CATHERINE GEORGE - Bargaining With The Boss

‘I said I would.’

‘I thought you might have had second thoughts.’

‘If I had I’d have rung to let you know,’ she assured him.

James managed to secure a small table in a corner of the crowded bar for a lengthy perusal of the menu over the drinks he ordered.

‘I’m told the restaurant here is rather good, but with you it’s a bit like taking coals to Newcastle. I hope it comes up to your standards,’ he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

‘As long as it’s not pasta in any shape or form I don’t mind,’ she assured him, smiling. ‘No one does pasta dishes like our chefs. Though my father’s the master,’ she added, ‘when he’s in the mood to cook.’

‘Does your mother cook, too?’

‘Brilliantly. But only at home. She cooks dinner about four times a week, and the other nights we fend for ourselves, or they send something over from the restaurant. Nico eats like a horse.’

‘Nico?’

Eleri smiled, her eyes soft. ‘He’s fifteen, clever, and pretty gorgeous, actually.’

‘And his big sister obviously dotes on him!’

She flushed. ‘I suppose I do. Nico dreams of playing soccer for Inter Milan—though he might just deign to sign for a top English club if begged, of course.’

‘Big of him!’ James grinned. ‘Though I can sympathise. I always wanted to play international rugby—wear the white shirt for England and all that.’

‘Then you’re the enemy! I cheer for the Welsh.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Really? Italy I could understand, but why Wales?’

‘Because my mother’s Welsh. Hence my name,’ she explained.

His eyes gleamed ruefully. ‘Is Eleri Welsh? I thought it was something obscurely Italian. I went on calling you Miss Conti at first because I wasn’t sure I was pronouncing it properly.’

‘I remember. You addressed all the other girls by their surnames, too!’

‘I had to,’ he confessed, ‘once I started it with you.’

Eleri chuckled. ‘How funny. We all thought you were too high and mighty to descend to first names with the hired help.’

‘Did you think that?’ he said, startled.

‘Of course I did.’

‘Your name was to blame.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I heard Bruce and the others using it, but I always thought they were wrong. It doesn’t sound the way it’s spelt.’

‘To rhyme with fairy—or contrary, according to my father. We lock horns sometimes.’

‘Would it be rude to ask why?’

‘Not in the least. My protective Italian father likes to keep his girls close under his eye. But my mother supported my determination to go to college, because she did. And because my father would do anything in the world for her he agreed.’ Eleri smiled into his intent face. ‘But surely you didn’t ask me here tonight to hear my life story?’

‘It’s fascinating. The combination of Celt and Latin sounds explosive!’

‘It is, on occasion. But any disagreements are short-lived. My parents’ relationship is a very special one.’

‘It’s the same with my parents. Both pairs are to be congratulated. Long-running successful marriages are thin on the ground these days.’ James looked up as a waiter appeared to take their orders. ‘Right then—Eleri. What would you like to eat?’

Realising that whatever the reason James Kincaid had for asking her here tonight she was unlikely to learn what it was until they’d eaten, she asked how things were at Northwold, a subject which lasted until they were called in to dinner in the adjoining restaurant.

‘Who took my place?’ she asked curiously, as she started on the warm goat’s cheese salad she’d chosen to begin.

‘Head office sent down a temporary replacement while I look round for a successor of your calibre,’ said James, and changed the subject, asking if she’d seen the play currently running at the repertory theatre.

‘No,’ she confessed. ‘My feet hurt so much I tend to loll about with a book or watch television in the evenings.’

James laid down his fork, and looked at her in the direct, searching way she knew so well. ‘No trips to London?’

‘None.’ She returned the look steadily.

‘Your relationship with Maynard is over?’

Eleri’s eyes flashed. ‘Very much so—though I doubt one could describe what we had as a relationship, exactly. I met Toby through my friend, Vicky Mantle—the one who still works in Renshaw’s. I go up to London for the weekend to stay with her fairly regularly, and she introduced me to Toby. He used to take me to the cinema, or clubbing now and again. But I always slept in Vicky’s spare bed afterwards,’ she added. And cursed herself silently for blurting out something so private.

James’s eyes narrowed in surprise for a moment, but he introduced another subject deftly, and Eleri began to wonder when, if ever, he intended giving her the reason for their meeting. They were drinking coffee in a corner of one of the quieter bars after dinner, when he turned towards her on the padded bench seat and smiled wryly.

‘You’ve been very patient, Eleri.’

‘I have,’ she agreed.

James nodded. ‘All right. I won’t beat about the bush. Head office has sent me a temporary assistant. Mrs Willis is a terrifying lady, about to retire, who is doing this as a great favour and never lets me forget the fact.’

‘Oh?’ Eleri eyed James warily. ‘Have you done any interviews yet?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

Eleri looked long and hard into the light eyes which returned her scrutiny steadily, giving no clue to the thought processes behind them.

‘Why not?’ she asked at last.

‘Because I’m determined to persuade you to come back to Northwold,’ he informed her.

‘I can’t do that,’ she said quietly, and refilled their cups with a steady hand.

‘You’re not even surprised I asked.’

‘What other reason would you have for asking me out to dinner?’

He frowned. ‘The same reason any man asks you out, I imagine—for the pleasure of your company.’

