The Marriage Miracle

‘Our biggest buyer wants to set up a meeting with you. George always used to take him out to lunch, make a fuss of him.’

‘That sounds like fun. What do we talk about?’

‘Next year’s range.’

‘Have we got one? Why haven’t I seen it?’

The way she lifted her shoulders spoke volumes. ‘George let things go a bit towards the end.’ She sat down rather suddenly in the chair facing his desk. ‘I still can’t get used to not seeing him…’ She waved in his direction as she groped for a handkerchief in her pocket.

‘I’m sorry, Blanche, you worked for George for a long time. This must be hard for you.’

‘I was very fond of him. He was a gentleman.’

He wondered if she’d be quite so warm towards him if she knew about the gaping hole in the pension fund. He fervently hoped she’d never have to find out.

‘You can’t know how grateful we all are that the family has decided to keep the company going. They were never actually enthusiastic about it—the company—were they?’

‘Not exactly,’ he agreed. ‘But then they were never exactly enthusiastic about George, either.’

George hadn’t had to work, but he’d never been content to play the role he’d been born to. Had had no taste for hunting, shooting or fishing.

They’d had that—along with so much else—in common.

‘We all thought the company would be wound up,’ she went on, ‘and obviously we’d have understood. Business hasn’t exactly been booming in the last couple of years. But it would have meant early retirement for most of us. I know some people can’t wait, but not me. What on earth would I do with myself?’

There were worse things than early retirement, Sebastian thought. But if he could get the business back to the point where he could find a buyer and use to the money to fund annuities for the staff, she and the rest of George’s loyal staff would never have to face that prospect.

‘You can imagine how pleased we all were when we heard you were going to step into the breach, so to speak.’

‘Yes, well, there won’t be any business unless we do something about next year’s range. Where do we start?’

‘It’s a bit late. The lead time for orders—’

‘Blanche, if I’m going to buy this man an expensive lunch, I’d like to have something to sell him while he’s feeling replete and satisfied.’ She didn’t exactly leap in with suggestions. ‘Where do new designs come from?’ he asked. ‘Did George ever commission an artist to come up with a high-concept design that could be developed into a range of products? Or did he rely on them to come to him?’

‘He hasn’t commissioned anything in a while, but George had a lot of contacts. He always managed to come up with something.’

‘That isn’t a lot of help to me.’

‘No. I’m sorry.’ She gave herself a little shake. ‘You could look in George’s ideas cabinet.’ She gestured in the direction of a plan chest, tucked away in the corner of the office. ‘He sometimes bought things he thought would be useful and tucked them away. For a rainy day, he used to say. I guess it’s here.’ And this time her tears overflowed.

‘Why don’t you go and have a cup of tea, or something, while I check it out?’ he suggested, helping her to her feet and moving her towards the door, utterly helpless in the face of her grief.

‘I’m so sorry…’

‘It’s okay. I understand. Really.’ Unfortunately he understood only too well. ‘Why don’t you take an early lunch?’

He leaned back against the door for a moment. He hadn’t realised until now that Blanche had been in love with George, too. But he’d bet any amount of money that the old rogue had been well aware of her feelings and had taken full advantage of them. Yet more pressure to come up with the goods.

He turned to the plan chest—not that he had any desire to examine its contents. He didn’t even want to be in this country, but there was no point in putting off the inevitable.

The first drawer contained some old botanical drawings. Foxed, and a bit tattered at the edges, the only thing in their favour, as far as he could see, was that they were out of copyright by a century or two.

But what did he know?

The second drawer offered a series of brightly coloured nursery rhyme characters.

As he continued through the drawers he realised that he was doing no more than going through the motions.

He could look at a set of books and have a pretty fair idea of whether they belonged to a company on the way up or on the way out. Coronet Cards had been doing little more than ticking over for the last three years. If he’d been asked for an unbiased opinion, he’d have suggested either finding a buyer—a company who might be prepared to take over the company in order to add the Coronet trademark to their list—or winding it up before it began to make serious losses.

Since, for the moment, neither of those options was open to him, he had no choice but to try and turn it around. But it hadn’t taken more than one morning in the office to realise that he needed help.

And, once again, it was Matty Lang’s face that swam into view.

‘Are you okay?’

Matty looked up from her second attempt at the beach scene. Fran was standing in the open doorway, her baby on her shoulder, her forehead wrinkled in a look of concern.

‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Or I would be if I could remember what a beach looked like.’

‘We could open up the sandbox,’ she offered. ‘I’m sure Toby would be more than willing to refresh your memory.’

‘Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on that one. Where is he?’

‘Baking with Connie. Brownies, I think.’

‘Thanks for the warning.’

‘Her cooking has improved a lot,’ Fran chided, but with a grin.

‘So why are you hiding out down here, interrupting me?’

The grin widened into laughter. ‘Okay, I can take a hint. But don’t work too hard.’

‘Work?’ With a broad gesture, Matty took in her drawing board and computer bench. ‘You call this work? I sit here in the warm and dry, turning out pretty pictures for a living. What’s so hard about that?’

‘Even doing the things we love can get hard if we don’t have a break, Matty.’ Then, ‘Why don’t we all go down to the coast tomorrow so that you can refresh your memory?’

No…

‘I thought you said it was going to rain tomorrow.’

‘That was when I was trying to get you outside today. You look a bit pale. You did so much to make the blessing special for us. I can’t help feeling that you overdid it.’

‘What tosh. You should be away somewhere on a honeymoon, Mrs Dymoke, indulging in love’s young dream with the gorgeous Guy instead of worrying about me.’

‘Oh, please. We’d been married nearly a year before we managed the blessing and reception. At this rate we’ll be love’s pensioners before we get around to a honeymoon.’

‘You should make some time for yourselves, Fran.’

‘Just kidding. But it’s a bad time to go away. Besides, why waste this lovely weather when we have the perfect excuse to escape to the sun in January?’ She dropped a kiss on her sleeping babe’s brow. ‘And this little one will be more manageable by then, too.’

‘It’s going to be a family honeymoon?’

‘Absolutely. But we’re staying in a house belonging to someone Guy knows. It has a full complement of staff, apparently, and I’ve been assured that I shall not be called upon to change as much as a single nappy.’

‘The best of all possible worlds, then. It sounds bliss.’

‘It will be, but I wish—’

‘You’ve got everything you could ever wish for, Fran,’ Matty intervened, before her cousin could voice her guilt at leaving her behind. ‘And for once I’ll be able to get on with some work without having to put up with a constant stream of interruptions.’ As if to mock her, her doorbell rang. ‘Now what?’

She lifted the entryphone. ‘Yes?’

‘Meals on Wheels, ma’am. Since you wouldn’t come to lunch with me, I’ve brought lunch to you.’

Fran’s eyes widened. ‘Is that Sebastian Wolseley?’ she whispered.

‘It must be,’ Matty replied, with remarkable composure considering her insides had clenched into a nervous fist at the sound of his voice. ‘He’s the only man I’ve turned down lunch with today.’

‘You did what?’

‘Treat them mean, keep them keen,’ she said, with a fair attempt at a laugh. Not that she imagined Fran was fooled for a minute by her apparent carelessness.

She shouldn’t care, but it was a long time since she’d thought about a man—thought about a man in connection with herself, that was—for more than five minutes. She’d wasted a lot more than five minutes on Sebastian Wolseley, which suggested that she did. Care.

‘It seems to be working,’ her cousin replied, apparently amused. ‘Is leaving him standing on the doorstep part of the plan?’

She was tempted. She’d said she was busy and he’d taken no notice. That was bad, wasn’t it? He hadn’t listened to what she was saying and that showed a lack of respect…or something.

The warmth spreading upwards towards her cheeks suggested that respect was the last thing she wanted from him.

That his unwillingness to take no for an answer was much more appealing.

Dangerous, but appealing, and she buzzed him in. Then, as Fran headed for the French windows, Matty said, ‘Excuse me, just where do you think you’re going?’

‘You think I’m going to hang around and play gooseberry?’ Fran asked, as Sebastian appeared from the hall and joined them. Then she gracefully extended a hand, accepting a kiss on her cheek, and said, ‘Hello, Sebastian. How’re you settling into the flat? Is there anything you need?’

‘Everything’s fine, thank you, Francesca. I’m very grateful to you. Even the most comfortable hotel loses its charm after a week.’ He looked at the baby in her arms. ‘This is Toby’s sister, I take it?’ He held out a finger for the baby to clutch.

