A wedding dilemma:

What should a sexy, successful bachelor do if he’s too busy making millions to find a wife? Or if he finds the perfect woman, and just has to strike a bridal bargain….

The perfect proposal:

The solution? For better, for worse, these grooms in a hurry have decided to sign, seal and deliver the ultimate marriage contract…to buy a bride!

His Hired Bride by Susan Fox

#3848

Jessica Steele lives in a friendly Worcestershire village in England with her super husband, Peter. They are owned by a gorgeous Staffordshire bullterrier called Florence, who is boisterous and manic, but also adorable. It was Peter who first prompted Jessica to try writing and, after the first rejection, encouraged her to keep on trying. Luckily, with the exception of Uruguay, she has so far managed to research inside all the countries in which she has set her books, traveling to places as far apart as Siberia and Egypt. Her thanks go to Peter for his help and encouragement.

Jessica Steele’s classic love stories will whisk you into a world of pure romantic excitement. Get ready to be swept off your feet by perfect English gentlemen!

Books by Jessica Steele

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

#3720—A PROFESSIONAL MARRIAGE

#3741—AN ACCIDENTAL ENGAGEMENT

#3763—A PAPER MARRIAGE

#3787—HER BOSS’S MARRIAGE AGENDA

#3824—A PRETEND ENGAGEMENT

Vacancy: Wife of Convenience
Jessica Steele

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

SHE had first seen him at her father’s funeral, and had not expected to see him again. But here he was standing in front of her, tall, as she remembered, dark-haired and somewhere in his middle thirties.

Colly had not had the chance then to learn who he was; her stepmother of two years, only five years older than her, had monopolised him as they stood at the crematorium after the service. ‘Do come back to the house for some refreshment’, Colly had clearly heard Nanette urge.

He had suavely declined, looked as if he might come over to Colly to offer his condolences, but she had been buttonholed by someone else and had turned away. He spoke to her now, though, apologising that Mr Blake—the man she was at the Livingstone building to see—was unfortunately incapacitated that day.

‘Silas Livingstone,’ he introduced himself. She had not known his name; he obviously knew hers. ‘If you could hang on here for ten minutes, I’ll be free to interview you in his stead.’

‘Would you rather I made another appointment?’ She would prefer not to do that. She was nervous enough about this interview as it was, and was unsure if she would ever have the nerve to come back.

‘Not at all,’ he replied pleasantly. ‘I’ll see you in a short while,’ he added, and was already on his way to the adjoining office.

‘Would you like me to wait elsewhere?’ Colly asked the smart, somewhere in her late thirties PA, who appeared to be handling at least three tasks at one and the same time.

‘Better not,’ Ellen Rothwell replied with a kind smile. ‘Mr Livingstone has a busy day. Now that he’s found a slot for you, he’ll want you to be where he expects you to be.’

Colly smiled in return but decided to say nothing more. She found it embarrassing enough as it was that apparently, so Ellen Rothwell had explained, Vernon Blake’s present secretary had phoned around all the other applicants to cancel today’s appointments. But, on phoning Colly’s home at the start of business that day, had been informed that she was out and that there was no way of contacting her.

She had known that her stepmother had a spiteful streak. To deliberately refuse to call her to the phone when she had been in all the time only endorsed that fact.

Colly held back a sigh and tried to direct her thoughts to the forthcoming interview. Vernon Blake was the European Director at Livingstone Developments, and was looking for a replacement multilingual senior secretary. The salary advertised was phenomenal and, since Nanette wanted her to move out, would, if Colly were lucky enough to get the job, enable her to rent somewhere to live and be independent.

That had been her thinking at the time of spotting the advert. Never again would she be dependent on anyone. She had read the advert again. ‘Multilingual senior secretary.’ What was so difficult about that? She could, after all, type. And, though a little rusty with her languages, she had at one time excelled in French and Italian, and had scraped through with a pass mark in Spanish and German. So what else did a multilingual secretary need?

Watching Ellen Rothwell expertly deal with telephone calls, take notes in rapid shorthand and then calmly and charmingly sort out what seemed to be some sort of a problem, Colly realised that there was a lot else to being a secretary. And what experience of being a secretary did she have? Absolutely none!

She almost got up then, made her excuses, and bolted. Then she remembered why she wanted this job that paid so much. Very soon she would be homeless. And she, who had never had paid work in her life, desperately needed some kind of well-paid employment.

It hurt that her father had left his will the way that he had. His twenty-eight-year-old widow had inherited everything; his daughter nothing. He had a perfect right to leave his money and property to whoever he cared to, of course. But she, his only child, his housekeeper since the last one had walked out seven years ago, was now about to lose the only home she had ever known. Not that it felt like home any more.

Colly had been little short of staggered when, just over two years ago now, her dour, often grumpy parent had gone all boyish over the new receptionist at his club.

The first Colly had got to suspect that he was seeing someone was when he’d suddenly started to take an interest in his appearance. She’d been glad for him. Her mother had died when Colly was eight—he had been unhappy for far too long.

Her pleasure for him had been tinged with dismay, though, when a short while later he had brought the blonde Nanette home—Nanette was about forty years his junior! ‘I’ve been so longing to meet you!’ the blonde twenty-six-year-old had trilled. ‘Joey has told me such a lot about you.’

Joey! Her staid father, Joseph, was Joey! For his sake, Colly smiled and made her welcome and tried not to see the way Nanette’s eyes swept round the room taking inventory of anything valuable.

Had Colly secretly hoped that her father would still be as happy when Nanette backed away from whatever sort of relationship they had, then she was again staggered when, far from the relationship ending, Nanette showed her the magnificent emerald ring Joseph Gillingham had bought her, and declared, ‘We’re getting married!’

For the moment speechless, Colly managed to find the words to congratulate them. But when, adjusting to the idea that Nanette was to be mistress of her home, Colly mentioned that she would find a place of her own, neither her father nor Nanette would hear of it.

‘I’d be absolutely hopeless at housekeeping,’ Nanette twittered. ‘Oh, you must stay on to be housekeeper,’ she cooed. ‘Mustn’t she, darling?’

‘Of course you must,’ Joseph Gillingham agreed, the most jovial Colly had ever seen him. ‘Naturally I’ll continue to pay you your allowance,’ he added, with a sly look to his intended, making it obvious to Colly that her allowance—not huge by any means and which, with increasing prices, went to supplement the housekeeping—had been discussed by them.

The whole of it left her feeling most uncomfortable. So much so that she did go so far as to make enquiries about renting accommodation somewhere. She was left reeling at the rent demanded for even the most poky of places.

So she stayed home. And her father and Nanette married. And over the next few months her father’s new ‘kitten’ showed—when her husband was not around—that she had some vicious claws when things were not going quite her way. But she otherwise remained sweet and adoring to her husband.

Living in the same house, Colly could not help but be aware that Nanette had a very sneaky way with her. And within a very short space of time Colly was beginning to suspect that her new stepmother was not being true to her Joey. That Nanette plainly preferred male company to female company was not a problem to Colly. What was a problem, however, was that too often she would answer the phone to have some male voice enquire, ‘Nanette?’ or even, ‘Hello, darling.’

‘It isn’t Nanette,’ she would answer.

Silence, then either, ‘I’ll call back,’ or, ‘Wrong number.’

Colly could not avoid knowing that Nanette was having an affair when some months later she answered the phone to hear an oversexed voice intimately begin, ‘Who was the wicked creature who left me with just her earrings beneath my pillow to remind me of heaven?’

