‘Oh, do they?’ Eleri grinned. ‘Right. Bedtime for both of us, Niccolo Conti.’
But when Nico’s athletic figure had taken the stairs, two at a time, Eleri remained downstairs, feeling decidedly out of sorts. The cute redhead was to blame, of course. Camilla was one thing—part of James’s life before his arrival at Northwold, someone Eleri had known about and accepted all along. But the advent of another woman in his life was hard to swallow.
If she’d known the affair with Camilla was over she might not have insisted on keeping James at arms’ length. Too late now. Besides, she thought, eyes flashing, he was a callous swine to parade his new ladylove under her nose at the trattoria. Probably it was his way of paying her back for refusing to let him make love to her. Nevertheless she felt hurt, and desperately disappointed. She had thought James above pettiness of that kind. It was her fault for putting him up on a pedestal. Idols had a tendency to clay feet. James, it seemed, was no exception.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE following Monday it took Eleri all the self-control she possessed to greet James with the pleasant, impersonal courtesy she’d developed since her return to Northwold. And even for a Monday it was far and away one of the less happy days she’d spent in the job, not least because James was obviously aware of—and amused by—the effort it took for her to be civil.
Due to pressure of work, plus a certain lack of concentration at times, Eleri went on working later than usual. After she’d finally switched off her computer she looked up to find James leaning in the doorway linking their offices.
‘Time you knocked off, Eleri.’
‘I was just about to.’ She got to her feet. ‘By the way, would it be possible for me to leave a little earlier on Friday? I’m going away for the weekend.’
‘Of course. Take off after lunch, if you like.’ He moved towards her. ‘You look tired. You could have left all that for the morning.’
‘I prefer to leave as little as possible,’ she said politely. ‘And mid-afternoon on Friday will be soon enough, thank you.’
James raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Something wrong, Eleri?’
She looked carefully blank. ‘No. Nothing. Goodnight.’
‘Wait a moment.’ He barred her way. ‘If something’s bothering you I’d like to know.’
Eleri stared doggedly at the knot of his tie. ‘I’m fine.’ She raised her wrist and looked pointedly at her watch. ‘It’s late. I must get home.’
With narrowed eyes James stood aside. ‘Right. Goodnight, then, Eleri. I’ll see you in the morning.’
She nodded pleasantly, and left the office before he thought up any more questions. Tomorrow she would be more careful. She could hardly tell James Kincaid that the ‘something wrong’ was the flame-haired Venetia. It was odd, really, Eleri reflected as she drove home. When James had first arrived at Northwold she had fully expected such an attractive man to be involved with a woman in some way or another, if not actually married. She had accepted Camilla’s part in his life with resignation. But his replacing Camilla with the younger—and more sexy—Venetia touched Eleri on the raw. And the sheer illogicality of her own resentment angered her all the more.
Eleri was calmer by the time she got home. Who was she kidding? James liked her, and had missed her at Northwold, and for a few moments one evening had found her physically appealing. But that was all. Anything more was in her own imagination. And even if it weren’t, and James did want her for a more personal reason, there were personal reasons of her own which made it impossible, much as she longed to confide in him. Something which had never happened before. Her heart missed a beat. This, of course, was the problem. James was the first man she’d ever loved. And ever would love. If only... She breathed in deeply. Regrets were pointless. And the half a loaf of their working relationship was better than no contact with James at all.
Next morning Eleri was her usual self again, able to smile at James and mean it when they met first thing.
‘You’re better,’ he said instantly.
‘Yes. Sorry about yesterday. I was a bit off colour.’ She took her usual seat and looked across at him expectantly, waiting for him to dive into the paperwork in front of him.
‘Where are you going on Friday?’ asked James, surprising her.
‘London for the weekend.’
‘I’m driving up there myself on Friday afternoon. I’ll give you a lift.’
Eleri bit her lip, her face suddenly warm. ‘I couldn’t possibly put you to the trouble—’
‘No trouble, Eleri. I’ll drop you wherever you want.’
