feel as gauche as a schoolgirl, and she had to remind herself that she was a divorcee with a six-year-old daughter.
‘You’re different from what I expected,’ he remarked suddenly, surprising her into looking at him again. ‘Cee said you were shy and rather ordinary. But you’re not. Though I suppose another female might not realise it.’
Antonia caught her breath. ‘Has she been discussing me with her friends? Is that why she invited me here? To satisfy their curiosity?’
Her voice had risen slightly as she spoke, and the man beside her expelled his breath a little impatiently. ‘I didn’t say that,’ he told her evenly. ‘And if you knew Cee, you wouldn’t accuse her of it. She’s not like that.’
‘She told you, didn’t she?’ asked Antonia hotly, her eyes sparkling with resentment. His words seemed to confirm all her worst imaginings, and she thought how right she had been to have doubts about coming here. ‘If you’ll excuse me …’
‘Where are you going?’
His hand circling her wrist was the final humiliation, and she was on the point of threatening to throw the remainder of her champagne in his face if he didn’t release her, when another hand touched her shoulder.
‘Darling,’ exclaimed Celia, as Antonia was abruptly released. ‘You’ve met my downstairs neighbour already. Antonia,’ the other girl circled them to slide a possessive arm over the man’s sleeve, ‘what do you think of this Irish rogue who’s asked me to be his wife?”
ANTONIA’S office adjoined that of Martin Fenwick’s. It wasn’t much of an office really, just a desk and a chair and a filing cabinet, in a room large enough to accommodate them and her, but at least it offered her some privacy. And her work was interesting.
Seven years ago, when she had had to give up all thoughts of a career to have Susie, she had been in the second year of a sociology degree at Durham university. Working with people and for the community had always interested her, and her intention had been to try and get a job in some branch of the social services. But Simon’s advent into her life had interrupted her plans, and afterwards, when she had found it necessary to look for work, her qualifications were sadly limited. Of course, had she had the money, she could have returned to university as a mature student and taken up her studies again, but that was out of the question with Susie to support. Instead, she had applied for any job that had offered the chance of working in a similar field, and in spite of its disadvantages in terms of distance, she had been delighted to accept her present position.
The institute, where she worked as Assistant to the Director, was an independently operated youth training establishment, offering skills in various manual trades, as well as academic qualifications. Courses in book-keeping and accountancy, shorthand and typewriting, competed with mechanical engineering and carpentry, and the students were encouraged to try more than one course before deciding on the one that suited them best.
Antonia considered herself very fortunate to have been offered the post, and she felt she owed a debt to her past tutor at Durham for giving her his backing and support. Without the reference he had been able to supply, she felt sure she would not have been so lucky, and the doubts she had had about leaving the north of England had been stifled by the faith he had had in her.
To her relief Mr Fenwick, who had been absent the previous week due to an apparently seasonal attack of lumbago, was back at work on Monday morning, and Antonia was able to return to her own duties. Her experience at the job had not yet equipped her to handle all the hundred and one little problems that could occur in the course of a working week, and there were several outstanding difficulties she was going to have to discuss with him when he had the time.
But to begin with, the institute’s director had enough to do handling the enormous backlog of mail, which had required his personal attention, and Antonia spent most of Monday morning trying to catch up on her own duties.
Even so, she did not find it easy to apply herself to practical matters. It wasn’t that her work was difficult or anything. It was simply that her mind kept drifting away from what she was doing, and several times she found herself staring into space, totally detached from her surroundings.
It was the remembrance of Saturday night that was troubling her, of course. The party, which she had not wanted to attend, and which was now lodged painfully in her memory. Just thinking of that scene in Celia’s living room caused Antonia’s face to flood with colour, and it still amazed her that she had stayed so long when all she had really wanted to do was escape.
She should have made her apologies as soon as a decent interval had elapsed, she thought, and hurried back to her own apartment. Certainly, Celia’s flatmate, the Honourable Elizabeth, Liz, Ashford, had thought so. It had soon become apparent that the other occupant of the first floor apartment did not share her friend’s enthusiasm to mix with their neighbours, and her greeting had been distant, to say the least. The other female guests seemed to take their lead from her, and regarded Antonia with something less than cordiality, and it was left to Celia and the male contingent to try and put her at her ease.
That it hadn’t worked was mainly due to Antonia’s own behaviour. She had not come to the party to be propositioned, and she was not used to finding herself the centre of attraction. Besides, if she was honest she would admit that the awareness of Reed Gallagher in the background, watching her embarrassed attempts to break free of her admirers, had coloured her attitude towards them, and what might have been an amusing situation turned into a trial of nerves.
Learning that the man she had been so arbitrarily crossing swords with was really Celia’s fiancé had been a shock. Not that she had any interest in him personally, she assured herself, but his attitude towards her had not been that of a man desperately in love with his fiancée. At least, not in her experience it hadn’t. Perhaps their sort of people behaved differently. Perhaps, even in this day and age, it was to be a marriage engineered for convenience. But then, remembering the way Celia had clung to her fiancé’s arm and the adoring looks she had cast in his direction, Antonia felt convinced that for her part, Celia cared madly for her handsome Irishman. And probably he did, too, she reflected cynically, refusing to admit that initially she, too, had been disarmed. Whatever his feelings, she was unlikely to discover them, though she had the distinct suspicion he was not as careless and superficial as he would have had her believe. And when he had taken hold of her wrist …
Shaking her head to dislodge the irritating recollection of the cool strength of Reed’s fingers against her skin, Antonia endeavoured to apply herself to the application forms in front of her. The institute was always oversubscribed on all their courses, and it was to be part of her duties to consider each application on its merit, and winnow them down to a more manageable thirty-five or forty from which Mr Fenwick could make his final choice. New trainees were admitted in September, and interviews were apparently held in May and June to reduce the eventual intake to approximately twenty in each department. It promised to be an interesting part of her work, particularly as Mr Fenwick had informed her that in his opinion aptitude for a particular occupation was worth more than any number of academic qualifications.
This morning, however, Antonia’s brain refused to function, and by eleven o’clock she was still studying the second form. When Martin Fenwick appeared to ask her to come into his office, she abandoned her task with a feeling of relief, following him into his room with an enthusiasm untempered by her usual impatience to get on with her own job.
Blowing his nose before taking his seat, her boss regarded her rather speculatively. ‘Are you feeling all right, Mrs Sheldon?’ he asked, gesturing her to a chair on the other side of his desk. ‘You’re looking rather tired. Did you go home at the weekend?’
Not entirely relishing his probably well-meant enquiry, Antonia shook her head. ‘If you mean to Newcastle—then, no,’ she answered politely, wondering if she had bags under her eyes. ‘I … er … didn’t sleep very well last night.’
Martin