She hesitated, hating to throw it back to him, knowing she had no choice. ‘Sir… Do you have friends? Your parents…There must be people you know?’
There was a moment’s loaded silence. Then, ‘You’re telling me to contact my parents’ friends?’ The anger in his voice frightened her.
‘No, I…’
‘There is no way I will contact any friend of my parents-or anyone else. You’re suggesting I ask for charity?’
‘Of course not, but…’
‘To impose myself on someone else’s Christmas… I will not.’
‘Sir…’
‘So, taking away the personal option, where,’ he said in a voice that dripped ice, ‘do you suggest I stay?’
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.
‘You’re paid to know,’ he snapped, his face dark with fury. He glanced at his watch. ‘You have fifteen minutes. I’ll get documents faxed from Berswood to give me work to do over the weekend. Meanwhile, find me something. Somewhere I can work in peace. Now.’
He turned and slammed back into his office and, for the first time in her entire life, Meg felt like having hysterics. Serious hysterics.
Hysterics wouldn’t help. Where? Where?
Somewhere he could work in peace?
She could organise a mattress and a sleeping bag here, she thought, feeling more and more out of control. But even this office…without air conditioning…
No. Her job was so ended.
And more… In a little more than an hour, the train to Tandaroit would leave without her. Christmas was waiting. As well as that, there was hay waiting, ready to spoil if it wasn’t harvested. She must go home.