them with grilled smoked bacon, followed by toast with cherry jam and some strong coffee.
Then, dressed in a neat grey skirt and white blouse topped by a navy jacket, she set off for the Ingram Organisation.
Tina, the office secretary, greeted her wide-eyed. ‘The phone line between here and France was burning up on Friday,’ she whispered, and nodded towards Wendy Ingram’s office door. ‘Go right in. She’s waiting for you.’
Mrs Ingram was on the phone when Marin entered, nodding briskly and making notes on a pad in front of her. She gestured to Marin to take a seat then, her call over, she put down her pen and leaned back in her chair.
‘That’s quite a can of worms you seem to have opened,’ she observed caustically. ‘According to Ms Mason, you’re a home-wrecker—a sex-mad wolf in sheep’s clothing who abused her hospitality, her kindness and her trust.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘So, any comment?’
Marin met her gaze steadily. ‘I think the lady is blaming the wrong wolf,’ she said quietly, and gave a succinct and unemotional account of what had happened. ‘I think, when she decided to hire me, she assumed it would be safe,’ she added. ‘That I wouldn’t be his type.’
Wendy Ingram gave a sharp, angry sigh. ‘I suspected as much. In the heat of the moment, Ms Mason said rather more than she intended. And she is now blacklisted.’ She clicked on her computer and looked at the screen. ‘But it leaves me with a difficulty about you. I have nothing until next week at the earliest, and that would be another residential job, running the admin for a veterinary practice in Essex.
‘Their office manager is the sister of one of the vets, but she’s off to Australia for a month, and her local replacement has broken her right arm quite badly so this is something of an emergency.’
She paused. ‘You’d need to spend a couple of days being shown the ropes, and you’d be using Ginny Watson’s flat.
She sighed. ‘I was sending Fiona, but it seems she doesn’t want to be apart from her boyfriend for four weeks, and this is a busy set-up, hardly likely to want someone moping about the place. So, how does it sound to you?’
Like the answer to a prayer, thought Marin. For so many reasons.
Aloud, she said, smiling, ‘You can safely tell Fiona she’s off the hook.’
She had a rich Bolognese sauce bubbling on the stove when Lynne returned that evening, a pan of water heating for the pasta and garlic bread waiting to go in the oven.
Lynne scented the air appreciatively. ‘I think I’ll hire you myself.’
‘Too late.’ Marin informed her. ‘I’m off to deepest Essex next week to work for some vets. Small animals a speciality, which would seem to cut out wolves.’ She smiled. ‘And, as I’m now working again, I don’t need any more money from Mr Radley-Smith. So next weekend is hereby cancelled.’
‘Ah,’ Lynne said quietly, and paused.
Marin stopped stirring the sauce and looked at her. ‘What’s the matter? I thought you’d be cheering.’
‘I probably would,’ Lynne said grimly. ‘If I hadn’t spent much of the day fielding phone calls from Diana Halsay.’ She shook her head. ‘She’s not giving up without a struggle.’ She gave Marin a long look. ‘I think Rad’s relying on you, babe. In fact, I know he is, because I have orders to take you shopping tomorrow.’
‘The only thing I’ll be shopping for is more jeans and some wellies.’ Marin lifted her chin. ‘Naomi worked for a vet in Norfolk a couple of months back, and she said she spent a lot of time tramping behind him over ploughed fields.’
Lynne sighed. ‘Well, before you go on this agricultural spree, could you turn your attention to a couple of evening dresses and all that goes with them instead—no expense spared?’ She added gently. ‘You know I wouldn’t ask you to do this unless I thought it was necessary. And if it’s any reassurance,’ she went on, brightening. ‘I told Rad that he wasn’t your type.’
Marin swung round from the stove, aghast. ‘Reassurance?’ She shuddered. ‘I bet that went down like a lead balloon.’
Lynne grinned. ‘Not a bit of it. He said he’d already worked that out for himself. Anyway, he was quiet for a moment, then promised me on all he held sacred that he’d look after you and that you weren’t to worry about a thing.’
‘All Jake Radley-Smith holds sacred?’ Marin gave a hollow laugh. ‘That must be one of the shortest lists in the universe.’
Lynne’s eyes narrowed as she poured the pasta into the boiling water and added a dash of olive oil. ‘Whoa there, missy. He may be allergic to marriage, but that’s not a hanging offence.
‘Last night you were assuring me there was nothing to worry about, that you could cope and only the cash mattered. Now he’s suddenly turned into Bluebeard. What’s changed?’
Marin shrugged defensively. ‘Perhaps I realised that you were right and I was wrong.’
‘But the money would still be handy,’ Lynne reminded her. ‘The rent you’re getting on your flat only covers the mortgage payments. You’ve nothing put away for contingencies.’
She added slowly, ‘Besides, during the time I’ve worked for him I’ve never known Rad break his word, and, as he’s said you’ll be safe with him, I’d be inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. But the final decision is yours, of course.’
And what happens, Marin thought wryly, giving her sauce a final stir, when the person I really don’t trust in all this is myself?
Twenty-four hours later, reluctantly committed, she found herself the wary possessor of what amounted to a new wardrobe.
‘But I don’t need all this stuff,’ she protested to Lynne as she was herded inexorably from one store to another. ‘It’s such a waste when I’ll never use it again. And I already have underwear,’ she added defiantly.
‘And very pretty it is too,’ Lynne said kindly. ‘But you may not be unpacking your own bag, and your hostess, who is well aware of Jake’s private tastes, may take an interest in what you’ve brought. So you have to remember that you’re supposed to be his girlfriend, and that everything you wear needs to exude man-appeal.’
Marin pursed her lips. ‘And how degrading is that?’
‘That,’ said Lynne, a little smile dancing on her lips, ‘Might depend on how you allegedly feel about the man. So this weekend definitely calls for silk and a fair amount of lace.’
She added briskly, ‘And don’t scowl like that, my pet. You’re not paying for any of it, and when Sunday night comes you can stuff the whole lot into a bin liner, if you feel like it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Marin said through gritted teeth. ‘I plan to.’
She dug her heels in, however, over the purchase of a bikini, insisting instead on a simple black maillot, and Lynne did not argue the point.
Her only comfort in all this, Marin reflected vindictively as she put each tissue-wrapped garment in the soft tan leather case, was that Mr Radley-Smith would never get to see most of these
