Gentlemen Prefer...Brunettes

by Fielding, Liz

Veronica nodded as she fell in beside him at the lifts. ‘Hello, Nick.’ That was about as personal as her conversation got.

  ‘Veronica,’ he returned distractedly, stepping into the lift ahead of her, well aware that she would take instant offence at any suggestion of patronising deference to the weaker sex. Apparently she didn’t subscribe to the concept of a weaker sex and he was pretty sure that she could teach the typing pool a thing or two about PC behaviour.

  ‘What’s up, Nick? You look as if you’re about to report a slump in the sales figures.’

  ‘Do I?’ He didn’t allow his triumph at this small breakthrough to show, merely looked slightly puzzled. Then he said, ‘Oh, no. It’s my sister’s birthday next week. I’ve just bought her a cookery book—’

  ‘I saw Cassandra Cornwell had a signing.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s the predictable gift. Now I’ve got to think of something special as a surprise.’

  ‘Send her a cheque.’

  ‘A cheque?’ That would certainly fulfil the surprise element. It surprised the hell out of him. ‘Isn’t that a bit… impersonal?’

  ‘But easy. And it saves time, postage and footwear. Believe me, it’s a great deal more enjoyable getting an impersonal cheque than being presented with something you’d be ashamed to put in the garbage.’

  Her bluntness was refreshing, even if her assessment of his taste was less than flattering. But it was the longest conversation they’d had on any subject other than marketing in the three weeks since she’d moved into the office opposite his. Maybe he could string it out a little further, learn a little about her likes and dislikes.

  ‘It’s a tempting idea, but I don’t think it would go down too well with Helen. Kid sisters like to be spoiled a little, you know.’

  ‘Do they?’ She gave him a long, assessing glance from a pair of silvery blue eyes. ‘She can’t be that much of a kid.’

  He shrugged. This was one hard female. Here he was, a warm, caring brother, worrying about a gift for his sister, and was this woman impressed? Would anything impress her? An uneasy feeling that it might be wiser to ignore the challenge on the men’s room wall abruptly hardened into determination to see just what it would take to soften her heart.

  It wasn’t as if it would be a hardship, exactly. He considered the perfection of seemingly endless legs, the slender figure expensively clad in cool ice-blue linen that so exactly matched her character, the smooth platinum curve of hair. The contrast with the vivid, inviting warmth of Cassie Cornwell couldn’t have been more marked.

  ‘I suppose not,’ he conceded quickly, before his thoughts ran away with him. Dimpled little pouter pigeons were not his style. He’d always liked his women to have the lines of a well-bred greyhound. ‘Helen’s got four of her own.’

  ‘Four? Four children?’

  If he’d suggested sex in the lift she couldn’t have been more shocked. ‘She started young,’ he explained. ‘And last time she had twins.’

  ‘In that case forget the cheque, just take her children off her hands for the weekend and give the poor woman a break.’

  He laughed out loud. ‘Four girls? You’ve got to be joking.’

  ‘Have I?’ Veronica’s voice maintained its neutral tone, giving nothing away. ‘I’d have thought four girls would have been right up your street.’

  Nick opened his mouth to protest at this calumny, but decided that might not be a wise move. The grapevine had obviously been busily filling her in on the details of his bachelor existence. So he grinned instead. ‘Not four girls between the ages of five and eight, Veronica.’ And he found his thoughts drifting to Cassandra Cornwell. She was taking her nephews camping. He was assailed with a sudden vision of her waking up early, stretching and then curling back into the warmth of her sleeping bag like a dormouse…

  ‘Well, I’m sure a man of your experience will think of some treat to take the poor woman’s mind off runny noses for a few minutes, Nick,’ Veronica said, breaking into his thoughts. ‘Some way to light up her day.’

  He dragged himself back from the enticing thought of curling up with Cassie and gave his full attention to Veronica. Poor woman? It was the second time in as many minutes that she’d referred to his sister in that condescending manner. He’d like to see her try it to Helen’s face; she’d soon be put in her place.

