Stand-In Mistress
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Lee Wilkinson
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CHAPTER ONE
‘AND the installation work could be carried out without delay?’
‘Yes, certainly.’ Cool and efficient-looking in a charcoal-grey suit, her slim, nylon-clad legs neatly crossed, Joanne was quietly confident.
There was a brief pause while the burly managing director of Liam Peters thought it over.
‘Well, if your company can give me the kind of service you’ve just outlined, Miss Winslow, I believe we can do business,’ he said pleasantly.
‘I’m sure we can,’ she promised.
Elbows resting on the arms of his chair, hands steepled, he stared at her across the desk.
Smooth sable hair framed an oval face with good features—dark blue eyes, widely spaced, a generous mouth, a straight nose, and a determined chin.
Not exactly beautiful, he decided, but an interesting face, full of character.
‘In that case I’ll expect your team of technicians to be here first thing Monday morning to talk to me.’
‘They will be,’ she assured him, and smiled.
That smile made him revise his previous opinion.
Rising to his feet, he accompanied her to the door of the outer office and they shook hands cordially.
Barely restraining the impulse to jump for joy and shout ‘Yippee!’ she made her way sedately out of the newly completed office block and into Fulham Road.
She was immediately engulfed by the golden brightness of an early-September afternoon and the ceaseless roar and bustle of London’s traffic.
After months of worry, as the economy declined and the company her brother had built up began to founder, things seemed to be looking up.
For over five years Steve had struggled to make Optima Business Services successful, but the recession had meant less work and put a severe strain on the company’s slender financial resources.
The first really tricky patch had been weathered by mortgaging their house. But the second squall, coming fast on the heels of the first, had threatened to sink them.
Then, just that morning, Steve had been promised a substantial injection of cash by MBL Finance, an international investment company who specialised in helping small businesses.
Now, heaven be praised, she had as good as secured what promised to be a lucrative contract to set up a large new communications network.
About to head in the direction of the nearest tube station, Joanne glanced at her watch. She was surprised to find it was twenty minutes to five. At this time on a Friday there was no point in going back to their Kensington offices.
She was less than ten minutes’ walk away from where they lived, so she might as well go home and start preparing a meal for when the rest of the family got in. Turning, she headed for Carlisle Street, and the house she shared with her brother, Steve, her sister, Milly, and Milly’s husband, Duncan.
Milly would no doubt be home by now, packing. The young couple were moving to Scotland, where Duncan, a newly qualified doctor, had recently been offered a position at a practice in his home town of Edinburgh.
A furnished flat above the surgery went with the post, and the journey by overnight sleeper meant they would be in Edinburgh by seven-thirty tomorrow morning, which would allow them plenty of time to get settled in over the weekend.
What had made the offer even more acceptable was that one of the receptionists had recently left, and Milly had been given the chance to take over her job.
Even so, she had seemed edgy and unsettled, less than enthusiastic about moving so far north, and her obvious reluctance had caused some trouble between herself and Duncan.
When she protested, with some passion, that she liked the secretarial job she had now and didn’t want to leave, Duncan had pointed out quietly that before she married him he’d made it quite plain that he planned to return to Scotland.
Unable to deny this, she had resorted to tears, and, when they did no good, ragged outbursts of temper. But to Joanne’s immense relief, Duncan, as steady and level-headed as Milly was wild and wilful, had largely ignored her tantrums.
When Joanne reached Carlisle Street, which was quiet and tree-shaded, lined by old and elegant town houses with porticoed entrances, she walked down it with her usual feeling of nostalgia.
Number twenty-three had belonged to her parents. A happy family home, its front room had been used as an office, with a gold-lettered sign in the window that read: ‘John and Jane Winslow. Solicitors.’
Then five years ago the pair had died together in a train crash in Mexico, while on a second honeymoon.
Milly, the youngest of the family, had been only thirteen at the time. Instead of returning to university for the autumn term, Joanne had joined her brother’s business venture so she could be on hand to look after both of them.
Steve had protested that at twenty-two he was old enough to look after himself, but had been only too pleased to have the running of the house taken off his hands.
Joanne climbed the steps, put her key in the lock, and let herself in. She had expected to hear pop music blaring, but the house was still and silent. It seemed Milly wasn’t home after all.
When she’d changed from her business suit into trousers and a top, she made her way down to the pleasant, airy kitchen.
