Bargaining With The Boss (Harlequin Romance)

by George, Catherine

  ‘No one knows about your connection with Maynard other than my brother-in-law and myself.’ He looked away across the bar. ‘Sam told me Maynard obtained the information from someone at Merlin Ales. You’re completely exonerated.’

  ‘I want to be trusted, not exonerated,’ she retorted.

  ‘I do trust you. I told you that the day you walked out on me.’ James paused, smiling crookedly. ‘I didn’t tell anyone you’d resigned, except for Bruce Gordon. The rest of the staff think you’re taking some leave because your family needed you for a while.’

  ‘They need me full stop,’ she said flatly. ‘So even if I wanted to come back I can’t.’

  ‘Ah, but you’d like to,’ he said swiftly.

  ‘All right. I would,’ she admitted. ‘I enjoyed my job. But I care too much for my family to take off again and leave them in the lurch.’ Nor did she intend running back to Northwold just because James Kincaid crooked his finger and whistled. Much as she wanted to. She stood up. ‘If you’d ask the waiter for my coat and call me a taxi it’s time I went home. Busy day tomorrow.’

  James signalled to a waiter. ‘I’ll drive you.’

  ‘There’s no need to go so far out of your way.’

  ‘I literally pass your door.’

  ‘You’ve moved from Compton Priors?’

  ‘Yes. I never meant the cottage to be more than a stop-gap while I looked for something permanent. It actually belongs to my parents, so from now on I’ll just use it as a weekend retreat now and again. I moved into a flat in town last week.’ He helped her into her heavy gold wool jacket. ‘Let’s dash; it’s started to snow again.’ They went outside into a white, whirling night, and James rushed her over to his Land Rover Discovery and tossed her up into it, flakes of snow frosting his hair when he ran round to get in beside her. ‘Brrr!’ he complained, shivering. ‘Weather like this spurred me into finding a flat. This winter I’ve had a couple of dicey journeys out to the cottage.’

  The snow was coming down so thick and fast by the time they arrived in the town, Eleri told James to drop her at the end of the cul-de-sac.

  ‘The house is at the end, so don’t try and drive down—it’s difficult to turn round,’ she instructed, and James killed the engine.

  ‘I shan’t give up, Eleri. When you change your mind you know where to contact me.’ He turned in his seat to look at her.

  Eleri kept her eyes on the seat belt she was unfastening. ‘I doubt that I will. But thanks for the meal. I’m afraid it was rather a wasted evening for you.’

  ‘How could any time spent with you be wasted, Eleri?’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ she said politely. ‘I’m only sorry I had to disappoint you.’

  ‘So am I.’ He got out of the car and went round to help her out, then took her by surprise by clasping both her hands in his. ‘Goodnight—but definitely not goodbye.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  NEXT day, over lunch, Eleri’s family were full of curiosity about her evening—her mother, particularly, inquisitive about James Kincaid’s motive for asking her out.

  ‘If it was any other man, cariad, the reason would be obvious, but in the circumstances, you must admit it’s a bit odd.’

  ‘Perhaps he just fancies her,’ said Nico, wolfing down large quantities of roast lamb. ‘What’s in this stuffing, Ma? It’s different.’

  ‘Laverbread, cariad,’ said Catrin, and smiled at her mystified husband. ‘Seaweed, of a sort, Mario. They’ve begun to get it in the market occasionally—sent up from Swansea.’

  ‘Seaweed?’ he said with professional interest. ‘This is some Welsh recipe, no?’

  ‘My mother used to do it this way,’ she said, nodding. ‘I’d forgotten about it until I read it in a magazine the other day. It’s mixed with onion and bread-crumbs and a dash of orange juice. Do you like it?’

  ‘It’s magnificent!’ said Mario with relish. ‘We shall serve it in the restaurant.’

  They were sitting round the oval table in the dining room for the midday meal always eaten together on Sundays, at Catrin’s insistence, since sometimes it was the only time in the week she could gather all her family together. Claudia and her husband Paul often came too, but today the weather was bad and the Contis were reduced to four, which centred squarely on Eleri’s evening with James Kincaid.