Matty watched as Fran said, ‘Say hello, Stephanie.’ The baby blew a bubble and earned herself a full-throttle smile. ‘Say goodbye, Stephanie.’ Then, ‘Guy will give you call later in the week to organise supper one evening soon.’

‘I look forward to it.’

‘And if you change your mind about tomorrow, Matty, give me a call,’ she said, before stepping out in the garden, leaving her alone with Sebastian.

‘Tomorrow?’ he asked, finally dragging his gaze from the lovely Madonna-like image of mother and child and turning to look directly at Matty.

She shrugged, reminding herself that it wasn’t at all attractive to begrudge a baby one of his smiles. ‘Fran suggested a day at the coast. I told her I was too busy. She listened.’

‘I listened. You said you were planning a sandwich.’ He offered her the kind of brown recycled paper carrier bag used by expensive organic bakers. ‘I thought I’d save you the trouble of making it.’

She had two alternatives: keep looking at him, or take the carrier and look inside that. She took the carrier. And kept on looking at him.

‘Is it my imagination,’ she asked, after a silence that stretched seconds too long, ‘or are sandwiches heavier than they used to be?’

‘Not noticeably. But since I had no idea what you’d prefer—you might, for instance, be a vegetarian, or allergic to shellfish, or hate cheese—I thought I’d better bring a selection.’

‘That was thoughtful.’

‘I’m a thoughtful man. Ask anyone.’

She peeked into the carrier, because continuing to stare at him was not smart. It would give him the wrong idea—or possibly the right one; whichever it was, it wouldn’t be good. Besides, looking at him was making her feel dizzy…

‘I seem to be spoilt for choice,’ she said, taking her time over her selection. Gathering her composure, the strength to dismiss him. The feelings he provoked in her pathetic body were too powerful to be ignored, laughed away. She had to protect herself. Send him away. Now.

She stared in the bag. There were more sandwiches than one person could eat in a week—even supposing that person ever wanted to eat again—but for some reason she couldn’t read the labels clearly, so she picked out the first one that came to hand. She blinked and saw that it was smoked salmon with cream cheese on dark rye bread. The man had taste; she’d give him that.

‘For future reference, Sebastian,’ she said, as she placed it on the workbench beside her. ‘In the unlikely event that you should ever be tempted to do this again. I’m not a vegetarian, I love shellfish, and I believe cheese to be the food of the gods.’ Then, handing the carrier back to him, she dug deep for a smile and said, ‘Thank you. Thoughtful indeed. I shall enjoy it later. When I’ve finished work.’

Then she quickly turned back to her drawing board in what she hoped he would understand was a gesture of dismissal. Brushed away a spot of something wet that landed on her drawing board. Waited for him to walk out of her life.

When he didn’t take the hint—she hadn’t really expected him to; if she were honest hadn’t really wanted him to—she tried just a bit harder with, ‘Can you find your own way out?’

CHAPTER THREE

SEBASTIAN shook his head. Not because finding his way out of her apartment was beyond him, but in total admiration of her insouciance.

Having been turned down for lunch, he’d gone out on a limb in his attempt to charm her but she still wasn’t having any of it.

‘You are a class act, Matty Lang.’

She had the grace to smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me. It wasn’t a compliment.’

Except, of course, it was and they both knew it. He admired that kind of cool. Her ability to remain completely unimpressed by humility from a man not given to such gestures. Or maybe she recognised the truth: that he wasn’t used to taking no for an answer.

‘You won’t object if I call a cab before you kick me out?’ he asked, raising the stakes a little as he took out his cellphone.

‘You came by cab?’

‘No. Why? Do you have something against them?’

She pulled her lips tight against her teeth, as if trying very hard not to smile, trying very hard not change her mind and ask him to stay.

‘Not at all,’ she replied, once she had the smile under control. ‘I just wondered why you didn’t use your car. When you’d gone through such agony to acquire it. Of course you’d have got a parking ticket, but even so…’

‘Actually, I walked…’ Damn! No…

‘Good for you. Why don’t you just walk back?’

The smile, he could see, was making a bid for freedom. She’d enjoyed his discomfort. Would probably split her sides if he made an absolute idiot of himself trying to avoid touchy words like ‘walk’ as if they were landmines. Well, two could play at that game…

‘I’d probably faint from lack of nourishment. But don’t worry, I’ll stand out in the street if you’d prefer.’

‘After you’ve gone to such trouble to provide me with lunch?’

