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drawled, her soft brown eyes searching Clea's pale face. 'I heard you, when I came in ... You look awful, Clea. Shall I get Max to take you home?'
    'No! No,' Clea repeated more calmly. 'I'm fine—really. I ate something last night that has been upsetting my stomach ever since.' The lying was definitely easier, she thought heavily, too easy for someone who usually prided herself on her honesty. 'I'm only glad that it's decided to come up at last. Maybe my stomach will settle down now.'
    Mandy looked sceptical, to say the least, but forbore to say any more, lingering to watch Clea as she splashed water on her face then began letting down her hair, as though the severely confined knot was an unbearable irritation. She gave the glistening mass a shake, then started reapplying her make-up.
    Mandy was madly in love with a big, tanned muscle-builder. He stood six foot three in his bare feet and was nearly as broad. She was older than Clea by five years, she was petite and pretty—and very wise.
    Clea wasn't sure if Mandy knew of her affair with their boss, but she suspected that she did.
    'Is Joe in the meeting?' asked Clea. Mandy was Joe's secretary—and Clea's replacement if ever she was away. She flicked a comb through her hair, studying herself dispassionately in the mirror. She looked a wreck! Little Orphan Annie, she taunted herself, no one to love her and no one to love. She watched the bitter tilt that changed the shape of her generous mouth, sighing at it as she began covering the ravages of her recent nausea with a thin layer of foundation.
    'Yes.' Mandy wasn't fooled by Clea's diversionary tactics, but she was prepared to go along with them for now. 'They should be finishing soon. I thought you'd be taking the minutes?'
    Clea shook her head, her attention on her reflection. 'I've had to plough through the Stanwell contract.
    Max got Geoff Bradley's secretary to take the minutes—thank God! I detest those board meetings.'
    'So do I,' Mandy agreed with verve. She was still levelling her shrewd gaze on Clea. 'Some more blusher,' she quietly advised. 'Under the cheekbones. Clea, why don't you stop seeing him?'
    Clea went very still, her blue gaze flicking guardedly, to look at Mandy through the mirror, her blusher brush poised half-way to her face. 'I—I don't know what you're talking about,' she prevaricated on an unsteady laugh.
    'Yes, you do,' the other girl quietly insisted. 'Max is no good for you. You're too sensitive—too conformative in your ways to cope with his brand of living.'
    Clea applied the blusher, then collected up her make-up utensils, her face suddenly very grave. 'Who told you?' she asked huskily. 'Joe?'
    Mandy sighed heavily. 'You know Joe wouldn't say a thing to anyone. He's Mr Confidentiality himself.
    No, I saw the signs,' she revealed gently. 'Although you and Max have covered yourselves very well,' she hastened to add when Clea looked appalled. 'Take my advice and get out from under it,' Mandy appealed earnestly. 'He'll consume you if you don't.
    Clea smiled at that, a tight little smile that gave a lot away. 'I'll think about it,' she clipped, then stood back to view the results of her labours in the mirror. 'Will I pass muster, do you think?'
    Shut up and go away, her tone said, and Mandy's smile was lop-sided as she levered herself from the washbasin and made for the door. 'You'll do,' she assured, then added on a dry note as she left the Ladies, 'Enough for him not to notice, anyway.'
    And that said it all, thought Clea bitterly. It said it all.
    It wasn't until after lunch that she had an opportunity to sneak in to see Joe. Max had kept her piled under with work all morning and Clea had been grateful for it—being busy meant she couldn't find time to brood. There was no use denying that the phone call from his latest conquest had knocked her for six. It had changed her whole outlook on what she was going to do about her future, and if there had been any weakening inside her to confess all