Far From Perfect by Portia Da Costa Page A

disorientating flush of heat. But not from the lie. Every part of her felt as if it was effervescing—especially those areas that still bore the echo of Nick’s touch like a living brand. Even her earlobes were hot. She didn’t dare look in the mirror for fear of seeing them actually pulsating.
    Her aunt cocked her head on one side, then said, with the delicate sense of tact, “Okay, I can see that whatever it is, you don’t want to talk about it just yet.”
    Anna sighed inwardly, knowing it was only a temporary reprieve.
    “But you look exhausted, love,” Lydia continued, “Why don’t you take a break for a while and I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee?”
    Oh, bliss. A renewed caffeine hit. Anna smiled gratefully. Lydia was an inveterate gossip and prone to fabricating two and two into seventeen—but she had the most kind and caring heart when it counted.
    “That would be divine.” Anna slipped into her office chair. “But I’d better crack on with these—” she indicated the CVs, “—so we’re ready for the interviews later.”
    Lydia shrugged and smiled, but left the room, heading for the kitchen. They had an office assistant and a typist who would have gladly made coffee, but Lydia was almost as particular as Nick when it came to its preparation and always insisted on making it herself.
    With her aunt busy, Anna sneaked her powder compact out of her bag, and took a peek at the disaster area otherwise known as her face. Even whilst showering, dressing and throwing on a scrap of makeup this morning, she hadn’t really been able to look at herself in the eye.
    What a monster. She looked ill. Not even a day of facials could have improved matters, so she might as well stick with the light slick of lip-gloss, one coat of mascara, and a little mushroom-colored eye crayon. Her skin was so pallid and washed out that blusher would have made her look like a clown. Beneath her haunted eyes there were delicate lavender shadows.
    This is what you do to me.
    Accusing the absent Nick, she snapped shut her compact and sighed. Scarcely twelve hours had passed since Nick had stepped over the threshold at Deverill Square, and she was already a physical and emotional wreck. How on earth was she going to manage when the real game began?
     
    Mercifully, the morning was busy. Anna interviewed several new prospective temps and was able to sign up two women who fitted the TT profile exactly. The others obviously hadn’t read the promotional material at all. Bottom skimming skirts, flimsy tops and heaven forbid, chewing gum, were just not what the agency was looking for.
    Lunchtime loomed as Anna exited the small office they used for interviews and found Lydia embroiled in an intense-sounding telephone conversation. One that she terminated abruptly, with the words, “Right, I’ll make the arrangements,” on catching sight of Anna.
    “What’s all that about?”
    The hairs on the back of Anna’s neck popped to attention. There was a shifty look on Lydia’s face, and she was fidgeting with her Mont Blanc.
    “Good news.” The answer was too speedy, and the older woman prodded compulsively at her collapsing chignon. “A mid-sized manufacturing company called Deighton Industries has just been taken over, and their London operation is undergoing a shake-up. They’re looking for lots of clerical staff on short-term contracts, especially PAs for some of their execs. That was their new…um…Human Resources guy on the phone. He’d like to meet one of us straight away to set something up.”
    “Right now?” Anna was used to high-powered business executives wanting premium staff at a click of their well-manicured fingers, but straight away was shorter notice than was usual.
    “Yes. Over a working lunch, at their offices in Maybury Street. It’s not far away. If you get a taxi you can be there in a few minutes.”
    “Me? But you’re the one he’s spoken to. Won’t he be expecting you?” Anna narrowed her eyes. Lydia