interest, ‘Do you?’
He shook his head. ‘My mother’s the musician in the family. If she hadn’t gone into acting she might have made a concert pianist.’
‘She’s very talented.’ The admiration was genuine. ‘A great loss to the theatre.’
‘There’s no reason why she shouldn’t start over. Her agent already found the right vehicle for a come-back.’
‘Perhaps it’s just too soon,’ Kerry suggested. ‘She’s been through a lot.’
The strong mouth took on a slant. ‘More than the media would know, for sure.’
The intimation that she could have little idea herself was like a slap in the face. All she had meant to do was express sympathy. She took the chair he indicated, dismayed when he sat down himself on one of the sofas and lifted one leg comfortably over the other in a gesture that scarcely indicated an imminent departure.
‘I’ll be perfectly all right on my own,’ she repeated. ‘You really don’t have to wait.’
His shrug was easy. ‘I’m in no hurry. I understand your first name is Kerry?’
‘Yes.’ The skirt she was wearing had seemed conservative enough this morning at an inch above the knee, but it had ridden up when she sat down, exposing rather more Lycra-clad thigh than she felt comfortable with right now. She put down a hand to tug at the hem, desisting abruptly as the grey eyes followed her movement—hating the smile that flickered at the corners of his mouth.
‘Nice,’ he commented.
He could have been referring to the name, of course, but Kerry doubted it. There was even a chance that he imagined she was putting on a show for his benefit. Short of getting up again, there was little she could do to cover the exposed leg, which left her with no option but to ignore it.
‘My mother seems impressed with you all round, in fact,’ he went on. ‘On the face of it, I’d go along with her—but, then, face values aren’t always the best criteria.’
‘Helen Carrington at Profiles will have already verified my qualifications and vouched for my character,’ Kerry returned tartly. ‘You don’t need to worry about my stealing the family silver!’
‘That thought hadn’t actually occurred to me.’ He regarded her with quizzical expression, his gaze lingering on the full ripeness of her mouth for a moment. ‘Are you always this hostile, or is it me in particular you’re against?’
Already regretting the momentary loss of composure, she made an effort to sound properly repentant. ‘I apologise. I was out of line.’
‘I didn’t ask for apologies, only explanations.’
‘I don’t have to explain anything,’ she returned on as cool a note as she could conjure. ‘I’m not in your employ, Mr Hartford.’
The glint in the grey eyes became a gleam, infinitely disturbing. ‘You’re in my home. That gives me certain rights, wouldn’t you say?’
He was mocking her again, his whole manner nervejangling. Kerry steeled herself not to react, thankful when Estelle chose that moment to put in an appearance. Whatever her feelings toward the man, she would have done better to keep them under wraps, she reflected wryly.
‘Sorry to be so tardy,’ proffered the older woman. ‘A few things I had to do before we get started. I hope Lee’s been looking after you.’
‘Oh, I have,’ her son assured her. ‘Kerry and I had a very interesting conversation.’ The grey eyes turned her way again, the mockery still evident. ‘You don’t mind my using your first name?’
It took an effort, but she managed to keep her tone level. ‘Not at all, Mr Hartford.’
‘Lee,’ he returned. ‘Let’s not stand on ceremony.’
Estelle looked from one to the other with sudden interest. ‘Am I missing something?’
‘Nothing of any importance,’ Kerry assured her before her son could answer. ‘I’m ready whenever you are, Mrs Sullivan.’
The older woman smiled. ‘As Lee just said, let’s not stand on ceremony. Call me Estelle.’
Kerry smiled back. ‘All right, Estelle.’
The door opened again to admit the housekeeper, carrying a tray. Lee got up to take it from her and deposit it on the table set between the two sofas, looking across enquiringly at Kerry. ‘Black or white?’
It was already gone ten, she realised, catching a glimpse of the mantel clock out of the corner of her eye. By now he should surely be thinking about going to the office? The Hartford Corporation occupied several floors of a city high-rise, with a staff of several hundred; she knew that because she had worked there for a short period a few months back as a fill-in for someone off ill, although she had seen nothing of the company president at the time.
‘Black, no sugar, please,’ she requested.
‘The way I like it too,’ he acknowledged, pouring a cup and handing it to her. ‘So we do have something in common.’
The only thing, she wanted to say, but with Estelle there she contented herself instead with a faint curl of her lip, not caring a damn if he saw it. Too late now, anyway, to pretend indifference. He already recognised her antagonism. If he proved curious enough to question further the source at some point, she might very well tell him!
Estelle took her coffee with a little cream but also refused sugar. Slim and shapely in cream jersey, she looked far from her age. She could play a woman in her thirties without any difficulty, given stage make-up and lighting, Kerry judged.
Her reluctance to return to the theatre seemed strange on the face of it. She had been such a star; she could so easily be one again. Her agent was obviously for it so why the hesitation? Surely not fear of failure? An actress of her calibre could never fail.
It was almost half past ten before Lee made a move at last.
‘I’m playing squash with Phil early evening,’ he announced, ‘so don’t wait dinner. We’ll eat at the club.’
‘Give Phil my love,’ said his mother, ‘and tell him it’s about time he came over.’
‘You could always pay him a visit,’ Lee pointed out mildly.
‘With Renata playing Lady Bountiful?’ She shook her head. ‘Not my scene, darling.’
The shrug held resignation. ‘I’ll convey the message.’ He lifted a brief hand in Kerry’s direction, the twist of his lips conveying a different message. ‘Have a nice day.’
Estelle turned a speculative glance as the door closed behind him, registering the faint colour in Kerry’s cheeks. ‘I’ve a feeling you’re not over-impressed with my son,’ she said mildly.
The colour deepened a little. ‘I’m sorry if that’s how it came across.’
‘You don’t need to be. He can be pretty infuriating when the mood takes him. From the
