Cassie turned her head. He was leaning against the doorframe, thick forearms folded over his chest. ‘It was your fault,’ she told him. ‘I’d never have done it if you hadn’t called me “darling”. What on earth made you do that?’
‘It seemed like a good idea to foster the cosy illusion of togetherness. My mistake. He sent me away so that he could find out if I’d been beating you up, didn’t he?’ Her face was all the confirmation he needed. ‘I thought so. Still, it was worth it…’
About to offer her deepest apologies for putting his good name at risk, she did a double take. ‘Worth it?’
‘Just to hear you say that I was being incredibly kind. And with such ringing sincerity, too.’
‘It nearly choked me. This accident was entirely your fault, you know.’
‘Was it?’ He walked across the room, picked up the chair and tucked it back under the table then stood the cupboard door against the wall. ‘You don’t feel just a little bit responsible…? I’m sure standing on a wobbly chair is firmly discouraged in the cook’s handbook of kitchen safety.’
‘It’s not wobbly.’ He rocked it to prove his point. ‘It’s the floor that’s wobbly. And I wouldn’t have been standing on a chair if you hadn’t decided so high-handedly to put my groceries on the top shelf. And even then it wouldn’t have been a problem… I was doing fine until you started shouting at me about chicken stock.’
‘A mistake for which I did apologise. I was having a bad time with a recipe at the time. One of your recipes.’
‘It happens.’
‘To you?’
‘To everybody. Thankfully very few people telephone to abuse me personally. What was the problem?’
‘The problem was that I didn’t know what I was domg,’ he admitted. ‘Will you help me, Cassie?’
She couldn’t believe the nerve of the man. ‘Take her out to dinner, Nick. That way there’s a chance that you’ll both enjoy the experience.’
‘I can’t. This isn’t about enjoyment.’
‘No?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s about winning.’ He sat on the edge of the sofa and lifted the bag of peas from her ankle. ‘How is it?’
‘Bearable,’ she said, refusing to wince. ‘Do you always have to win?’
‘I’m a Jefferson. In my family you win or die in the attempt. You’ll need to keep your weight off this for a day or two,’ he said as he began to roll a crepe bandage in a neat figure of eight around her foot and ankle. ‘Getting up and down stairs might prove something of a problem.’
‘The stairs are the least of my worries. I’m taking three lively boys camping the day after tomorrow.’
‘That’s out of the question. You’ll have to postpone it.’
‘I can’t.’ He glanced up, the slightest frown creasing his brow. She shrugged. ‘I promised the boys.’
‘Well, you can’t go on your own; you’ll never manage.’
‘Mike’ll help me,’ she felt. Mike hadn’t been his usual sunny self when they’d been discussing the trip.
‘Mike?’
‘My oldest nephew.’
‘How old is that? You won’t be able to drive, you know.’
‘I’m borrowing my brother-in-law’s estate. It’s an automatic,’ she said quickly.
‘Nice try, Cassie, but it’s your right ankle you’ve sprained.’
‘Have you eaten yet?’ she asked, in a determined effort to change the subject.
‘No. My dinner was ruined by an incompetent chef. What about you?’ She shook her head. ‘Shall I order a take-away?’
‘Don’t be silly, I’ve got a fridge full of food—’
‘And an ankle that won’t bear your weight,’ he pointed out.
‘Oh, but if I tell you what to do—’
‘I’ve already messed up one kitchen tonight. What’ll it be? Chinese, Indian?’ he offered as he picked up the telephone receiver from the floor. ‘A pizza?’ he added doubtfully.
‘Anything,’ she said, just a touch breathlessly. No one ever bought food for her, they always expected her to do the cooking, and she felt ridiculously pampered as Nick ordered Chinese at great length. ‘There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge,’ she said, when he’d finished. ‘I could do with a drink.’
‘Is that a good idea? What about shock, concussion?’
‘As I keep telling people—I didn’t bang my head. Why won’t they believe me?’
He gave a telling shrug. ‘I can’t think. Corkscrew?’
‘In the top drawer.’
‘Glasses?’
