Angela was determined to state his case. ‘It was Jackson’s lawyer who did the damage. Jackson himself was kind.’
‘The man’s dangerous. He has a reputation to put Casanova to shame.’
‘Lucky you.’ Angela sighed theatrically. ‘My Guy is boring.’
‘Boring is safe.’
‘Now, that…’ Angela tottered into Molly’s living room on ridiculously high heels and fell onto a settee ‘…is why I’m here. To stop you being boring. To get back to my original question: you’re not going to ask me, are you?’
‘To do what?’
‘To be your chaperon.’
‘No.’
‘You intend to take Sam, right?’
‘Right.’
Angela took a deep breath. ‘Well, I’ve decided to forgive you for not taking me. Though why I should, I don’t know. Because with me there you wouldn’t get a look-in. I’d sweep the man off his feet in two seconds flat.’
‘But you have Guy. Your fiancé, remember?’
Angela grinned. ‘That’s right. I have Guy, and as nobility is my middle name—’
‘Oh, please!’
‘Don’t interrupt me when I’m being noble. I’ve decided to offer my services as babysitter. For Sam. And for Lionel. There.’ She beamed. ‘How noble’s that?’
‘Very noble.’ Molly winced. Her hand hurt, she was dead tired and she had mountains of paperwork to plough through before bedtime. And what her friend was suggesting was impossible. ‘Angela, thanks for the offer, but you know I can’t leave Sam.’
‘He’ll be fine with me.’
‘He’ll be stoic. He’s always stoic and it breaks my heart.’
Angela’s face softened. ‘So share the care. I love the kid too, you know.’
‘I know you do.’ Angela’s heart was huge. ‘But, Angie, there’s only a chink of room for loving anyone left in him, and that chink’s for me. And that’s only because I look like his mother.’
‘And where does that leave you?’
‘Right here. With him. Where I want to be.’
‘So what are you doing now?’
‘I’m going to bed.’ It was a lie. She needed to ring Hannah Copeland for the property details, read everything she could find on the place and sort out the Section Thirty-Two. But if she told Angela that she’d drop everything and help.
‘It’s only nine o’clock.’
‘I’m injured.’
‘Not very injured. Come to our party.’
‘And leave Sam? I don’t have any choice in this, Angie, so let it be.’
Angela glared at her friend. ‘It’s so unfair.’
‘Life’s not fair.’
‘It should be. You sure you won’t change your mind about going alone? Leave Sam with me for just this once?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Then I’ll be here on Sunday night and I want a blow-by-blow description. Leaving out nothing.’
‘You and Trevor both. He’s already demanded a Sunday night debriefing.’
‘He would.’ Angela hesitated. You know…’ Her face changed and Molly knew what she was about to say. It would achieve nothing.
‘Angela, don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Try to solve the problems of the world.’ Molly gave her friend a push towards the door. ‘Go on. Back to Guy.’
‘Well, at least tell me what you’re wearing tomorrow,’ Angela demanded as she was propelled into the foyer.
‘Boring. Business. Black suit. White shirt.’
That stopped Angela in her tracks. ‘You’re never wearing boring for Jackson Baird?’
‘No. I’m wearing boring for me.’
‘This is the opportunity of a lifetime.’
‘To get myself seduced? I don’t think so.’
‘Molly, there’s seduced and there’s seduced. Boy, if Jackson Baird wanted to put his boots under my bed…’ Angela chuckled. ‘And honestly, Moll…’ She turned and faced her friend. ‘When I saw you both looking down at that little frog…’
Molly grinned at the picture that conjured up. ‘Romantic, wasn’t it?’
‘It was,’ Angela said firmly. ‘You looked like you could be the future Mrs Jackson Baird.’
‘Oh, yeah. In your dreams.’
‘Well, why not? He’s single. You’re single. He’s rich. That’s a recipe for marital bliss if ever I heard one.’
‘Angie, go!’
‘Only if you promise you won’t wear your business suit.’
‘Maybe I should wear jeans.’
‘No!’
‘What would you suggest?’
‘Something short. And slinky.’ She chuckled again and looked down at her very slinky dress, complete with slit almost to her thigh. ‘Something like this.’
‘Sure. Complete with ostrich feathers. To show a man over a farm and to care for an eight-year-old.’
‘And to marry a millionaire,’ Angela added. ‘Or a billionaire. Think big, girl.’
‘I’m thinking goodnight,’ her friend managed, and pushed her out through the door before she could say another word.
Jackson wasn’t sure who he’d expected as Molly’s chaperon. In fact if he’d thought about it at all—which he hadn’t—he would have said that he didn’t expect her to bring anyone—but the bespectacled child at her side was a shock.
As was Molly.
She looked stunning, he thought, watching her approach over the tarmac. There was no other word to describe her. She was about five feet four and neatly packaged, with a handspan waist and a halo of dark curls that bounced about her shoulders.
Yesterday she’d worn a business suit. Today she was wearing