Having plugged in the kettle for a cup of tea, and opened up the stove, she began to prepare the evening meal. Lisa, Steve’s secretary, and now his fiancée, was coming home with him tonight, so they could make it a family celebration.
With that thought in mind, Joanne found a couple of bottles of sparkling wine and put them in the fridge.
She was in the middle of adding a breadcrumb and pine-kernel topping to the cheese and broccoli bake when Milly appeared in the doorway.
Petite and pretty, with red-gold hair, bright blue eyes and a figure like a pocket Venus, she was usually sparkling and vivacious, dressed up to show off her charms.
Now, wearing scruffy jeans and a shrunken T-shirt, she looked edgy and in low spirits as she slumped down at the table.
‘I didn’t realise you were home,’ Joanne remarked. ‘No music.’
‘Didn’t feel like playing any.’
‘Still worrying about the move?’ Joanne asked with some sympathy.
When Milly said nothing, she added reassuringly, ‘I’m sure there’s no need to. Once you’ve settled in and made some new friends you’ll be fine.’
Her face sullen, Milly muttered, ‘What about my job? You know how much I enjoy it…’
Rather than go to college, Milly had chosen to take a secretarial course. Quick and intelligent, despite her somewhat flighty ways, she had done well. On completing the course, she had found a job with Lancing International, filling in for one of the secretaries who was on maternity leave.
She had proved so efficient that when the new mother failed to return she had been offered the post on a permanent basis.
‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find your new job interesting,’ Joanne said soothingly.
Milly snorted. ‘Depressing, more like. Who wants to be stuck in a doctor’s surgery day and night?’
Letting that go, Joanne poured them both a cup of tea and sat down opposite, before enquiring, ‘Finished packing?’
‘I haven’t even started.’
‘If you need any help let me know.’
‘I’m not sure whether I’m going.’ The words were spoken defiantly.
As lightly as possible, Joanne said, ‘I don’t see you have much choice. All the arrangements are made. And, after all, Duncan is your husband.’
‘You don’t need to remind me. I wish I’d listened to you when you said I was too young to get married.’
Joanne’s heart sank. It was true that, thinking Milly too immature, she had at first opposed the marriage. But Duncan had seemed both sensible and stable, and the pair had been so very much in love, that she had finally given her blessing.
‘Duncan and I have quarrelled so much lately that I’m beginning to wonder if the whole thing was a mistake,’ Milly added miserably.
Hiding her dismay, Joanne said calmly, ‘You know perfectly well that you’re only feeling this way because of the move.’
Taking a gulp of her tea, Milly shook her head. ‘There’s more to it than that.’
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Joanne said briskly.
‘You don’t understand. I think I’m in love.’
‘As you’ve only been married for a few months I should hope so.’
‘I don’t mean with Duncan. I still care about him, of course, but I think I’ve fallen for someone else.’
‘If it’s Trevor, he will be flattered.’ Joanne tried to make a joke of it.
Diverted, Milly pulled a face. ‘What you see in that pompous git I can’t imagine…You may not be Miss World but you could do better than him.’
‘Thanks,’ Joanne said drily.
‘Duncan doesn’t rate him either,’ Milly added, as though that settled it. ‘He has about as much charisma as a worm without any charisma.’
‘I certainly wouldn’t call Trevor a worm,’ Joanne objected mildly.
‘Neither would I, on second thoughts. He’s too picky and bossy. He’d want to tell you what to do all the time.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind. I should hate to marry the wrong man.’
‘Like me, you mean?’
‘Don’t be an idiot!’ Joanne exclaimed with a sharpness born of fear. ‘You haven’t married the wrong man. Duncan is exactly what you need.’
‘But I keep trying to tell you…I’ve fallen for someone else.’
Taking a deep breath, Joanne said, ‘Well, if it isn’t Trevor, you’d better tell me who it is.’
‘My boss. Brad Lancing…Now, he is charismatic.’
‘Brad Lancing!’
‘He’s absolutely gorgeous! Handsome, clever, and totally charming…He has the most fascinating eyes you’ve ever seen…And that mouth…’ Milly practically drooled.
So that explained Milly’s moods, her reluctance to leave her job. Joanne groaned inwardly.
Seeing the look on her sister’s face, Milly said, ‘You think I’m just being a fool, don’t you?’
‘According to Steve, Lancing is a married man with children, so the answer’s yes.’
‘Steve’s wrong. I know for a fact that he isn’t married and he hasn’t any children. He’s a thirty-year-old bachelor.’