  ‘If you must know,’ she said, resigned, ‘Mr Kincaid took me out to dinner to try to persuade me to go back to my job at Northwold. It’s my office skills he lusts after, not me.’

  Her father gave her a startled, searching look. ‘What did you say, cara?’

  ‘I refused, of course.’ She stood up to take their plates. ‘I’ll fetch the pudding.’

  Her mother followed her out into the kitchen with the vegetable dishes. ‘But you wanted to accept, love, didn’t you?’

  Eleri nodded. ‘Yes. But don’t worry. I wouldn’t let you down like that. And it may be cutting my nose off to spite my face, but I’ve no intention of running back to Northwold at the drop of a hat. I do have my pride, Mother.’

  ‘But you weren’t really sacked.’

  ‘No. But my integrity was questioned.’ Eleri took a bowl of zabaglione from the fridge. ‘Though I’m completely exonerated, James informed me.’

  ‘James? On first-name terms now, then?’

  ‘His idea, not mine.’ Eleri smiled cajolingly at her mother. ‘Shall I take the apple tart in, too? Zabaglione won’t be enough for Nico.’

  Later that night, Eleri was glad when the wedding supper had been served and she could escape from the restaurant to enjoy some time to herself at home. Sometimes she longed to join Vicky in London as her friend wanted. Until James Kincaid’s arrival she’d tended to look on the Northwold post as a stepping-stone to some future high-powered job in the capital. But James’s advent had put her ambitions on a back-burner, and now she was farther from realising them than ever before, involved in the family business after all, and likely to remain so for the foreseeable future.

  The following week, to Eleri’s intense irritation, she found herself looking up in anticipation every time a tall, dark man came into the coffee-shop. How could it be James during the week? she asked herself scornfully. Or any time at all. He’d done his persuading. He wouldn’t ask again now she’d turned him down. She’d been foolish to accept his invitation to dinner. Her efforts at getting over him had been going rather well up to that point. Now, damn the man, she was back to square one.

  One of the other duties Eleri had volunteered for, once she was working in the business, was to deliver meals ordered by customers wanting a full-scale dinner in the comfort of their own home. At first her father had demurred, saying it was better left with Luigi, the waiter who normally drove the small van and even served the meal if required. Luigi, however, had broken his ankle on an icy pavement during the unusually bitter cold spell, and Eleri was given reluctant permission to take over for him as a temporary measure.

  ‘Anything to relieve the monotony, isn’t it?’ her mother had said, helping, her load the van the first time. ‘I thought you’d be glad to stay in on an evening after being on your feet all day.’

  ‘It makes a change,’ said Eleri cheerfully. ‘Do they want me to serve this?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Catrin firmly. ‘I don’t mind you delivering a meal, but I’m not having my daughter stay to serve it.’

  ‘I serve people all day in the coffee-shop,’ Eleri pointed out.

  ‘That’s different,’ said her mother, firmly illogical.

  Eleri enjoyed taking over the delivery service. The meals were expensive, but none of the clients had complained to date, since the food was perfectly prepared and arrived ready to serve, other than for a little reheating of certain dishes.

  A dinner for two had been ordered that night for an address in Chester Gardens.

  ‘It is a very simple meal, cara,’ said her father. ‘But it is best you take the ingredients for the insalata caprese and make it up for the customer after
you arrive. The main course is just pasta with meat sauce, so put it in a low oven while you make the salad, then come home. Deo volente, Luigi will be able to drive again soon.’

  ‘But I like doing it, Pa,’ she protested.

  ‘I know.’ He patted her cheek, then kissed it. ‘Because you are bored, no?’

  She grinned at him, put the containers in the car and slid behind the wheel, not troubling to contradict what was, her father knew well, the simple truth. She was bored. It was time she begged a Saturday off to spend a weekend with Vicky.

  To Eleri’s relief the address was a ground-floor apartment in one of the austerely beautiful Regency houses in Chester Gardens. Where a lift was involved the delivery was more complicated. She rang the bell, and after a short wait the panelled door swung open to reveal a tall, all too familiar figure.

  James Kincaid stood transfixed at the sight of her. ‘Eleri?’

  ‘Who is it?’ called a voice in the background.

