Blind Date Rivals

‘I look forward to reading this author’s next release …

and her next … and her next. It truly is a stunning debut,

with characters that will remain in your thoughts

long after you have closed the book.’

—pinkheartsocietyreviews.blogspot.com on

Always the Bridesmaid

‘Rich with emotion,

and pairing two truly special characters,

this beautiful story is simply unforgettable. A keeper.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Hired: Sassy Assistant

‘A well-constructed plot and a scrumptious,

larger-than-life hero combined with generous amounts

of humour and pathos make for an excellent read.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds

About the Author

About Nina Harrington

NINA HARRINGTON grew up in rural Northumberland, England, and decided at the age of eleven that she was going to be a librarian—because then she could read all of the books in the public library whenever she wanted! Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realise her dream of being a fiction writer. When she is not creating stories which make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine—and talking, for which she has had specialist training.

Also by Nina Harrington

Her Moment in the Spotlight

The Last Summer of Being Single

Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds

Hired: Sassy Assistant

Always the Bridesmaid

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Blind Date Rivals

Nina Harrington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘WELL, good afternoon. Have I reached the offices of one Sara Jane Fenchurch? The same Sara Jane Fenchurch who is shortlisted to be the next local Businesswoman of the Year? I have Orchid Growers Monthly waiting on line two for an exclusive interview. Could that be you, Miss Fenchurch? Hiding behind the smuggest grin in the potting shed?’

Sara sat back in the chair she had rescued from a skip two weeks earlier and twirled her pen between two fingers like a cheerleader. Her best friend, Helen, waltzed into the cramped office on crazily high heels, whisked dirt from an old dining room chair with a perfectly manicured hand and perched elegantly on the edge of the hard seat.

‘Oh?’ Sara replied, wide-eyed in pretend amazement, and pressed the fingertips of her left hand to her chest. ‘Could that be little old me?’ And then she fluttered her eyelashes dramatically towards a framed newspaper cutting which dominated the plain wall of the log cabin which had been a potting shed but was now her garden office. A photographer from the local free newspaper had caught her grinning like a loon and looking as stunned as a rabbit caught in car headlights as the organiser congratulated her for being on the shortlist. ‘Why, yes, I believe it is. Fancy that. Maybe this year I will win it? That would be nice. Not to say useful. Cottage Orchids needs as much publicity as it can get, thank you.’

Helen snorted derisively and brushed away a trail of cobweb from the skirt of her otherwise immaculate burgundy bouclé suit. ‘Of course you’ll win and your orchids will be positively flying out of the door. Although …’ and Helen raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side as she looked at Sara from head to toe before tutting loudly ‘… you are going to need a serious makeover, young lady, if you want to impress those judges. We can start by getting rid of that hideous pen.’

Helen tried to snatch Sara’s favourite pen from between her friend’s fingers, but Sara was too quick for her and lifted it out of reach behind her head.

‘There is nothing wrong with my pen,’ Sara replied indignantly. ‘Leave it alone.’

‘It’s green and sparkly with a bendy plastic flower stuck on the top. Not very professional, is it?’

‘It came free with a bag of orchid compost and I like it and it writes,’ Sara replied. ‘Professional pens are for girls who have money to spend on luxuries. Not girls who need to save every penny to invest in their orchid houses.’

Helen sighed out loud and shook her head. ‘A green flowery pen. What would the Dragon have said?’ Then she grinned across at Sara, pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and went on in a thin, high, whiny voice of horror, ‘How inelegant, my dears. The shame.’

Sara laughed out loud, pushed the pointy end of her green pen behind her ear so that the yellow flower bobbed up and down at Helen, and leant her elbows on top of the pile of papers stacked several inches thick on the pine kitchen table which served as her office desk. The headmistress at the private boarding school where Sara had first met Helen had been a former actress and was famous for seizing on every opportunity for an over the top dramatic performance. Helen had always been able to mimic her perfectly.

‘Maybe you are right, but at least one of us didn’t let her down on the elegance front.’ Then Sara brightened and looked at Helen through narrowed eyes. ‘You look far too chirpy for a girl who is celebrating being a year older. In fact, if I didn’t know you better I would have said you were scheming about something. Let me guess. You’ve changed your mind about celebrating your birthday here in the quaint little English village I call home and are planning to fly off to some exotic paradise with your beloved Caspar instead?’

‘Are you kidding? I’ve loved this place since the very first time your lovely nana took pity on me during the school holidays.’ Then Helen smiled and gave Sara that certain innocent look that made Sara’s eyebrows lift. ‘Actually, this time it’s more along the lines of what I can do for you!’

Helen leant forward and flashed her expensive dentistry for a second in a wide grin. ‘It took some doing, but Caspar finally managed to persuade his friend Leo to leave London early so that he can come along to my birthday party at the hotel tonight! Isn’t that wonderful news?’