Colly slammed down the phone. This was just too much. Nanette, who was presently out shopping, had, so she had said, been out consoling a grief-stricken girlfriend until late last night.

When a half-hour later Nanette returned from her shopping trip Colly was in no mind to keep that phone call to herself. ‘The earrings you wore last night are beneath his pillow!’ she informed her shortly.

‘Oh, good,’ Nanette replied, not in the slightest taken aback to have been found out.

‘Don’t you care?’ Colly felt angry enough to enquire.

Nanette placed her carriers down. ‘What about?’

‘My father…’

‘What about him?’

Colly opened her mouth; Nanette beat her to it.

‘You won’t tell him,’ she jibed confidently.

‘Why won’t I?’

‘Is he unhappy?’

He wasn’t. Never a very cheerful man, he seemed, since knowing and marrying this woman, to have had a personality transplant. ‘He’s in cloud-cukoo-land!’ Colly replied.

Nanette picked up her clothes carriers. ‘Tell him if you wish,’ she challenged, entirely uncaring. ‘I’ve already—tearfully—told him that I don’t think you like me. Guess which one of us he’s going to believe?’

Colly very much wanted to tell her father what was going on, but found that she could not. Not for herself and the probability that, as Nanette so confidently predicted, he would not believe her, but because he was, in essence, a much happier man.

So, awash with guilt for not telling him, but hoping that he would not blame her too much when, as he surely must, he discovered more of the true character of the woman he had married, Colly stayed quiet.

A year passed and her father still adored his wife. So clearly Nanette was playing a very clever game and he had no idea that his wife had a penchant for flitting from affair to affair.

That was until—about six months before his sudden totally unexpected and fatal heart attack—Colly first saw him looking at Nanette with a little less than an utter doting look in his eyes.

He appeared only marginally less happy than he had been, though, but did during his last months spend more time in his study than he had since his marriage.

Her father had been a design engineer of some note and, though in the main largely retired, she knew from the top executives and first-class engineers who occasionally called at the house to ‘pick his brains’ that he was highly thought of by others in his specialised field.

And then, completely without warning, he died. Colly, in tremendous shock, could not believe it. She questioned the doctor, and he gravely told her that her father had suffered massive heart failure and that nothing would have saved him.

She was still in shock the next day, when Nanette sought her out to show her the will she had found when sorting through Joseph Gillingham’s papers. It was dated a month after his marriage, and Colly soon realised that Nanette had been more looking for his will than sorting through, especially when, triumphantly, Nanette declared, ‘What a little pet! He’s left me everything!’ And, without any attempt to look sorry, ‘Oh, poor you,’ she added. ‘He’s left you nothing.’

That was another shock. Not that she had expected to be left anything in particular. Naturally Nanette, as his wife, if she were still his wife by then, would be his main heir. Colly realised she must have assumed her father would go on for ever; he was only sixty-eight, after all. And while he was not enormously wealthy, his income from some wise investing many years before was quite considerable.

It was two days after her father’s death that Colly received a fresh shock when Nanette barged into her bedroom to coldly inform her, ‘Naturally you’ll be finding somewhere else to live.’

Somehow, and Colly hardly knew how she managed it, she hid the fresh assault of shock that hit her to proudly retort, ‘Naturally—I wouldn’t dream of staying on here.’

‘Good!’ Nanette sniffed. ‘You can stay until after the funeral, then I want you out.’ And, having delivered that ultimatum, she turned about and went from whence she came.

Feeling stunned, Colly couldn’t think straight for quite some minutes. She had no idea what she would do, but heartily wished her uncle Henry were there to advise her.

Henry Warren was not a blood relative, but her father’s friend, the ‘uncle’ being a courtesy title. She had known him all her life. He was the same age as her father but, newly retired from his law firm, he had only last week embarked on an extended holiday. He did not even know that his friend Joseph had died.

Not that the two had seen very much of each other since Joseph’s remarriage. Her father’s trips to his club had become less and less frequent. And Henry Warren seldom came to the house any more. It was because of their friendship that her father had always dealt with a different firm of solicitors, believing, as he did, that business and friendship did not mix. But Colly’s first instinct was to want to turn to Uncle Henry.

But he was out of the country, and as her initial shock began to subside she realised that there was no one she could turn to for help and advice. She had to handle this on her own. She had no father, and no Uncle Henry—and Nanette wanted her out.

Hot on the heels of that realisation came the knowledge that she barely had any money—certainly not enough to pay rent for more than a week or two on any accommodation she might be lucky enough to find. That was if prices had stayed the same in the two years since she had last looked at the rented accommodation market.

She was still trying to get her head together on the day of her father’s funeral.

She clearly recalled seeing Silas Livingstone there—his name now known to her. How Nanette managed to look the grieving widow while at the same time trying to get her hooks into Silas Livingstone was a total and embarrassing mystery to Colly. He and another tall but older man had gone to his car and had left straight after paying their respects at the crematorium anyhow, so Nanette’s invitation to ‘come back to the house’ had not been taken up.

Having applied for a job with Livingstone Developments, Colly had done a little research into the company. And, on thinking about it, she saw that it was not surprising that the firm should be represented at her father’s funeral that day. Livingstones were not the only big engineering concern to be represented.

She came out of her reverie to watch Ellen Rothwell handle whatever came her way. Secretarial work, it was fast being borne in on Colly, was more than just being able to type!

She had known that, of course. But supposed she must still be suffering shock mixed in with stress, strain and grief for her father, as well as a helping of panic thrown in, that, on seeing the advertisement for a multilingual senior secretary, and believing she could fulfil the multilingual part without too much trouble, she had applied.

She watched Ellen Rothwell for another thirty seconds, and realised more and more that she must have been crazy to apply. Colly got to her feet, ready to leave, but just then the door to Silas Livingstone’s office opened and there he was, a couple of yards away—so close, in fact, that she could see that his eyes were an unusual shade of dark blue.

‘Come through,’ he invited, standing back to allow her to precede him into his large and thickly carpeted office. She was five feet nine—and had to look up to him. She had been about to leave, but found she was going into his office. He followed her into a large room that housed not only office furniture but had one part of the room—no doubt where he conducted more relaxed business—given over to a coffee-table and several padded easy chairs. He closed the door behind them and indicated she should take a seat to the side of his desk. ‘I was sorry about your father,’ he opened.

So he knew who she was? ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

‘Columbine, isn’t it?’ he asked, she guessed, since he had her application form in front of him, more to get her to feel at ease before they started the interview.

‘I’m called Colly,’ she replied, and felt a fool when she did, because it caused her to want to explain. ‘I thought, since I was applying—formally applying—for the position with Mr Blake that I should use my full name—er—formal name.’ She was starting to feel hot, but did not seem able to shut up. Nerves, she suspected. ‘But Columbine Gillingham is a bit of a mouthful.’ She clamped her lips tight shut.

Silas Livingstone stared at her and seemed glad that she had at last run out of breath. But, when she was getting ready to quite dislike him, he gave her a pleasant look and agreed, ‘It is, isn’t it?’ going on, ‘I stopped by Vernon Blake’s office earlier. His present secretary said everything was running smoothly in his absence with the exception of an interviewee, Columbine Gillingham, who could not be contacted. Your father’s obituary mentioned he had a daughter Columbine—I didn’t think there would be two of you.’

It was her turn to stare at him. Was that why he had decided to interview her himself—because of her connection with her father? But there was no time to ask, and she supposed it was irrelevant anyway, because, obviously a man with little time to spare, Silas Livingstone was already in interview mode.