Unsure which version to believe, Joanne countered, ‘And you’re an eighteen-year-old married woman.’
‘Age doesn’t matter, and I don’t feel married when I’m with him. I feel…well…wonderful.’
‘Oh, Milly,’ Joanne said helplessly, ‘don’t you know that a lot of women fall for their boss, while most bosses scarcely notice their secretary?’
‘Brad notices me,’ Milly assured her triumphantly. ‘The two nights I told you I was working late, I was having dinner with him.’
Suddenly scared half out of her wits, Joanne croaked, ‘You didn’t go any further?’
‘No, I didn’t. But from some of the things he said, and the way he looked at me, I know he wanted to.’
Joanne gritted her teeth. When Milly had first started to work for the company, Steve had mentioned that Lancing had a bad reputation as far as women were concerned.
But she hadn’t worried, never dreaming that a sophisticated man like him would be even remotely interested in a girl who was just eighteen, and newly married, to boot.
He must be a complete and utter swine, and totally without scruples.
‘Surely you realise a man like that is only out for what he can get?’ she said desperately. ‘And when—’
‘Don’t tell me, I know…When he’s got it he won’t respect me. Well, I’m fed up with being respected. I want some excitement in my life, and if this trip to Norway does come off…’ She stopped speaking abruptly.
‘What trip to Norway?’
‘If it turns out to be necessary, Brad will be going to Norway for six weeks or so on business. He’s asked me to go with him.’
Tight-lipped, Joanne demanded, ‘As what?’
‘His secretary, of course,’ Milly answered demurely.
‘But you’re no longer working for him. You’ve given in your notice.’
Milly shook her head. ‘I haven’t said anything about leaving. I haven’t made up my mind about going to Scotland…’ Seeing the look on her sister’s face, she faltered to a halt.
Joanne’s cup rattled into the saucer. ‘You can’t seriously mean that you’re willing to risk destroying your marriage because of a silly infatuation?’
‘Oh, but I—’
‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that Brad Lancing probably only wants a brief fling? Another notch on his bedpost? Even if I’m mistaken about him being married, he has a reputation as a Casanova…And what about your wedding vows?’
‘I was too young to tie myself for life.’
‘At the time you assured me you were ready for the responsibilities of marriage.’
‘Well, I thought I was.’
‘So did I. And so did Duncan. But if you’re stupid and immature enough to jump into bed with the first man you regard as gorgeous, we were obviously wrong.’
Flushing, Milly hit back. ‘Oh, you’ve always been so prim and proper. If you’re not careful you’ll end up an old maid, or married to someone as narrow-minded as Trevor.’
‘Suppose you leave me out of it.’ Joanne tried to speak calmly. ‘It’s your future we’re discussing…and Duncan’s. He absolutely adores you. Have you thought what this will do to him?’
‘I never wanted to hurt him,’ Milly said unhappily. ‘But I don’t seem able to help myself. I keep thinking about this wonderful trip to Norway and what I’ll lose if I don’t go.’
‘Try thinking about what you’ll lose if you do go. A future with a good man who loves you, who’ll stand by you; a home of your own, and a chance to make a life together in a beautiful part of the world…
‘Suppose you give up all those things and this wonderful trip doesn’t materialise?’
Seeing the uncertainty on her sister’s young face, Joanne pressed home her advantage. ‘You can’t expect Duncan to wait around tamely to see whether his wife is going to Scotland with him, or to Scandinavia with another man.’
Milly bit her lip. ‘I’ll know by tonight if the trip’s on. Brad’s been away on business for over a week, but he said he’d be back this evening and if the Norway trip needed to go ahead he’d call me.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes. You see, there’s not much time. If it is all systems go, we’ll be travelling tomorrow morning.’
‘What if he doesn’t call?’
Milly twisted her wedding ring round and round her finger. ‘I don’t know. I may go to Scotland…I’m not sure—’
The sound of a key turning in the lock cut through her words, and a moment later a voice called cheerily, ‘Milly, darling, I’m back.’
Scrambling to her feet, Milly said urgently, ‘Jo, you won’t say anything to Duncan until I’ve made up my mind?’
‘Not a word. But if you don’t want him to start asking awkward questions, I suggest that while I finish getting dinner ready you go up and make a start on some packing.’
As the girl hurried away, her bright-blue eyes clouded with worry, Joanne rose heavily to her feet and collected the cups and saucers.