Eleri’s heart skipped a beat. ‘But in our case it’s rather different.’

‘Not really. You were a large part of my life for over twelve months, Eleri, and I’ve missed you like hell. Not just because you’re so good at your job, either. Until the advent of Mrs Willis, who never wears anything other than a navy blue twin set and matching shapeless skirt, I never appreciated your faultless taste in clothes.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, surprised to discover James had ever noticed her appearance. ‘I certainly never wear navy blue.’

‘I thought not.’ James subjected her to a comprehensive scrutiny. ‘Tonight you look positively dazzling—more exotic and Italian, I suppose, with your hair loose.’

Eleri looked at him in astonishment, her heart suddenly hammering. To cover her shock she laughed a little, and drank down her coffee. ‘You’re misled by my colouring. My looks come from my Welsh mother. My father’s fair.’

‘Northern Italian?’

She nodded. ‘The Veneto.’

James folded his arms across his chest, his eyes intent on her face. ‘Eleri, are you refusing to come back because you don’t want to, or because your pride won’t allow it?’

Unlike her heart, Eleri’s memory was in perfect working order. Her eyes gleamed coldly. ‘I left under a cloud, if you remember. How could you possibly expect me to come back in the circumstances?’

‘No one knows about your connection with Maynard other than my brother-in-law and myself.’ He looked away across the bar. ‘Sam told me Maynard obtained the information from someone at Merlin Ales. You’re completely exonerated.’

‘I want to be trusted, not exonerated,’ she retorted.

‘I do trust you. I told you that the day you walked out on me.’ James paused, smiling crookedly. ‘I didn’t tell anyone you’d resigned, except for Bruce Gordon. The rest of the staff think you’re taking some leave because your family needed you for a while.’

‘They need me full stop,’ she said flatly. ‘So even if I wanted to come back I can’t.’

‘Ah, but you’d like to,’ he said swiftly.

‘All right. I would,’ she admitted. ‘I enjoyed my job. But I care too much for my family to take off again and leave them in the lurch.’ Nor did she intend running back to Northwold just because James Kincaid crooked his finger and whistled. Much as she wanted to. She stood up. ‘If you’d ask the waiter for my coat and call me a taxi it’s time I went home. Busy day tomorrow.’

James signalled to a waiter. ‘I’ll drive you.’

‘There’s no need to go so far out of your way.’

‘I literally pass your door.’

‘You’ve moved from Compton Priors?’

‘Yes. I never meant the cottage to be more than a stop-gap while I looked for something permanent. It actually belongs to my parents, so from now on I’ll just use it as a weekend retreat now and again. I moved into a flat in town last week.’ He helped her into her heavy gold wool jacket. ‘Let’s dash; it’s started to snow again.’ They went outside into a white, whirling night, and James rushed her over to his Land Rover Discovery and tossed her up into it, flakes of snow frosting his hair when he ran round to get in beside her. ‘Brrr!’ he complained, shivering. ‘Weather like this spurred me into finding a flat. This winter I’ve had a couple of dicey journeys out to the cottage.’

The snow was coming down so thick and fast by the time they arrived in the town, Eleri told James to drop her at the end of the cul-de-sac.

‘The house is at the end, so don’t try and drive down—it’s difficult to turn round,’ she instructed, and James killed the engine.

‘I shan’t give up, Eleri. When you change your mind you know where to contact me.’ He turned in his seat to look at her.

Eleri kept her eyes on the seat belt she was unfastening. ‘I doubt that I will. But thanks for the meal. I’m afraid it was rather a wasted evening for you.’

‘How could any time spent with you be wasted, Eleri?’

‘You’re very kind,’ she said politely. ‘I’m only sorry I had to disappoint you.’

‘So am I.’ He got out of the car and went round to help her out, then took her by surprise by clasping both her hands in his. ‘Goodnight—but definitely not goodbye.’

CHAPTER THREE

NEXT day, over lunch, Eleri’s family were full of curiosity about her evening—her mother, particularly, inquisitive about James Kincaid’s motive for asking her out.

‘If it was any other man, cariad, the reason would be obvious, but in the circumstances, you must admit it’s a bit odd.’

‘Perhaps he just fancies her,’ said Nico, wolfing down large quantities of roast lamb. ‘What’s in this stuffing, Ma? It’s different.’

‘Laverbread, cariad,’ said Catrin, and smiled at her mystified husband. ‘Seaweed, of a sort, Mario. They’ve begun to get it in the market occasionally—sent up from Swansea.’

‘Seaweed?’ he said with professional interest. ‘This is some Welsh recipe, no?’

‘My mother used to do it this way,’ she said, nodding. ‘I’d forgotten about it until I read it in a magazine the other day. It’s mixed with onion and bread-crumbs and a dash of orange juice. Do you like it?’

‘It’s magnificent!’ said Mario with relish. ‘We shall serve it in the restaurant.’

They were sitting round the oval table in the dining room for the midday meal always eaten together on Sundays, at Catrin’s insistence, since sometimes it was the only time in the week she could gather all her family together. Claudia and her husband Paul often came too, but today the weather was bad and the Contis were reduced to four, which centred squarely on Eleri’s evening with James Kincaid.