‘What secretarial experience have you?’ he enquired, glancing down at her application form as if trying to read where, in invisible ink, it was stated she had any office experience at all.

She felt hot again. ‘I’m a bit short of actual secretarial experience,’ she felt obliged to reply, wondering anew at her temerity in actually applying for the senior secretarial post. ‘But my languages are good. And—and I type quite fast.’

He leaned back in his chair, his expression telling her nothing. ‘How fast?’ he enquired politely.

‘How fast?’ she echoed.

‘Words per minute.’ He elucidated that which any secretary worthy of the name would know. And, clearly already having formed a picture of her secretarial expertise—or lack of it, ‘Any idea?’ he asked.

She had no idea. Could not even give him a hint. She sat up straighter. ‘Shall I leave?’ she offered proudly.

He shook his head slightly, but she was unsure whether it was at her non-statement of work experience there before him or whether he was telling her that he would decide when the interview was over.

‘Have you ever had a job?’ He looked straight into her wide green eyes and asked directly.

‘Er—no,’ she had to admit. But quickly added, ‘I kept house for my father. When I left school I took over the housekeeping duties until…’

‘Until he remarried?’ Again that direct look.

‘I…My father’s new wife preferred I should continue to look after everything.’ Heavens, how lame that sounded!

‘So you have never had an actual job outside of the home?’

Keeping house had kept her pretty busy. Though there was her interest in art. ‘I usually help out at an art gallery on a Tuesday,’ was the best she could come up with. She had visited that particular gallery often enough over the years to get to know the owner, Rupert Thomas, who at one time had asked her to ‘hold the fort’ for him when he’d had to dash out. From there it had grown and, today being Tuesday, she would normally be doing a bit of picture-dusting, a bit of invoicing, a bit of dealing with customers, not to mention making Rupert countless cups of coffee were he around.

‘Is this paid employment?’ Silas Livingstone wanted to know.

She was feeling uncomfortable again, and knew for sure that she should never have come. ‘No,’ she admitted.

‘Have you ever worked in paid employment?’

‘My father gave me an allowance,’ she mumbled. She was unused to talking about money; it embarrassed her.

‘But you’ve never earned—outside of the home?’ he documented. Then abruptly asked, ‘Tell me, Columbine, why did you apply for this job?’

He annoyed her. He clearly could not see why, with her lack of experience, she had bothered to put pen to paper. She couldn’t see either—now. But his formal use of Columbine niggled her too. So much so that she was able to overcome her embarrassment about money to tell him shortly, ‘I am not my father’s heir.’ She locked antlers with Silas Livingstone—and would not back down. But she did not miss the glint that came to his eyes.

‘Your father left you something, though? Left you provided for?’ he did not hesitate in asking.

Colly did not want to answer, but rather supposed she had invited the question. ‘He did not,’ she answered woodenly.

‘I thought he had money?’

‘You thought correctly.’

‘But he left you—nothing?’

‘Nothing.’

‘The house?’

‘I need to find somewhere else to live.’

There was a sharp, shrewd kind of look in those dark blue eyes as he looked at her. ‘Presumably the new Mrs Gillingham did quite nicely,’ he stated—and Colly knew then that, while her father had been blind to the taking ways of Nanette, Silas Livingstone, within the space of the few minutes he had been in conversation with her at the crematorium, had got her measure.

But Colly was embarrassed again, and prepared to get to her feet and get out of there. It went without saying that she had not got the job. He must think her an idiot to have ever applied for the post in the first place. All she could do now was to try to get out of there with some shred of dignity intact.

She raised her chin a proud fraction. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Mr Livingstone. I applied for the job because I need to work, and not from some whim…’

‘Your allowance is stopped?’ He said it as if he knew it for a fact. ‘You need to finance yourself?’

‘I need a job that pays exceptionally well if I’m to live in a place of my own and be self-sufficient. But…’

‘You’re looking for somewhere to rent?’

‘That’s one of my first essentials,’ she confirmed. ‘That and to be independent. I intend to make a career for myself. To—’

She broke off when Silas Livingstone all at once seemed to be studying her anew. There was certainly a sudden kind of arrested look in his eyes, an alertness there, as if some thought had just come to him.

But even while she was scorning such a notion she could not deny he seemed interested in what she was saying. ‘What about men-friends?’ he asked slowly. ‘You obviously have men-friends,’ he went on, flicking a brief glance over her face and slender but curvy figure. ‘Where do they come into your career-minded intention to be independent?’

She had thought the interview was over, and had no idea where it was going now. But since she had told this man so much, without ever having intended to—it spoke volumes for his interviewing technique—there seemed little point in holding back now. ‘My father saw fit to leave everything to his new wife, and that was his prerogative. But it was a shock to me just the same, and it has made me determined to never be dependent on anyone ever again.’ She went to get to her feet, but Silas Livingstone was there with another question.

‘You have one man-friend in particular?’ he enquired.

‘Right now I have no interest in men or even dating,’ she replied. ‘I…’

‘You’re not engaged?’

‘Marriage is the last thing on my mind.’

‘You’re not thinking of settling down, or living with some man?’

‘Marriage, men or living with one of them just doesn’t enter my plans,’ she answered. ‘I’m more career-minded than husband-minded. I want to be independent,’ she reiterated. She had never been interviewed for a job before, so supposed being asked such detailed and personal questions must be all part and parcel of a job interview, but to her mind the interview was over. ‘I apologise for taking up so much of your time,’ she began, prior to departing. ‘I thought when I applied for the job that I would be able to do it. It was never my intention to waste Mr Blake’s time—or yours. But, since I obviously haven’t got the job, I won’t waste any more of it.’

She got up from her chair—but, oddly, Silas Livingstone motioned that she should sit down again. She was so surprised by that—she’d have thought he could not wait for her to be gone—that she did in fact sit down.

‘I’m afraid you haven’t the level of experience necessary to work for Vernon Blake,’ Silas Livingstone stated. ‘But,’ he went on, before she could again start to wonder why, in that case, she had sat down again, ‘there is the possibility of something else that might be of interest.’

Colly’s deflated spirits took an upturn. While it was fairly certain that this other job would not pay as well as the one advertised, there was hope here that she might find a job that would lead to better things. Why, a company of Livingstone Developments’ size must employ hundreds of office staff. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She had a brain, there must be quite a few other jobs she could do!

‘I’d be interested in anything,’ she answered, trying not to sound too eager, but ruining it by adding, ‘Absolutely anything.’

He silently studied her for what seemed an age. Studied her long and hard, before finally replying, ‘Good.’

‘What sort of work is it? I’m fairly good with computers. Or perhaps it’s something to do with translating? I’d—’

‘It’s a—newly created post,’ he cut in. ‘The details haven’t been fully thought through yet.’ Again he seemed to study her, his eyes seeming to take in everything about her. ‘Perhaps you’d be free to join me for lunch—say, Thursday?’

‘Lunch?’ she repeated. Was this the way of interviews?

He did not answer, but opened a drawer and withdrew what appeared to be a desk diary and began scanning it. But even while she was getting her head around the notion of lunching with this man while he told her more fully the details of this new vacancy he was shaking his head.

‘By the look of it lunch is out for the next couple of weeks.’ That was a relief. Personable though the man was, not to say downright good-looking, she somehow felt oddly reluctant to have lunch with him. Her relief, however, was short-lived, because, rehousing his diary, Silas Livingstone looked across at her. ‘It will have to be dinner,’ he announced. And, as cool as you please, ‘Are you free this Friday?’ he enquired.