Damn Brad Lancing! she thought violently as she rinsed and dried them. How could he encourage someone who was obviously just an easily-led young girl, and married into the bargain?
Milly might have imagined herself in love with him, but if he hadn’t taken her out to dinner and dangled the bait of this Norwegian trip in front of her she wouldn’t be seriously contemplating leaving Duncan.
Standing wringing the tea towel between her hands as though it was Brad Lancing’s neck, Joanne was still mentally castigating him when the wall-phone, just by her head, rang.
She picked it up on the first ring and gave the number distractedly.
‘Miss Winslow?’ a clear, well-modulated voice asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Brad Lancing. The Norwegian trip is on. I’ll be pleased if you’ll have dinner with me tonight, so we can discuss the travel arrangements…?’
A red mist forming in front of her eyes and the blood pounding in her ears, Joanne was about to tell him who she was, and exactly what she thought of him, when a sudden sense of caution brought her up short.
Would that be wise?
Rather than giving up, a man like him, with no sense of shame, might only keep on trying to contact the girl he had obviously marked down as his next conquest, and somehow she must prevent that at all costs…
While her thoughts raced frantically, part of her mind registered the fact that the attractive voice was going on, ‘I’ll be at Somersby’s at seven-thirty, if you can make it?’
About to say coldly that she couldn’t, Joanne hesitated. Then, reasoning that if she agreed, as he doubtless expected, he would have no cause to argue or phone again, she adopted Milly’s slightly breathy way of speaking, and said, ‘Yes, I’ll be there.’
‘The address is Grant Street, Mayfair. Take a taxi.’
A second later she heard the receiver at the other end being replaced. It seemed he was a man of few words. Which was a blessing. If he’d tried to engage her in conversation it would have been difficult to keep up the pretence.
Even worse, Milly might have put in an appearance, and so long as she believed he hadn’t rung she could well decide to go to Scotland.
Once there, and settled into her new life, surely this temporary infatuation would die a natural death?
Feeling somewhat more cheerful, Joanne went back to preparing the meal.
Everything was in the stove, and she had just started to set the table when a most unwelcome thought presented itself. Brad Lancing had said Somersby’s at seven-thirty…If no one turned up, would he ring again to find out why?
Her blood ran cold. That could prove disastrous.
At seven-thirty they would still be sitting down to their meal, and, expecting him to ring, Milly would hardly hold back and let her sister fob him off.
Well, there was only one thing for it, Joanne decided; she would have to keep the appointment. At least it would give her a chance to tell him to his face just what she thought of men like him…
She heard the sound of the front door closing, and footsteps crossing the hall. A moment later Steve and his fiancée appeared in the doorway.
An inch or so under six feet, and slimly built, Steve was dark-haired and blue-eyed. With a thin, intelligent face and good features, he just missed out on being handsome.
But he was so genuinely nice that Joanne had often wondered why he hadn’t been snapped up. Except he worked so hard that, until a few months ago, there had been no time for a woman in his life.
Then Lisa, small and blonde and as sweet as she was pretty, had come to work for him.
It had been love at first sight, and now with a baby on the way—unplanned, they had admitted sheepishly, but very much wanted—they were busy making arrangements for a late-October wedding.
Sniffing appreciatively, Steve said, ‘Something smells good.’ Then with undisguised eagerness, ‘How did things go with Liam Peters?’
‘Monday morning, first thing, you can send in the troops.’
He gave a whoop of joy and, seizing hold of her, whirled her round until she was breathless.
‘Looks as if you’ve had some good news,’ Duncan remarked as he and Milly joined them.
‘You’re not wrong…And we’re going to have a real celebration! There should be a couple of bottles of bubbly somewhere.’
‘It’s already in the fridge,’ Joanne said.
‘Clever girl!’ Taking a bottle, Steve eased out the cork, poured the wine and, having handed a glass to each of the others, raised his own in salute.
‘Here’s to us, and particularly Jo, who’s managed to swing the deal with Liam Peters, as well as finding time to take care of us all and cook some marvellous meals.’
There was a little burst of cheering, and they all drank. The bubbles made Milly sneeze, and then laugh.
Drawing a deep breath, Joanne took the plunge. ‘I hope it’s a marvellous meal tonight. I’m sorry to say I won’t be here to share it.’
Seeing the surprise on all their faces, she added hurriedly, ‘Trevor forgot it was tonight Milly and Duncan were leaving for Scotland, and he booked expensive seats at a special concert he knew I particularly wanted to go to.’
