by Kate Hardy
‘Thank you, darling.’ His grandmother smiled at him fondly, then, with an extra twinkle in her eyes, she asked, ‘And now, how about pouring us a little sherry?’
Obediently, Logan went to a pretty cupboard in the corner and extracted three fragile gold-rimmed sherry glasses and a matching carafe with a heavy glass stopper.
‘This must be a special occasion,’ he said.
‘Of course it’s a special occasion. It’s the first time you’ve ever brought one of your young lady friends to visit me.’
Sally wished she hadn’t been looking at Logan then, hadn’t seen his frown and the sudden tightening of his mouth. Clearly, he wasn’t pleased that his grandmother had jumped to incorrect conclusions about their relationship.
Serves him right for tricking me into coming here.
If she’d had time, Sally might have asked herself why Logan had brought her here, but right now she decided it was more important to set the record straight with Hattie and to make sure she understood that Sally wasn’t one of her grandson’s ‘young lady friends’.
Too nervous to take time to find a delicate way of putting this, Sally blurted out quickly, ‘I’m not actually Logan’s girlfriend. I work at Blackcorp, you see. I started there a couple of weeks ago as a receptionist, but then Mr Black needed dancing lessons and I’ve been helping him.’
Sally felt better now that she’d got that out, but Hattie’s air of excitement hadn’t dimmed one jot.
‘How interesting,’ she said and she beamed at her grandson. ‘So you’re finally learning to dance, Logan.’
He tried to shrug this aside. ‘It’s all Carissa’s doing. She talked me into a charity do at the Hospital Ball, even though she knows I can’t dance to save myself.’
‘But he’s learning fast,’ Sally told her.
‘I’m sure the dear boy’s a very fast learner.’ Hattie made no attempt to hide her delighted amusement.
Still flustered, Sally said, ‘And…and he’s taking me to dinner tonight, but it…it’s only a kind of thank you.’
Hattie actually laughed. ‘What an excellent idea!’
Worried that Logan’s grandmother might still have the wrong end of the stick, Sally considered further explanation, but Logan thrust a glass of sherry into her hand.
‘Why don’t we drink to my grandmother’s health?’ He spoke smoothly, but his eyes signalled a clear warning that Sally had said quite enough.
Lifting his glass, he said to Hattie, ‘Here’s to your good health, old girl.’
‘Your good health,’ echoed Sally.
‘And yours, darlings.’ Hattie beamed at them both as if they were very good children who had pleased her greatly.
Unused to such sweet fortified wine, Sally sipped carefully.
Hattie downed a hefty swig, then waved her glass in the direction of the roses. ‘Aren’t these blooms lovely, Sally?’
‘Gorgeous.’
‘Did you know Logan brings them to me every week?’
Sally squashed her urge to explain that she’d been mightily deceived about those roses. ‘How kind,’ she said instead.
‘It’s very extravagant of him, the naughty boy. Some weeks I pass on perfectly good roses to my friends. They’re very happy to take them, of course.’
Leaning closer, Hattie actually winked at Sally. ‘I used to grow white Bianca roses like these when Logan and his sister were children. Logan used to love playing in my garden, so the roses bring back happy memories for both of us.’
For a moment Sally was lost in a picture of Logan as a black-haired little boy, playing in a garden with grubby knees and a torn T-shirt, letting out blood-curdling yells as he threw himself into the same rough-and-tumble games her brothers had loved.
And now here he was, all grown up and successful and bringing roses to his grandmother every week. She wondered what everyone at Blackcorp would think if they knew their serious and career-oriented boss had such a kind streak.
How many men would bother?
Sally realised that Hattie’s gaze was fixed on her, watching her face intently, and she hoped she hadn’t been looking too wistful. Smiling quickly, she struggled to think of a way to change the subject and remembered what Logan had told her at the team-building workshop. ‘Am I right in believing that you used to be a concert pianist, Hattie?’
‘I was indeed.’ Hattie looked down at her knuckles gnarled with age and her fingers knotted with arthritis. ‘How I loved my piano. But I can barely knock out a tune now.’
‘Sally’s a fan of Brahms,’ Logan said.