Colly wasn’t sure her jaw did not drop. She closed her mouth and stared at him. While admittedly she did not have all that much experience of men—this was a new approach. She might also not have any experience with general job interview procedure either, but she did not feel she had to be a genius to work out that this was far from the norm.

‘Forgive me, Mr Livingstone,’ she replied, striving hard for some of his cool tone. ‘But I believe I’ve already told you that my interest rests solely with finding a job that pays well.’ And, in case he had forgotten, she repeated, ‘Men and dating just do not figure in my plans for the foreseeable future.’

‘I heard you,’ he replied evenly, adding—totally obscurely as far as she was concerned—‘That is an excellent start. But,’ he went on, ‘my sole intention in requiring you to have dinner with me is so we may discuss, in informal detail, this newly arisen—vacancy.’

Colly eyed him warily. Two years ago she hadn’t had a suspicious bone in her body. But two years of living under the same roof as the devious Nanette had taught her not to take everything at face value.

‘This is business?’ Colly stayed to probe.

‘Strictly business,’ he answered, with not a smile about him.

Colly studied him. It made a change. But, looking at him, she somehow felt she could believe him. Could believe that this was not some newfangled way of him getting a date. And, looking at him, sophisticated and virile, she suddenly saw it was laughable that this man, who probably had women falling over him, would need to use any kind of a ruse to get a woman to go out with him anyway. Indeed, Colly started to feel a trifle pink about the ears that she had for one moment hinted that he might be interested in her in more than a ‘business’ way.

‘Friday, you said?’ she questioned finally, when he had given her all the time she needed to sift through everything.

‘If you’re free,’ he agreed.

‘This job—’ she gathered her embarrassed wits together ‘—you can’t tell me more about it now?’

‘The—situation is recent, as I mentioned. I need to do some research into all it entails.’

‘You’ll have done your research by Friday?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he replied evenly.

She wanted to ask if the job was working for him. But, since he was the head of the whole shoot, she thought it must be. ‘Bearing in mind my lack of experience, you think I would be able to do the job?’

‘I believe so,’ he replied, his dark blue eyes steady on her.

Colly got to her feet. She felt not a little confused, and hoped it did not show. ‘Where shall I meet you?’ she asked.

Silas Livingstone was on his feet too. Tall, unsmiling that she had just agreed to have dinner with him on Friday. ‘I’ll call for you at eight,’ he stated.

She opened her mouth to tell him her address. Then closed it again. It was on her application form, and at a rough guess she felt that this man would not have missed that. In fact, she had a feeling that this man, who was obviously going to research into this newly created job pretty thoroughly before he offered it to her—or otherwise—never missed a thing.

CHAPTER TWO

HER first interview with Silas Livingstone had been on Tuesday. By Thursday of that same week Colly’s head was beginning to spin from the effort of trying to pinpoint exactly what kind of job was in the offing that would be better discussed in ‘informal detail’ over dinner.

She still inwardly cringed whenever she thought of how, without a pennyworth of secretarial experience, she had applied for that senior secretarial job. It just went to show, she realised, how desperate she was for a job that paid well enough to afford her somewhere to live.

And that she would have to find that somewhere to live, and quickly, had been endorsed for her again last night, when Nanette had entertained a few of her rowdy friends. It was her right, of course, but the gales of laughter, male and female, that had come from the drawing room had impinged on Colly’s sensitivities. Her father had barely been dead a month.

His widow had obviously decided to be the merry sort. If that was her way of grieving, so be it, but Colly had seen little sign of genuine grief. And all she wanted to do now, she mused, as she began to clear up the debris from the previous night’s entertainment, was find a place of her own and get started on being solely independent. She knew then that whatever this job was, that was being newly created by Silas Livingstone, she would take it.

While it might not pay as well as that multilingual secretary’s job, Silas Livingstone was well aware of her circumstances, so surely he would not be considering her for this new vacancy unless the salary that went with it was an adequate living wage.

By early Friday evening Colly had reasoned that, because her only skills were in keeping a well-run house, some small knowledge of art and an ability with languages, this newly created vacancy must involve the use of her languages in some way—which, plainly, was not secretarial. But, again, why dinner? It was almost as though the job was not in his office at all! As if it were nothing to do with office life—and that was why he was interviewing her in ‘informal detail’ outside of the office.

She was getting fanciful. Colly went upstairs to shower and get dressed, ready for Silas Livingstone to call.

Because this was to all intents and purposes a business dinner, Colly opted to wear a black straight ankle-length skirt of fine wool and a heavy silk white shirt-blouse. She joined the two with a wide suede belt that emphasised her tiny waist. She brushed her long brown hair with its hint of red back from her face in an elegant knot, and when she took a slightly apprehensive glance in the full-length mirror she was rather pleased with her general appearance. It was only then that she accepted that, with no other likely-looking job being advertised in the paper this week, she was pinning a lot of hope on this interview. She did so hope she would not come home disappointed. It was just that afternoon that Nanette had bluntly asked when she was leaving.

It was her luck that when, at ten minutes to eight, with a black wool cloak over her arm, she went downstairs to wait, she should meet Nanette in the hall. ‘Where are you off to?’ Nanette asked nastily, her eyes looking her over.

‘I’m going out to dinner.’

‘What about my dinner?’ Nanette asked shrewishly.

Only just did Colly refrain from telling her that she had been her father’s housekeeper, not hers. ‘I thought you might be going out yourself,’ she replied quietly; the atmosphere in the house was hostile enough without her adding to it.

‘A—friend will be joining me later,’ Nanette snapped. And, an anticipatory gleam coming to her eyes, ‘Don’t disturb us when you come in.’

Colly went into the breakfast room to wait. It was a dark January night and she would see the car’s headlights as they swept up the drive. Now, don’t hope for too much. She attempted to calm herself down. There was every chance she might not yet be offered this job which could mean independence and a new way of life.

A minute or so later car headlights lit up the drive. Colly donned her cloak and, hoping it was Silas Livingstone and not Nanette’s ‘friend’, left the breakfast room and went out to meet him.

It was her hopefully prospective employer. He left the driver’s seat and came to open up the passenger door. ‘Hello, Colly,’ he greeted her amicably.

Well, that sounded friendly enough. She preferred Colly to Columbine. ‘Hello,’ she murmured. In no time she was seated beside him and they were motoring back down the drive. ‘You found the house all right?’ she asked politely. It was a nice house, in a very well-to-do neighbourhood.

‘Not a problem,’ he returned pleasantly, and matched her for polite conversation as he drove them to the eating establishment he had chosen, which happened to be a hotel.

He waited in the foyer while she checked her cloak. After taking a deep breath, her insides churning, she went out to join him. She gave him a smile. He smiled back, his eyes taking in her smart appearance. She had been out on dates before—but never with someone like him.

But this was not a date, she reminded herself as he escorted her to a lounge area. ‘You’re over your disappointment of last Tuesday, I hope?’ he enquired as he waited for her to be seated.

‘I blush whenever I think of my nerve in even applying,’ she answered as he took a seat facing her.

He seemed to approve of her honesty. But, when she thought that he would now begin to interview her for this other job, the newly arisen job, to her surprise did not, but merely commented, ‘You’re having a rather desperate time of it at the moment,’ and asked, ‘What would you like to drink?’

He went on to be a most courteous and pleasant companion.

‘Mr Livingstone—’ she began at one point.