Perhaps the explanation was a little fulsome, but it was the truth, as far as it went.
What she failed to add was that, on discovering what he’d done, she had paid for her ticket—Trevor wasn’t one to waste money—and suggested that he take his mother instead.
Milly, clearly disappointed, moved closer to her fair-haired husband, who put his arm around her.
Please God, things would work out, Joanne thought, watching them together. Milly was too young to mess up her life.
‘Well, if you won’t be here on our last night,’ Duncan said cheerfully, ‘we shall expect you to be our first visitor when we get settled in.’
‘Done!’
‘Lisa’s staying over,’ Steve said; as he opened the second bottle of wine, ‘so I won’t need to turn out to drive her home…’
Afraid of being late in case Brad Lancing was the impatient sort who might call to see where she’d got to, Joanne left the others talking, and, having rung for a taxi, slipped upstairs to shower and change.
Needing to keep up the pretence of her concert-going, she put on her best silk suit, made up with care, fastened pearl studs onto her neat lobes, and swept her dark hair into an elegant chignon.
When she came down again, Duncan whistled, and Milly nodded approvingly. ‘Not bad. Though I have to say it’s wasted on Trevor.’
Then a little tremulously, ‘Well, I guess we’ll be gone before you get back…’
So she had decided to go. Joanne said a silent prayer of thanks.
With her emotions running high, and feeling the prick of tears behind her eyes, she hugged her sister and brother-in-law and said as brightly as possible, ‘Have a good journey…And as soon as you’re ready for visitors, let me know.’
‘Will do,’ Duncan assured her.
The doorbell announced the arrival of the taxi, and after more quick hugs all round, Joanne said, ‘Well, enjoy your meal,’ and fled before she could disgrace herself by crying.
Somersby’s proved to be a select and stylish restaurant above an art gallery. The taxi dropped Joanne at the awninged entrance, and, her heart beating fast, she climbed a flight of red-carpeted stairs.
At the top, a uniformed attendant was waiting to open the heavy glass doors for her.
As she crossed the luxurious foyer she went over in her mind all the things she intended to say to Brad Lancing. When she had, hopefully, made him squirm, she would walk out.
No, that wasn’t the way to do it. It would be almost three hours before Milly and Duncan started for the station, and in that time, left to his own devices, Lancing might phone and throw a spanner in the works.
She just couldn’t chance it. Somehow she needed to keep him occupied until Milly was safely on the train.
But how?
That still undecided, Joanne found herself facing another dilemma. She had no idea what he looked like. She pictured him as floridly handsome, with bold eyes and a sensual mouth. Possibly even a moustache.
Apart from Duncan, who was good-looking in a boyish, wholesome way, she and Milly had never shared the same taste in men, Milly tending to go for the more blatantly sexual.
Oh, well, if she just walked in, hopefully there wouldn’t be too many men sitting alone waiting for their dates. But it was only seven-twenty-five; suppose he hadn’t yet arrived?
As she hesitated in the doorway, the maître d’ appeared at her elbow. ‘Good evening, madam.’
‘Good evening. I’m joining a Mr Lancing.’
Inclining his head, he murmured, ‘If you’ll come this way?’
Rehearsing in her mind what she was going to say, Joanne followed as he led the way to a small, secluded table in an alcove, where a man with thick dark hair was sitting.
He glanced up at their approach, and then rose politely to his feet.
Over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, his face lean and tanned and, apart from a certain toughness, almost ascetic, he was so unlike the florid, thickset man she had visualised that for a moment she wondered confusedly if the waiter had made a mistake.
But, stopping by the table, he murmured discreetly, ‘Your guest, Mr Lancing.’
Somehow Brad Lancing’s appearance threw her, and instead of the words she had been rehearsing, wits completely scattered, she found herself stammering, ‘M-Mr Lancing…I’m Miss Winslow…but, as you see, the wrong one.’
He raised dark, well-marked brows. ‘Not the one I was expecting, admittedly, but equally charming.’
Hating him on sight, she explained a shade breathlessly, ‘I’m Milly’s sister.’
‘You’re nothing at all like her,’ he observed dispassionately.
‘No.’
‘Won’t you sit down?’
‘Thank you.’
He remained on his feet until the maître d’ had pulled out her chair and settled her, before resuming his own seat.
At least the brute had manners, she conceded.
‘I’m afraid I’m the bringer of bad tidings,’ she said as soon as they were alone.
