Why was he studying her like that—as if they were meeting for the first time? She suddenly felt as uncertain as a teenager as she wondered what he saw. His frumpy assistant? Or a reasonably well-presented young woman?
The silk trousers and top were the pale colour of buttermilk, and Amber had been right—the creamy shade did emphasise the blackness of her hair. The design of the outfit was deceptively simple, fluidly skimming the curvy shape of her body—and the delicate fabric felt unbelievably soft where it clung to her bare skin. And although the outfit was practical, it was also intensely feminine—the kind of clothes she wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing to the office.
Was that why his eyes were out on stalks like that?
‘Hello, Ursula,’ he said softly. ‘Nice outfit’
‘Th-thanks.’ She smiled uncertainly.
‘It’s unbelievable,’ he murmured. ‘You look completely different, dressed like that!’
‘Whereas you look exactly the same!’ she shot back, wondering what on earth they were supposed to do now. And why was Katy just standing there, serenely watching the two of them? Why wasn’t she interrupting, the way children were supposed to do?
At work, Ursula could bury her feelings in a flurry of activity, but here there was nothing to buffer her from the impact of Ross as a man, rather than an employer. Was he oblivious to the fact that he was a highly desirable man?
‘Where’s Jane?’ asked Ursula quickly.
‘Mummy’s going to be late,’ said Katy, in a sulky voice. ‘Again!’
‘Jane’s been tied up at work, unfortunately,’ said Ross, his voice as smooth as a pebble.
‘Not literally, I hope!’ joked Ursula, but her feeble joke didn’t even raise a smile and left her wondering why she had bothered making it, until she realised that her fingertips were now trembling with nerves.
‘She’s doing the costumes for the new Connection tour,’ Katy informed her, sliding a shy hand into Ursula’s.
Ursula’s eyes were like saucers. ‘The Connection? Wow! Their last album was brilliant! I’m impressed.’
‘Well, don’t be! They’re all self-obsessed substance abusers!’
‘Katy!’ exclaimed Ross, looking shocked.
‘Well, you were the one who said it, Daddy!’
‘Not in front of you, I didn’t,’ he told her grimly.
The ringing of the front doorbell sounded like salvation, and Katy beamed with delight when she discovered five of her school friends standing on the doorstep.
‘We all came in Mum’s station wagon!’ exclaimed one. ‘Polly’s bought you the soundtrack from Musketeers!’
‘Thanks for spoiling the surprise!’ grimaced Polly.
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter—I’m far too old for surprises,’ said Katy airily. ‘Come on, shall we go next door and play it?’
‘Great!’
‘And Sally’s bought you the Musketeers! video!’
‘Great!’
Squealing with excitement, the girls ran off, and Ursula was left alone in the hall with Ross in a space which was probably almost as large as the office they shared, but which now seemed claustraphobically confined.
‘They seem nice girls,’ she commented, hoping that she didn’t look as awkward as she felt. ‘Katy’s friends.’
‘Yes.’
She saw the brief but unmistakable glance he sent at his watch. ‘Can I do anything to help, Ross?’
He seemed to switch on a smile with an effort. ‘Sure. You can come into the sitting room and have a drink with me.’
She shook her head. ‘I meant, do you want me to cut the crusts off the sandwiches—or ice funny faces on cupcakes?’
‘I know what you meant, and, no, I don’t. But thanks, anyway.’ He smiled more as though he meant it this time. ‘Children’s parties have changed since our day. I’m afraid that your prediction of no jelly and ice cream is completely accurate! I suggested it to Katy and she did a convincing impression of someone about to throw up! And then informed me that they’d like to ring out for pizza!’ He sighed dramatically. ‘Kids’ parties ain’t what they were in our day!’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Ursula, without thinking. ‘I never had a birthday party when I was growing up.’
He looked quite shocked. ‘What—never?’
‘Never!’ Ursula’s mouth twitched. ‘You think that’s such a terrible thing?’
‘It’s certainly rather unusual. Why not?’
‘Oh, you don’t want to know.’
‘Don’t tell me what I don’t want, or what I do want! You can’t clam up on me here, Ursula—we aren’t at work now.’
‘No.’ Because if they had been they wouldn’t be talking this way. Softly. Intimately. With Ross’s possessions all around only adding to this unwelcome familiarity...
‘So why no parties?’
Ursula gave him a wry look. ‘You are a very persistent man!’
‘I need to be.’ He studied her carefully. ‘Because you never seem to want to talk about your childhood.’
‘Well, come to that—neither do you!’ she retorted. ‘I thought we were there to work—not have in-depth therapy sessions!’
‘Tough, was it?’ he queried softly.
‘Parts of it,’ she hedged, because she didn’t want him thinking she felt sorry for herself. ‘My mother was a widow—and her whole life was spent juggling jobs in order to provide for me and Amber. She was worn out most of the time, and every single penny counted, so a birthday party would have been right out of the question. But Mum sometimes used to make a cake and stick a few candles in it, and the three of us would finish the lot!’ There was a long pause. ‘The last time she made a cake, Amber was about Katy’s age.’
‘And then?’
She stared at him. ‘You want to hear the whole thing?’
‘Don’t you want to tell me?’
Ursula hesitated. ‘When we were in our teens my mother got sick,’ she said baldly. ‘She was ill for a long time. She died last year.’
‘And you cared for her, I guess?’
She looked at him in surprise, then nodded. ‘Yep. Nursed her at home until just before the end.’
‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘That explains a lot.’
‘Oh?’ Her fingers moved up to check the mother-of-pearl slide which clipped back a great handful of black hair. ‘Like what?’
‘Your kindness. Your maturity. Other things, too, but you’re right—’ he gave her a gentle smile ‘—this isn’t a therapy session. Let’s go and have that drink now. You look like you could use it.’
‘That sounds good.’ But she hadn’t found his questions invasive at all. It had been almost a relief to tell him. Sometimes you locked away the bad, sad bits of your life so that they festered, like a sore.
She followed him from the hall into one of the reception rooms, where leaded windows gave the room an old-fashioned look which was enhanced by the blaze of colour from the garden beyond. The style of the room remained as simple as the large hallway they had just left—with polished floorboards strewn with rugs, and carefully chosen, non-matching pieces of furniture which gave the room a very