Only to lose her thread completely when, ‘Silas,’ he invited—and kept up a polite flow of conversation as they transferred to the dining room.

He asked her opinion on sundry matters as they ate their way through the first course, and in fact was everything she could wish for in a platonic dinner partner. So much so that they were midway through their main course before she recalled that they were not here as friends but as prospective employer and employee.

‘This job,’ she inserted during a break in the conversation, realising only then how thoroughly at ease with him she felt. If that had been his aim he could not have done better.

‘We’ll get to that in time,’ he commented. ‘Is the steak to your liking?’

They were back in the lounge drinking coffee before Colly found another chance to introduce the subject of work without appearing to be blunt.

‘I’ve very much enjoyed this evening,’ she began politely, ‘but…’

‘But now, naturally, you’d like to know more about the vacancy.’ He favoured her with a pleasant look, and explained, rather intriguingly, she felt, ‘I wanted to get to know you a little before we embarked on a—full discussion.’

‘And—er—you feel you have?’

‘Sufficiently, I believe,’ he replied, going on, ‘I also wanted privacy to outline what I have in mind.’ His mouth quirked upwards briefly. ‘I hesitated to ask you back to my home.’

Her lovely green eyes widened somewhat. ‘You’re—um—making this sound just a little bit personal,’ she answered warily.

He considered her answer, but did not scoff that it was nothing of the sort, as she had expected him to. Doing nothing for her suddenly apprehensive feelings, he said, ‘I suppose, in an impersonal way, it could be termed personal.’

‘Do I get up and leave now?’ she enquired coldly.

‘I’d prefer you stayed until you’d heard me out,’ he replied, his dark eyes fixed on her apprehensive green ones. ‘You’re quite safe here,’ he added, glancing round what was now a deserted lounge. ‘And we have all the privacy we need in which to talk this vacancy through.’

So that was why he had not gone into detail over dinner! A few fellow diners had been within eavesdropping distance should they have cared to listen in. ‘So, you having assured me I’m not required to sing for my supper, I’m listening,’ Colly invited, relaxing again, because should this conversation go in a way she did not care for she could decline to allow him to drive her to her home, and could ask someone at Reception to get her a taxi.

To hear that she was ready for him to outline the job was all Silas Livingstone was waiting for. Though, instead of outlining the work, he first of all stated, ‘I’ve learned a little of you this evening, Colly. Sufficient, at any rate, to know that I should like to offer you this—position.’

Her heart lightened. Oh, thank heaven. She was on her way! Silas Livingstone must believe she could do the job, or he would not be willing to offer it to her. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ She beamed, her overwhelming relief plain to see. She might soon be self-sufficient, have money of her own and be able to afford somewhere to rent, and not beholden to Nanette for a temporary roof over her head.

He looked at her shining green eyes. ‘You don’t know what the job is yet,’ he cautioned.

‘I don’t care what it is,’ she answered delightedly. ‘As long as it’s honest and pays well. You wouldn’t offer if—’

‘Are things really so bad for you?’ he butted in softly.

Colly took a breath to deny that things were in any way bad for her. Though when she thought of the dire state of her present finances, and then of Nanette’s daily barbs that she pack her bags and leave, Colly couldn’t think that they could be much worse.

‘What sort of work would I have to do?’ she enquired, ready to turn her hand to anything.

Silas studied her for a moment, not commenting that she had not given him a detailed account of just how awful things were at the only home she had ever known. Instead, he asked, ‘Tell me, Colly, if it were not so very essential for you to find somewhere to live and to find a job with a salary sufficient with which to pay rent, what would be an ideal scenario for you?’

Again Colly found herself wishing she knew more about the usual interviewing techniques. Though, looking into the steady dark blue eyes of Silas Livingstone, she had an idea that he would not always follow the path of what was usual anyhow.

She looked away from him. ‘I want to be independent,’ she replied. ‘I thought, a couple of years ago, that I’d like to have a place of my own…’

‘But your father wanted you to stay on as housekeeper?’

‘Nanette, the woman he married, she preferred that I stayed on.’

‘And now, now that she has inherited the house and everything else, she wants you gone.’

It was not a question but a statement. And one that Colly could not argue against. ‘So that makes my first priority to find somewhere to live and, of course, a job too.’ She shrugged, feeling more than a touch embarrassed, but, it not needing any thinking about, she went on to honestly answer his question about her ideal scenario. ‘From choice, I would prefer to do some sort of training. Perhaps take a year’s foundation course while I looked into possible careers—or even go on to university.’ She felt awkward again as she looked Silas in the eyes and confessed, ‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but apart from an interest in art—though no particular talent—I have no idea what, if anything, I’m especially good at.’

Silas smiled then. He did not do it too often, but when he did she momentarily forgot what they were talking about. ‘You have a nice way with you,’ he answered. ‘You have integrity, and I have formed an opinion that I can trust you.’

Colly felt a touch pink. Was that what all that non-business chat over dinner had been about—Silas gauging from her answers, her questions, her general demeanour, what sort of a person she was? My, but he was clever. So clever she had not had a clue what he was about. ‘Yes, well,’ she mumbled, just a trifle embarrassed. ‘You must—er—trust me to have offered me the job.’ She got herself more of one piece. And, on thinking about it, considered it was more than high time that she found out more about this vacancy. ‘May I know exactly what the job entails? What my duties will be?’ she asked.

Then she discovered she would find out what she wanted to know, but only when he was good and ready—because he had not finished asking questions of his own yet. ‘First of all,’ he began, ‘tell me what you know about the firm of Livingstone Developments?’

Realising that since he was paying the piper she would have to dance to his tune, she replied, ‘That’s fairly easy. When I knew I had an interview last Tuesday, I made it my business to find out all I could about the company. I’d never been for an interview before,’ she explained, ‘so I had no idea of what sort of questions I should know the answers to.’

He accepted that as fair comment. ‘What did you discover?’ he wanted to know.

‘I discovered that Livingstone Developments—only it wasn’t called that then—was founded years and years ago by one Silas Livingstone.’

‘Sixty years ago, by my grandfather,’ Silas filled in.

‘It was only a small company then—dealing with industrial equipment, I think.’ She waited for him to interrupt. He didn’t, so she went on. ‘The firm expanded when your grandfather’s son took over.’

‘The firm made quite a progressive leap forward when my father took over,’ Silas stated. ‘Under his leadership the firm went on to become a leading international firm of consulting engineers.’

‘And when, five years ago, Borden Livingstone stepped down and you were voted to be chairman, you led the firm onwards to take in the design and manufacture of more advanced engineering products.’

‘You have done your homework,’ Silas commented when she had nothing more to add. Then, giving her a straight look, ‘All of which perhaps makes you see what a tremendous amount of hard work has gone on over the past sixty years to make Livingstone Developments into the much-respected and thriving company it is today.’ His eyes were still steady on her when quietly he added, ‘And what a colossal waste of all those years of hard labour, of effort, it would be if I can’t come up with some way to prevent the company from sinking into decline.’

Startled, Colly stared at him. ‘Livingstone Developments is in trouble?’ she gasped, forgetting about her own problems—the company employed thousands of people!

But he was shaking his head. ‘No,’ he denied. ‘We’re thriving.’

The firm was thriving, yet sixty years of effort might be wasted? It didn’t make sense. There had to be an ‘if’, and a very big ‘if’ at that. ‘But…?’ she questioned.