‘Are you really, dear?’
His grandmother’s instant pleasure made Sally squirm. She wasn’t at all sure that liking one piece of music by a particular composer elevated her to fandom.
‘I…I don’t know very much about classical music.’
‘That doesn’t matter. Logan will teach you,’ Hattie pronounced with blithe confidence. ‘It’s a fair exchange, isn’t it? My grandson can teach you about music and you can teach him to dance.’
‘That was unfair,’ Sally remarked as Logan drove back into the city, late for their dinner engagement because she and Hattie had spent such a long time chatting. ‘You should have warned me that the roses were for your sweet little grandmother.’
In the glare of the oncoming headlights, Logan saw her indignant frown and braced himself for the attack he knew he deserved.
‘Why have you let everyone in the office think the roses were for your lovers?’
‘Is that what everyone thinks?’
‘Most,’ Sally amended hotly.
‘I’m afraid they overestimate me, Sally. I’m not given to daft romantic gestures. The women I date never expect anything like that.’
Sally opened her mouth. Shut it again, then frowned. Unhappily, she said, ‘But you let the rumour spread.’
‘Look, Sally, for a start, a boss shouldn’t get involved in office gossip.’ He chanced a smile. ‘Secondly, why spoil a good story with the truth? More importantly, Hattie is family. She’s none of Blackcorp’s business.’
‘So why did you take me to see her?’
It was a very fair question. Logan wished he could offer a definitive answer. His decision had felt instinctive, but he’d never been an intuitive type, so taking Sally to visit his grandmother on a whim had been completely out of character.
Almost everything he’d done since he met Sally was out of character. He would have to rectify that. Very soon. But right now he could think of no plausible explanation to offer her except the simple truth. ‘I knew you two would get on well.’
Sally considered this and said after a bit, ‘OK, maybe you were right about us hitting it off. Hattie’s an absolute darling. But if you’ve never taken any of your…um…female friends to see her before, aren’t you worried that she might read deeper significance into my visit?’
With the twenty-twenty vision of hindsight, Logan had to agree. He’d taken one look at Hattie’s animated delight and he’d known that his impulse to bring Sally was foolish. But their dancing class had cast some kind of spell on him and the impulsive invitation had made perfect sense at the time.
Later, he’d been attacked by doubts, but then he’d applied logic and had come up with the same answer. Sally Finch got on well with everyone. With her gift for making friends, she would brighten his grandmother’s life and give the poor old girl the lift she needed.
It wasn’t much fun for an intelligent, lively woman who’d had a passion for life and a brilliant artistic career to end up in a nursing home. But Hattie couldn’t live alone any more and she couldn’t stay with Logan’s parents. She’d never got on with his father. And she hadn’t wanted to impose herself on either Logan or Carissa.
Now his parents were travelling around Australia in their caravan—doing the lap of honour, as his mother called it. Carissa was busy with her career and her family and Logan had assumed the responsibility of keeping an eye on Hattie.
Until tonight, he�
�d always visited her alone. So taking Sally had been something of a risk. Crazy, no doubt.
In the car’s darkened interior, he sent her a repentant smile. ‘You deserve an apology. I’m sorry. My bad joke misfired. I should have explained about Hattie.’
‘I’m just embarrassed that she assumes we’re a couple.’
‘I’ll resolve that confusion next time I see her.’
If Logan expected this to soothe Sally, he was out of luck. With a little huff of annoyance, she crossed her arms and then her legs and sat very stiffly, staring away from him through the passenger window.
The view of her legs, revealed by a short black skirt and encased in sheer tights, became a traffic hazard and he manfully kept his attention on the road.
He had reserved a table at his favourite restaurant, nestled close to the water in a cove of Sydney Harbour. As always, he was greeted like an old friend by Marco, the head waiter, who didn’t mind at all that he and Sally were late. He showed them to their table, set by a huge window.
It was a rare pleasure to watch the delight in Sally’s face when she saw the view of the water and sparkling reflections, the lights of the harbour bridge and the city beyond.
