that many.’
‘And why did none of these frogs turn out to be the prince in disguise?’ He put a plate in front of her, brimming with bacon and eggs, far more than she could have eaten in a month of Sundays.
‘How is it that you can cook a meal and make a bed and your brother is so hopeless?’
‘Is that your not so subtle way of changing the subject?’ Cesar sat down, fork in hand, and began tucking into his breakfast, which was roughly double the amount he had set in front of her. ‘I find that it pays to be able to do everything for myself, even if I might choose not to, and that includes cooking and cleaning.’
‘Fine. In that case you can make yourself useful around here if you can’t drive back for a couple of hours…’ Jude glanced outside at the unpromising sight of snow flurries, which seemed to be reminding her that the weather forecasters might have had their fingers on the button when they’d predicted more snowfall. ‘I’m pretty useless at both.’ Their eyes met for an instant and Jude flushed. ‘Or at least uninterested.’
Cesar grunted. It was a grunt, Jude decided, that was laced with criticism. She could just feel it. The man didn’t have to actually say anything to make his opinions clear. Poor Freddy, written off by his big brother because he didn’t like wearing a suit and going into an office every day to stare at charts and profit and loss columns, having his ideas greeted with those grunts of disapproval.
‘I guess you’re one of those ultra-traditional men who think that all women should either be chained to a stove or else whistling a merry tune as they push a vacuum cleaner up and down the stairs,’ she said tetchily.
‘I admit that when it comes to the opposite sex I have pretty traditional views—am I letting myself in for a feminist lecture now? Because you seem to be very sensitive on the subject.’
‘Of course I’m not sensitive on the subject,’ Jude scoffed, stabbing a piece of bacon with her fork. She thought of James, the disappearing ex-boyfriend who had left smiling and apologising and wittering on about remaining friends. Eight months ago she had heard through a mutual acquaintance that he had since married a sweet blonde thing who had instantly become pregnant and they were both busily doing up a house somewhere in Wiltshire in preparation for the new arrival.
‘Most men are…’ he said provocatively. ‘Fernando included.’
‘Is that your way of warning me off him, should I have ideas above my station lurking at the back of my mind?’ She stood up, plate in hand, and went across to the sink, from which she had a spectacular view of increasing snow.
When she looked around, it was to find him clearing the rest of the table. In an ideal world he would have remained sitting, she supposed, having enjoyed a lavish breakfast prepared by his woman, who would tidy the kitchen without asking for help and then make him comfortable in the sitting room with a newspaper and a roaring fire. Curiosity reared its unwelcome head again and she caught herself wondering what these women of his looked like. Freddy had told her that he apparently had killer appeal when it came to the opposite sex.
‘Maybe—’ she smirked ‘—Freddy isn’t quite as traditional as you think.’
Cesar looked at her sharply and Jude shot him a mysterious smile. In actual fact, traditional-hearted Freddy had found his perfect match in Imogen because, never mind her past occupation, she was as conventional and feminine as they came and always had been. Barbie dolls had been her favourite toys at the age of seven, pink her favourite colour at the age of fourteen and she was a dream in the kitchen. While Jude had been playing football with the boys, her best friend had been experimenting with make-up and, for every botched meal Jude had scraped into the rubbish bin in Home Economics class, Imogen had produced its faultless equivalent. And enjoyed it!
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning you don’t give your brother enough credit.’ Well, that was certainly true enough. She had worked with Freddy from every angle when it came to the jazz club, had heard him explain his ideas lucidly and persuasively to accountants, had seen his fledgling plans slowly come to fruition without hitches…
‘I know Fernando better than you think.’ Did he, though? Would Fernando be attracted to a fiery, opinionated, mutinous, downright exasperating woman like this one? A woman who said whatever was on her mind and hang the consequences? Fernando, Cesar thought, would never be able to handle a woman like her! She had said that there was no romantic involvement between them. Was there? It annoyed him that his usual unerring accuracy at reading women seemed to be letting him down now.
‘Even though you never see him?’ Jude asked sweetly. She began washing the dishes.
‘I don’t see my brother because I literally don’t get the time.’ Cesar walked towards the kitchen door, thought better of leaving and turned back to look at her with a disgruntled, exasperated expression. ‘Yes, I work damn long hours. When I took over the company, it was in the throes of internal warfare. I stabilised it and hauled it into the twenty-first century, selling off what I had to and sinking money into speculative investments that paid off. None of that gets done sipping cocktails on a beach in the Caribbean or hitting the slopes in Aspen!’ He raked his fingers through his hair and glowered at her as she continued to pile the dishes haphazardly on the dish rack. ‘I’ve never known my brother to rise to the challenge of anything,’ Cesar heard himself saying. ‘And that includes his choice of women.’
‘And you do?’ Jude turned to look at him. He was leaning against the door frame and the strength of his personality seemed to fill the kitchen, unseen but powerful and suffocating.
His lack of an immediate answer supplied the information she wanted.
‘My choice of women is not the issue here.’
‘You should give Freddy a chance. He feels…’
‘Feels what…? I’m all ears.’
‘Inadequate compared to you. He feels that you’ll shoot him down in flames because he hasn’t followed in your footsteps. At the snap of your fingers, his trust fund will go up in smoke and I don’t suppose that’s the nicest feeling in the world.’
‘He’s told you all this, has he? Or are these loose interpretations based on a one-year relationship?’
‘He’s told me.’
‘Have you had sex with him?’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. You are clearly sleeping with Fernando, because your conversations seem pretty meaningful.’
‘Our conversations are normal.’ Jude was bright red, her hands clenched at her sides. ‘Normal people discuss how they feel about things, what their hopes and dreams are…’ And these had been with Imogen present, just random, casual conversations over spaghetti bolognese at his flat, with some music playing in the background and the three of them all having one too many glasses of wine and putting the world to rights. Cesar might invest something meaningful into her last statement but Jude wasn’t going to supply him with a blow-by-blow description of who said what and where and how and when.
‘You’ve vaguely answered part two of my question but what about part one?’
‘No, I haven’t slept with your brother, not that it’s any of your business.’
Cesar