Silas gave her an approving look that she was keeping up with him. ‘A massive but,’ he agreed, and went on, ‘I had a meeting with my father on Monday. My father, I should explain, is the most level-headed man I know. I have never seen him panicky and have seldom seen him anything but calm. But there was no denying that on Monday he was extremely agitated about something.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ she murmured politely. She discovered she would like to know more, but knew Silas would not tell her, and felt it went beyond the bounds of good manners to ask.

‘No more sorry than I was to hear just why he was so disturbed,’ Silas commented.

Her curiosity was piqued, not to say her intelligence—she was suddenly realising that Silas would not have brought her here and begun to tell her what he was telling her were there not some purpose behind it.

‘I don’t want to pry,’ she began, ‘but—’

And was saved from having to pry any further when Silas interrupted to inform her, ‘All this has been a bit of a jolt for me, but I’ve had time since Monday to adjust. By the time I saw you on Tuesday I was beginning to acknowledge what had to be done, and that if the company was not ultimately going to go to the wall that it was down to me to do it.’

‘I’m trying to keep up,’ she commented. Fog? The fog was getting thicker by the minute.

‘I’m telling you this in the strictest confidence, of course.’

‘Of course,’ she answered—whatever ‘this’ was.

‘I’m also telling it very badly. Perhaps I’d better go back to the beginning,’ he decided.

‘It might be a good idea,’ she conceded. If this was the way all job interviews went, she had to confess herself intrigued!

‘To start with, my grandfather had a simply wonderful marriage.’

‘Ye-es,’ Colly said slowly, with no idea what direction they were heading in now.

‘Sadly, my grandmother died six months ago.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she murmured sensitively.

‘As you can imagine, my grandfather was devastated. But he at last seems to be coming to terms with his grief. Naturally we’ve all rallied round to try and help him at this dreadful time. My parents and my aunt Daphne—my grandfather’s daughter—particularly. In actual fact, my parents spent the weekend with him at his home in Dorset only last weekend.’ He paused, then added, ‘Which is why my father rang me the moment he got home on Sunday. I wasn’t in. He left a message saying it was of some importance that we meet without delay. I should explain—’ Silas broke off what he was saying to note ‘—that my father does not use such language unless something of very great import is going down.’

Colly’s brain was racing. ‘It was to do with Livingstone Developments having some kind of sword dangling over its head?’ was the best she could come up with.

‘Got it in one,’ Silas approved. ‘My father isn’t one to panic, as I mentioned, but he knew something serious was afoot when my grandfather told him that he wanted to talk privately to him in his study. My father came out from the study shaken to the core, still taking in what my grandfather had told him.’

Colly was desperately trying to think what any of this could have to do with her and this vacancy that had been created.

‘Your grandfather needs a housekeeper?’ She took a disappointed guess. It would be a job, and with accommodation thrown in. But did she really want to be a housekeeper for some elderly gentleman?

‘He already has a housekeeper,’ Silas informed her.

She was lost again. ‘Sorry. I’ll keep quiet until you’ve finished. Er—you haven’t finished yet?’

‘I’m getting there. The thing is that since my parents and aunt can’t be with Grandfather all the time he spends many hours alone reliving the past. And at this present time, and with the loss of my grandmother so recent, he spends a lot of time thinking of her and their long years of very happy marriage. Which,’ Silas said, ‘brings us up to Sunday, when, in his study, my grandfather spoke to my father in terms of altering his will. Instead of my cousin Kit and I inheriting his considerable holding of shares in the firm between us—as I’ve always been lead to believe will happen—he intends to leave the whole basket-load of shares to Kit—if I don’t buck my ideas up and marry.’

Colly blinked—and didn’t know which question to ask first. ‘You’re not married?’ was the first one to pop out.

‘Never have been.’

‘But your cousin—Kit—is married?’

‘Has been this last ten years.’

‘You’re not engaged or living with anyone?’ she questioned, more or less in the same way he had asked her on Tuesday.

He shook his head. ‘No, nor likely to be.’

‘Nor do you want to marry?’

‘Definitely not. And, much though I’m fond of the old chap, I resent him, just because he has this sublime respect for the institution of marriage, attempting to force me to take a wife.’

‘But unless you do you stand to be disinherited,’ she reasoned. ‘Join the club.’

‘It’s not going to happen.’

‘Your father thinks he’ll change his mind?’

‘Very doubtful. My father’s anxiety stems from the certainty that it will happen, and that all that he and I have worked for over the years will be as nothing if Kit gets a controlling interest in the firm. Which, with those shares, he most definitely will.’

‘He’s—er—not up to the job?’

‘Don’t get me wrong. Kit and I had a lot to do with each other during our growing years. I’m fond of him, despite his faults. But, as well as being no powerhouse when it comes to work—and that’s being kind—he is far too easily swayed by others. Although he’s already parted with some of the shares his mother gave him, he, like me, already has enough shares to guarantee him a seat on the board. But while we have a duty to our shareholders we also have a duty to our workforce. And I’m afraid Kit feels a duty for neither. It’s a foregone conclusion that the ship will sink if he has any hand in guiding it.’

Colly did not know much about big business, but if Silas Livingstone thought it was so, she was quite willing to believe him. ‘So…’ she brought out the best her brain could come up with ‘…either you marry and inherit a sufficient number of shares to deny your cousin control, or you ultimately have to stand by and watch him ruin all that three generations of Livingstones have worked for?’

‘Exactly,’ Silas agreed. ‘And while God forbid that anything untoward happens to my grandfather for years and years yet, I have to face the reality that he’s currently aged eighty-four. Which is why I have determined that when that awful day comes, and he’s no longer with us, I am not left hearing that unless I have been married for a year and a day the shares that should be mine have been inherited by my cousin Kit.’

By then Colly had forgotten entirely that she had only dined with Silas Livingstone to hear about a job he was now offering her. She recalled how wounded she herself had felt at the way her father had left his will. By the look of it, the shares Silas Livingstone had always been led to believe were half his would be willed elsewhere.

On thinking over all he had just said, though, she could only see one way out for him—if he was dead set on keeping the company safe. ‘I’m sorry, Silas,’ she said quietly, ‘but it seems to me that unless you’re prepared to let the company fail you’re going to have to get over your aversion to marriage and take yourself a wife.’

For ageless moments after she had spoken Silas said not a word. Then, drawing a long breath, ‘That is the only conclusion I was able to reach too,’ he said. And then, looking at no one but her, ‘Which,’ he added, ‘is where you come in.’

She stared at him. ‘Me?’ she questioned, startled.

‘You,’ he agreed.

Her brain wasn’t taking this in. ‘No,’ she said on a strangled kind of note as what he might possibly be meaning started to filter through. Then, as common sense swiftly followed, ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘For one totally absurd moment I had this weird notion that you were asking me to marry you.’

She laughed awkwardly, feeling that she had made a fool of herself. She was on the brink of repeating her apology, only, daring to take a glance at him, certain that he must be laughing his head off, she could see not one glimmer of being highly amused about him!

Colly swallowed hard. ‘You weren’t doing that, were you?’ she asked, her voice gone all husky in shock.

‘I cannot fault the idea,’ he answered, his look steady, his expression unsmiling.

Did that mean that he was suggesting that he marry her? No, don’t be ridiculous. Good heavens, she…Colly got herself more together. Whether he was suggesting what it very much sounded as if he was suggesting or not, she thought it was time she let him know her feelings.

‘I don’t want a husband!’ she told him bluntly.

