.

my desk.’

      ‘Have you been working for Cartel Wines long?’

      ‘Ever since I left college,’ she answered without thinking.

      He gave her a quick sideways smile. ‘As you look about sixteen…’

      Wishing fruitlessly that she looked her usual cool, composed self, she said quickly, ‘I’m twenty-three,’ and was aware that she had sounded indignant.

      ‘That old!’

      Now he was laughing at her openly. But it was in a nice way, a way that invited her to join in.

      With a smile, she said, ‘I suppose in a few more years being told I look about sixteen will seem like a compliment.’

      Then, keen to remove the spotlight from herself and wondering what he’d been doing at Cartel Wines, she changed the subject by remarking, ‘You’re not employed by Cartel?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I didn’t think so. But I wouldn’t have put you down as a visitor. Or certainly not an ordinary one.’

      ‘Is that a complaint or a compliment?’

      ‘A comment. Ordinary visitors use the front car park and the main entrance and always leave before the staff.’

      ‘Well, as I did none of those things, I plead guilty to being out of the ordinary…’

      It occurred to her that she still didn’t know why he’d been at Cartel Wines, but, before she could pursue the matter, he remarked, ‘Incidentally, I caught sight of you earlier in the day…’

      So he’d recognised her.

      ‘Yes, I’d slipped out to buy some lunch.’

      To give her no chance to ask the question that he wasn’t yet ready to answer, he went on, ‘I fear it came to a sad end. Did you manage to replace it?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You must be ravenous. But we’ll soon be home and Gwen’s sure to have dinner waiting.’

      Wondering how the housekeeper would cope when he turned up with an unexpected guest, Tina began, ‘I’m afraid it—’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ he broke in, ‘there’ll be no problem.’ Then, deciding to stick with a safe topic, at least for the moment, he went on, ‘As a young woman, Gwen had a family of six boys to feed, so she’s always been used to cooking for what seems like an army. She still does.

      ‘Her church runs a centre for the homeless and each evening she fills her car boot with food and takes it round there.’

      He had just finished telling her about his housekeeper’s charitable activities when they reached Pemberley Square and drew up outside a handsome porticoed town house.

      It was still raining hard and he retrieved Tina’s case before escorting her across the leaf-strewn pavement and into a chandelier-hung hall.

      As he closed the door behind them, a small, thin, neatly dressed woman appeared.

      ‘Ah, Gwen,’ he said, ‘we have an unexpected guest.’ He introduced the two women, adding, ‘Miss Dunbar was with Cartel Wines.’

      The housekeeper smiled and said, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Dunbar.’

      Smiling back, Tina said a little anxiously, ‘I hope I’m not causing you a lot of trouble, Mrs Baxter?’

      ‘Not at all. The guest room is always kept ready. Now, if you’d like to freshen up before dinner…?’

      ‘If there’s time?’

      ‘Plenty of time,’ the housekeeper announced comfortably. ‘Luckily I’d decided on a casserole, which will keep hot without spoiling.’

      ‘In that case,’ Richard said, ‘I’ll check my emails and when Miss Dunbar comes down we’ll have a quick pre-dinner drink in the study.’

      With a glance at his watch, he added, ‘But, so your regulars won’t have to wait too long for their supper, I suggest you leave ours on the hotplate and we’ll serve ourselves…’

      Mrs Baxter nodded gratefully, then said, ‘Oh, there’s one more thing…Miss O’Connell has been trying to get hold of you. She said your mobile has been switched off all day. She seemed extremely upset about it…’

      Reading his housekeeper’s tight-lipped expression correctly, Richard hazarded, ‘So Helen’s been giving you a hard time? Sorry about that.’

      Her face softening, Mrs Baxter said, ‘The young lady would like you to give her a ring.’

      ‘I’ll do that. Thanks, Gwen.’

      Taking Tina’s case, the housekeeper led the way up a long, curved staircase and across a balustraded landing, remarking as they went, ‘Mr Anders is always kind and thoughtful. They don’t come any better.’

      Doing her best not to hobble, though her ankle was, if anything, worse, Tina asked, ‘How long have you worked for him?’

      ‘Just over six years and in all that time I’ve never known him be anything other than even-tempered and pleasant.’

      ‘That’s praise indeed.’

      ‘And well earned. He’s one of the most generous people I know.

      ‘In the two years that it’s been in existence the centre that I help to run must have saved quite a few lives, especially in the winter.

      ‘They have him to thank. Not only did he buy a big warehouse and have it converted into comfortable living quarters, but he pays all the running expenses out of his own pocket and provides money for food and other necessities.

      ‘He’s even managed to save a few of the poor souls who come there…Oh, not by preaching to them, but by trusting them and giving them a decent job…’

      Tina was about to ask what kind of business he was in when she was ushered into a large pastel-walled bedroom that overlooked the rain-lashed lamplit square, with its central garden and mature trees.

      Having deposited the case on a low chest, the housekeeper closed the curtains, remarking, ‘It looks like a nasty wet, chilly night, so I’d best get off and make sure that everyone’s taken care of.’

      Her hand was on the latch when she turned to say, ‘Oh, when you come down again, the study is straight across the hall.’

      The guest room was pleasant and airy, with a pale deeppile carpet, modern furniture, a large, comfortable-looking bed and walk-in wardrobes, while the en suite bathroom was frankly luxurious.

      Feeling grubby and dishevelled, Tina decided to take a quick shower.

      While she enjoyed the flow of hot water over her bare skin she thought about Richard Anders.

      Any remaining doubts about what kind of man he was had been set at rest by Mrs Baxter’s unstinting praise and she could only be thankful that she had accepted his hospitality rather than turning it down.

      Refreshed, she towelled herself dry, quickly found some clean underwear and swopped her suit for a fine wool button-through dress in oatmeal.

      Her ankle was distinctly swollen now so, instead of changing into high-heeled sandals, she stayed with her flat shoes.

      When she had put on a discreet touch of make-up and brushed and re-coiled her dark blonde hair, she made her way carefully down the stairs.

      She felt eager and excited, if a touch nervous, at the prospect of spending the evening alone with Richard Anders and getting to know him better.

      For perhaps the first time in her life she found herself wishing that she was clever, beautiful, exciting, alluring—whatever it took to arouse and hold his interest.

      But of course she wasn’t. She was just