  ‘The dinner you ordered,’ he called back, looking embarrassed as he took one of the insulated containers from Eleri. ‘The kitchen’s along here.’ He hurried a shell-shocked Eleri along the hall and into a high-ceilinged room with a black and white tiled floor and state-of-the-art equipment. He shut the door behind them and thrust a hand through his hair, his discomfiture so obvious Eleri forgot her own in her amusement.

  ‘I apologise for this,’ he said gruffly. ‘Believe me. I had no idea.’

  ‘Neither did I. Look, could I put the oven on for the main course, please?’ she said, deliberately businesslike. ‘Or you can put it in the microwave. I’m afraid I have to assemble the first course, but it won’t take long. It’s only a salad.’

  ‘Please don’t bother—I’m sure we can manage,’ he said curtly. He went over to a large convector oven and switched it on. ‘I’d better use this, I suppose. What temperature do I need?’

  ‘Medium. But don’t leave the dish in too long. Could I have a big round serving plate, please?’

  James hunted in a cupboard and gave her a plate, then watched uneasily while Eleri sliced beef tomatoes and rounds of buffalo mozzarella cheese with the knife she’d brought with her. She arranged them in concentric circles on the plate, drizzled virgin olive oil over them, tore up a handful of fresh basil leaves and sprinkled them over the finished dish.

  ‘There,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘Insalata caprese . Would you put it in the fridge, please? I’ll leave you to slice the focaccia when you’re ready to eat.’ She unwrapped a flat loaf coated with onions and rosemary, then put the dish of pasta in the oven.

  ‘Eleri—’ began James.

  ‘Please,’ she said swiftly, ‘just let me get away as quickly as possible.’ She bit her lip, her face suddenly hot. ‘Though I’m afraid you have to pay me first.’

  James fished his wallet out from a back pocket and handed over the not inconsiderable sum required for his evening meal. Eleri took the money and gave him change, all in a silence so tangible it fairly simmered in the air.

  ‘Normally one of our staff does this,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘He’s broken his ankle, so I’m filling in. If you order anything in future it’s customary to give Luigi a tip.’

  ‘For pity’s sake, Eleri, I thought you’d black my eye if I offered you a tip!’ He smiled ironically. ‘It seems a totally inadequate and irrelevant thing to say, but thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ fibbed Eleri dryly. ‘Nice kitchen,’ she added, then stiffened as the door opened and in came a tall, slender blonde in a dress Eleri had coveted in a glossy magazine.

  ‘Dinner? How splendid. Wasn’t I clever, James, to think of getting it sent in?’ She smiled radiantly at Eleri and spoke loudly and very distinctly. ‘Thank you so much. Do you speak English?’

  Eleri was suddenly possessed by a demon. ‘A leetle, signorina,’ she said, avoiding James’s stare. ‘I ’ave prepare the insalata, and the pasta ees hotting in the oven.’

  ‘Perfect. Have you paid her, James?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, fixing Eleri with a cold, glittering stare. ‘But I forgot to give her a tip.’ He held out a five-pound note. ‘Please accept this for your trouble, Signorina Conti.’

  Serves me right, she thought, looking at it for a moment. She took it and smiled up at him with deliberate coquetry, then turned away with a swish of her hips. ‘Mille grazie, Signor Kincaid. So kind.’

  He ushered her out of the kitchen swiftly, closing the door behind him before almost propelling her along the hall. ‘What the blazes got into you?’ he growled.

  ‘Sorry!’ she whispered penitently. ‘My schoolgirl sense of humour.’ And one look at Camilla Tennent had rendered her mad with jealousy, but she wasn’t telling him that. She slipped outside quickly as he opened the door, then gave him a mischievous smile over her shoulder. ‘Enjoy your meal.’

  It came as no surprise to Eleri to see a familiar figure enter the coffee-shop next morning. James took his place at table ten in the corner by the far window, but Eleri went on with her telephone conversation to the ice-cream supplier, making sure that James had already been served with coffee by the time she put the receiver down.

  ‘The gentleman would like a word with you when you’re free,’ Luisa informed her, smiling all over her face. ‘Why not take your break now? We can cope.’

  Eleri poured herself a coffee and took it over to James’s table, seating herself as he half rose. ‘Are you acquiring a taste for our coffee?’ she enquired.