‘Good!’ was his answer, doing nothing for her feeling that she had just made one enormous fool of herself. ‘I don’t want a wife.’ She wondered if she should get up and leave right now. ‘But…’ he added—and she stayed to hear the rest of it, ‘…you and I both have a problem, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I know what your problem is,’ she agreed.

‘And your problem is that you need somewhere to live and the wherewithal to finance your training.’

‘I hope you’re not thinking in terms of giving me money!’ she erupted proudly—and, oddly, saw a hint of a smile cross his features. ‘I shall work for any money I—’

‘Look on this as work,’ he cut in quickly.

‘This is the job you’re offering me?’ This wasn’t happening; she’d got something wrong somewhere.

He took a long breath, as if finding her uphill work. She did not care. The whole notion was absurd—that was if she had got all this right. ‘Try and see this logically,’ Silas said after some moments.

Colly looked at him levelly, took a deep breath of her own, and supposed her reaction had been more instinctive than logical. ‘So?’ she invited, as calmly as she could.

‘So in my line of business I have to work not for today but for tomorrow. Use forward planning techniques to the full.’

‘As in marrying someone before your grandfather’s will gets read?’

‘Which hopefully won’t be for years yet. But, yes. Had anyone but my level-headed father told me what the stubborn old devil intends to do I’d have paid scant attention.’

‘But your father isn’t one to panic unnecessarily?’

Silas nodded. ‘I’d twenty-four hours to take on board what he said when the daughter of a much-respected man in the engineering world was there in my office—telling me she had been disinherited…’

‘And that rang a bell?’

‘Too true it rang a bell. You then went on to say how you needed a job that paid well, and how you were going to have to find some place to live, and I find I’m suddenly going into forward planning mode.’

‘You—um…’ She couldn’t say it. She did not want to make a fool of herself again. Though she could not help but recall how he had asked her about men-friends, and if she were engaged or anything of that sort.

‘I had an idea,’ he took up. ‘An idea that I’ve had since Tuesday to look at from every angle.’

‘That idea being…?’ she questioned, and waited, barely breathing, to hear whether she had been foolhardy to think he might be meaning what she thought he was so amazingly suggesting, or whether her brain, her instincts, had got it right.

‘That idea being,’ he said, looking at no one but her, his gaze steady, unwavering, ‘to marry you.’

A small sound escaped her. Even though she had thought that might be what he meant, she could not help that small gasp of shock. ‘Thank you for dinner,’ she said, and stood up.

He was, she discovered, not a man to give up easily. He had cynically, no emotion in it, decided he would marry, case closed.

But he was on his feet too. ‘Hear me out, Colly?’ he asked of her. ‘Neither of us wants to marry, so that’s all in our favour.’

‘How on earth do you make that out?’

‘Neither of us is emotionally involved. And it’s not as if we have to live with each other.’

‘We don’t?’ she found herself questioning, even when she was just not interested.

He put a hand under her elbow and guided her from the lounge, waited while she retrieved her cloak, then escorted her out to his car. But instead of driving off once they were in his car, he turned to her and stated, ‘You too have a problem, Colly.’

She half turned to look at him. ‘I’m fully aware of that,’ she answered shortly.

‘And I’m in a position to solve your problems,’ he said. And before she could give him a curt, No, thank you, he was informing her, ‘My grandfather owns a small apartment here in London where he and my grandmother stayed whenever they came up to town. He hasn’t used it since her death, and he’s said he will never again use it. But, because of his very happy memories of times spent there, neither will he part with it. He’s asked me to keep an eye on the place, and I’ve stayed the occasional night there. But you’d be doing me a favour if you’d take it on. The place needs living in.’

Good heavens! ‘You’re offering me the tenancy?’ she exclaimed, guessing in advance that she would never be able to afford the rent.

‘What I’m offering, in return for you giving me a half-hour of your time and standing up in front of some registrar and making the appropriate responses when asked, is somewhere to live. I think you’ll be comfortable there. Further to that, I’ll undertake to fund any training you desire, be it a foundation course followed by university, or whatever you may wish to do.’

This was jaw-dropping stuff! She had come out with him for a job interview and had never expected anything like this! She just had to recap. ‘In return for an “I will” you’re prepared to…’

‘On the day you marry me,’ he replied unhesitatingly, ‘I shall arrange for ten thousand pounds to be paid into your bank, with subsequent top-ups as and when required.’

‘No!’ she said, point-blank, and, nothing to argue about, she turned to face the front.

‘Think about it,’ he returned.

‘I’d like to go home,’ she told him woodenly. She was aware of his hard scrutiny, but was relieved when after some seconds he too faced the front and started up his car.

Neither of them spoke on the way back to her home. What he was thinking about she had no idea, but her head was positively buzzing. ‘Think about it,’ he had said—how could she not?

When she was desperate for somewhere to live he was offering her free accommodation! When she had a need to train for a career—and by twenty-three most women had a toe-hold on several rungs of the career ladder—he was offering to finance her career training!

She should be snatching his hand off. But—marry him! Colly knew that to marry him was something that she could just not do.

Having been silent all the way home, it was as if Silas Livingstone had thought to give her all the space she needed to get used to the idea. Because no sooner had he driven up to her front door than he turned to her.

‘What’s it to be?’ he enquired mildly.

‘I thought I’d given you my answer.’

‘That was instinctive, spur-of-the-moment, an unanalysed reaction.’ He shrugged that away. ‘Marry me,’ he urged.

‘I—don’t even know you!’ she protested.

‘You don’t need to know me,’ he countered. ‘Just a half-hour—we need never see each other again.’

‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry. I know how very important this is to you, but—’

‘You’re right there,’ he cut in abruptly, causing her to stare at him. But, relenting suddenly, ‘I’ve had since Tuesday to adjust to the notion. Four days in which to weigh everything up, to mull it over and over, to get used to the idea before reaching the decision I have. On reflection, perhaps I’m not being fair, dropping it on you like this and expecting you to come back with the answer I want.’

She was about to reiterate that her answer was no. And that had she had those same four days it would not have made any difference—her answer would still be no—that she just did not need to think about it, or need to get used to the idea either. But Silas was no longer beside her. He was out of the car and had come round to the passenger door.

She stepped out and he stood with her for a moment on the gravel by the front door. He glanced down to where, in the light of the security lamps, her dark hair glowed with red lights. ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘Think about it and I’ll call you. I’ll phone you Tuesday evening.’

Colly looked up. His expression was telling her nothing. She opened her mouth to again tell him no, that she had no need to think about it, then realised that he was not in any kind of mood to take ‘no’ from her.

‘Goodnight,’ she said, and went indoors.

Saturday and Sunday passed with Colly still trying to believe that the conversation that had taken place on Friday night had actually taken place and was not some figment of her imagination. Had Silas Livingstone really suggested they marry? Had he really told her to think about it and that he would call her for her answer?

Whatever—his astonishing proposal did achieve one thing: her head was so full of it there was small room for her to take much heed of Nanette’s spiteful barbs whenever they were within speaking distance of each other.

Though on Monday morning Nanette was at her most vicious. ‘You still here?’ she snapped when she eventually came down the stairs.

‘I’m making plans,’ Colly returned, without a plan in her head.

‘You’d better make them pretty quick, then,’ Nanette retorted, going on to inform her nastily, ‘If you’re not out of this house by the end of the week I’m having all the locks changed!’

‘You can’t do that!’ Colly gasped.

‘Who’s going to stop me? Joseph Gillingham left this house to me.’ And, with a triumphant smirk, ‘It’s mine!’

