The Beautiful Widow. HELEN BROOKS
so I’m sending a big kiss and hug down the phone, OK? And I want you to promise you’ll go straight to bed now and Grandma will read you one story. You’ve got your trip tomorrow, haven’t you? And you don’t want to miss anything because you’re too tired.’
It worked. ‘All right, Mummy,’ Amelia said at once, handing the phone to her sister before Toni could say goodbye.
‘'Lo, Mummy,’ Daisy lisped, her voice softer and more babyish than Amelia’s. ‘When are you coming home?’
‘Soon, darling, but Grandma’s going to read your story tonight and tuck you in because Mummy’s trying to get that job I told you and Amelia about. Remember? Be a good girl for Grandma, won’t you? Go straight to sleep, promise me?’
‘Yesp.’ A tiny pause. ‘I lub you, Mummy.’
‘I love you, sweetpea.’ Swallowing the lump in her throat, she added, ‘I’ll come and kiss you when I get home, but I want you to go straight to sleep after your story.’
Her mother came on the line. ‘She’s nodding to whatever you just said, bless her. And I’m sorry, love. I forgot about that nursery trip. It’s gone clean out of my mind.’
Toni felt instantly guilty. Why should her parents have to remember about things like nursery trips at their age? They were in their early seventies; they should be enjoying the grandchildren visiting every so often for a few hours, not being with them full time. Richard hadn’t paid the rent on the flat they’d been living in for a while before he’d died, but even if they’d been up to date there was no way they could have continued to live there on what she could earn. A basic bedsit would be all she could afford and it would mean she wouldn’t be able to save anything towards paying off the mountain of debt Richard had left. Her parents continued to insist they loved having her and the grandchildren and wouldn’t hear of her moving out, but their small two-bedroomed terrace was bursting at the seams with the children’s paraphernalia. She slept on a sofa bed in the sitting room at night and she knew her parents’ calm, orderly life had been turned upside down. But what was the alternative?
Wearily she brushed a strand of dark brown hair laced with copper behind her ear. She was tired. Mentally and emotionally worn out, and she couldn’t think beyond this present moment or she’d lose any faint hope she had of landing this job. James had assured her Steel would pay well, exceptionally well if he thought she was the right person for the job. Steel’s employees rarely left the firm, he’d said drily, in spite of his reputation of being an exacting employer. An excellent salary and a generous package of benefits bought loyalty.
When Steel returned to the room she was sitting primly on the sofa, her manner one of cool composure. This lasted all of one moment due to him saying smoothly, ‘Maggie assures me there is more than enough dinner for two, Mrs George, and, as we haven’t finished the interview yet and I’m hungry, it seems sensible to kill two birds with one stone. Unless you have any objection, of course?’
Plenty, but she couldn’t very well say so. For a second or two she sat there dry-mouthed, his impossibly light eyes seeming to pin her to the spot. It took some effort to pull herself together but her voice was gratifyingly steady when she said, ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Landry. Thank you.’
‘Maggie will call us when the meal’s ready but in the meantime can I offer you a drink?’ He was walking across to the beautifully made glass cocktail cabinet in a corner or the room as he spoke. ‘I usually have a cocktail about this time of night if I’m not driving, but there’s red, white or rosé wine, along with various spirits and mixers, sherry, martini …’
‘A cocktail would be lovely.’ She was glad now she’d eaten the slice of cake Maggie had pressed on her. The day had been hectic and after she had dropped the twins off at their nursery she’d rushed from pillar to post and skipped lunch. Without the cake any alcohol would have gone straight to her head, but she felt Steel Landry would expect a sophisticated career woman to have a pre-dinner aperitif.
She watched as he prepared the cocktails, and as he carried two glasses back to where she was sitting she took one with a smile of thanks. ‘What is it?’
‘A Moscow Mule.’
He smiled, and her heart did a pancake flip. She took a tiny sip and the zingy concoction exploded on her taste buds and then left a warm glow where it travelled.
‘Despite its name it was invented in a Sunset Strip bar in 1940s Hollywood,’ Steel said lazily, sitting down opposite her once more and loosening his tie as he undid the top two buttons of his shirt.
It made concentrating on what he was saying hard, doubly so as he crossed one leg over the other knee and settled back comfortably. It was crazy, ridiculous, but every nerve in her body was registering his smallest action and she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because he was the most aggressively masculine man she’d ever met, and his voice—deep, smoky, compelling—added to the dark sexual appeal.
Summoning her thought process, Toni said weakly, ‘What’s in it? It tastes pretty powerful.’
He nodded his agreement. ‘Russian wheat vodka, lime juice and ginger beer. Apparently a spirits distributor was having trouble getting the Americans to buy his Russian vodka so he thought up a new drink with a barman who made his own, equally poorly selling, ginger beer. Enterprising, especially as it lives up to their marketing of having a kick like a mule.’
And Steel Landry was a man who would appreciate enterprise and initiative, she thought. Did he realise how intimidating he was? Probably. It was a tool that would serve him well in the cut-throat world of business. Wishing her neatly tailored, pencil-slim skirt were a couple of inches longer—although its knee-length had never bothered her before—she covertly tugged at it and readjusted her position before taking another sip of the cocktail.
‘Kids OK?’ he asked softly.
Startled, she met his gaze. ‘Yes, they’re fine.’
‘Then could you try to relax a little?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Painfully aware she’d turned an unflattering shade of crimson, Toni didn’t know where to put herself. ‘I am perfectly relaxed, thank you.’
‘You, Mrs George, are like a cat on a hot tin roof,’ he drawled slowly, ‘or maybe little Miss Riding Hood in front of the big bad wolf would be a better analogy. Whatever, I’m not going to try to seduce you over drinks and dinner.’
‘I never thought for a moment you were,’ she said hotly, such transparent honesty in her voice he couldn’t fail to believe her.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Then why so tense?’
She shrugged. How could she say she was desperate for the job? That it would make all the difference in the world to her if he paid half as well as James had intimated he might? She had enjoyed her time working for James’s practice; preparing the sketches and ideas for quotation and then, if the practice won the contract, putting together more detailed specifications and working drawings and getting approval for them. Once she’d put out the contract for the actual work—the decorating, furniture, coverings, etc.—to tender, she had been responsible for supervising it and seeing schedules were kept and problems solved. It had been tough sometimes when things went wrong but she’d been good at it and she knew she could handle anything Steel Landry might ask of her. The alternative was trying to pick up some freelance work or another job, both of which were in short supply to someone who’d been out of the running for the last four years.
She didn’t regret her time at home with the twins. Richard had had a very good job as a sales executive for a large pharmaceutical company and they should have been able to manage perfectly well until the twins started school and she went into the workplace again. She had been very careful to shop wisely and make a penny stretch to two, making the most of two-for-one offers and learning how to cook the cheaper cuts of meat until they were as tender as anything offered at the best restaurants. Most of the girls’ clothes she’d made herself, copying the latest designer fashions with such success she’d earnt