Sara shook her head very slowly from side to side. ‘Oh, no. You are not doing this to me. Not again. Just because I’m single does not mean that you have to try and set me up with every single, divorced or otherwise unattached man within a hundred mile radius.’

Helen sighed in exasperation. ‘But he is perfect for you. Just think of it as a small thank you for offering to do the wedding flowers! Besides, Caspar doesn’t have many close friends and at this rate Leo Grainger is going to be the only single usher at my wedding! Come on, I hate the idea that I’m the first of us to be getting married and you don’t even have a boyfriend who I can torment. Who knows? You might actually like him and enjoy yourself?’

Sara picked up a bulging document folder from her desk and let it fall back with a thud, causing the withered elastic band that was holding it together to give up and twang into shreds. ‘It’s a good thing that your wedding isn’t for another four weeks! Seriously, Helen, I’m swamped with paperwork and there is so much still to do I’m dizzy. And I have to be up on time tomorrow to meet the Events Manager at the Manor. There is no room in my life for dating. And you might recall that my last boyfriend was not a huge success.’

Helen waved her fingers in the air and coughed. ‘That was three years ago and I thought we promised to never talk about that loser again. Don’t waste one second even thinking about how he let you down.’

Sara pushed her lips together. ‘Let me down? Is that what you call breaking up with me and running off to Australia with his office junior? No, Gorgeous. I love you and you have been my best friend since the first time we shared homesick stories aged eight, but no boyfriends. Thank you all the same but I am sure that Caspar’s friend will have a great time at the party without me boring him to tears with talk of orchid fertiliser.’

Helen glanced around the wooden walls, shivered and sniffed dramatically and dropped her voice down to a pleading whisper. ‘Fair point. Except, you know this could be the last time we go out partying together as single girls, don’t you? In only a few weeks’ time, I am going to be Mrs Caspar Kaplinski. I shall try to understand that you are so busy in your own life that you can’t spare a few hours to help your old friend celebrate her last birthday as a single girl. Although it is going to be quite a struggle. I … I don’t know if I can go through with it knowing that my one and only bridesmaid is going to be sitting in her tiny hovel all evening. Lonely and rejected while we are all enjoying ourselves …’

Her voice tailed off with a dramatic over the top fake sob, and she pressed a real silk handkerchief to the inner corner of each eye.

‘That. Is emotional blackmail. And my cottage is not a hovel. Yesterday you called it a bijou gem!’

‘Absolutely!’ Helen replied with a wide grin, already on her feet and heading for the door. ‘So, it’s decided then. Cinders, you shall not stay home with only your elderly cat for company. Not this Saturday night. I shall slip through the back gate to collect you at eight with the props and stuff. Leo will take one look at you and be totally smitten, you wait and see. This is one party you’re going to remember. Ciao.’

‘Props? Helen! Wait!’

Sara stared at the space where her best friend had been sitting. How did Helen do it? A costume party and a blind date? Sara pressed her eyes tight shut and slumped back in her chair. Oh, no. She had a horrible feeling that she was going to regret this.

‘Leo, my old mate,’ Caspar bellowed down Leo’s car telephone system, ‘where are you? Helen is starting to panic that you’ve run away in terror at the thought of meeting your blind date this evening. You have to help me out here.’

‘Me? Run away from a gorgeous lady? Perish the thought.’ Then there was a pause before Leo asked, ‘She isn’t another of Helen’s old school friends, is she?’

The less than reassuring silence on the other end of the telephone confirmed his worst fears. ‘Ah, well,’ Caspar answered. ‘This one is different! Sara might be a country girl but she is very sweet.’

‘A country girl?’ Leo laughed. ‘You do remember you are talking to a city boy? London born and bred. I don’t do country. I have no idea why Helen thinks I’m in desperate need of female company. Perhaps she has a se cret yearning to change direction and set up shop as a match maker?’

‘That’s my girl!’ Caspar snorted. ‘Always looking out for her friends. Anyway. Any idea what time you might be arriving? I need to get your costume ready.’

Leo checked his car navigation display. ‘Apparently I should be with you in about ten minutes. In fact I’ve just turned into Kingsmede and seen the sign for the hotel. Kingsmede Manor, here I come.’ And then he paused, distracted for a moment by another car. ‘Did you just use the word costume? Caspar?’

‘Brilliant! Ring me when you’re settled. I owe you a drink.’

And, with that, Caspar’s voice closed off, leaving Leo to the luxury of the hum of the powerful engine as the car made its way down the country lanes of the sleepy English countryside on a warm Saturday evening.

A blind date! And of course Caspar had only informed him about that small detail when he was already halfway to the middle of nowhere! Helen had a heart of gold but the last thing he wanted at this precise moment in his life was a blind date, or any date at all for that matter. He already had more than enough on his plate at the moment.