‘Thank you. You’re very kind,’ she responded, hiding her pleasure at the idea by looking pointedly at the pile of work in front of him.
James’s smile widened. ‘I’m not kind at all. I’d appreciate the company.’
But behind the driving force image he was kind, thought Eleri later, as she worked steadily through the morning. Otherwise he wouldn’t have troubled to keep her job open when she walked out on him. He’d known how much she loved her job, and he liked her too. He’d never made any secret of that. Of course he hadn’t lost by taking her back, because she was good at what she did, but there were any number of women just as good who could have replaced her. So, Venetia or not, she had cause to be grateful to James Kincaid.
The week went by quickly in preparation for the launch of a new type of lager, and Eleri sailed through it all with ease, buoyed up by the thought of her first weekend away since her run-in with Toby. On her way home on Thursday evening she called in on the hairdresser who, from time to time, trimmed off an inch or so of hair and tidied up the shape.
‘That looks nice,’ said her mother when Eleri got home. ‘Does Vicky have any plans for the weekend?’
‘No idea. I don’t mind what we do.’
‘Just good to get away,’ nodded Catrin sympathetically. ‘Call Nico down, would you, cariad? He’s supposed to be doing his homework up there. Make sure he finishes it! Your dinner’s ready. We’ve had ours—your father’s already gone over to the restaurant and I promised I wouldn’t be long. Fully booked tonight.’
‘Good. You carry on.’ Eleri smiled at her mother. THE see to Nico.’
Eleri enjoyed an evening alone with Nico, despite his constant discourse on the form of Inter Milan and Juventus, and sometimes Liverpool and Manchester United. Eleri listened with attention as she served him two helpings of her mother’s famous chicken and ham pie, doing her best to take an interest in the ruling passion of his life.
‘Sorry, El,’ he said eventually. ‘I must be boring you rigid.’
‘Me? Bored by football?’ she said, widening mocking eyes at him.
He grinned. ‘All right. Your turn now. How’s James?’
‘He’s fine. In fact he’s driving me to London tomorrow afternoon.’
Nico’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re going away with him? I thought you were going to Vicky’s.’
‘I am. He’s just giving me a lift.’ Eleri eyed him curiously. ‘Would you object, then, if I were going off with him?’
He shook his head vigorously, and accepted a bowl of chocolate trifle with enthusiasm. ‘No way. James is cool. And it’s about time you had a real boyfriend, if you ask me.’
‘Well, I’m not asking you. And I’ve had plenty of boyfriends in the past.’
‘I know, I know. Not like James, though.’
Which was true enough, thought Eleri as she went off to bed later. Nico’s attitude was surprising. He obviously liked James a lot. And seemed worried because she led such a quiet life. Nor was he the only one. She knew perfectly well her mother felt the same, though her father, she suspected, would have kept her home for ever, given the choice.
Mario Conti drove his daughter to Northwold the next morning since James was giving her a lift to London.
‘How will you get back, cara?’ he asked as she kissed him goodbye.
‘By train on Sunday evening. I’ll ring you beforehand.’
The mo
rning flew by in Eleri’s efforts to get as much done as possible before she left, and shortly after lunch James put his head round the door.
‘I’m going down to the car in a few minutes. I’ll wait there for you. Don’t be long.’
Eleri tidied her desk, then went off to the cloakroom to replace her neat grey suit with black wool trousers and yellow sweater, pulled on her jacket and hurried off with her hold-all to a chorus of well wishes from her colleagues. She was lucky, thought Eleri, to work with people who all seemed genuinely pleased to have her back—if only, they teased, because it meant bidding farewell to the formidable, navy-clad Mrs Willis.
The afternoon was bright, but bitingly cold as the barrier was raised at the gate for James to drive his car away from Northwold property.
‘Are you warm enough, Eleri?’ he asked.
‘Perfectly, thanks.’
‘When are you coming back? Sunday?’
‘Yes.’
They talked shop, principally about the new launch, as they drove through undulating Gloucestershire countryside. But when they were finally cruising along the motorway in the fast lane he gave her a swift, sideways glance.