‘The cupboard above the sink.’
‘Why doesn’t your cat like men?’
His question took her totally unawares and for a moment she did a very good impression of a goldfish, but as he turned for an answer she said, ‘Just good taste, I imagine.’
‘Isn’t he one himself?’
‘Not technically.’
‘Ouch!’
‘You’ve obviously never kept a tom cat,’ she retorted, ‘or you’d know they’re impossible to live with.’
‘So I’ve been told.’
Cassie gave a little gasp, then to cover her confusion she leaned over and tried to coax him from beneath the sofa. ‘Come on, Dem. Nick won’t hurt you.’
‘Dem?’
‘Demerara. Like the sugar.’ And as the cat slunk out from his hiding place and jumped up on the sofa beside her his pale golden fur caught the light.
‘Oh, I see. The colour. My sister had a Labrador once, called Honey—Oh, damn! I’ve just remembered something…’ He handed her a glass of wine. ‘Can I use your phone?’
‘Help yourself.’
He punched in a number but all he got was an answering machine. Speaking to his mother, he decided, was as difficult as trying to get through to the Prime Minister, but at least the PM had a secretary. ‘This is Nick. Graham told me that he spoke to you about having Helen’s kids, Mum. Look, I know you’re busy but—’
‘Nick, darling,’ his mother said, picking up the phone.
‘Oh, good, you’re there. I thought you might be away—’
‘Another five minutes and I will be. I’m just leaving for a UN conference in Nairobi. I’m sorry to mess up your plans, Nick. Maybe you can organise it again when I’ve more time?’
‘You’ve never got any time,’ he reminded her tetchily. ‘And it’s Helen’s birthday this week.’
‘I know. I bought her a signed copy of Cassandra Cornwell’s new cookery book when I was in town the other day.’
‘So did I.’
‘Really? Oh, dear. What a shame. And I gave her mine today because I won’t be here on the day. Still, you’ll think of something else.’
‘You didn’t organise a break in Paris for her as well, did you?’
‘Of course not. I gave her a cheque so that she can choose something for herself.’
‘Great.’
‘She seemed pleased. You should have done the same. It would have been so much simpler. For everyone.’
‘I went to the trouble of organising her a proper birthday present,’ he said, through gritted teeth.
‘Yes, dear, so Graham told me. It was a lovely thought. What a pity you didn’t think about the children before you booked it.’
‘With two grandmothers on standby I didn’t think it was necessary.’
‘Grandmothers have lives too, Nick. If you feel so strongly about it why don’t you take some time off and look after the girls yourself? You know how fond of you they are. Now, I must go; the taxi’s at the door.’ And with that advice she hung up.
‘Problems?’ Cassie enquired as he replaced the receiver.
‘You could say that. Four of them. All female.’
‘Ah! Nothing you can’t handle, then.’
He pulled a face. ‘It seems I’m about to find out. What would you do with four little girls for five days, Cassie?’
‘How old are they?’
‘Between five and eight. Cute as kittens and as much fun—’
>
‘When you can hand them back to their mother and walk away?’ That was one problem she could empathise with.
He shrugged. ‘A trip to McDonald’s is one thing. But five days…’
‘Take them away somewhere.’
‘And spend all my time explaining who they are and why they’re alone with me to suspicious matrons?’ He topped up their glasses and eased himself alongside her on the sofa, sliding his arm behind her shoulders to give himself more room. Dem glared at him indignantly. ‘I suppose you think I’m being selfish? You volunteered to take your nephews on a camping trip…’ With her cheek pressed against the side of his chest and her thigh tight up against his Cassie was finding any kind of thinking difficult. She could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, hear it thumping against her ear.
‘And as if that isn’t bad enough my mother bought Helen a copy of your book, too.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Signed,’ he said. As if it were somehow her fault.
‘I signed a pile before I left the store—for those people who couldn’t make it that morning.’
‘But Beth knew I’d bought one for Helen.’
‘I’m sure Beth wouldn’t have sold your mother a book knowing that you’d already done that, Nick. At least not without mentioning it. Maybe your mother went into the shop while we were at lunch?’
