Ruby was wonderful. She was the answer to Marcus Benson’s prayers.

Somewhere in her indeterminate post forties, a stout and sensibly dressed Afro-American, Ruby gave off the aura of someone’s mother or someone’s aunt. She was neither.

Nor did she have any secretarial qualifications. She had been an obscure, unnoticed clerk in Marcus’s vast financial empire when he’d found her almost by accident seven or eight years back. Marcus had been trying to juggle a Japanese delegation, a team of lawyers after his blood, and a posse of journalists and photographers from Celebrity-Plus Magazine. His highly qualified secretary had wilted under pressure.

In desperation he’d gone to the outer office and called for anyone-anyone!-who could speak even a little Japanese.

To his astonishment Ruby had risen ponderously to her feet. She’d studied a little Japanese at night school, she’d told him, and he’d expected nothing. But what he’d got… In twenty minutes she’d charmed the Japanese businessmen and organised an on-site lunch, she’d diverted the reporters with vouchers to a nearby exclusive wine bar, and she was calmly taking notes while Marcus coped with the lawyers. And when he appeared flummoxed she even suggested priorities.

Her priorities were always right. Marcus had never looked for another assistant. Ruby didn’t move fast. She was unflappable, and she was worth diamonds. More than diamonds. Now she assessed the situation at a glance, she figured what Marcus wanted and she proceeded to provide it.

‘If Mr Benson has hurt you, we’ll do everything in our power to rectify it,’ she told the girl. ‘Mr Benson has an appointment right now which must be kept, but I can help.’ She gave Marcus an enquiring look-a look they both knew-which asked whether she should be sympathetic. She got a nod. A distinct nod and a smile. The combination of nod and smile was Marcus’s sign language for go all out to be nice.