‘What are your plans for the weekend, Eleri? Nightclub? Theatre?’
‘No idea.’ Eleri shrugged, smiling. ‘Vicky usually has something laid on. We’ll probably go to the cinema at some stage. She likes romantic weepies; I like thrillers. So we generally go to one of those multi-screen places and see both.’
‘I haven’t been to the cinema in years.’
‘The Regal in Pennington’s very good. I often go there.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes. Or with Nico, sometimes, if he’s at a loose end.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘It never ceases to amaze me that someone with your looks isn’t beating off male escorts with a stick.’
Eleri chuckled. ‘Is it so difficult to believe I just enjoy my own company?’
‘No, because I enjoy it myself. And not only your company,’ he added deliberately, ‘as I demonstrated so rashly one night. Something I’ve been kicking myself for ever since.’
‘You don’t have to,’ she said, her face warm. ‘You’ve already apologised.’
‘Ah, but I think I should make it clear that my apology was not for making love to you. How could I be sorry for that? My regret is for my lack of timing.’
Eleri turned to glare at him. ‘You think some other time I would have been more co-operative?’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ he snapped.
‘Whatever you meant, I’d rather we dropped the subject.’
James inclined his head coldly and drove on without a word while Eleri stared stonily at the traffic which clogged three lanes of the motorway as far as the eye could see. They were nearing their destination before James broke the silence to ask Vicky’s address.
‘No need,’ said Eleri stiffly. ‘Just drop me at an Underground station wherever convenient.’
‘I shall do nothing of the kind. Tell me where your friend lives, please.’
Having learned that Vicky lived in a block of flats not far from Ealing Broadway, James turned off the motorway shortly afterwards and a few minutes later parked outside the building Eleri indicated. James killed the engine and turned to her.
‘Eleri, once and for all, I’m not sorry I made love to you, only that I was idiot enough to rush my fences.’
Eleri kept her eyes on the seat belt she was unfastening. ‘As I’ve said before, it doesn’t matter. Let’s forget about it.’
‘But you’re still angry,’ he said bleakly.
Only about Venetia, you stupid idiot, she wanted to scream at him. Instead she gave him a polite little smile, thanked him for the lift, and opened her door. James got out and came round the car to hand her suitcase over.
‘I’ll come and pick you up on Sunday.’
Eleri stared, taken aback. ‘Oh, but—’
‘No buts. I’ll be here about four.’ And without waiting for an answer James got in the car and drove off without a backward glance.
Victoria Mantle was the same age as Eleri, but there any similarity ended. She was tall, chestnut-haired, opulently curved, and rarely without one man in tow, if not more. She also had a shrewd, mathematical brain, and a hard outer shell that made her a successful trader. But beneath the shell, known only to the favoured few allowed access to it, lay a warm, generous nature and a tigerish tendency to protect those she loved. The moment Vicky answered her doorbell Eleri was swept into a warm embrace, given the choice of coffee, wine or something stronger, and because Eleri was well known for being uncommunicative on the phone, commanded to fill in every detail of what had happened since they last met, including news of Toby, who Vicky described with several four-letter words, none of which would have found favour with Catrin.
Afterwards, as they consumed a Thai takeaway, Eleri was resigned to learn that Toby was among the people Vicky had invited round for a little get-together the following night. He had managed to get a job in another bank after much string-pulling on the part of friends and relatives, and had coaxed Vicky to ask him round whenever Eleri came up to town.
It was infinitely relaxing to talk into the small hours with someone she’d known since she was two years old. Later, in Vicky’s spare bed, Eleri smiled to herself at the thought of the programme mapped out for next day, which, just as she’d told James, included a double bill at the cinema and an intensive tour of the shops—all of it under the same roof in Whiteleys.
They arrived back in Ealing at five, and took turns in the bathroom. Afterwards, Vicky, in a white jersey dress which clung to every curve, and Eleri, in a tangerine silk shirt and black velvet trousers splurged on that afternoon, were ready to confront the guests, and the kitchen was crammed with designer party food delivered while Eleri was in the bath.
