times. `My name tag?' she enquired witlessly-what was it about this man? Usually she had a brain.

'Take it off,' he repeated, with more patience than she would have given him credit for. `I know you're trying hard-but I've a feeling you'd prefer not to let all and sundry know that you're Yancie Dawkins from Addison Kirk.'

'Well, not unless we've been formally introduced,' she said with a smile, saw his glance flick to her upturned mouth-but he didn't smile.

It was uphill all the way with this one, she mused, as himself, not needing a break, apparently, sent her off to get a coffee, then went back to his telephoning. And yet it had been thoughtful of him. And what about the way her insides had somersaulted when her eyes had met his in the rear-view mirror? Something very peculiar was going on here!

Yancie returned to the car after a fifteenminute break, denying that anything in any way peculiar was going on. The only reason her tummy had been a bit butterfly-like was because it was so vitally important that she did her job well that day.

On his instruction she drove straight to the conference centre, and when he got out of the car she got out of the car too. `I shall be some hours here,' he stated. Ho-hum-more hanging about! But not so, apparently, she discovered, when, standing there and looking down at her, he went on, `You've got the name and address of our hotel; go and book us both in-perhaps you wouldn't mind having my bag put in my room.' Perhaps you wouldn't mind! `Then go and have some lunch. I'll see you back here at five-thirty.'

She didn't have to hang about waiting! He was giving her time off! For good behaviour? Yancie's natural smile came out. `Have a good conference,' she bade him, before she could stop to consider-were mere drivers supposed to say things like that?

The hotel, when she found it, was large, expensive, and efficient. Having expected, however, that she would be shut away in a broom cupboard somewhere, Yancie was agreeably surprised to find Veronica Taylor had booked her a room of the same quality as their employer's. Yancie knew this because, wanting to ensure that nothing went wrong this weekend while she was being `put through her paces', she went personally with the bell-boy up to the floor above hers to deposit Thomson Wakefield's bag.

She then realised that she was hungry and so went down to the hotel's restaurant and enjoyed a leisurely lunch. Presumably lunch was laid on for her employer at the conference centre. Back in her room she unpacked her bag, shaking out the folds of the dress she had brought with her, and also the trousers and shirt. She hadn't done an overnight job before, but unless she had to she wasn't minded to stay in her uniform the whole time.

She freshened her make-up, brushed her pale hair and decided against changing into a new shirt. She'd brought two with her, but, needing one to go home in tomorrow, she might need a fresh one to wear tonight should he require her to chauffeur him to some other meeting. What did she know? Heads of companies might have meetings every Saturday night for all she knew.

Wanting to be in plenty of time, Yancie was at the conference hall with a half-hour to spare. Perhaps they'd finished early-perhaps they were overrunning-she went inside to find out.

There seemed to be no one about so Yancie nosed about. When she came to some double doors she thought they looked interesting and she opened one of them. She found herself standing at the back of a crowded hall, where, apart from the man now on the platform speaking, there was otherwise a silence in which you could have heard the proverbial pin drop. The man now speaking was none other than the man she had come to collect. Thomson Wakefield.

Not wanting to draw attention to herself by going out again, Yancie spotted one chair at the back that was vacant and silently crossed to it, and sat down. She listened to what he was saying. Truly Thomson Wakefield had a wonderful voice. She looked carefully aboutand could not help but be taken with the way he held his audience. She felt quite proud suddenly-and wasn't sure that her heart didn't give a little flutter.

Totally absurd, of course, and yet… She listened-my word, did he know his subject! He was quite spellbinding. No wonder he headed Addison Kirk. A burst of applause erupted, and then someone was closing the conference.When people started getting to their feet, so too did Yancie. She was the first out and by the time her employer came out from the building she was sitting primly behind the steering wheel. He was not alone but was in conversation with several other men before, with handshakes all round, he headed over to where she was parked.

It was still a cold, damp day. She considered, as befitted her position in life, getting out and opening the passenger door for him, but, on balance, decided that he was quite big enough to open the door for himself.

He got in. If he'd seen her enter the conference hall-and quite honestly, for all he hadn't faltered in his speech, she couldn't see how he might have missed seeing her-he didn't comment on it. In fact he had nothing at all to say.

Which left her to slew round in her seat, and enquire, `To the hotel?'

He nodded and, terrific orator though he might be, Yancie, steering away from the pavement, started to feel a bit peeved that he had so few words for her. Peeved? Good grief, she was out to show him what a good, polite, thoughtful, absolutely terrific employee she was. She didn't have space to be peeved this trip!

Having given herself a small talking-to, Yancie started to lighten up, and as they left a built-up area behind she looked in her mirror-and again discovered his glance on her. Their eyes met, and Yancie found herself saying, `That was some speech you made!'

His eyes widened the merest fraction, though not from surprise that she had been in that hall, she was sure, but more from the fact that she'd referred to it-either that, or surprise that she was dishing out a compliment.

'You know anything at all about ergonomics`?' he enquired, his tone cool.

'Not the first thing,' Yancie owned, and laughed-he didn't. She was getting just a trifle fed up with him. `Perhaps that's why I'm so easily impressed,' she added, and was scowled at for her trouble.

'Watch your driving!' he instructed her shortly, and Yancie began to wonder if she would ever get the hang of this being employed business.

While she was certain that few went around being servile these days, she was having one heck of a time in remembering that she was a driver and, therefore, while at work, not an equal. Thomson Wakefield was the top man and she a mere driver, and she'd better remember that.

Yancie was of the view that the journey to the hotel would be completed without him saying another word to her. She was mistaken. She had just driven into a semi-rural area near to the hotel when the car phone rang-she left it to her employer to pick it up. Quite obviously, since he used the vehicle as an extension of his office, the call was for him. Besides which, no one of her acquaintance knew this telephone number.

Or so she thought. She heard him answer the phone-then nearly jumped in surprise when he said shortly, `For you.'

She half turned in her seat. `For me?' she asked half-wittedly, one hand leaving the steering wheel as if to take the phone from him.

'Pull over!' he ordered.

Yancie pulled over onto a grass verge, her mind going from stunned to racing. It had to be Kevin Veasey; he was working all day today. It had gone six, but he often worked late. Perhaps some urgent job for tomorrow had come up and he wanted her to go somewhere once she'd dropped off her present passenger.

With the car halted, she turned and took the phone from her employer. `Hello?' she said and just couldn't believe the voice she heard it was not Kevin Veasey.

'Who was that?' her mother demanded of the man who had answered the phone.

'What's wrong?' Yancie asked quickly, stunned but realising her mother would only have traced her to this number in an emergency.

She should, she almost at once acknowledged, have known her mother better than that. `Nothing's wrong!' her mother retorted tartly. `Everything couldn't be more right. Who was that who answered the phone?' she repeated.

'Er-nobody you know,' Yancie managed, getting herself a little together; though heartily glad she had her back to Thomson Wakefield, she had an idea she was a pretty shade of scarlet.

'Are you going steady with someone?' Ursula Proctor demanded. `Mother!'

'I don't know what's the matter with you! When I was your age I had men cutting a path to my door. You're pretty. If I do say it myself, you're quite beautiful sometimes. Why…'

'I' m-er-a little busy right now.'

'I've spent the best part of today trying to contact you-and now you haven't time to talk to me.' Her mother broke off to draw breath. 'You'd better come over and see me I'll expect you tonight at…'