Of course he would be polite, and he was grateful for the rare chance to enjoy himself with Caspar and celebrate Helen’s birthday but the rest of this weekend was going to be work!

He felt guilty about not telling Caspar the truth but his aunt Arabella had made it clear that she did not want anyone to know that she had hired Grainger Consulting to work on a very special project. Her company had bought Kingsmede Manor three years ago and invested heavily to restore it.

Now she was determined to leverage the asset and maximise the returns to justify that investment.

The latest idea from the management team was to buy the land next to the hotel and build a luxury spa extension. But Arabella wanted a second opinion—his opinion—before they gave the spa idea the final go-ahead.

Normally he would have sent one of his team along to do the work, but not this time. He owed his aunt more than he could ever repay. And for that he was willing to take time away from the London office and do the work himself as a personal favour, when he could least afford to. His workload over the past few months had been hectic.

Worse. He had a deadline. And it was tight. He had to come up with something very, very special in five days. The entire board of directors of Rizzi Hotels would be meeting at Kingsmede Manor over lunch on Friday for their annual general meeting.

Nothing so unusual about that.

Companies paid Grainger Consulting to make the hard decisions about what they needed to do to survive in hard times, and he had built his reputation on doing precisely that. But this time it was personal.

Leo’s fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel.

The Rizzi Hotel chain owned some of the most prestigious boutique hotels around the world, but it was still a family business, with one domineering and driven man at the top—his own grandfather. Paolo Leonardo Rizzi. The man he despised for his uncaring ruthlessness. The man who expected his orders to be obeyed by everyone, and especially by his own family.

There was no room for sentiment or consideration of the human costs to the hotels they bought out in Paolo Rizzi’s world.

Of course Arabella knew that he would create something outstanding to present to the family on Friday. Clever, shrewd and powerful, his aunt was giving him the chance to settle the score with the grandfather who had so fundamentally rejected his own daughter and her family.

And Leo was determined to prove just how big a mistake that had been.

All he had to do was to create a stunning proposal on how to make Kingsmede Manor Hotel more profitable, and keep the project secret for the next few days. Nothing to it.

Leo Grainger eased his foot off the accelerator and turned slowly into the long paved drive that led to the hotel. Each side of the drive was lined with full-size beech trees with branches so high and wide that they joined in the middle to create a tunnel of soft green leaves, shading the drivers from the June sunshine. At eight in the evening, the shadows and sunlight created a dazzling display on the windscreen of his sports car.

These tree-lined avenues had been created centuries ago to impress guests arriving at the house for the first time in horse-drawn carriages. According to the dossier his aunt had sent over, Kingsmede Manor had been a private house until only three years earlier and had actually remained in the same family since the time it was built.

That had to be a useful selling point. Overseas visitors adored English heritage—especially when it was as eccentric as this.

Coming out of the shadows and into the low sunlight of the summer evening, Leo squinted through the windscreen and took his first sight of the house. The drive in front of the house turned into a wide circle around a central fountain where a swan frolicked in the cascading spray.

A brief smile flashed across his lips. Impressive. No wonder his aunt had snapped the house up the minute it came onto the market. She had impeccable taste.

Minutes later, Leo threw open the car door, swung his body out of the bucket seat and stepped out onto the cobblestone car park. His favourite designer black boots emerged first, followed by the rest of him, all six foot two of gym-toned muscle, sharp reflexes and an uncanny instinct for what made a commercial business a success … or at least that was what the financial press liked to say.

In his high-profile work with international clients, superficial aspects such as his designer clothing were simply parts of a business image he had spent years perfecting. His clients expected prestige and results and that was what they got. It was as simple as that. They did not care that he had started his working life washing dishes in the kitchens of his aunt’s boutique London hotel. Why should they? He was paid to make a difference to their business. Nothing else mattered. This was business, not personal.

And now it was time to do the same for Kingsmede Manor.

Leo strolled around to the back of the car and lifted out his leather weekend bag. His only hope was that there would be a marked absence of those boring white orchids that every hotel in the world seemed to have at the moment. Perhaps this time he was going to get a pleasant surprise?

It was almost nine that evening when Sara finally tottered in her evening sandals through the familiar white marble hall with its twisted double staircase and grinned up at the huge scarlet banner which hung suspended from the ornate plasterwork arch above her head.

The words ‘Hollywood Night’ had been printed in enormous gold letters across the banner. Trust Helen to choose a movie theme for her birthday party. And subtle did not come into it.

Shaking her head with a low chuckle, Sara could not resist checking on the pair of stunning orchid plants which she had delivered only two days earlier as a special order.

