picture came, briefcase in hand, out through the doors.
He was a fast mover, and was down the steps before she had got over her surprise and budged an inch. Then she was galvanised into action. Fortunately he was heading her way.
‘Mr Dangerfield!’ She accosted him before they drew level.
His eyes flicked over her neat and curvaceous figure, taking in her lovely face and hair, and superb blue eyes. ‘You have the advantage,’ he paused to drawl charmingly.
‘Leyne Rowberry,’ she supplied, and looked into his eyes for a flicker of recognition at her name. There was none, but a small gasp of breath escaped her. Oh, my word, those eyes! There was no need to ask from where Pip had inherited her lovely green eyes. Nor too her jet-black hair. ‘Er—I wrote to you.’ She gathered herself back together to explain.
‘You did?’ He glanced at his watch, all too plainly a man in a hurry.
‘You didn’t reply.’
‘And what did you write about, Miss Rowberry?’ he enquired, everything about him telling her she had about five seconds before he strode off and left her standing there.
‘It’s a family matter,’ she replied, adding for good measure, lest he thought the problem was solely hers, ‘Your family.’
He did not like that. All too clearly, as a chilly expression came over his good-looking features, his family were sacrosanct. He made to move off.
There was no time to dress it up. ‘To be more precise, I wrote to you because of your daughter!’ she said quickly.
That stopped him dead in his tracks. ‘My what?’ he demanded, an expression of such total astonishment replacing his chilly look that Leyne had the most appalling sensation that he did not even know he had a daughter.
Immediately she discounted that notion. That couldn’t be right—could it?
CHAPTER TWO
‘I WROTE to you about your daughter,’ Leyne repeated firmly, determined, as disbelief and total scepticism replaced his look of astonishment.
But it was that look, his seemingly genuine look of this being the first he had heard that he had a daughter, that caused Leyne to falter, that odd notion starting to grow and grow that he had not even known that Max had given birth to his child. And Leyne found herself asking, ‘You do know that you have a daughter?’ She was beginning to feel a shade awkward. If he had been entirely unaware of Pip’s existence, Leyne realised she had just dropped something of a very big bombshell on him.
A few moments later, however, and she was feeling more infuriated than awkward when, ‘You’re an attractive woman, Miss—er—Rowberry,’ he drawled. ‘Not to say quite beautiful—in a good light,’ he added mockingly. ‘Which makes me positive that had I had the—hmm—pleasure—I would most certainly have remembered it.’
His meaning was obvious, and colour flared to her face. Embarrassment mingled with anger. ‘Your daughter wants to know who you are—your name!’ she flared. ‘And if—’
‘The hell she does!’ he retorted. But, giving her a steady-eyed stare, ‘You have a daughter old enough to make such a request?’
‘I’m twenty-three…’ Leyne began, and was at once impatient with herself and him. ‘Pip, Philippa, is eleven and a half—twelve next April. She—’
‘You’re not her mother,’ he stated, clearly wanting to know what any of this had to do with her.
‘I’m her aunt. Max—Maxine, Pip’s mother, is my sister.’
‘Maxine Rowberry,’ he said, chewing over the name before pronouncing, ‘Never heard of her. Therefore, never met the lady.’
‘Her name’s not Rowberry; it’s Nicholson.’
‘Same applies,’ he replied, plainly not even having to think about it. ‘Mrs Nicholson?’ he enquired.
‘Miss,’ Leyne enlightened him. ‘Max is my half-sister. She isn’t married.’
‘Why hasn’t she told the child who her father is?’
‘Max always intended to, but—’
‘Why didn’t she write to me?’ he questioned, a direct look in those green eyes.
Apart from those green eyes, who did that direct look remind her of? No need to guess. ‘My sister is abroad on business for six months. In her absence, I’m her daughter’s guardian.’
‘Hmph!’ It seemed, as he gave another quick glance to his watch, that Jack Dangerfield had all the information he required. ‘I’m late for my appointment,’ he told her shortly, and appeared about to stride off.
‘Mr Dangerfield!’ She stopped him, her voice sharp in her moment of anxiety. ‘I can’t leave it like this! I—’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to. If you’ve written to me your letter will be on file,’ he stated. And, already on his way, ‘My PA will contact you,’ he added.
‘But—’ Leyne protested anyway—a totally wasted exercise. He was gone and she was speaking to herself.
Feeling door-slammingly frustrated, and not a scrap further forward, and doubting very much if she would be hearing from either Jack Dangerfield or his PA, Leyne went to her car and drove home.
When she had calmed down sufficiently she rang Dianne Gardner and explained she was home earlier than expected and would collect Pip shortly.
‘No need if you’ve work to catch up on,’ Dianne assured her, aware that Leyne quite often worked from home. ‘The girls are fine, and, to tell the truth, having Pip here as her guest seems to bring out Alice’s better manners.’
Realising she must be referring to the stroppy phase Dianne had told Max that Alice was going through, Leyne put down the phone and glanced at the work she would complete before morning.
She did not start work straight away, however, but thought back to her meeting with Jack Dangerfield. Though in actual fact it had been more a mutual ruffling up of antagonistic feathers than a meeting! Hardly a meeting either, since it had been none of his making but more his initial halting when she had planted herself full-square in front of him on that pavement.
Leyne was not ashamed of what she had done. It was he who should be ashamed. How dared he deny paternity of Pip? Notwithstanding that they both had the same raven-black hair, one only had to look into those same green eyes to see the resemblance.
How could he walk away? Just like that! While it seemed true that he’d had no idea of Pip’s existence until she had told him of his daughter, to walk off the way he had was inexcusable.
Well, he needn’t think he could fob her off with his condescending ‘My PA will contact you’! She would give him a few days, a week at the most, and if she hadn’t heard from him by next Monday she would again be waiting for him when he came out from J. Dangerfield, Engineers.
Leyne’s