  Just because his sister thought her family was more important than running a company, that didn’t mean she couldn’t do both if she’d a mind to. Probably with one hand tied behind her back. Even surrounded by boxes of nappies and baby goo she had found time to train for and compete in the London Marathon. And turn in one of the fastest amateur times. Her role as wife and mother might be her first priority but she was still a Jefferson. However, Helen didn’t need him or anyone else to stand up for her, so he let it go.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, Veronica,’ he said as the lift door opened. ‘I’ll think of something. Every woman has a weak spot.’ And he’d find hers, he promised himself, and sooner rather than later.

  As for Helen, Veronica might have inadvertently offered a solution. Not a cheque—because despite all the advantages Veronica had outlined he knew better than to send his sister money. Helen would return it with a reminder that money was something you gave to charity; sisters deserved a little more time and thought. But then sisters were notoriously blind to their brothers’ good qualities, presumably because they’d lived with them through childhood and adolescence and had been the victim of all their worst ones.

  That couldn’t be Veronica Grant’s problem, though. Not that he was entirely convinced by her arm’s length tactics. She might be a very clever woman but he wasn’t exactly stupid himself. He was number two at Jefferson Sports and when his uncle retired in a year or two he’d be number one. The Jefferson name and the money which went with it were a plum prize and he was well aware that he was a target for every matchmaking mama in Melchester.

  If that was Veronica’s game she was doomed to disappointment. A little kiss chase was one thing but he had no intention of getting involved in anything heavier. He was simply out to prove a point, not change his life. He liked his life just the way it was.

  But he hated to walk away from a challenge. It ran in the blood. His grandfather had been a track hero, his father had played rugby for his country and his uncle had been about to follow him when he was sidelined by injury. The three of them had put Jefferson Sports on the map and expected their offspring to follow in their mighty footsteps.

  While his cousins had taken to the professional sports field with enthusiasm, adding glory to the family name, Nick had chosen instead to flex his muscles in the business world. After all, someone had to stay home and mind the store. He’d done his bit for the family honour with a rowing blue for his university, but he’d long outgrown such gladiatorial contests. Not that he was a slouch on the tennis court, or the piste, but sport, in his book, was for fun. He particularly enjoyed the indoor kind.

  He was smiling as he dropped the bookstore carrier bag on his desk and reached for the telephone to call his brother-in-law. But as he waited for a connection his gaze fell on the bright bag and his smile turned into a frown.

  Cassandra Cornwell was not his kind of woman. Short, with an armful of curves and an uncontrollable mop of dark hair, she was the very antithesis of the kind of woman he liked to be seen with. He couldn’t think why he had asked her to lunch. Or why he had been so irked when she had turned him down. Except that she reminded him of a little brown teddy bear he’d had as a child. Soft and warm…and cuddly. He suddenly realised that someone was speaking into his ear.

  ‘Oh, Graham, it’s Nick. I’ve just had a bright idea for Helen’s birthday. How would you two like to spend it in Paris? On me?’

  ‘Tell me about your nephews, Cassie,’ Beth invited as they settled themselves in the small, elegant dining room overlooking the river. ‘Why do you feel you have to take them out into the wild woods and introduce them to nature in the raw? Surely that’s the
ir father’s job?’

  ‘Their father has something more important on his mind. And I don’t mind, really.’

  ‘Bravely spoken.’

  ‘No, it’ll be fun. They’re great kids. I took them with me to an ice-cream factory a few weeks back and we had a ball. I’m more worried about the boys’ parents than looking after their offspring…’ Cassie shrugged. ‘I’m pretty sure that my sister is having problems with her marriage. I know Lauren’s sick to the back teeth of being left alone with the boys while Matt’s been spending all the hours of the day and night working.’ ‘We all have to make sacrifices, Cassie. It’s tough out there.’

  ‘I know that. Lauren does too, I’m sure, but you know how it is. Tension starts to build up over something stupid and before you know it you’re nursing every grudge under the sun. I had lunch with them a few weeks back and frankly the place was like a powder keg on a dodgy fuse. Then, when Lauren found out that Matt had promised to take the boys away on a camping trip on the few days he was planning to take off this summer instead of spending the time with her on a proper family vacation… well…I had to do something…’

  ‘So you volunteered to take over the camping trip? Single-handed? Couldn’t you have bought the boys off with a trip to Disneyland Paris?’