  ‘It’s very good,’ he agreed, ‘but not the reason for my visit.’

  ‘No. I didn’t think it was.’ Eleri smiled at him ruefully. ‘Look, I’m sorry for last night. It was a stupid thing to do.’

  ‘Actually it was very funny.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘I suppose it was a gut reaction to Camilla in her “speaking to foreigners” mode.’

  ‘Partly.’ She made a face. ‘A bit embarrassing all round.’

  ‘I came to explain that it wasn’t my idea. Though to be fair I wouldn’t have expected you to deliver the meal in person even if I’d known which restaurant Camilla chose.’

  ‘My father only let me fill in for Luigi because I get a bit—’ She stopped, biting her lip.

  ‘Bored?’ he prompted.

  ‘Well, yes,’ she admitted reluctantly.

  ‘Good,’ he said, surprising her. ‘There’s a simple solution. Come back to work at Northwold, Eleri. No—’ He held up a hand. ‘Hear me out. I know you turned me down flat last time, but was that because you really don’t want to come back, or out of reluctance to make things difficult for your family?’ His eyes held hers. ‘Or was your pride hurt too badly to even think of coming back to Northwold?’

  ‘Two out of three,’ she said lightly, casting an eye round the rapidly filling coffee-shop. ‘Look, I have to go.’

  ‘Will you promise to think it over?’

  Eleri stood up, and James followed suit. ‘There’s not much point.’

  ‘Let me take you out to lunch tomorrow—’ he began, but she shook her head.

  ‘Sunday lunch is a sacred ritual in our household, I’m afraid. Besides,’ she added, ‘it won’t make any difference. Goodbye.’ Eleri gave him a friendly, impersonal smile and returned to her post, immersed in filling buns with ham and salad before James had even left the coffee-shop.

  The rest of the day was difficult. Even though she was run off her feet, Eleri found it desperately hard to concentrate due to a burning desire to do as James asked and return to work at Northwold. But at the same time a cool, calculating voice in her brain wondered why he was so insistent on having her back. She had no illusions about being indispensable. There had to be dozens of other women, equally competent, only too eager to fill her shoes.

  At last she bade Gianni and Luisa goodnight, and went through her nightly ritual of checking that all was ready for the next day, which this time, she thought with a sigh of thankfulness, wasn’t until Monday morning, which was usually fairly quiet. She locked the front d
oor, and was just about to look in on the restaurant when the phone rang in the nook behind the cash register.

  ‘May I speak to Miss Conti?’ said a familiar male voice.

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘James here, Eleri. I’m having a few Northwold people round for an impromptu drinks party tomorrow night—Bruce and his wife, and a few of the others. No one had the chance to bid you a proper goodbye, so I thought it would be an excellent idea if you joined us for an hour or so.’

  Eleri opened her mouth to say no, then paused. If she went to a drinks party designed as a sort of farewell to her, James would be forced to accept that she meant what she said about not going back to Northwold. It was too unsettling for words to hear him repeat the request she would never be able to accept—at least not until Nico was old enough to take over. And by that time James.Kincaid would probably be chairman of the entire company, married to Camilla, and would have forgotten all about her.

  ‘Are you still there, Eleri?’

  ‘Is the party in your flat?’

  ‘Yes. You know the address. Will you come?’

  The prospect of Camilla Tennent as gracious hostess held little appeal, but on the other hand there was nothing to do tomorrow night other than watch television or read a book, or, if completely desperate, lend a hand in the trattoria to pass the time.

  ‘Yes,’ she said with sudden decision. ‘Why not? I’ll enjoy meeting the others again.’

  ‘About seven, then? I’ll look forward to it,’ he said quickly.

  ‘So will I.’ Eleri put down the phone and leaned against the counter, staring across the darkened coffee-shop to the floodlit church across the cobbled square. She had kept quiet about her visit to Chester Gardens the night before, fairly sure her mother would have gone off like a rocket to hear she’d served dinner to James Kincaid. But her parents would look on a farewell party as a very nice touch, a fitting way to round off their clever daughter’s time at Northwold. It would also reassure them that she meant what she said about staying to run the coffee-shop.