He’d been turned down for lunch in favour of Beth Winslet? He supposed he should be glad that it wasn’t another man, but he couldn’t quite make up his mind whether it was better or worse. ‘Maybe she did. It doesn’t matter now, because she’s already given it to Helen. I might as well dump the one I bought her in the bin.’
Cassie thought that this might have been more tactfully put, but she didn’t say so. She was having too much pleasure seeing his well-ordered world falling apart. But she somehow managed to quell an almost irresistible urge to giggle. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, with mock sympathy. ‘And there’s still your dinner date to get through. Poor Nick. You’re having a tough week.’
‘It hasn’t been all bad.’ He raised his glass an inch or two. ‘After all, I met you.’
No, that was really too much. ‘Oh, p-lease. You don’t have to pretend, Nick. All you want from me is the chance to dazzle your blonde with a fancy recipe. Well, I’ll tell you now that where I’m concerned flirting won’t get you past go.’
‘Won’t it?’ For a moment his gaze held hers, his dark grey eyes thoughtful, as if measuring just how far flirting would get him. And she remembered him saying that winning was everything. It wouldn’t do to challenge this man to a contest of wills; in her weakened state she wouldn’t stand a chance. Who was she kidding? In any state he was more than a match for her. ‘Why not?’
‘I don’t flirt.’
Not intentionally maybe, Nick thought. But she used her eyelashes the way a Regency heroine would have used a fan. And she had a mouth with a mind of its own. ‘How about an honest-to-goodness, no-holds-barred grovel?’ he suggested. ‘Will that do it?’
Well, she’d told him not to pretend…not that he needed the advice; the one thing she had learned about Nick Jefferson was that he said exactly what he thought. So it was stupid to be disappointed when he took her at her word.
He might be sitting beside her now, sharing a bottle of wine with her and quite prepared to advance the evening at whatever pace she dictated, but if he had conveniently forgotten the reason for his desperate telephone call she hadn’t. And she wasn’t about to let down her guard for something that meant nothing, no matter how unexpectedly her pulse might race at the thought. The fact that her pulse was racing was warning enough. Not all men were like Jonathan, but she knew better than to take the risk.
‘Is impressing this woman so important to you?’ she asked, reminding him of his purpose.
‘I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. So, do I grovel?’
‘You could try,’ Cassie quickly conceded, looking away. It would certainly be interesting to see how he went about it…she’d bet her last strand of saffron that he didn’t have a lot of practice in grovelling. ‘But you’ll hate yourself afterwards for deceiving her.’
‘Why don’t you let me worry about that?’
He smiled so easily, Cassie thought. Well, she knew what that was worth. He wouldn’t hate himself; he wouldn’t give it a second thought. ‘If this is so important to you, Nick, take the day off tomorrow, buy a cartload of chicken pieces and practise until you can cook the dish with your eyes closed. It isn’t difficult, for heaven’s sake. In fact it’s about as easy as cooking gets.’
‘Is that right?’ He gave her the king of look that suggested he thought she was spinning him a line. ‘Well, I appreciate the advice, but I’ve got meetings all day tomorrow. ’
‘Cancel them.’
‘Oh, sure,’ he said, with deep irony. ‘I’ll send a memo, shall I? “Hold the launch of the new golf range, folks, while I hone up my culinary skills.” That would go down a treat in the boardroom.’
‘It would give them something interesting to talk about while they were waiting for you to turn up.’
‘Yes,’ he said, a touch dryly. ‘I imagine it would.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Come on, Cassie, be a sport. Walk me through it.’
‘Why?’
‘You know why.’
Oh, yes, she knew why. What woman could resist a man who had gone to the trouble of cooking a special meal for her? It was so ‘new man’, so different. So appallingly cynical. ‘No, I mean why are you putting yourself through this? No one, least of all some classy blonde, expects you to be able to cook.’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘No, it isn’t. It’s very simple. The truth of the matter, Nick, is that you’re a grade A, free-range—’
‘If I admit I’m a grade A…whatever,’ he interrupted before she could read him his character, ‘if I hold my hand up to being a prize idiot and confess that I’ve got myself into this mess for reasons that are not in the least bit noble…will that satisfy you?’
