too proud for that,’ Catherine said with dignity, and Leyne did not have to wonder from where her sister, herself too for that matter, had inherited that pride.
She and Pip were on their way back to their home in Surrey when Leyne was again made to realise that Pip was every bit as bright as she had always thought. ‘You and Nanna were having a good chat,’ she remarked. ‘Was it about me?’ she asked, in her forthright manner.
Leyne saw no reason to lie to her. ‘I thought Nanna might be able to tell me something about your father, and—’
‘Did she?’ Pip asked eagerly. ‘Was—?’
‘Oh, love, try to be patient. I know it’s difficult for you, but it may take quite some while.’
Leyne hated not to be able to tell her what she had learned that day. And, had her mother not insisted she contact the chairman of J. Dangerfield, Engineers, before she acquainted Pip with her father’s name, Leyne might well have said more. But, on thinking about it, Leyne knew that her mother was right and that her niece would not want to leave it there. She would fidget and fidget at it and would not rest until she had met him. Leyne blamed herself that she had not thought it that far through. Pip could be a dogged little miss when she set her mind on anything. And what was more important to her than knowing—and meeting—her father?
Leyne faced then that, having willingly volunteered to act as Pip’s guardian, the task, up until Pip had asked that one important question, had been no task at all. But in her mother’s absence she was the dear child’s guardian, and therefore it was up to her, and no one else, to make whatever decisions were necessary in regard to the child’s welfare. Decisions, no matter how difficult, which were not to be shirked.
With the company name J. Dangerfield, Engineers, to the forefront of her mind, and a certainty growing in her head that she had heard or read some snippet about that firm recently, Leyne had to wait until Pip was in bed before she could take any action.
As luck would have it, there were almost a week’s newspapers awaiting collection for recycling.
After scouring three newspapers, Leyne was beginning to believe her memory for things inconsequential had let her down. But then, on the fourth paper, not in the business section, as she had supposed, she found herself staring at that which had stayed in her retentive brain for no particular reason.
It was a picture of one very good-looking, self-assured male, attending some gala evening. Just good friends? asked the caption, plainly referring to the glamorous and sophisticated-looking brunette hanging on his arm.
Jack Dangerfield, chairman of J. Dangerfield, Engineers, with his current lovely. Will Gina Sansome have more luck with the wily bachelor?
With her heart pounding Leyne studied the picture of the tall, dark-haired man. John Dangerfield, obviously known to all and sundry—with the exception of her mother—by the well-established diminutive form as Jack.
He was good-looking, far too good-looking for his own good in Leyne’s opinion, and, by the sound of it, still unmarried. And that annoyed her—he was running around fancy-free while Max had had to make sacrifices here and there in order that their daughter should want for very little.
Reading on, Leyne thought he looked to be about the same age as Max, perhaps about a year or so older. Young, however, to be chairman of a problem-solving firm of engineers who apparently, so she read, had an international reputation. Well, all she hoped, Leyne mused, was that as well as solving safety engineering problems, he could safely help her solve this particular nearer to home non-engineering problem.
Wondering if the fact that he must have been extremely ambitious to head such a well-respected company at his mid-thirties age was the reason why—not wanting to be tied down—he and Max had parted company, Leyne went to where they kept the telephone directories.
J. Dangerfield, Engineers, had many business lines, she found, but, not knowing Jack Dangerfield’s home address, it was plain she was going to have to contact him through his business.
Something, she discovered the very next morning, that was easier said than done. ‘Can I help at all?’ enquired the second person she spoke to.
‘It’s—er—a personal matter.’
‘Just one moment.’
‘May I help you?’ enquired a third voice.
‘I need to speak with Mr Jack Dangerfield. It’s a private matter,’ she added quickly, before she could be fobbed off.
She was fobbed off just the same. ‘Mr Dangerfield is out of the office for most of this week. Perhaps if you wrote in?’ suggested number three, which was of no help at all.
Feeling frustrated beyond measure, Leyne only just managed to hang on to her manners. ‘Thank you, I will,’ she replied, and came away from the phone finding that she could be every bit as stubborn as the other females in her family when she had to be.
She penned the letter straight away.
Dear Mr Dangerfield,
I need to speak with you on an urgent matter of family business.
She was very tempted to add something to the effect that it was about time he woke up and, instead of squiring elegant females to social functions, devoted some time and attention to his daughter. But she wanted to see him herself first; wanted first to judge if, despite him looking affable enough in his picture, he might turn out to be someone she would not want Pip to have any contact with. So, having written just that brief note, she signed herself, ‘Yours sincerely, Leyne Rowberry.’
And a fat lot of good it did her. A whole week went by, and—having decided not to give her mobile phone number or her office number—she did not want to take his call there but had written both her home phone number as well as her address—she had heard not a word from Mr Jack Dangerfield.
Pip had suffered a small asthma attack yesterday. It had proved nothing to be too alarmed about. But Leyne was concerned, and could not help wondering if the sensitive child was getting herself in something of an emotional stew with regard to her unknown father. Leyne had checked her niece over carefully on Monday morning before deciding she was well enough to go to school.
Leyne waited until ten o’clock and then, regardless that she was at her office, she rang J. Dangerfield, Engineers. ‘Mr Jack Dangerfield, please,’ she said, her tone businesslike. And was put on to voice number two. Leyne dug her heels in. ‘Mr Dangerfield is in today?’ she enquired, in her best professional manner.
‘He is. But he’s very busy. If I could—’
That the man was in business that day was all Leyne needed to know. ‘Thank you,’ she cut in on number two, injecting a smile into her voice—and rang off. Next she rang Dianne Gardner. ‘I have a bit of a problem,’ she began.
‘Anything I can help with?’
‘I may be a bit late collecting Pip tonight,’ she explained, hoping Dianne would think she was working late. ‘Would it be any trouble for her to stay on with you until I can get there?’
‘No trouble at all. Don’t rush. She can have dinner with us,’ Dianne offered. Their reciprocal back-up arrangement was working well.
Leyne went to see her boss just after lunch.
