home from the airport.’
Kerry tried not to let her reactions show in her expression. Up until this moment it hadn’t occurred to her that mother and son might share the same house.
‘He insisted I come to live with him after Richard died,’ said Estelle, as if guessing her thoughts. ‘We get along well enough to make the arrangement work, although I’ll naturally be moving out to a place of my own when he eventually marries. Not,’ she added, ‘that it’s likely to be imminent. He’s still far too fond of playing the field!’
‘Does he know about the memoirs?’ asked Kerry, not about to be drawn into any comment on that score.
‘Not yet.’ Estelle paused, appraising the vibrant face before her with its wide-spaced green eyes, high cheek-bones and expressive mouth framed by the tumble of chestnut hair. ‘Just as a matter of interest, did you ever consider doing photographic work? Your colouring is superb!’
It was Kerry’s turn to laugh. ‘I’m sure it takes a lot more than just colouring.’
‘You have the bone structure too. A shame to waste it.’ Estelle’s voice became brisker. ‘I’ve been jotting down notes for the last week or so, but they’re very fragmentary. I thought if I just lay back and let it come as I recalled it all might be the best method. It can be revised afterwards. That’s providing you can work that way, of course?’
‘My shorthand should be up to it,’ Kerry confirmed.
‘Good. I did consider using a dictation machine, but they’re so impersonal. I’ll expect you to give me constructive criticism. Helen Carrington said you were extremely literate.’
‘I read a lot, if that’s anything to go by.’
‘Biographies?’
‘Among other things. I can’t call myself a qualified critic.’
‘Few critics can,’ came the dry reply, ‘but it doesn’t stop them doing it. Your honest comment is all I ask.’
‘You’ll have it,’ promised Kerry, trusting to the inner sense that told her the book was going to be a winner. This woman had led a full and fascinating life, with more to it than ever before publicised from what she had said earlier. There was nothing the public loved more than juicy revelation. ‘Monday, it is.’
A long blue Mercedes was drawing up as she exited the house, slotting into the allocated space with dexterity. Dark-haired and powerfully built, the man who got out from the driving seat was instantly familiar. Taller even than his photographs suggested, Kerry assessed as he moved round the car: at least six-two. Caught on the step, she felt unable to simply walk away.
Lee Hartford eyed her with speculative interest, running a swift but comprehensive glance down her shapely length. ‘Looking for me, by any chance?’ he asked.
The depth and timbre of his voice was in total harmony with his appearance, striking a chord on her stomach muscles. A not unusual reaction, Kerry was sure, although she deplored it in herself. His business acumen apart, this man was everything to be despised in the male sex.
‘I’ve been to see Mrs Sullivan,’ she said levelly.
‘Oh?’ He waited, obviously expecting something more, thick dark brows drawing together a fraction when she failed to add to the statement. ‘You know her personally?’
‘No.’ Kerry hesitated. ‘I think it best if she tells you the whys and wherefores herself.’
The line between his brows deepened. ‘Nothing wrong, I hope?’
‘No.’ Not from her point of view, at least, she thought. ‘Purely a business matter,’ she added.
‘What kind of business?’
‘It isn’t my place to say,’ she returned firmly. ‘Good morning, Mr Hartford.’
He made no attempt to detain her as she moved purposefully down the remaining two steps, but she could feel his gaze on her back the whole way to the corner of the Georgian square, and was relieved to turn out of sight
Brief though it had been, the encounter had ruffled her. Tall, dark and devastating was how one recent and obviously smitten journalist had described the man. What she had neglected to mention was his arrogance—his way of looking at a woman as if she were there purely for his delectation. Kerry could still feel the impact of those grey eyes assessing every detail of her face and body.
The antipathy he aroused in her was no surprise. Even without Sarah’s experience to turn her against him, she would probably have felt the same instinctive dislike. How Sarah could have imagined for a moment that a man like that was to be trusted she couldn’t conceive. His kind were takers not givers; one didn’t need a degree in psychology to recognise that much.
The fact that he would possibly be around at times was certainly no enhancement to this job so far as she was concerned. On the other hand, she sure as hell wasn’t about to turn down what promised to be one of the most interesting assignments she had ever been offered because of him. She would be working with his mother, not him.
As an actress, Estelle Lester—to give her her stage name—had rated high; as a character in her own right she came across as shrewd and intelligent, with an inner warmth that greatly appealed. Difficult to equate with the kind of man her son appeared to be. Other than the grey eyes, the only immediate point of resemblance between the two was in the dark hair.
Whatever the circumstances of the actress’s first marriage, Kerry had never, so far as she could recall, seen or heard mention of the name Hartford in that connection. She did, however, remember the wedding four years ago with top-flight American attorney, Richard Sullivan.
Finding such a love so comparatively late in life, only to have it snatched away again so soon, was bad enough in itself, without the loss of a career. The memoirs were probably as much a means of reliving her life through her mind’s eye as a potential money-spinner, Kerry reckoned. With Lee Hartford for a son, money could hardly be a problem anyway.
Cold and damp and gloomy, the day was typical of the time of year, making her thankful for the warm coat and high leather boots. With Christmas a bare three weeks away it might have made more sense to wait until the New Year to start this project, but hers was not to reason why.
Working for the agency this last year had proved infinitely more rewarding than the usual day-to-day routine all round.
The offer of a transfer three years ago to the London branch of the company she had worked for back home had seemed like manna from heaven at the time, but one office was much the same as another when stuck in it all day. Although life here obviously had a lot more to offer than the northern town where she had grown up, living it was also a lot more expensive. Profiles not only offered new interests, but a salary topping anything she had received to date.
The journey back to Battersea took appreciably longer than that coming out, due to some hold-up on the line. Off work herself, recovering from a bout of flu, her flatmate, Jane, was eager to hear how things had gone.
‘Having his mother living with him must cramp his style some,’ she commented when Kerry told her about Lee Hartford’s surprise relationship. ‘Although being an actress, she’s probably a lot more open-minded than my mother would be. Judging from his publicity, he’s a real