His eyes were every bit as fascinating as Milly had said. A clear dark green, and put in with a sooty finger, they made her breath quicken as they rested on her face. ‘Nothing too dreadful, I hope?’
‘Milly can’t come,’ she informed him in a rush.
‘I see.’ Then like a rattlesnake striking, ‘You’re the Miss Winslow I spoke to on the phone.’
Shaken by his perspicacity, she found herself admitting, ‘W-well, yes.’
‘In that case you’re not the wrong one at all.’ He smiled a little, drawing her attention to his mouth.
Firm and controlled, yet passionate, it had a combination of warm sensuality and cool austereness that might have made almost any woman drool, and Joanne realised all too clearly why Milly fancied herself in love with him.
She was dragging her gaze away with an effort, when he said softly, ‘Tell me, Miss Winslow, why did you pretend to be your sister?’
‘I—I didn’t…’
Ignoring her instinctive denial, he insisted, ‘Of course you did. You even imitated her voice.’
Weakly, Joanne said, ‘It was just a joke…She wasn’t there, and I…’
‘You were simply answering for her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you always answer for your sister?’
‘No, of course not…But I knew she’d want to come…’
‘So why isn’t she here?’
‘Well, just before she was due to start, she had an emergency call from an elderly aunt,’ Joanne improvised wildly. ‘Poor Aunt Alice had just had a bad fall and was refusing to go into hospital. Milly is very fond of her…’
Just for an instant Joanne thought she saw a gleam of unholy amusement in those clear green eyes, but his face showed no trace of a smile as he said, ‘I know how these family relationships can be.’
‘She wasn’t sure how long it would take to get Auntie settled,’ Joanne ploughed on, ‘and she thought she might possibly have to stay the night.’
‘So you came in her place?’
‘Well, yes…I thought I’d better come and explain in person.’
‘Much nicer and more friendly than simply phoning,’ he agreed drily.
It was quite obvious what he was thinking, and suddenly she knew exactly how to play it.
Desperate situations called for desperate measures. If she could flatter his ego, pander to his vanity, make him believe she fancied him, he might ask her to have dinner with him.
If he did she should be able to string him along until Milly was safely out of his clutches. Then she would have the pleasure of telling him exactly what she thought of him.
Trying for a spot of girlish confusion, she admitted, ‘I must confess, I’ve been hoping to meet you.’
‘Really?’ he murmured, a glint in his eye.
‘I’ve heard such a lot about you from Milly.’
A look she couldn’t decipher crossed his face, before he asked ironically, ‘Can any secretary be relied on to say good things about her boss?’
‘Surely that depends on the boss?’ Joanne’s answer was a little sharp, and, reminding herself of the role she had decided to play, she gave him a coy glance from beneath long, silky lashes, and added, ‘If he happens to be a man like you…’
As though genuinely curious, he asked, ‘So what exactly did…Milly…say about me?’
‘She said you were clever, charismatic, and totally charming.’
Just for an instant he looked disconcerted. Then he observed lightly, ‘I might find that description difficult to live up to. However,’ he went on with a touch of self-mockery, ‘rather than let the “world of bosses” down, I’ll try…’
At that moment one of the waiters came up and handed them both a leather-covered menu.
‘Oh…’ Joanne made to rise. ‘I really ought to go and let you have your meal in peace.’
He asked, as she’d been hoping he would, ‘Won’t you stay and dine with me?’
‘Well, I…’
‘Unless your fiancé would object?’
He had sharp eyes, she thought as she answered, ‘No, I’m sure he wouldn’t.’
‘Then please, do stay.’
‘Thank you, I’d like to.’ She made no attempt to hide the eagerness.
‘Would you care for a drink while you look at the menu? Champagne, perhaps?’
The glass of wine she had drunk earlier, combined with all the emotional turmoil, had made her feel strangely light-headed, but she managed a smile, and agreed, ‘That would be lovely.’
He signalled the wine waiter and gave the order.
Within moments, the man was back with a bottle of the finest champagne in an ice bucket. Having gently twirled the bottle for a moment or two, he removed the wiring, eased out the cork, and poured the smoking wine into two flutes, before departing soft-footed.
Joanne was watching the bubbles rise, when her companion raised his glass and, his eyes smiling into hers, said softly, ‘Here’s to an exciting evening.’
She smiled back, and took a cautious sip. With a bit of luck he would get more excitement than he’d bargained for!
