champagne.
While they ate, Martin pointed out several whose names were synonymous with wealth and power, and told her amusing anecdotes about each.
Sera was laughing at one of them when Keir appeared at her side. She turned to him eagerly.
His expression curiously tight, he told her, ‘Signor Canelli is interested in a site near SoHo that’s just recently come on the market. He’d like to take a look at it straight away, so Cheryl has kindly offered to drive us down there. Will you be all right?’
Her heart dropping like a lead weight, Sera said, ‘I’ll be fine.’ Then trying not to sound anxious, ‘Have you any idea how long you’ll be?’
‘It’ll depend on the traffic, I’m afraid.’ Giving her hand a squeeze, he assured her, ‘But I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘If you don’t happen to make it back,’ Martin said smoothly, ‘I’ll see Sera gets home safely.’
‘Thank you, but I expect to be back.’ Keir’s voice was only just civil.
It was obvious that he wasn’t happy about leaving her with Martin Rothwell. But business came first.
His face set, he turned and walked away.
Treating the other man’s reappearance as an unwanted intrusion, Martin asked cheerfully, ‘Now then, where were we?’
For the next twenty minutes or so, while they stood by the buffet, he plied her with delicacies and, though he himself drank little, made sure her glass was kept topped up.
Giving her his undivided attention, he asked her a string of questions. Where did she live…? What did she like most about New York…? How did she think life in the States compared with life in England?
He seemed genuinely interested in her answers, and she found him surprisingly easy to talk to.
One of his comments made her ask, ‘Do you know England well?’
‘Fairly well. We have English ancestry and both Cheryl and I have spent some time over there. After leaving college I lived in London for almost three years…’
Despite his charm, he was known to be a hard-headed businessman, and Sera expected him to excuse himself as soon as the meal was over, rather than waste any more time on one of his own employees.
But, even when they’d finished eating and their coffee cups were empty, he remained by her side.
Aware that he would need to mingle with his guests, she put down her cup and said politely, ‘Thank you, Mr Rothwell, that was most enjoyable,’ and made to leave him.
‘Don’t go…’ he put a restraining hand on her arm ‘…and out of the office please call me Martin.’ Seeing the look on her face, he said teasingly, ‘Go on, try it. It’s not that difficult. Martin.’
‘Martin,’ she echoed uncertainly.
‘Not bad. All you need is a little more practice.’
His hand lingered on her arm as he queried, ‘As you’ve been in New York such a short time you can’t know many people here?’
‘No.’
‘Then let me introduce you to a few.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not really dressed for it.’
His pale blue eyes on her face, he said, ‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re quite perfect.’
Disconcerted, she stammered, ‘Th-thank you, but Keir might be back soon, and I—’
‘If he does turn up, I’ll reluctantly hand you over. Until then, let’s circulate.’
He offered her his arm and, feeling she had no option, she took it.
Uncomfortable at first, after a while and rather to her surprise, Sera began to relax and enjoy a novel experience.
On the arm of the big boss, she found herself being regarded with a kind of deference and respect that made her smile inwardly.
As they moved from group to group, pausing to talk to what Martin termed the ‘more interesting’ of his guests, he introduced her simply as ‘Miss Reynolds, an English colleague.’
When the conversation invariably turned to the current financial scene, with a flattering certainty that she knew what she was talking about, he drew her into each discussion, inviting her opinion and treating her as an equal.
It was heady stuff.
An evening she’d only looked forward to because Keir was taking her became stimulating and enjoyable, despite his continued absence.
Towards eleven, people began to drift away, and she found herself saying goodnight to Martin’s guests as though she was his hostess.
The party was coming to an end, with still no sign of either Cheryl or Keir. Oh, what on earth was keeping them? she wondered.
Apparently interpreting her anxious expression, Martin said, ‘It doesn’t look as if they’re going to get back.’
‘No.’ The monosyllable sounded forlorn, when she’d meant it to sound matter-of-fact.
‘In that case, I’ll be happy to see you home.’
Knowing he and his sister shared an apartment on Fifth Avenue, she refused hastily. ‘Thank you, but there’s really no need for you to go out of your way.’
As though she hadn’t spoken, he asked, ‘Where do you live?’
She told him, adding firmly, ‘I can easily get a taxi.’
‘I won’t hear of it. A promise is a promise. And you’ve been neglected enough for one night.’
Not by him, she hadn’t. Though she was a mere employee and he the host of a party thrown solely for business reasons, Martin had contrived to put her interests before business.
Whereas Keir…
Though she immediately snapped off the disloyal thought, a faint feeling of resentment was born.
A hand beneath her elbow, Martin queried, ‘Have you a wrap?’
She shook her head.
‘Then, let’s go.’
When she had been handed into his silver-grey, chauffeur-driven limousine, Martin climbed in beside her and asked, ‘Have you discovered New York by night?’
‘Not really.’ She had spent most evenings sitting in her room, waiting in case Keir might call.
‘Then you must see Times Square and the lights on Broadway.’
Sliding aside the glass panel, Martin gave the chauffeur her address, adding, ‘Drive down Broadway, will you, Carlson?’
To Sera, he explained, ‘Broadway follows an old Indian trail, so it’s the one street that mars Midtown Manhattan’s perfect grid system…’
During the journey he pointed out things of interest and talked easily, entertainingly, about the New York scene and the current musicals.
‘I take it you haven’t been to a Broadway production yet?’ he queried.
‘No, but I’m certainly hoping to. Is it difficult to get tickets?’
‘That depends on what you’d like to see.’
She named one of the latest shows, and was totally disconcerted when he said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Oh, but I—I didn’t mean—’
Leaning over, he put a finger to her lips. ‘I know you didn’t. But it will be my pleasure.’
When they reached the Brownstone on Quarles Street, Martin got out with her.
A quick glance