should!’
‘You’re my friend, my very good friend, but not my boyfriend.’
‘You’re saying a good friend wouldn’t mind being passed over for something better?’
‘Travis!’
‘Oh, all right. Come to tea tomorrow.’
‘Without fail,’ she promised.
‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I love you too—as a brother.’
Karrie came away from the phone wishing Travis would meet someone really special and that they would fall mutually in love. He was nice, really nice. He deserved someone special. And with that thought—‘someone special’—Farne Maitland was in her head again.
Her mother came home at lunchtime, but not her father. Karrie dared to ask where he was. ‘He didn’t say—but he’ll be cooking up some business deal somewhere. I wonder why he doesn’t take his bed to his office; he’s always there!’ Margery Dalton complained bitterly. ‘Are you out tonight?’
‘To dinner, I think.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Travis?’
‘I’m having tea with Travis Watson tomorrow,’ Karrie said. ‘I’m going out with a man called Farne Maitland tonight.’
‘Farne Maitland?’ Her mother weighed the name up. It meant nothing to her. ‘Is he new or have I met him before?’
‘I met him on Tuesday, at work,’ Karrie replied. ‘Though he doesn’t work at Irving and Small,’ she tacked on hastily. ‘That is, he...’ Suddenly she felt all shy and flustered just talking about him. ‘He works for their parent company,’ she added, and quickly changed the subject to enquire, ‘Have you anything planned for tonight?’
‘I’ve a good murder story to read—though I wouldn’t mind planning one,’ she volunteered, and even though Karrie knew that her mother meant her father, she had to laugh.
Karrie was no longer smiling when, that evening, dressed in a short-sleeved above the knee black dress that was a perfect foil for her delicate colouring, she waited for Farne Maitland to arrive. By then self-doubt had begun to creep in. Normally she was quite confident about herself. But she didn’t normally go in for dating such men as Farne. Would he find her gauche, too unsophisticated?
Oh, she wished that she’d never said yes! Her sense of humour asserted itself when she realised she couldn’t actually remember saying yes. Or, for that matter, agreeing she would go out with him at all. Her confidence started to return—it would serve him right if she wasn’t in when he called.
From her bedroom window she saw a long black car purr smoothly into the drive and elegantly wind its way to the front of the house. Butterflies entered her tummy, her confidence flying as, taking up her small evening bag, she left her room and went down the stairs.
Once in the hall she stood composing herself as she waited for Farne Maitland to ring the bell—he’d think her more than eager if she had the door open before he’d got within yards of it.
The bell sounded. She swallowed and suddenly felt extraordinarily hot. She went forward and pulled back the stout front door, some kind of greeting hovering on her lips. But as she stared at the tall man, with that darkish hair and those piercing blue eyes, her voice died on her. He too seemed stuck for words, though she discounted that a moment later.
He surveyed her from where he stood, and then the most devastating smile winged its way from him to her and, his tone light, he said, ‘I refuse to believe there is anything false about you, Mr and Mrs Dalton’s daughter, but, tell me truly, did your hair become that fantastic colour completely unaided?’
Her insides went all marshmallowy, but from somewhere she found an equally light tone to reply, ‘I would never lie to you, Mr and Mrs Maitland’s son. It’s never seen a chemical dye. My father’s not in at the moment, but come in and meet my mother.’
Still feeling a little shaky, Karrie turned about and led the way into the graceful drawing room. Though Bernard Dalton was rarely, if ever, on the receiving end of it, her mother had charm. She conversed pleasantly with Farne who, with abundant charm of his own, chatted in return until, all courtesies dealt with, he commented, ‘I’ve a table booked for eight.’ And, her mother, acquainted with the fact that Karrie would not be ravenous for a sandwich when she got home, said goodbye.
That was when Karrie discovered that she had worried needlessly about being unsophisticated. For Farne Maitland seemed to enjoy her company as much as she enjoyed his, and from the start there was never a moment when he allowed her to feel gauche or awkward.
‘Have you lived here long?’ he enquired as he steered his car down the drive.
‘All my life—I was born in this house,’ she replied.
‘You find it convenient for getting in and out of London daily?’
‘Far from it,’ she smiled, starting to feel more and more relaxed. ‘But that’s where my job is.’
‘I’m glad,’ he responded.
‘Glad?’ Why was he glad it took her an hour each way to get to and from her place of work?
‘Glad you no longer work for your father.’
‘Is there anything you don’t know?’ Honestly! His research into her background hadn’t stopped at just finding out her first name, address and telephone number!
‘What’s the point of taking the responsibility of being on the corporation’s board if I can’t take advantage of the perks of the job?’ he grinned.
Her heart flipped over. My word, was he something else again! ‘I expect you’re always checking the files of Irving and Small’s personnel department?’ she suggested.
Farne took his glance briefly off the road and gave her a warm look. ‘You’re the one and only—and I wouldn’t lie to you,’ he said softly, and something wondrous which she couldn’t give a name to started happening inside her. His eyes were back on the road when he asked, ‘Are you going to forgive me that—in complete confidence, in case it worries you—I had the director of Personnel fax me your application form and CV yesterday?’
Wow! Karrie took a steadying breath. ‘Do I get to see your curriculum vitae?’
‘Ask anything you want to know,’ he offered, and she could not help but be impressed by his utter openness.
Her dinner with him went splendidly. Farne had a table reserved for them at a discreet, stylish—and, she suspected, very expensive—eating establishment in London. And, true to his word, he unhesitatingly answered every question she put to him. Although, since she didn’t want him to gain the impression that she was over-eager to know everything about him, she made her questions as impersonal as she could.
‘Do you live in London?’ she asked.
‘I’ve
