you that Kenneth Jacobs pulled out of doing the auctioneer job at the last minute?’ Alice said as Fiona sprayed her with perfume. ‘He came down with a head cold.’
‘Oh, no!’ Fiona exclaimed. ‘What did you do?’
‘I panicked at first.’
Fiona laughed. ‘You? Panic? Never! You would have sorted something out.’
Fiona’s blind faith in her organisational skills amused Alice. Still, anyone would seem cool, calm and collected in comparison with Fiona, who could be quite scatter-brained. And very messy. It crossed Alice’s mind that Fiona might have originally asked her to stay because she did most of the housework.
‘I was lucky. Kenneth put me onto this lovely lady at Barker Books and before I knew it, the owner of the company rang me back and offered to take Mr Jacobs’s place.’
‘That was lucky.’
‘You’ve no idea how lucky. He has this absolutely gorgeous voice. He’s going to make a great auctioneer. Now no more of that perfume, Fiona. I have to get my things together. The cab I ordered will be here any second. I’ve made arrangements to meet Mr Barker-Whittle in the foyer of the hotel at seven.’
‘What?’
‘I said I—’
‘I know what you said,’ Fiona broke in sharply. ‘I hope we’re not talking about Jeremy Barker-Whittle here.’
Alice frowned. ‘Yes. That’s how he introduced himself. Why? What’s the matter with him?’
‘He’s just one of the most infamous playboys in London—that’s what’s the matter with him. Handsome as the devil, with more charm than any man has a right to. My sister dated him once for about five minutes, and she hasn’t stopped raving about him ever since. She claims that after being with Jeremy no other man could possibly compare. Lord, but I’d never have lent you that sexy dress if I knew who you’d be sitting next to tonight.’
Whilst momentarily thrown by this news, Alice also felt peeved that Fiona would think for a moment she would fall victim to some playboy’s dubious charms. Surely she knew her better than that. Now that she’d been warned about Mr Barker-Whittle, he had not a hope in Hades of snaring her interest, no matter how handsome and charming he was. And he was charming, she conceded, thinking of how much she’d liked him over the phone. And yes, he was a right royal devil, calling himself a crusty old bachelor like that!
‘Forewarned is forearmed, Fiona,’ she pointed out. ‘Now that I know he’s a player, I will be on guard against any attempt by him to seduce me. Though you, of all people, should know I am immune to men of his type.’
Even as she said the words, Alice knew she was lying. She’d always found handsome devils attractive. In the movies mostly, but also in real life. There was something wickedly appealing about good-looking men of a certain reputation. She’d gone out with one once, and it had cost her dearly. Whilst still not totally immune to finding such men attractive, she felt confident she had learned her lesson. It was a pity, however, that her stand-in auctioneer was coming alone. Still, if Jeremy Barker-Whittle decided after meeting her that she would provide him with some after-auction entertainment, then he was sadly mistaken.
‘But I don’t get it,’ Fiona said. ‘Jeremy’s in banking, not books.’
‘Well, he’s in books now,’ Alice said ruefully whilst wishing that he weren’t. What a pity Kenneth had to come down with a cold.
‘Strange,’ Fiona mused. ‘Still, I suppose he can afford to be in anything he wants to be in. The Barker-Whittle family is seriously loaded. They’ve been in merchant banking forever.’
‘You seem to know a lot about them.’
‘Yes, well, as I said, Melody became obsessed with the man for a while and made it her business to find out everything she could.’
‘Anything else I should know about him before tonight?’ Alice asked.
‘Not really. Just don’t believe a word the silver-tongued scoundrel says. And don’t go agreeing to go out with him.’
Alice almost laughed. As if.
‘That’ll be my cab,’ she said when her phone pinged. ‘Now you have a nice time tonight, Fiona, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Jeremy Barker-Whittle won’t even get to first base.’
Fiona didn’t look so sure. Alice recalled her friend’s worried expression when she walked into the foyer of the hotel a couple of minutes past seven. Fiona had a right to be worried, came the instant stomach-tightening thought.
Jeremy Barker-Whittle was already there, sitting on one of the guest sofas, talking to someone on his phone. She knew it was him, despite the presence of several other males in the foyer. None of them, however, was wearing a black dinner suit. And none fitted the image she’d already formed in her mind of what one of London’s most infamous playboys would look like. When Fiona had been talking about him, Alice had automatically pictured one of her favourite movie stars who’d made his reputation by playing rich bad boys. Jeremy Barker-Whittle was almost a dead ringer. Very handsome with an elegance to his face and clothes that could not be feigned. He had money written all over him, the kind of man whom other men envied and women craved.
Alice didn’t crave him, but his looks certainly set her heart racing. She scooped in a deep breath, glad that he hadn’t noticed her yet. It gave her the opportunity to gather her wits and her defences. And to look him over without being observed. His mid-brown hair was slightly wavy; it fell from a side part to his collar, a single lock flopping sexily across his high forehead. His nose was strong and straight and his eyes a sparkling blue. Yes, they actually sparkled. At least they did when he glanced up and spied her standing there, looking at him. He immediately put his phone away and stood up, smiling as he came over to her, bringing her attention to his mouth, with its sensual lower lip and dazzlingly white teeth. Now her stomach did a little flip-flop, reminding her starkly of her vulnerability to men who looked perfect but invariably were not.
‘Please tell me that you’re Alice,’ he said with that incredible voice of his. Like rich dark chocolate, it actually made her name sound sexy. Which was a minor miracle. She’d always hated her name, thinking it girlish and old-fashioned.
It was difficult not to respond to his practised charm, but she managed to control herself, tapping into the reserved façade that she always used around men of his ilk.
‘I am,’ she admitted coolly, having resisted the unwise impulse to smile back at him. ‘And I presume you’re Mr Barker-Whittle?’
WHOA! THOUGHT JEREMY. He wasn’t used to women being this cool to him, especially women who looked like Alice. It rattled him for a moment. But only a moment, his mind searching for some reason why she might be in a negative frame of mind where he was concerned. All he could think of was the way he’d described himself as a crusty old bachelor. Maybe she didn’t like being deceived. She’d been warm enough to him over the phone, whereas now she was all ice.
The corner of his mouth twisted at his own pun on her name. Alice. All ice. Very funny, Jeremy. Now see if you can use some of the infamous Barker-Whittle