Not for the first time Colly wished that her father’s lawyer friend Henry Warren were there to advise her. Surely she could not be barred from her home of twenty-three years? Be put out in the street—just like that! But Uncle Henry was still holidaying abroad, and to seek help from some other legal representative would take money. And money was in rather short supply just then.

How short was again brought home to her when, a little while later, she went looking for a flat to rent. Prices were sky-high! She couldn’t so much as pay the first month’s rent in advance for even the lowliest bedsit!

Silas Livingstone’s proposal that she stand with him in front of some registrar suddenly started to have a weakening effect on her. She stiffened her backbone. She couldn’t do it. Marry him? Take money from him? No, it was out of the question.

She returned to her car, but had no wish to return home. It was not home any more. She began to feel all stewed up—what other options were open to her? There were none. She replayed again that morning’s spat with Nanette and could not get it out of her head. That was when Colly realised that if she dwelt on it many more times she might yet weaken completely. And she could not weaken. She could not marry Silas Livingstone.

On impulse she took out her phone. She would tell him now. She would not wait until tomorrow for him to call her. She would tell him now—while she still had the strength of mind.

She supposed she should have realised it would not be as simple as that to get in touch with him. He was a busy man. He had not even had any free time in which to take her to lunch last week, had he?

Though she did get through to his PA, and it was almost as if Ellen Rothwell had been instructed to put her through to him were she to ring, because the PA was most affable and informative when she apologised and said, ‘I’m sorry, Silas isn’t in right now. All being well, he should be in the office at some time between three and four if that’s any help?’

‘Thank you very much. I—er—may call back,’ Colly replied, and, unable to sit still, she left her car wishing that it was all over and done with.

As she walked aimlessly about so she started to blame him. It was all his fault that she was in this stew. If he had taken her at her word on Friday she would not now be wandering around fretting the pros and cons of his whole astonishing suggestion anyway.

Not that she had thought too deeply about his side of things. Though it was plain that Silas must be more than a little desperate to have put the preposterous proposal to her in the first place. He, with his forward planning, could see everything he and his father before him—and his grandfather too, come to that—had worked for going down the drain if his cousin got his hands on those controlling shares.

He knew his cousin better than she, who had never met him. But surely this Kit person was not so bad as all that? If he were, then would Grandfather Livingstone really change his will in the married Kit’s favour? She could not see it.

But suddenly then Colly was shocked into reconsidering. It had never dawned on her that she would be made homeless when her father died—but he had changed his will, hadn’t he? And, when she might have been forgiven for not expecting to be left destitute, he had left her not a penny.

Feeling a little stunned, Colly began to wish she had not started to think about this marriage proposal from Silas’s angle. Because now that she had she began to think of all those employees who would lose their livelihood, the shareholders who might have invested perhaps more than they could afford in the prosperous company—all of whom stood to suffer financially should Silas’s worst fears come to fruition. It was as weakening as knowing that she was about to be made homeless, and that come the weekend she could throw away her house keys for all the use they would be to her.

By half past two, while appearing outwardly calm, Colly had become so het-up from going over and over everything in her head that she just could not take any more. Neither could she marry him, and that was that, and the sooner she told him the better. She would phone again—oh, grief, with his tight schedule he would be too busy to take phone calls.

That was when she noticed that she was not all that far away from the Livingstone building. At five to three she was pushing through the plate glass doors.

While she knew where Silas Livingstone’s office was, there was a way of doing these things. And, anyhow, he might have someone in his office with him, which meant that she could not just bowl in there unannounced.

She went over to the desk. ‘I’m Columbine Gillingham,’ she told the receptionist. ‘Is it convenient to see…’ she got cold feet ‘…Ellen Rothwell?’

Her insides started to act up, and that was before the receptionist came off the phone to pleasantly say that Mrs Rothwell was expecting her. ‘You know the way?’

Colly hoped that by the time she reached Ellen Rothwell’s door she might have calmed down somewhat. But not a bit of it; she felt even more hot and bothered and was fast wishing that she had not come. She was recalling those steady dark blue eyes that had looked into hers—almost as if he could see into her soul.

I’m being fanciful, she scoffed. But her insides were still rampaging when she found Ellen Rothwell’s door and went in.

‘Silas isn’t back yet, but if you’d like to take a seat he won’t be long,’ Ellen informed her pleasantly.

Colly thanked her, but felt more like standing up and pacing up and down than sitting. But she went and took a seat, realising as she did so that, while it was highly unlikely Silas would have confided in his PA any of this very private business, it looked very much as if—appointments with him being like gold dust—he must have mentioned that he was prepared to take calls from Columbine Gillingham, and that if she appeared personally he would fit her in with his busy schedule somehow.

Then the outer door opened, and while her heart leapt into her mouth it quieted down again when she saw it was not the man she had come to see. This man was about the same age as Silas, and about the same tall height. But that was where any likeness ended. He was sandy-haired, and where Silas had a strong, rather nice-shaped mouth, this man’s mouth was weak—and that was before he opened it.

‘Ellen, lovely girl—is my cousin in?’ he wanted to know, his eyes skirting from her to make a meal of Colly.

‘Not yet,’ Ellen replied, but his attention was elsewhere as he turned his smile full beam on Colly.

‘Are you here to see Silas?’ he queried—and, before she could answer, ‘Kit Summers,’ he introduced himself, and held out his right hand.

It would have been churlish to ignore it. Colly shook hands with him—and wanted to pull her hand back when he held it over-long.

‘What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’ Kit Summers asked flirtatiously.

Heaven help us! This man might be left to run the company! Colly caught Ellen doing an eye-roll to the ceiling, and felt a hysterical kind of laugh wanting to break loose.

Kit Summers was not at all put off that Colly did not answer, but, continuing to beam at her, suggested, ‘Look, Silas might not be back for ages—why don’t I take you for a cup of tea?’

Colly stared at him. This chinless wonder was married, yet by the look of it did not miss an opportunity to flirt. She was about to give him a cool, No, thank you, when Ellen Rothwell interceded.

‘Have you the figures Silas wanted?’ she enquired evenly.

That shook him sufficiently for him to take his eyes off Colly for a moment. ‘Hell, was it today he wanted them? Strewth, I’d better be going. Don’t tell him I was here,’ he said. ‘And deny any rumour you may have heard that I was on the golf course this morning!’ With that he was gone.

Colly sat there feeling stunned and with her insides churning. Silas’s cousin was a lightweight, and it showed. And if first impressions were anything to go by he was not fit to run any development company, much less an international one.

Then suddenly her mouth went dry. She heard sounds coming from the next-door office. If she wasn’t very much mistaken, Silas was back.

She was not mistaken—the intercom buzzed into life. ‘Has Kit been in?’ Silas asked.

‘Been and gone, I’m afraid,’ his PA answered, and quickly, before he could enquire about any figures, ‘Miss Gillingham is here to see you.’

The announcement was met with total silence. And, quite desperately wishing that she had written, or phoned, but certainly that she had not come in person, Colly went from hot to cold and to hot again. All at once there was movement on the other side of the door, and a moment later the door was opened and Silas Livingstone, tall, commanding, and the very opposite of his cousin, stood there.

He did not smile, or remind her that he had been going to give her a call tomorrow evening, but, ‘Hello, Colly,’ he said mildly, with his eyes fixed on hers as if he would read there what she had come in person to tell him.

Colly stood up. The time had arrived to give him the answer that would not wait until he telephoned tomorrow. He took a step back, so she should go first into his office, and following her in closed the door behind them, giving them all the privacy they needed.

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