everything about her. ‘Perhaps you’d be free to join me for lunch—say, Thursday?’
‘Lunch?’ she repeated. Was this the way of interviews?
He did not answer, but opened a drawer and withdrew what appeared to be a desk diary and began scanning it. But even while she was getting her head around the notion of lunching with this man while he told her more fully the details of this new vacancy he was shaking his head.
‘By the look of it lunch is out for the next couple of weeks.’ That was a relief. Personable though the man was, not to say downright good-looking, she somehow felt oddly reluctant to have lunch with him. Her relief, however, was short-lived, because, rehousing his diary, Silas Livingstone looked across at her. ‘It will have to be dinner,’ he announced. And, as cool as you please, ‘Are you free this Friday?’ he enquired.
Colly wasn’t sure her jaw did not drop. She closed her mouth and stared at him. While admittedly she did not have all that much experience of men—this was a new approach. She might also not have any experience with general job interview procedure either, but she did not feel she had to be a genius to work out that this was far from the norm.
‘Forgive me, Mr Livingstone,’ she replied, striving hard for some of his cool tone. ‘But I believe I’ve already told you that my interest rests solely with finding a job that pays well.’ And, in case he had forgotten, she repeated, ‘Men and dating just do not figure in my plans for the foreseeable future.’
‘I heard you,’ he replied evenly, adding—totally obscurely as far as she was concerned—‘That is an excellent start. But,’ he went on, ‘my sole intention in requiring you to have dinner with me is so we may discuss, in informal detail, this newly arisen—vacancy.’
Colly eyed him warily. Two years ago she hadn’t had a suspicious bone in her body. But two years of living under the same roof as the devious Nanette had taught her not to take everything at face value.
‘This is business?’ Colly stayed to probe.
‘Strictly business,’ he answered, with not a smile about him.
Colly studied him. It made a change. But, looking at him, she somehow felt she could believe him. Could believe that this was not some newfangled way of him getting a date. And, looking at him, sophisticated and virile, she suddenly saw it was laughable that this man, who probably had women falling over him, would need to use any kind of a ruse to get a woman to go out with him anyway. Indeed, Colly started to feel a trifle pink about the ears that she had for one moment hinted that he might be interested in her in more than a ‘business’ way.
‘Friday, you said?’ she questioned finally, when he had given her all the time she needed to sift through everything.
‘If you’re free,’ he agreed.
‘This job—’ she gathered her embarrassed wits together ‘—you can’t tell me more about it now?’
‘The—situation is recent, as I mentioned. I need to do some research into all it entails.’
‘You’ll have done your research by Friday?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he replied evenly.
She wanted to ask if the job was working for him. But, since he was the head of the whole shoot, she thought it must be. ‘Bearing in mind my lack of experience, you think I would be able to do the job?’
‘I believe so,’ he replied, his dark blue eyes steady on her.
Colly got to her feet. She felt not a little confused, and hoped it did not show. ‘Where shall I meet you?’ she asked.
Silas Livingstone was on his feet too. Tall, unsmiling that she had just agreed to have dinner with him on Friday. ‘I’ll call for you at eight,’ he stated.
She opened her mouth to tell him her address. Then closed it again. It was on her application form, and at a rough guess she felt that this man would not have missed that. In fact, she had a feeling that this man, who was obviously going to research into this newly created job pretty thoroughly before he offered it to her—or otherwise—never missed a thing.
CHAPTER TWO
HER first interview with Silas Livingstone had been on Tuesday. By Thursday of that same week Colly’s head was beginning to spin from the effort of trying to pinpoint exactly what kind of job was in the offing that would be better discussed in ‘informal detail’ over dinner.
She still inwardly cringed whenever she thought of how, without a pennyworth of secretarial experience, she had applied for that senior secretarial job. It just went to show, she realised, how desperate she was for a job that paid well enough to afford her somewhere to live.
And that she would have to find that somewhere to live, and quickly, had been endorsed for her again last night, when Nanette had entertained a few of her rowdy friends. It was her right, of course, but the gales of laughter, male and female, that had come from the drawing room had impinged on Colly’s sensitivities. Her father had barely been dead a month.
His widow had obviously decided to be the merry sort. If that was her way of grieving, so be it, but Colly had seen little sign of genuine grief. And all she wanted to do now, she mused, as she began to clear up the debris from the previous night’s entertainment, was find a place of her own and get started on being solely independent. She knew then that whatever this job was, that was being newly created by Silas Livingstone, she would take it.
While it might not pay as well as that multilingual secretary’s job, Silas Livingstone was well aware of her circumstances, so surely he would not be considering her for this new vacancy unless the salary that went with it was an adequate living wage.
By early Friday evening Colly had reasoned that, because her only skills were in keeping a well-run house, some small knowledge of art and an ability with languages, this newly created vacancy must involve the use of her languages in some way—which, plainly, was not secretarial. But, again, why dinner? It was almost as though the job was not in his office at all! As if it were nothing to do with office life—and that was why he was interviewing her in ‘informal detail’ outside of the office.
She was getting fanciful. Colly went upstairs to shower and get dressed, ready for Silas Livingstone to call.
Because this was to all intents and purposes a business dinner, Colly opted to wear a black straight ankle-length skirt of fine wool and a heavy silk white shirt-blouse. She joined the two with a wide suede belt that emphasised her tiny waist. She brushed her long brown hair with its hint of red back from her face in an elegant knot, and when she took a slightly apprehensive glance in the full-length mirror she was rather pleased with her general appearance. It was only then that she accepted that, with no other likely-looking job being advertised in the paper this week, she was pinning a lot of hope on this interview. She did so hope she would not come home disappointed. It was just that afternoon that Nanette had bluntly asked when she was leaving.
It was her luck that when, at ten minutes to eight, with a black wool cloak over her arm, she went downstairs to wait, she should meet Nanette in the hall. ‘Where are you off to?’ Nanette asked nastily, her eyes looking her over.
‘I’m going out to dinner.’
‘What about my dinner?’ Nanette asked shrewishly.
