for tact instead. ‘Mike’s not here, Stacey,’ she said, kindly. Tact? Kindly? This was more than her usual ‘it’s-time-you-moved-on’ speech. She was up to something, Stacey thought. ‘You owe it to them to find them a father…a father-figure,’ she amended, quickly. ‘Someone who could give them all the advantages they deserve.’ Stacey began clearing the table in an attempt to avoid what was coming next. Dee was not to be distracted. ‘Lawrence Fordham for instance.’
So, this wasn’t just a general buck-yourself-up-and-get-out-there pep-talk. This was altogether more serious.
‘Lawrence?’ she repeated. ‘You want me to marry your boss?’
‘Why not? He’s a nice man. Steady, reliable, mature.’ Adjectives that could, by no stretch of the imagination, have been applied to Mike. But then, at eighteen, Stacey hadn’t been looking for those qualities in a man. Which was just as well, since she hadn’t got them. ‘He’s just a bit shy, that’s all.’
‘Just a bit,’ she agreed. She’d been put next to him at a recent lunch party at her sister’s house... Ah. So that was it. She wouldn’t make an effort, so her sister was making it for her. It should have been funny. But once Dee got an idea in her head she was harder to shake off than a shadow. ‘Small talk drips from his lips the way blood drips from a stone.’
‘That’s not fair. Once you get to know him—’
‘I do know him and you’re right, he’s a nice man.’ If you enjoyed talking about cheese production, or yoghurt culture. ‘I just wasn’t planning on anything more intimate—’
‘Okay, he’s not pin-up material, but let’s face it, sweetie, how many men-to-die-for do you know who are lining up, panting for a date?’
‘He’s panting?’ Stacey enquired, wickedly. ‘Lawrence?’
‘Of course not,’ Dee snapped. ‘You know what I mean!’ Stacey knew. She’d had her man-to-die-for and there was only one of those per lifetime. Which was probably just as well. Now she had to be sensible, but the prospect of dating men like Lawrence for the rest of her life, or worse, settling down with someone like him, was just so depressing.
‘He’s solid, Stacey. He wouldn’t let you down.’
Meaning that if he was inconsiderate enough to die on her, he wouldn’t leave her with a house that swallowed money, two children to bring up single-handed and no visible means of support, Stacey supposed.
‘He couldn’t let me down, Dee. We are acquaintances. Nothing more,’ she added, just to make her position quite clear.
‘Well, that’s about to change,’ Dee replied, ignoring her sister’s position. ‘I told him that you’d be his date for the firm’s dinner next Saturday.’
‘You did what!’ Stacey didn’t wait for her sister for repeat herself. ‘You’ve got to be kidding!’
‘Why? He’s personable. He’s got all his own hair and teeth and no bad habits.’ Stacey wondered if her sister was prepared to guarantee that in writing, but didn’t want to prolong the conversation. ‘He’ll make someone a wonderful husband and you need one more than most.’
‘Husband? I thought we were just talking about a date.’
‘We are. But you’re mature people. You’d be good for Lawrence, bring him out of himself. And he’d be very good for you. He wouldn’t even mind if you turned his garden into a weed patch.’ Because he wouldn’t notice. ‘You do the best you can, but don’t pretend it isn’t a struggle.’ Stacey wasn’t about to. It wouldn’t make a bit of difference if she did, because Dee knew better. ‘You will come on Saturday, won’t you?’
‘Oh, Dee…’
‘Please.’ Please? She was that desperate? ‘I’ll promise not to mention the subject again for a whole month if you do,’ she promised.
‘Good grief, I’m almost tempted. But I haven’t got a thing to wear,’ Stacey said, falling back on the age-old excuse.
‘You can wear my black dress.’
‘Your black dress?’ She should have known that her sister had a fall-back plan to cover her fall-back plan... Then her jaw dropped. ‘You don’t mean the black dress?’
‘Of course I mean the black dress,’ Dee said, calmly, and Stacey finally managed a laugh.
‘Now I’m really worried. Tell me, have you got some enormous bonus riding on your ability to fix Lawrence up with a date for this dinner?’
Dee’s brows quirked invitingly. ‘Would you go out with him if I had?’
‘Would you split it with me?’ Then, quickly, ‘Don’t answer that. I don’t want to be that tempted.’
‘Oh, come on, Stacey. It’s a night out. Gorgeous restaurant, lovely food, rich bloke. How many offers like that do you get these days?’ Not many. Actually, none. ‘He’s completely house-trained, I promise you.’ Dee meant to reassure her, but Stacey didn’t want a house-trained man. What she wanted was someone like Nash Gallagher. All right, not like Nash Gallagher. She wanted him. In person. ‘You’ll be safe enough,’ she promised. ‘Tim and I will be there.’
That’d be fun. An evening with Mr Nice, Mrs Bossy and Mr Deadly-Dull-but-Totally-Dependable...
But Stacey caught a tantalising glimpse of a way out. ‘If you’re going to the dinner, I won’t have anyone to babysit.’ There were many times when she wished her parents hadn’t sold up their business and moved to Spain to grow old disgracefully in the sun. This was not one of them. And Vera, her next-door neighbour and best friend, who looked after the girls on her occasional—very occasional—evening out, worked on Saturday nights at the local petrol station.
‘Clover and Rosie can stay over at our house,’ Dee replied, with all the firmness of a woman who’d made it in business and wasn’t about to take no for an answer. Even from her tiresome little sister. ‘Ingrid is looking forward to having them.’ The firmness of a woman who’d made it to the top in business and the smugness of one who’d got a ‘treasure’ for an au pair. ‘And I’m going to take you for a facial and a manicure, too.’
‘Now that is tempting,’ Stacey said. She glanced at her hands and surreptitiously scraped away the rim of blue paint that was stubbornly clinging to her thumb-nail. Her sister had bought her some horrendously expensive gardener’s handcream a while back; maybe she should start using it. And maybe Dee was right. After all her hard work, she deserved a treat.
A meal she hadn’t had to cook herself, a manicure and a chance to wear a designer label frock certainly came under that heading.
‘Can I really borrow your black dress?’
‘I’ll bring it round tomorrow.’
‘Heavens, Dee, the dinner isn’t until next Saturday…’
She grinned. ‘I know. More than enough time for you to come up with a dozen excuses, but once that dress is in your wardrobe you won’t be able to resist the chance to wear it.’
‘That’s sneaky.’ But maybe she could put it on,