This variety of Phalaenopsis was a triumph. At the heart of each of the huge ivory blossoms was a crimson tongue speckled with gold dust. Of course she did not expect the guests and staff at the hotel to appreciate how much work went into create such perfect flower spikes from each plant, but they did look amazing. She had suggested other colour combinations, of course, but the Events Manager had insisted on the ivory blossoms. They were a lovely match for the antique console table which stood along the length of the hall below the huge gold framed mirror which had once belonged to her grandmother.

It had been heartbreaking for her to watch so many of her favourite pieces of treasured antique furniture being sold off in auction to strangers, but her mother had been right for once. Huge heavy pieces of furniture and enormous gilt mirrors belonged in a house large enough to appreciate them and not in some minimalist apartment or tiny cottage. And of course they had needed the proceeds of the sale so very badly.

At least the luxury hotel chain who had bought Kingsmede Manor had the good sense to snap up as many of the lovely original pieces as they could while they still had the chance.

At that moment the front doors opened to a gaggle of laughing guests who swept into the hall, bringing a breeze of evening air to waft through the orchid spikes. Sara did not recognise anyone in the group—but that was hardly surprising. Helen’s jewellery design business was based in London and it had been three years since they had shared a flat together. Their lives had changed so much since then it was little wonder that they had different friends and such different lives.

For a moment Sara looked past the orchid blossoms and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hand instantly went to her hair and flicked back her short fringe. There had been a time when she had been one of those laughing, happy city girls, with their smart high heels and expensive grooming habits, who could afford wonderful hairdressers. Now she was simply grateful that the pixie style was back in fashion.

Sara checked her watch. She was late. Correction, make that very late. Perhaps her blind date was already here and waiting for her? Frightened of being stood up? And probably as scared as she was.

She lifted her chin and fixed a smile on her lips as she wandered into what had been her grandmother’s drawing room and stood on tiptoe to see if she could spot Helen.

At five feet nothing, Helen had always been petite enough to make Sara feel like a gangly beanstalk. That was one reason why Sara had chosen medium black sandals to accompany her simple black shift dress—one of the many treasures her grandmother had left behind in the dressing-up box! Helen had supplied the pearl necklaces and huge black sunglasses but she had turned down the plastic tiara. Not with her current hairstyle. The long black evening gloves and cigarette-holder were the only other props she needed to become Audrey for the evening.

Then she spotted someone waving to her from across the room.

Sara worked her way through the crowd of costumed strangers, trying to reach Helen’s table which was just in front of the wide patio doors that led out onto the terrace. A warm breeze from the garden wafted into the packed room. Perfect.

‘Thank goodness you are here,’ Helen called against the background noise. ‘We need to come up with a plan to make sure that we win the karaoke contest later on, and you’re the only person I know who can sing vaguely in tune.’

Helen was dressed as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz and looked absolutely charming, from her simple gingham pinafore dress to her red glittery shoes and a tiny little basket with a stuffed toy dog inside.

‘Oh, thanks a lot, Dotty,’ Sara replied with a laugh and bent down quickly to kiss her friend, while trying to avoid kissing away the bright spot of red on Helen’s cheek which she had helped apply. ‘Sorry I’m so late. I think the mice have been in the orchid house again and Pasha refused to move from his comfy cat bed without a fight.’

Sara stretched out her left arm and turned it from side to side. ‘Can you still see the scratch marks? I’ve taken two antihistamines and tried to cover them up with several layers of make-up and long gloves. What do you think?’

Helen waved her fingers in the air. ‘Forget about all of that. I need you to focus, sweetie. Focus. I have just decided that our table will win the most points so you have to be on top form.’ She nodded and tapped her finger against her nose, which was slightly redder than normal, and Sara wondered how many glasses of champagne Helen had sampled in the past hour.

But, before Sara could answer, a tall slim man in a pinstriped suit with huge shoulders, black and white brogues, a fedora and black eye mask sidled up towards them, tipped his hat to an even more jaunty angle, lifted Helen’s hand, bent over sharply from the waist and kissed the inside of her wrist. ‘Hiya, Gorgeous,’ he said in a very fake American gangster accent, ‘are you ready to be my moll tonight? You and your little dog too.’

‘Good evening, Caspar,’ Sara said with a smile. ‘You are looking terribly elegant.’

The black silk mask was hoisted up with a sigh of exasperation.

‘Come on. What gave me away?’ Caspar asked.

Sara pointed to his wrist. ‘I’m afraid designer watches like that were not so very common in the organised crime community.’

He looked casually down and snorted. ‘Serves me right for accepting gifts from every jewellery designer I promise to marry,’ he answered, grinning down at Helen, who raised her eyebrows in recognition.

‘Anyway—look at you! All dressed up for a Saturday night and looking very handsome.’

‘Helen dragged me here.’ Sara nodded. ‘Apparently this is the poor girl’s last chance to have some fun before she leaves the world of young, free and single.’