  ‘Matt’s mother took them in the Easter holiday.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, it would have looked a bit obvious.’

  ‘And this doesn’t?’

  ‘I managed to convince them that I was planning a series on cooking outdoors…practically begged them to let me do it…’ Cassie smiled ruefully. ‘You think I’m mad, don’t you?’

  ‘Actually, I think you’re a peach. Mad, but a peach. But are you sure you’re wise to go on your own?’

  ‘Do you mean without a man to take care of me?’ Cassie enquired dangerously.

  ‘Well, it’s always nice to have one handy. Even if it’s only to pitch the tent and fetch the water.’ Her eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘And any other little job that needs doing.’

  ‘Maybe I should have taken Nick up on his offer of lunch after all. Who knows where it might have led?’

  Beth stopped scanning the menu long enough to laugh out loud. ‘Oh, I’m sure you do. Just because you’ve chosen a life of celibacy doesn’t mean that you’ve lost your memory.’ She frowned. ‘Or maybe it does.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting a double sleeping bag, are you, Beth?’ Cassie responded in mock horror.

  ‘I am, actually. But not just any double sleeping bag, you understand. I’m suggesting a top-of-the-range Jefferson Sports double duck-down sleeping bag.’

  ‘Have another glass of wine and say that.’

  Cassie’s laughter turned the heads of several lunching businessmen. They were in no hurry to look away.

  ‘Just think how romantic it would be, Cass, zipped up together beneath the stars.’

  Cassie was trying not to think about it She didn’t understand why it was so hard. ‘With three small boys playing gooseberry? I think I’d rather manage on my own, thanks. Unless, of course, you fancy a week of outdoor fun in the wilds of Wales? You’d be most welcome. ’

  ‘Me? I’ve got a store to run. Those cookery books and videos don’t just sell themselves, you know.’ Then she thought about it. ‘Actually in your case they do. But someone has to take the money.’ And to emphasise that she was not to be persuaded she returned to her close scrutiny of the menu. ‘I’ll have the lamb cutlets with the herb and mustard crust, baby new potatoes and peas,’ she said, after reading it through twice.

  ‘I can’t tempt you to try the scallops, first?’ Cassie asked innocently.

  ‘Please! This is lunchtime. If I eat too much I’ll fall asleep over the accounts.’

  ‘You’re quite sure? I’ve heard they’re very special and I’d like to try them. If you don’t mind waiting…’

  ‘Sit and watch you eat?’ Beth groaned. ‘You wretch, you know I’ve got all the restraint of a rabbit faced with a field of lettuce.’

  Cassie grinned. ‘Save the lettuce for supper and join me in the gym tomorrow to work off the excess.’

  Beth brightened. ‘Oh, right. What time?’

  ‘Six-thirty.’

  ‘Six-thirty? Forget it. After a day in the bookshop all I can think of is a large G and T and putting my feet up.’

  Cassie grinned. ‘I meant six-thirty in the morning.’

  Beth’s mouth fell open, then she gathered herself, with the smallest of shudders. ‘No, thanks. I’ll learn to love my curves and if you don’t mind my saying so you need a man to keep you in bed in the morning.’ Even as she said it, Cassie saw Beth wish the words back into her mouth. ‘As I said, the restraint of a rabbit and a mouth like a runaway train…’

  CHAPTER THREE

  CASSIE took pity on her. ‘Don’t worry about it, Beth. You’re only saying what everyone else thinks. Matt and Lauren have been trying to fix me up with their spare men friends for years.’

  ‘Look, since this is apparently my day for saying the wrong thing, can I do it again?’

  ‘Will anything stop you?’

  ‘It’s just that… well, has it ever occurred to you that Jonathan might not have been a swan after all? You’d only been married a few weeks when he died, hardly long enough to find out the faults. And they all have faults, you know. Even the best of them.’

