The weekend dragged, not least because Jane took herself off to visit her parents. Having been home herself a couple of weekends before, Kerry felt disinclined to fork out another substantial sum on rail fare so soon, especially when she would be going home for Christmas anyway. She settled for the usual biweekly phone call instead.
She spent Saturday evening having dinner with a man she had met during a previous job and been out with a couple of times since, but refused his suggestion that they go on to some party he had in mind on the grounds that she was tired. From his attitude, she guessed she wouldn’t be hearing from him again, which didn’t bother her a great deal. The relationship had been going nowhere she really wanted to be anyway.
Monday came as a welcome break. Estelle had requested that she reach the house around nine-thirty, enabling her to avoid the worst of the morning crowds. The gardens which gave the square its name looked denuded in the wintry sunshine, the trees stretching skeletal limbs. An expensive area altogether, the houses themselves were tall and white and graceful.
They were even more spacious inside than they looked from out here, Kerry already knew, the rooms being large, the ceilings high and ornate, the whole ambience one of tasteful affluence. Working in such surroundings was going to be a pleasure, she thought, pressing a finger to the doorbell.
Expecting the summons to be answered by the housekeeper who had admitted her on Friday, she was more than a little nonplussed when the door was opened by Lee Hartford himself. He looked arresting in a superbly tailored dark grey suit that defined his breadth of shoulder and lean-hipped build.
‘Miss Pierson, isn’t it?’ he said on a formal note, contradicted by the faintly mocking gleam in his eyes as he surveyed her. ‘Come on in.’
She did so, catching the faint scent of aftershave as she brushed past him. Yves Saint Laurent, possibly—expensive for certain. Nothing but the best for men of his ilk, of course, she thought caustically.
‘My mother will be down in a minute or two,’ he said, closing the door. ‘In the meantime, I’ve been delegated to entertain you.’
‘I’ll be perfectly happy just waiting,’ she returned, without looking at him. ‘I’m sure you must have far more pressing matters to take care of, Mr Hartford.’
‘None that can’t wait.’ He held out a hand. ‘Let me take your coat.’
‘Perhaps you’d just show me where to put it,’ she said levelly.
‘The independent type, are you?’ He sounded amused.
Kerry kept her own tone even, her expression neutral. ‘If you like to think of it that way. I’m here to work, not as a guest.’
‘Fine.’ If anything the amusement had deepened. ‘In that case, the cloakroom is over there. When you’re ready I’ll show you where you’re going to be working. Mrs Ralston will be bringing coffee through in a few minutes.’
The cloakroom was almost as large as her bedroom back at the flat. Kerry slipped off her coat and hung it on a hanger, then took a swift glance in the long wall mirror.
The brown suede skirt and crisp white shirt looked businesslike without being overdone, the simple gold chain at her throat and small gold studs in her ears no detraction from the image she wanted to present.
She was wearing heels this morning for the simple reason that they looked better with straight skirts, but she was glad of the extra height. Not that she was small at five feet seven anyway, but that man out there made her feel so.
He was waiting in the wide hall when she emerged from the room. He ran another of those appraising glances over her, making her bristle afresh.
‘Neat, and classy too,’ he commented. ‘My mother always did have good taste.’
‘Mrs Sullivan hired me purely on the merits of my qualifications as a secretary, not for my appearance,’ Kerry answered with a coolness she was far from feeling.
One dark brow lifted with a hint of sardonicism. ‘Knowing her rather better than you do, I’d say both. You’ll be working in her private sitting room, where the two of you will be undisturbed. You can use the study to type up the day’s output. There’s a word processor in there with plenty of capacity on disk.’
‘You’re not afraid of me breaking into your private files?’ she asked with deliberation as he led the way.
‘Not at all. They’re safe under personal keycode. One you’d be unlikely to guess if you tried,’ he added. ‘Not that you’d learn anything of any use to you if you did.’
‘Not that I’d want to,’ she countered. ‘Your affairs are strictly your own business.’
A hand on the doorknob of a room towards the rear of the house, he gave her a calculated scrutiny, taking in the antagonistic spark in the green eyes, the jut of her chin. An answering spark leapt in his own eyes. ‘Very much so.’
The message was clear, and not unmerited. Faint though it had been, the innuendo had not been lost on him. Kerry bit her lip as he opened the door and stood back to allow her prior entry, aware of having allowed antipathy to affect her better judgement. Other than where Sarah was concerned, his affairs, business or personal, were of no importance to her.
The room was only half the size of the drawing room where Estelle had interviewed her on Friday, but just as beautifully furnished. The two deep chesterfields flanking the Adam fireplace were covered in blue velvet a shade or two lighter than the thickly piled carpet, with cushions picking up the gold of the curtains. Delicate water colours lined the plain white walls, and a baby grand piano stood across one corner.
‘Do you play?’ asked Lee, following her glance.
‘A little,’ Kerry acknowledged, not about to claim any degree of expertise, and added for something else to say rather than through any pressing interest, ‘Do you?’
He shook his head. ‘My mother’s the musician in the family. If she hadn’t gone into acting she might have made a concert pianist.’
‘She’s very talented.’ The admiration was genuine. ‘A great loss to the theatre.’
‘There’s no reason why she shouldn’t start over. Her agent already found the right vehicle for a come-back.’
‘Perhaps it’s just too soon,’ Kerry suggested. ‘She’s been through a lot.’
The strong mouth took on a slant. ‘More than the media would know, for sure.’
The intimation that she could have little idea herself was like a slap in the face. All she had meant to do was express sympathy. She took the chair he indicated, dismayed when he sat down himself on one of the sofas and lifted one leg comfortably over the other in a gesture that scarcely indicated an imminent departure.
‘I’ll be perfectly all right on my own,’ she repeated. ‘You really don’t have to wait.’
His shrug was easy. ‘I’m in no hurry. I understand your first name is Kerry?’
‘Yes.’ The skirt she was wearing had seemed conservative enough this morning at an inch above the knee, but it had ridden up when she sat down, exposing rather more Lycra-clad thigh than she felt comfortable with right now. She put down a hand to tug at the hem, desisting abruptly as the grey eyes followed her movement—hating the smile that flickered at the corners of his mouth.
‘Nice,’ he commented.
He could have been referring to the name, of course, but Kerry doubted it. There was even a chance that he imagined she was putting on a show for his benefit. Short of getting up again, there was little she could do to cover the exposed leg, which left her with no option but to ignore it.
‘My mother seems impressed with you all round, in fact,’ he went on. ‘On the face of it, I’d go along with her—but, then, face values aren’t always the best criteria.’
‘Helen