Read Online Second Time Around by Colette Caddle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Colette Caddle
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Mandy flopped back on to the bed and retrieved her laptop from underneath it to check her emails. There was one from her boss.
Flying in at 3.45. Pick me up in the usual spot. D.
‘You could say please,’ she muttered. Still, it would be nice to have Douglas back. She missed the banter. When she applied for the job as personal assistant to a travel writer
she’d imagined herself seeing the world, staying in glamorous hotels and mixing with clever, witty people. But, except for his trips to London to meet with his publisher, Douglas Thornton
rarely went anywhere. As for her accompanying him, two years in the job and she’d never got further than Dublin airport. Nor did he entertain. His infrequent visitors were taken for a pub
lunch and he’d return home alone. He had a cool, indifferent manner that Mandy figured was a deliberate ploy to keep people at a distance. She’d had a good look around for signs of a
wife and kids but had come up with zilch. She was reasonably sure he was straight but there was no woman on the scene and he showed no interest in Mandy, which was an entirely new experience for
her. Any man with a pulse usually gave her the eye.
Despite Douglas’s peculiarities, though, he had a dry humour she enjoyed and it was actually relaxing not having to fend off male attention for a change.
In the past, Mandy had tired of most jobs within six months or had to leave because she’d got involved with a colleague and it became awkward once she tired of them, as she always did.
Douglas was different, though. He fascinated and frustrated her in equal measures and, in doing so, managed to achieve what only one man had before: he held her interest. They’d fallen
into an easy relationship and rubbed along quite well together, their conversation peppered with teasing and sparring.
‘How can you write travel books if you don’t travel?’ she’d asked one day over lunch in the kitchen.
‘I assure you, I’ve visited all these places.’
‘Yeah, years ago, but places change. You need to keep up.’
Douglas had shaken his head and given her a patronising smile. ‘They’re not holiday brochures, Amanda. They’re a description of a country, its culture and its people, and those
things rarely change.’ He’d tapped the manuscript between them. ‘Don’t you ever read what you type?’
‘I try not to,’ she quipped. ‘I’m sorry but it all sounds a bit pretentious to me. It’s like people who rant on about a painting of a triangle that costs millions,
arguing about what it’s trying to “say” to us. I’ll tell you what it’s saying. The so-called artist is laughing all the way to the bank.’
He’d laughed, really laughed, at that, and she’d caught a glimpse of the man he could be, perhaps once was.
‘I won’t argue with you. I’ve had to listen to my fair share of so-called authorities on art over the years and wanted to punch them for being so damn pompous and
boring.’
She’d nodded in agreement. ‘And don’t you just hate people who go on about wine and the different scents and flavours and which year was best? I bet most of them wouldn’t
be able to tell the difference between a bottle that cost a thousand and a tenner.’
Douglas had pulled a face at that. ‘I was probably among them at one stage in my life,’ he’d admitted.
Mandy sensed that her boss was going to open up about his past and sat forward, eager to learn more. ‘Tell me more.’
He’d glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘Some other time. I’ve got work to do.’
And she had got no further information about him.
Mandy knew Douglas was in his late sixties but he didn’t look or behave like a man of that age, despite the baggy cords and ancient check shirts. He had probably been
quite a catch twenty years ago. He had lovely blue eyes, a deep laugh and good teeth, too. There was definitely life in the old dog yet. She wondered what or who had turned him into a hermit.
Maybe she should
Flying in at 3.45. Pick me up in the usual spot. D.
‘You could say please,’ she muttered. Still, it would be nice to have Douglas back. She missed the banter. When she applied for the job as personal assistant to a travel writer
she’d imagined herself seeing the world, staying in glamorous hotels and mixing with clever, witty people. But, except for his trips to London to meet with his publisher, Douglas Thornton
rarely went anywhere. As for her accompanying him, two years in the job and she’d never got further than Dublin airport. Nor did he entertain. His infrequent visitors were taken for a pub
lunch and he’d return home alone. He had a cool, indifferent manner that Mandy figured was a deliberate ploy to keep people at a distance. She’d had a good look around for signs of a
wife and kids but had come up with zilch. She was reasonably sure he was straight but there was no woman on the scene and he showed no interest in Mandy, which was an entirely new experience for
her. Any man with a pulse usually gave her the eye.
Despite Douglas’s peculiarities, though, he had a dry humour she enjoyed and it was actually relaxing not having to fend off male attention for a change.
In the past, Mandy had tired of most jobs within six months or had to leave because she’d got involved with a colleague and it became awkward once she tired of them, as she always did.
Douglas was different, though. He fascinated and frustrated her in equal measures and, in doing so, managed to achieve what only one man had before: he held her interest. They’d fallen
into an easy relationship and rubbed along quite well together, their conversation peppered with teasing and sparring.
‘How can you write travel books if you don’t travel?’ she’d asked one day over lunch in the kitchen.
‘I assure you, I’ve visited all these places.’
‘Yeah, years ago, but places change. You need to keep up.’
Douglas had shaken his head and given her a patronising smile. ‘They’re not holiday brochures, Amanda. They’re a description of a country, its culture and its people, and those
things rarely change.’ He’d tapped the manuscript between them. ‘Don’t you ever read what you type?’
‘I try not to,’ she quipped. ‘I’m sorry but it all sounds a bit pretentious to me. It’s like people who rant on about a painting of a triangle that costs millions,
arguing about what it’s trying to “say” to us. I’ll tell you what it’s saying. The so-called artist is laughing all the way to the bank.’
He’d laughed, really laughed, at that, and she’d caught a glimpse of the man he could be, perhaps once was.
‘I won’t argue with you. I’ve had to listen to my fair share of so-called authorities on art over the years and wanted to punch them for being so damn pompous and
boring.’
She’d nodded in agreement. ‘And don’t you just hate people who go on about wine and the different scents and flavours and which year was best? I bet most of them wouldn’t
be able to tell the difference between a bottle that cost a thousand and a tenner.’
Douglas had pulled a face at that. ‘I was probably among them at one stage in my life,’ he’d admitted.
Mandy sensed that her boss was going to open up about his past and sat forward, eager to learn more. ‘Tell me more.’
He’d glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘Some other time. I’ve got work to do.’
And she had got no further information about him.
Mandy knew Douglas was in his late sixties but he didn’t look or behave like a man of that age, despite the baggy cords and ancient check shirts. He had probably been
quite a catch twenty years ago. He had lovely blue eyes, a deep laugh and good teeth, too. There was definitely life in the old dog yet. She wondered what or who had turned him into a hermit.
Maybe she should
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