for her.
Anne liked her boss, but sometimes she wished Laura Grainger didn’t exist. Maybe then Patrick might look her way?
A buzz made Anne jump. Hurriedly, she flicked down a switch on the console of her desk. ‘Yes, Laura?’
‘I’ve finished my phone call, Anne,’ Laura Grainger’s clear, cool voice said. ‘Any messages?’
‘No, but—’
Laura didn’t give her a chance to finish that sentence. ‘I wonder why I haven’t heard from Barry yet? Oh, well, before I forget, Anne, I have to see Mr Eyre on Tuesday, ten o’clock. I’ll probably be there all morning and it might stretch into lunch. If I have another appointment, make sure it’s shifted to some other time, would you?’
‘Yes, of course. Laura, Patrick is here,’ Anne said, scribbling hurriedly on her pad with a frantic air.
‘Send him in, then get the Courtleys Agency on the line for me, will you?’ Laura’s voice was businesslike and didn’t alter at the news that Patrick was there. How could she be so casual when the mere mention of his name made Anne’s heart leap like a salmon fighting its way upstream?
Anne’s brown eyes wistfully watched Patrick depart, his long legs moving gracefully and fast, as though he couldn’t wait to see Laura. He didn’t even look back. Anne sighed, then the phone rang and she picked it up.
‘Dudley and Grainger Public Relations, Miss Grainger’s office. Mr Dale? Oh, yes. I’ll see if Miss Grainger is free to talk to you.’
Patrick was walking towards her desk when the phone rang and Laura automatically picked it up, flicking a look at him, her green eyes smiling, and mouthed ‘Hi!’ before saying aloud, ‘Who? Mr Dale? Yes, put him through. Hello, Mr Dale—have you found anything interesting for me?’
Patrick opened his arms and let spring flowers tumble down all over her desk; their scent by now had been intensified by the central heating in the building and it filled the room with the fragrance of spring.
Laura looked down, startled, looked up again, her wide mouth curling in soundless laughter, and blew him a silent kiss.
‘Yes, quite right,’ she said into the phone.
Patrick walked round her desk, picking up a narcissus as he did so. He stood behind her, his slim body leaning on the back of her chair, and began stroking her clear-skinned face with the flower.
She gave a stifled snort of laughter.
‘Stop it! That tickles!’ she whispered, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand, pushing the narcissus away and then speaking into the phone. ‘No, I haven’t had time to look at what you sent me, Mr Dale. I’ve been too busy, but I’ll get round to it this evening.’
Patrick let the flower trail lightly down her chin to her throat, leaving a faint trace of golden pollen on her pale skin. When he began to stroke her breasts with it, his breathing quickening, Laura captured the narcissus and removed it from him, still talking calmly on the phone.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve been looking for! When can I see it?’
Patrick gave an audible sigh and sat back on the edge of her desk, watching her profile, half wryly, half with passion. Her pale gold hair shone in the spring sunlight, a light, wild mass of curls framing her elegant, fine-boned face. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever see her eyes light up with the same passion he felt for her.
‘This afternoon?’ Laura said, frowning. She was very aware of the way Patrick was looking at her and knew him far too well not to know what he was thinking. She shouldn’t have stopped him touching her, just now; he had that hurt look in his eyes and Laura hated to feel she’d hurt him. ‘No,’ she said absently. ‘That isn’t possible, I’m afraid. Any time during the weekend would suit me better. Tomorrow? Yes, eleven o’clock, Saturday, at your office, then; thank you, Mr Dale.’
She hung up and turned to Patrick, her eyes a vivid green in the sunlight. ‘That was Dale, the estate agent; he says a new place just came on to the market, just what we want. Can you come on Saturday morning? We could see this cottage, then have lunch somewhere in the country.’
‘Good idea.’ Patrick nodded, brightening. ‘Where is this cottage? Far from York?’
‘Quite a drive, apparently, and it’s not a straight run. That’s why we’re meeting Mr Dale at his office in Malton; he’ll show us the way there, and take us over the cottage. He said you drive from Malton as if you were going back to York, then take the Castle Howard road, and it’s six or so miles further on from Castle Howard itself, right out in the country. It was a farm cottage once. It’s isolated—some miles from the nearest village—but the farm is just across a field, Mr Dale said.’
Patrick looked a little dubious. ‘Do we want somewhere that isolated? Is there a road to this cottage, or is it in the middle of a field? Why do I get the feeling that I’m going to have to drive miles every day to get milk and bread?’
‘If the farm is that close, we’ll be able to get our milk and eggs fresh every day, and no doubt we could buy other things from them.’
‘Did Mr Dale tell you the price?’
‘A little below our maximum figure!’ said Laura triumphantly, and he made a disbelieving noise.
‘Well, that’s a first! All the others Dale suggested were above our maximum.’
‘Exactly. But we’ve been disappointed too often—I’m not getting too excited until I see it.’ She absently glanced down at the spring flowers on her desk and began to laugh, throwing back her head. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, buying all those flowers, you crazy man? What am I supposed to do with them all?’ She bent her head to inhale their fragrance and her blonde hair fell in ringlets and coils all over her face. ‘Mmm...gorgeous; you do think of the nicest presents! I love them!’
‘Never mind them—how about me? You’re supposed to tell me that you love me!’
‘I don’t need to; you already know I do!’ Laura said, green eyes looking at him through her long hair.
He pushed the hair back from her face to kiss her. ‘I’m so crazy about you,’ he whispered passionately against her mouth, and his hand ran up her spine, pressing her closer, his body touching her.
Laura kissed him back, gently, clasping his face between her palms, but when his caresses became more heated she pulled back, rather flushed. ‘Not in the office, Patrick!’ she muttered. ‘If a client walked in it could be embarrassing!’
Patrick gave a little grimace. ‘I know, sorry, but...you go to my head. OK, shall we go to lunch?’
She gave him an apologetic look. ‘Darling, I’m sorry, but—’
‘Laura, we had a date—I’ve booked for lunch at the Apollo!’
‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ Laura said ruefully. ‘I just can’t spare the time. I have to talk to the agency and fix a shoot with these girls for next week and then talk to the photographer again. There’s been a lot to do today. Look, let’s ring up and cancel the table and eat lunch up here. I’ll send out for sandwiches and fruit and some coffee.’
