expected you to bring it yourself.’
‘I’ve been a bit busy.’ She swallowed. ‘What kind of support are you offering the Make a Wish project?’ she asked, doing her best to ignore the continuing firm pressure of his cool fingers around her own.
Cold hand, warm heart?
Her own fluttered a little as she recalled the way her cold lips had heated up as he’d kissed her, his long fingers encircling her ankle, sliding between her toes. That moment when he wiped the oil from her cheek.
Her knees buckled.
Her lips burned…
She rested her free hand on the door handle, told herself to get a grip. So, Brian had stuck a vile headline on a story with her name on it. It was Hal who’d told her that it didn’t matter who you hurt as long as you sold newspapers.
‘You’re in the transport business, aren’t you?’ she managed, as if her file on him didn’t contain the exact number of vehicles his company operated, the total tonnage of air cargo, shipping containers it had handled in the last tax year. When his transport company was floated on the stock exchange a couple of years back his business—if not his life—had become public property. ‘We always need help moving the goods people donate.’
‘I was thinking of something a little more hands on than that,’ he replied.
There was the slightest tightening of his grip before he released her without warning, leaving her feeling weirdly off balance, as if she had been the one hanging on. Without his support the ground seemed to slip from beneath her feet and she found herself clinging to the door handle to stop herself slithering down it to the floor. Before she could take a step back, grab a breath, steady herself, his hand had shifted to her elbow. It should have helped.
No…
‘Let’s discuss it over a cup of coffee.’
‘Coffee?’ she repeated stupidly, her pulse quickening even as she clung to the door handle as if to a lifeline.
She was keen as mustard to discuss all and everything with him over coffee or any other beverage he had in mind—if he was going to make her pay for that headline, it was going to be a two-way street—but he was up to something. She needed to marshal her thoughts, marshal her knees, marshal everything before she could handle this.
Her boss, her editor were watching. It was vital to be professional.
Cool…
Who was she kidding? His hand was warming her skin through her sleeve, a flush of heat that was spreading up her arm, through her body, touching her with an intimacy that was disturbing, unnerving, arousing…
‘Sadly, that won’t be possible,’ she said, hoping that she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt. Breathe, breathe… ‘Coffee will have to wait for another day,’ she said, with every appearance of regret. ‘I’m sure Willow has explained that Fairy Godmother duties are voluntary? My job has first priority and I’m interviewing a local woman who gave birth to triplets—’ a story that had filled today’s front page thank goodness ‘—in twenty minutes. It’s one of those human-interest stories our readers love and, since I’ll be walking to the maternity unit, I need to leave now,’ she added.
After that, she was taking an early lunch so that she could take Ally home. It was half term this week and since Penny was now working five mornings a week for Hal, and Ally and Savannah had fallen out, childcare had become a lot more complicated.
Having demonstrated her independence, she managed a smile.
‘Perhaps Ms Webb could give me a call and arrange a convenient time for a meeting?’ she suggested. ‘I’d be happy to come up to the Hall. I know how busy you must be. How’s the motorcycle coming along?’
A small crease deepened at the side of his mouth, his eyes darkened imperceptibly, acknowledging the tiny prod about her bicycle, about not talking to the press, but it had been a mistake to mention the motorcycle.
‘And the rose garden?’
Shut. Up.
‘Why don’t I give you a lift to the maternity unit and you can advise me on bedding plants over lunch?’ he suggested. ‘You do eat lunch?’
‘Oh…’ The sound escaped before she could stop it, betraying her annoyance that he refused to play by anyone’s rules but his own.
She hated losing control. She’d done it once but had
created order out of the chaos of her life, making a home, creating a garden, bringing up her little girl…
Belay that.
She’d lost control when she’d run into him on that footpath. Bad enough, but with nobody’s job safe, having to rely on public transport to get anywhere and her childcare arrangements in ruins, she was juggling eels while running uphill.
‘Don’t worry about the triplets.’ Willow stepped in before she could say something she regretted. ‘I’ve been dying for an excuse to see them and I think I can still write a paragraph or two that won’t shame the Observer.’
‘Oh, but…’
‘Jessica was telling me that you’ve got childcare issues?’ Her smile was sympathetic. ‘School holidays are a nightmare. Believe me, I know.’
Terrific! Thank you, Jessica.
‘Actually, I’ve been talking to Brian,’ she continued, ‘and we’re agreed that now the Make a Wish scheme has grown so large it needs someone whose sole responsibility is to co-ordinate it. Liaise with local companies, the voluntary and youth groups, keep an overview of progress, that sort of thing.’
‘Yes?’ No!
‘He’s offered to release you from his team for the next couple of months.’
Months!
‘But…’
…I’m a journalist.
The words stuck in her throat as she realised exactly what Hal had done.
‘You can handle the Wishes from home just as easily as the office, which will make life a little easier for you and,’ she added, ‘you will make a delightful Fairy Godmother.’
‘Are you sure?’ she said, making one last bid for her job. ‘If it’s authenticity you’re after, maybe I could point you in the direction of Jessica?’ If she was going down, she was going down fighting. ‘She looks exactly like the grandmotherly FGM in Ally’s book of fairy tales.’
Willow laughed, patted her arm as if she appreciated the joke, but then said, ‘Hal has some really interesting ideas that you’ll want to include in the voting list on Saturday, so I suggest you start there. Send me a weekly update and anything you need just ask.’ She didn’t wait for an answer but turned to Hal. ‘I’ll tell Mike that you’re looking for local craftsmen, Hal. I’m sure he’ll know someone who can help with your ceiling.’
‘Thank you, Willow. I appreciate that.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘The triplets!’
They both watched in silence as, having tossed her metaphorical hand grenade, she moved quickly to the front door to avoid the fallout.
‘Impressive woman,’ Hal said, finally.
‘Yes. She is.’ Her idol as it happened. They’d gone to the same school, although she’d been years later and Willow Armstrong had started as a journalist on their sister paper in Melchester, doing the ‘human interest’ stories, just like her. That was as far as the comparison went. Willow had been offered a job on a national newspaper but had turned it down, choosing instead to stay in Melchester and manage the Armstrong group. ‘And a busy one,’ she added. ‘She’s not just a figurehead, she really does run the whole show.’
‘That would explain why you appeared