As grovelling went, it was a class act, she had to admit. But that was Nick Jefferson. A class act from start to finish. But an act, nevertheless. Which made it all the more urgent that she put a stop to the mad racketing in her circulatory system, the really crazy longing that Nick Jefferson would be prepared to go to so much trouble to… To what? To seduce her? Was that what she was wishing? Crazy was right.
‘I’m sorry, Nick, I have a problem with this kind of thing. Something to do with being a clergyman’s daughter, I expect I’d really rather not get involved.’ And she managed to ease herself away and put an inch between them. It wasn’t enough. She could still feel the heat from his body, was still drowning in the scent of man-flesh with only the fresh, laundered smell of his T-shirt to distract her. And it wasn’t. Distracting her. ‘Would you move those peas for me?’ she asked, quickly. So that he would have to move. ‘They’re defrosting all over Dem’s favourite cushion.’
He didn’t move, but continued to stare down at her with a slightly bemused expression. ‘You’re—’
‘A prude? Oh, for goodness’ sake, Nick, if you want to entice an attractive woman into your bed with the help of good food, a few glasses of wine and a romantic CD playing in the background, and if she’s happy about it, I’m not about to throw a faint. I just don’t want to be part of the orchestra.’
Jealous. That was what he’d been about to say. It had come to him in a blinding flash and he’d almost blurted it out. He must be losing his grip. Cassie would deny jealousy with her last breath. Who wouldn’t? Jealous.
He smiled. ‘I’m not asking you to play a violin, Cassie. Simply be there—’
‘Be there! Skulking about in the kitchen while you romance some female out of her knickers—’
‘Good grief, Cassie, what do you take me for?’ As if he needed to ask—she’d made her opinion of him more than plain. ‘On a first date?’ And the last. He’d call it off now except that Veronica would look at him with that cool little smile
and walk away the psychological winner.
She stared him, through thick, dark lashes. ‘This is really important to you?’
‘I told you. Win or die in the attempt.’
‘She must be very beautiful.’
Jealous. ‘Veronica? Yes, she is. And very clever.’ He saw her eyes spark. Gold glints in the butterscotch. And dark little patches of colour on her cheekbones. Jealous as hell. The knowledge gave him a warm feeling of satisfaction deep inside that he would take out and examine at his leisure later.
‘She can’t be that clever if she thinks you can cook.’ Veronica. Even her name was long and glamorous, Cassie thought. ‘So, why aren’t you wooing this paragon with flowers and expensive restaurants instead of risking a fiasco?’ she demanded.
His smile was the merest lifting of one corner of his mouth. Self-deprecating. A touch wry. ‘Flowers and expensive restaurants are just so obvious. Don’t you think?’
‘Obvious. But rather nice. Occasionally,’ she added, just in case he got the wrong idea. ‘Or are you telling me that you think a walk along the beach in the rain is the height of romance?’
‘Isn’t it?’ Nick, recognising a genuine fantasy when he heard it, filed that one away for future reference. After all, you never knew when a fantasy would come in handy. ‘To be honest, Cassie, the choice of venue wasn’t left to me. Veronica saw your cookery book on my desk and being a truthful man I had to admit that it was mine. And she invited herself to dinner.’
‘You could have explained.’
‘I could have. But it really was too good a chance to pass up. As I said, she’s really very lovely. And until then she’d been playing hard to get.’
Cassie couldn’t believe the man. He was just so… so…so…smug. ‘That’s appalling, Nick—’
‘I know. I struggled with my conscience…’ the doorbell rang ‘…but not very hard. That’ll be our supper.’ He uncurled from the sofa and headed towards the stairs.
‘Actually I don’t think I’m that hungry any more.’
‘Too late.’
‘Oh, just go away, Nick, and take your Chinese take-away with you,’ she told him irritably.
‘You don’t mean that. Besides, I won’t be able to eat it all.’
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