Marco seemed to enjoy watching her too and, as he whisked out her table napkin and set it on her lap, he sent Logan a silent, wide-eyed, Wow!
Logan had to remind himself that this wasn’t a real date. He was only bringing Sally here because he owed her for the lessons.
It helped to remember that Sally wasn’t his type. She was warm and generous and lovely—distractingly lovely tonight in her little black dress—but she was also an idealist and a hopeless romantic.
Until he’d achieved his long-term business goals, he simply couldn’t afford to become entangled with a girl like her. Tonight, he would be polite and distant, offering courtesy and friendliness, but extra careful to keep everything on a strictly business level.
‘This is a gorgeous restaurant.’ Sally smiled her approval as she took in details of the clean and restrained décor, the crisp white tablecloths, the pale timber floors and modern lighting.
‘The chef here is superb,’ he told her, sending a salute to the busy open-plan kitchen. ‘He’s French, but the menu is very cosmopolitan and there’s always a good selection.’
Sally studied the menu carefully and her brow furrowed more deeply as she progressed.
Logan wondered what was wrong. Carefully, he asked, ‘Does anything there take your fancy?’
‘It all sounds lovely, but everything’s so expensive. The fee for one dancing class might buy me a bowl of soup, but not much more.’
Good grief. Was she serious?
He caught a wicked gleam in the china-blue eyes watching him over the menu and knew she was teasing, was surprised by how much this delighted him.
‘Let me see,’ he said, poker-faced. ‘I’d estimate that this dinner should cover the cost of one, maybe two lessons.’
Lowering her gaze to the menu, Sally replied serenely, ‘But we’d better not have wine. That would push the price way too high.’
‘Unless you escorted me to the ball as well.’
The menu slipped from Sally’s hands as quickly as the colour left her cheeks. ‘You can’t mean that.’
She was right. Logan couldn’t believe he’d made such a reckless suggestion. He was never impulsive!
‘Look,’ he said, exasperated by his inability to remain sensible and composed in this woman’s presence, ‘let’s forget about the ball for now. It’s Friday evening and it’s getting late and we’re hungry. I’d like to enjoy a pleasant meal and I’ve invited you to share it with me. Let’s leave it at that.’
‘Right,’ Sally said with surprising meekness.
He thought he’d dampened her spirits then, so he was relieved that they enjoyed a very pleasant evening. The meal began with an excellent vichyssoise soup, followed by a schnitzel pan fried with parmesan for Sally, who thought it was ‘fabulous’, while Logan had a superb Greek lamb dish. For dessert he chose a chocolate pot and Sally a light lemon tart.
While they ate, they talked sensibly about places they’d visited, books they’d read and movies they’d seen. Logan found himself laughing at some of Sally’s witty observations and there were times when he had to remember to stop smiling. But for the most part they shared a safe and impersonal conversation. He thanked heavens that Sally had got the message that this was payment and not a date.
The only hiccup arrived with their coffee, when the dashing French chef, Michel, brought an extra coffee cup and joined them at their table.
Michel was an old friend of Logan’s and he’d developed a ritual of sharing coffee with him towards the end of the evening, when the pace in the kitchen slowed and could be dealt with by minions. Logan usually enjoyed his friend’s company.
But tonight, Michel, with his Frenchman’s love of romance, took a long look at Sally and Logan knew there’d be trouble.
The chef’s dark eyes flashed a thousand fervent signals as he bent low to kiss Sally’s hand. ‘Enchanted to meet you, mademoiselle,’ he murmured in his sexiest accent.
Sally was incredibly flattered, of course, and Logan struggled with a ridiculous urge to tell his good friend to get lost.
‘You’re a sensational chef,’ Sally told Michel. ‘The food tonight was divine.’
Michel pressed a melodramatic hand to his heart. ‘My constant inspiration is the knowledge that a beautiful woman like you will be eating my food.’
Sally laughed and then she shot Logan a telling glance. ‘I guess you must come here often.’
‘My friend has superb taste,’ Michel said, giving Logan’s shoulder an enthusiastic thump.
‘And I dare say he provides you with lots of inspiration,’ Sally suggested silkily, ‘via his companions.’
