saw your dash for the train and I asked him if you ever came into the restaurant car for breakfast. He assured me that you never missed.’
‘Did he, by God? Well, I have to say that Peter is a great disappointment to me. I had always assumed that he was thoroughly discreet. Tell me, what did it take?’
Oh, Lord, he was angry. She’d got Peter into trouble and made an utter fool of herself into the bargain. For nothing. ‘I’m sorry?’
Fergus was not fooled by her apparent innocence. ‘What did it take to bribe him?’ he said carefully.
‘Oh, I see.’ She hesitated, then gave a little shrug. ‘I’m not sure that I should tell you.’
After the initial shock, Fergus decided that he was rather enjoying himself. ‘Force yourself,’ he urged.
‘A ticket for the Cup Final?’ she offered.
‘The Cup Final?’ This woman could get tickets for a sporting event at the top of every red-blooded male’s wish list? ‘The FA Cup Final?’ he asked, to be quite certain. She nodded. ‘But that’s only a week away. There can’t be any tickets left,’ he said, rather stupidly.
‘I have two.’ It suddenly occurred to her that he wasn’t so much angry as taken by surprise. ‘Had two,’ she amended.
‘And you thought one of them worth my presence at your breakfast table?’
She put her head to one side and regarded him for a moment. In for a penny, she thought … after all she had nothing to lose … ‘Now that I’ve met you, Mr Kavanagh, I am of the opinion that you would have been worth both tickets.’
She didn’t mince her words. Formidable indeed. And Fergus couldn’t bring himself to blame Peter for accepting her offer. ‘I have the feeling that I should be flattered,’ he said finally.
She spread her fingers in a gesture that left it entirely up to him whether he was flattered, or merely intrigued. Just as long as he was one of them. ‘It was the best I could do at short notice. I had to think quickly, you see.’
He did. And she’d certainly done that. ‘Your best is very good, Miss Grant.’
But was it good enough? ‘Not really. Jefferson Sports are a major sponsor. I’m expected to attend and bring a guest.’
‘Peter?’ His disbelief was understandable.
‘Peter,’ she confirmed. ‘He’ll have a lovely day. Lunch, a chance to meet some former players—’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said, cutting her short. ‘But aren’t you supposed to take along one of your major customers?’
‘I’d far rather take someone who really enjoys the game, someone who can tell me what exactly is happening. Peter is a keen follower of Melchester Rovers, you know. And besides, major customers can pull enough strings to get their own tickets.’
‘I hope Nick Jefferson sees it that way.’
‘Nick has his mind on other things at the moment. Anyway, Peter is a customer. He bought a set of our golf clubs a few months back. I got him a discount.’ Veronica Grant smiled at him, inviting him to join in her little joke. Instead, Fergus gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘You know Nick?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘The man has a highly developed sense of the ridiculous,’ she assured him.
‘With you as his Marketing Director, he must need it.’ Then, ‘Suppose I hadn’t co-operated?’ He indicated the seat at the far end of the carriage that had originally caught his eye. ‘I might have chosen to sit over there.’
She turned and glanced at the empty seat. ‘You did,’ she pointed out, turning back to face him. ‘But Peter stopped you by my table and I waylaid you with my hatbox. Are you interested in football, Mr Kavanagh? I might be able to lay my hands on another ticket, in a good cause.’
‘I have a standing invitation to the Cup Final, Miss Grant.’
‘Of course. Lunch with the directors, a seat in their box. Nothing less will do for Mr Fergus Kavanagh.’ He didn’t deny it. ‘I’m not sure what else I could offer …’ she paused so briefly that he might have imagined it ‘… a gentleman.’
He had thought for a while that she might be having a little joke at his expense. But she wasn’t. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘In deadly earnest. You see, you fit the profile perfectly.’
He considered asking just what the ‘profile’ might be. Then thought better of it. ‘But you don’t know anything about me.’
‘That’s not entirely true. I know, for instance, that you are the most eligible of men—that is, you’re wealthy and unmarried, which for the purpose of this little exercise is all that is required—although to be honest I cannot think how you have escaped the clutches of some matchmaking mama for so long.’
‘Just lucky, I guess. Of course, I don’t have a title,’ he said, his tongue firmly in his cheek, beginning to enjoy himself as the germ of an idea began to take hold, grow … ‘Maybe that’s the reason.’
‘Two out of three isn’t bad,’ she pointed out. ‘And you’re bound to turn up in the New Year Honours sooner or later. So, what do you say, Mr Kavanagh, are you free this afternoon at two o’clock?’
Dear God, but the woman was cool. He wondered what it would take to heat her up. And would it be a slow overnight defrost, or was she the kind of woman who would simply explode in a rush of steam like a volcanic geyser?
‘Where is this wedding?’ he asked, to take his mind off such disturbing thoughts.
‘St Margaret’s.’
‘St Margaret’s, Westminster?’
‘Fliss’s mother is a Member of Parliament.’
‘Formidable women run in the family, then?’ His eyes creased in amusement.
‘At least one in every generation,’ she confirmed. Then, ‘The reception is in Knightsbridge. We wouldn’t have to stay late. In fact, if we appeared desperately keen to leave early it would be a positive bonus.’ She lifted her shoulders in the most elegant of shrugs. ‘My mother wouldn’t bother me about biological clocks for months.’
Fergus sat back and regarded the lady with interest. Such quick thinking was rare, and he could well understand how she had made it to the boardroom at such an early age. But he wasn’t slow on his feet when it came to taking advantage of unexpected opportunities. He might not want a ticket for the FA Cup Final, but Miss Veronica Grant had just offered him the perfect answer to his own difficulties.
‘You have gone to great lengths to ask me for a favour, Miss Grant,’ he said, ‘and such quick thinking should not go unrewarded.’
‘Is that a yes?’ she enquired hopefully.
‘A qualified yes. My top hat and brand-new morning suit are at your disposal this afternoon …’
Her smile was tinged with uncertainty. ‘But—?’ she added, after a small pause.
He returned her smile. He’d known she would understand. ‘But,’ he confirmed, ‘I shall require a small favour in return.’
‘Well, that’s only fair,’ she agreed, happy to indulge him in whatever sporting fantasy turned him on. ‘What event did you have in mind?’
‘Event?’
‘A day at Lord’s? The Centre Court on Finals Day at Wimbledon?’
‘Could you manage even that?’ he asked.
‘It wouldn’t be easy,’ she admitted. ‘But then, nothing worth the effort is ever easy.’
Fergus