Eleri suddenly felt extraordinarily festive as the first guests began to arrive, some of whom she’d met before, others who were new to her—particularly one large, red-headed man in black who insisted they remain together because they were so colour-coordinated as a pair. It was relaxing to indulge in a little harmless flirtation, knowing she looked good. Eleri thrust James from her mind, and set out to enjoy the evening to the full, her pleasure not in the least dimmed when Toby arrived, late and apologetic. Immaculate as always, his fair hair flopping over his forehead as he pushed his way through the throng, he detached Eleri skillfully from a brace of male companions.
‘You won’t mind if I steal her away?’ he said, with a cherubic smile. ‘Old friends, lot to catch up on.’ He herded Eleri into a corner like a sheepdog, and stood over her as she perched on the arm of a chair. ‘How are you?’ he asked anxiously.
‘I’m good.’
‘I know you are,’ he said ruefully. ‘Good as gold, always.’
‘How boring,’ she said lightly.
‘Seriously, Eleri, did that chap Kincaid take you back without any trouble?’ Toby downed half his wine in one swallow, obviously nervous in the face of Eleri’s serenity.
‘Yes, he did. Eventually.’ She sipped her own wine rather more sparingly. ‘I walked out on him at first. As you well know, I was outraged by his suspicions. About the insider trading,’ she added.
Toby coloured to the roots of his hair, and drank down the rest of his wine. ‘But I know you’re back at Northwold now.’
‘Do you?’ she asked curiously. ‘Did Vicky tell you?’
‘Er—no. I had it from someone else.’
‘Who?’ said Eleri, frowning.
Toby heaved a great sigh. ‘My godfather told me.’
She stared at him, mystified. ‘How on earth does he know about me?’
Toby shrugged. ‘Old Godfrey sits on quite a few boards, including Northwold’s. I asked him to breathe a word in Kincaid’s ear. About you, I mean, to get you back poste haste. Got a lot of clout, my godpapa.’
Eleri thought through the list of names on the Northwold board of directors. ‘By “Old Godfrey”, I
assume you mean Sir Godfrey Broadhurst, the property millionaire?’
Toby nodded. ‘Told me never to pull a trick like that again. Chewed my ears off, in fact. But I didn’t care a damn as long as I was able to put things right for you.’
‘How very sweet of you, Toby.’ Eleri looked up with a smile as the red-headed giant came bearing down on them, a glass in each hand. ‘Is one of those for me?’
For the rest of the evening Eleri glittered like a Christmas tree, so vivacious that when the party was over Vicky asked in trepidation how many glasses of wine she’d downed.
‘One and a bit. My effervescence was due to loss of temper,’ Eleri assured her, eyes flashing. ‘I, poor innocent that I am, have been labouring under the impression that James Kincaid asked me back to Northwold because he couldn’t do without me. And all the while Toby—behaving altruistically for once—asked his godfather to bring pressure to bear on my darling boss. And because Sir Godfrey Broadhurst is a rich, very influential man, James did as he was told.’ She turned a rather wild, glittering smile on Vicky. ‘I suppose I should be grateful to Toby.’
‘It wasn’t Toby’s idea,’ said Vicky indignantly, pushing her hair up from her neck. ‘It was mine. I bullied him into doing something after making such a pig’s breakfast of your career and threatened to put the word out to all his friends if he didn’t. Tell them what an unprincipled, thoughtless little—’
‘So you were the one behind this?’ Eleri let out a deep breath. ‘I might have known. Not Toby’s style at all.’
‘I didn’t mean to tell you,’ said Vicky, grimacing. ‘But I’m just not noble enough to let Toby take the credit.’
Eleri hugged her friend warmly. ‘And why should you?’
‘You’re not angry with me?’
‘Of course not—come on, let’s clear this lot up.’
‘No way. It can wait until morning,’ said Vicky, and gave her a push. ‘Get off to bed. Take some time off next trip and stay longer.’
‘Thanks, I will.’ Eleri grinned. ‘Unless you acquire a flatmate in the meantime—male variety.’
Bargaining With The Boss (Harlequin Romance) Page 10