There was a mischievous glint in Sally’s eyes, but Logan glared at her.
Michel guffawed and clapped his hands. ‘Ah, but tonight my good friend has surpassed himself.’
‘Be careful, Michel.’ Logan was compelled to set the record straight. ‘Sally is a colleague and tonight’s dinner is a—a business dinner.’
Throwing up his hands in horror, Michel cried, ‘A business dinner on a Friday night? What a terrible thought. Logan, I thought you were much more sensitive than that.’
Despite his discomfort, Logan managed to grin. ‘OK, mate, I won’t insult you. It’s impossible to discuss business with such amazing food as yours.’
‘So, Sallee,’ Michel said, adding charming emphasis to the second syllable, ‘what do you think? Was your mind totally focused on business tonight? Or were you swept away by my brilliance in the kitchen?’
‘Oh, from the moment I stepped through the door, I was totally, totally swept away.’
‘Yes, yes!’ Michel grinned widely and leapt to his feet. ‘You see, Logan. This wonderful woman, she understands. And I was watching from the kitchen, you know.’ He tapped the side of his arrogant French nose with a long forefinger and grinned. ‘We all know that this was no business dinner.’
If Michel saw Logan’s gritted teeth and clenched jaw, he made no sign, but perhaps the chef knew he’d played this to the hilt and that it was time to depart. Taking Sally’s hand, he kissed it once more, gave Logan a parting salute, then abruptly returned to his kitchen.
‘Bit over the top, wasn’t he?’ Logan muttered when they were alone once more.
‘I guess he’s allowed to be when he produces such fabulous food.’
‘I thought you might have been embarrassed that yet another person latched on to the wrong idea about us. It’s annoying when we’ve both been clear from the start that this wasn’t a date.’
She didn’t meet his gaze, gave a small shrug. ‘I don’t think we’ve done anything or said anything tonight that crossed the line between a business arrangement and a date, do you?’
‘No, no, of course not.’
Eyes still lowered, Sally fiddled with the napkin on her lap.<
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Anxious that the evening didn’t end on a bad note, Logan tried to make amends. ‘It’s all a game with Michel. He’s French and he’s a hopeless romantic. He likes to think his little restaurant can turn total strangers into lovers at one sitting.’
Sally offered a tiny smile. ‘Don’t worry. I was joking about being carried away. I know very well that it takes more than a dinner date for two people to fall in love.’
Logan was sure that this comment should have given him comfort, but was dismayed that he felt even worse.
CHAPTER NINE
OUTSIDE the restaurant, a chilling breeze whipped at Sally’s hair and she wished she felt happier after such a magical evening. She’d adored every moment of Logan’s company, and she’d watched him relax, had seen the way his gorgeous smile lingered more and more often, had seen the glow in his eyes when he’d looked at her.
It had seemed such a fitting sequel to earlier this evening, when Logan had taken her to meet Hattie and he’d shown her the softer side she’d always suspected. Better still, he hadn’t tried to hide his pleasure that his grandmother liked Sally. And now it appeared that he wasn’t in a serious relationship with another woman.
Barriers had been tumbling left and right and, at some deeply intuitive level, Sally had sensed that this evening had been special for both of them. No matter how loudly they tried to deny it, strong threads of attraction had been drawing them closer and closer.
But at the end, with the chef’s arrival, the delicate balance had been upset. It was as if she’d been weaving a wonderful fiction, but had suddenly been forced to face bald facts. Wake up, Sally Finch! Tonight has been a fairy tale. The boss and his front desk girl are not going to have a meaningful romance.
Now, as the lights of the restaurant narrowed to yellow dots in the distance, the truth of her situation became plainer to Sally. She’d finally become relaxed and confident around her boss, but somehow, in the process, she’d forgotten that he was unattainable. She was playing out of her league.
The annoying thing was that deep down she had known that. She and Logan were poles apart and a country bumpkin, newly arrived in the big smoke, could not expect to capture the heart of a high-flying corporate executive. Sydney was overflowing with women who operated on Logan’s wavelength, business and professional women with a great deal more to offer a man than mere chatting and dancing skills.