An errant dimple appeared just above the right-hand corner of her mouth.

‘Would I be that unkind?’ she asked.

‘Apparently,’ he said. ‘If you were in the least bit grateful you’d have invited me to join you.’

She laid a hand against her heart and said, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you want to stay?’

‘Witch,’ he said, quite unable to stop himself from laughing. But then, that was why he was here. Because even when he’d been at a truly low point she’d made him smile.

‘That’s better.’

‘You prefer insults to charm?’

‘Of course. Charm is so…easy. Insults, on the other hand, have an astringent, refreshing quality. So much more honest. Sit down; make your call.’

Better, he thought, making himself at home on her sofa, scrolling through the numbers stored in his phone as if looking for a cab company, but taking his time about it.

‘So, is that the secret?’ he asked, as if more absorbed in the phone than in her answer. ‘I have to call you names if I want to spend a little time with you?’

‘You get to make one phone call,’ she told him. ‘Conversation is not included.’

Matty wasn’t fooled for a minute. Sebastian Wolseley wasn’t calling a cab, he was just going through the motions, spinning out the time, hoping she’d relent and ask him to stay.

Why?

What did he want from her?

Lunch, the sandwiches… He wouldn’t be pushing it so hard unless he wanted something.

‘I asked you to have dinner with me on Saturday,’ he went on, as if he hadn’t heard, ‘and you dismissed me in favour of chatting up a journalist.’

He pressed the call button, waited. Disconnected.

‘Engaged,’ he said in response to her unspoken question. Then, looking up suddenly and catching her staring at him, ‘I invite you for lunch at the most romantic restaurant in town and you say you’re too busy. And you’re not even going to invite me to stay and share your very brief lunch break, despite the fact that I provided the sandwiches.’

‘You said it,’ she replied. ‘I’m a witch. For my next trick, if you’re not out of here in thirty seconds, I turn you into a frog.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ He had the feeling she wasn’t fooled by his phone act, so this time he hit dial before he lifted the phone to his ear. This time it really was engaged… ‘Wouldn’t you have to kiss me to reverse the spell?’

Matty wished that didn’t sound so appealing. She was already finding it hard enough to stop herself from staring at his mouth. And now he’d put the idea into her head…

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she said, abruptly changing the subject, desperate to drive the image from her mind. ‘You can stop pretending to call a cab.’

‘Pretending?’ he exclaimed, all shock, horror. She was not impressed.

‘Pretending. Since I’ve had nothing but interruptions all morning you might as well stay and eat one of those sandwiches. Then, when you’ve told me what you want, I’m kicking you out whether you have transport or not.’

‘What makes you think I want anything but your company?’

‘I can read minds, remember? I’ll fetch some plates. Would you like something to drink?’ she asked, manoeuvring her chair from behind the drawing board and heading for the kitchen.

‘Actually, you’ll find a bottle of perfectly chilled Sancerre on the kitchen table.’

‘Sancerre?’ She turned and gave him a stern look that suggested he was a piece of work.

He smiled back, acknowledging the fact, and said, ‘I’d offer to come and open it, but I’m far too comfortable.’

Oh, that was good. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning. ‘You had no intention of leaving, did you?’

‘No, but then we both know that you weren’t really going to kick me out.’

‘My mistake was in ever letting you in.’

‘Once you answered the doorbell you had no choice.’ Perhaps realising that being smug wasn’t in his best interests, he quickly added, ‘You could never bring yourself to be that rude.’

‘I could,’ she assured him, ‘but I wouldn’t have been. I can do an excellent impression of Fran’s Greek live-in cook/housekeeper/nanny when I don’t want to be disturbed.’ And he surely disturbed her. ‘All mangled English and incomprehension. It works a treat on unwanted callers.’

She found the corkscrew, opened the bottle and, grabbing a couple of plates, rejoined her uninvited guest.

‘You’ll find glasses in the sideboard,’ she said. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’ Then, as he unfolded himself from the sofa and opened the cupboard, ‘What flat?’

‘Flat?’ he asked, setting out the glasses and taking the wine from her.

‘Fran asked you if you’d settled into the flat.’

‘Oh, right. Guy offered me the use of his old place until I find something permanent.’

‘His old place?’ Guy didn’t have an ‘old place’. ‘Are you by any chance referring to his former home in a luxurious riverside penthouse?’

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