  ‘I know, Beth.’

  ‘It’s unfair to measure every man you meet against him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But it doesn’t make any difference?’

  ‘Beth, you don’t understand…’ The waitress arrived to take their order and when she had gone the urge to tell someone, anyone, the truth about Jonathan had evaporated. That was her secret. Her shame. ‘Are you sure you won’t come along to the gym?’

  ‘At six-thirty?’ Beth seemed as relieved to let the subject drop as she was.

  ‘An hour in the gym three mornings a week helps to counteract the occupational hazard of constantly tasting new recipes to get them just right.’

  ‘You mean you claim membership of the gym as an expense against income tax?’ Beth was seriously impressed by that.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it,’ Cassie confessed.

  ‘Check it out with your accountant and let me know what he says. I wonder if I could get away with it? You have to be fit to run your own business, you know.’

  ‘You have to be fit for any kind of job and somehow I can’t imagine the Inland Revenue subsidising health club membership for the entire nation.’

  ‘Why not? Think what it would save on the National Health bill.’

  ‘You know, you’re wasted in business, Beth. With a mind like that you should be in politics. Running the Exchequer.’

  ‘Are you coming, Nick? The meeting is about to start.’

  Veronica was framed in the doorway, her slender figure displayed to advantage in the palest grey and white dress. Outside the day was hot and humid, yet this woman managed to look as if she was moving in her own air-conditioned space, a picture of unruffled poise. He suspected that if she were a glass she would be frosted. The very opposite of the way he was feeling at that moment.

  ‘I’ll be right with you,’ he muttered, wishing she would move on instead of watching him hunt through the papers on his desk for a sheet of figures that had disappeared without trace.

  Instead, she asked, ‘Lost something?’ in a tone that suggested a whole heap of things. But mostly that she had never lost anything in her entire life.

  ‘One of my secretary’s kids is sick,‘ he muttered. ‘But I know she did those figures before she went home last night…’

  Veronica appeared to glide across the room, then, bending from the knees, she picked up a sheet of paper that had fallen beneath his desk. ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ she enquired as she stood up and offered it to him, a faint smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Like everything she did it combined an economy of movement with perfect grace.
He wondered briefly if she had ever been a model, but immediately discounted the possibility that she would ever involve herself in an occupation so trivial.

  ‘That’s it. Thanks, Veronica.’ He smiled somewhat ruefully, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘I seem to be all over the place today,’ he said, with a slightly helpless shrug. That ‘little boy lost’ thing seemed to get to some women. Maybe it would touch Veronica Grant.

  ‘The heat gets to some people.’ Her tone suggested only the weak and feeble.

  Obviously not.

  He shuffled the papers into order and picked up the folder with the details of the new project he had been working on. Beneath it lay Cassie Cornwell’s book, which, despite his promise, had not been opened since he bought it. But at least he hadn’t hidden it away in the bottom of his desk as she had predicted. Veronica picked it up and turned it over to examine the photograph on the back.

  ‘Is this the book you’re giving your sister?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes…and no.’ He shrugged. ‘I bought more than one copy.’

  Veronica’s eyebrows moved upwards in gentle query. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been bulk buying them as presents for all your female relations?’

  ‘Thus saving on time, effort and shoe leather? Isn’t that what you advised?’

  ‘Not quite.’

  Somehow he had known that there would be precious few Brownie points for admitting to such a lack of imagination. The truth at least had the virtue of being surprising. ‘No, well, actually, I bought that copy for myself.

  ‘Oh, sure,’ she said. ‘You’re a new man through and through.’

  Her scepticism was beginning to irritate him. ‘The idea amuses you?’

  ‘You don’t really expect me to believe that you cook for yourself, Nick?’

  ‘Men have to eat too, you know.’

  ‘In my experience they usually manage that by getting some poor woman to cook for them.’

  ‘Really?’ Some of the women who had wanted to cook for him had been a long way from poor, but he didn’t think she was referring to their fiscal status. He wondered why she so despised domesticated women. Did she think they were letting the feminist side down? ‘Maybe you should try a better class of man,’ he advised.