‘Well, I’m not going through a whole list of suggestions just so that you can shoot them down in flames! What do you want to wear?’
Ursula’s voice was unusually hesitant, and shy. ‘Do you think the cream trousers and top you helped me choose would be okay? I haven’t worn them yet.’
‘Perfect!’ said Amber immediately. ‘The colour emphasises how dark your hair is, and brings out the roses in your cheeks. Oh, and clip your hair back at the sides with those mother-of-pearl slides I bought you for your twenty-first.’
‘Okay.’
‘Oh. and Ursula?’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘Be good!’
Amber’s words echoed around Ursula’s ears on Saturday evening, as she stood opposite Ross’s house, trying to summon up enough courage to go up to the front door and knock. Be good, indeed! She didn’t think she’d have a problem sticking to that advice! She doubted whether there would be any men there whom Amber would consider ‘eligible’, and even if there were they wouldn’t spend a moment looking at her.
She swallowed nervously as she gazed up at the house. How she wished she’d had a drink before she had set out!
She hadn’t even bothered asking Ross how many others were going, or who they were. She just prayed frantically that all the women weren’t in the same kind of league as Jane, his wife.
She stared down at her toes poking through the strappy sandals which were the most summery shoes she had—an absolute necessity on a night like this. It was baking hot, even though the sun was getting low in the sky.
Ross lived in Hampstead, which was miles on the underground from Ursula’s little flat in Clapham Common. It had been far too hot on the train, but not much better once she’d got off and begun to walk up the hill.
The air had a strange, almost suspended sense of stillness about it, with no breeze existing to lift it away. It had made her feel hot and bothered. Still did.
Ursula surreptitiously wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and the little hairs on the back of her neck prickled up, her senses on full alert, as if suddenly aware of someone watching her. She narrowed her eyes as she allowed herself a closer look at the imposing, late-Victorian house.
Someone was!
She glanced up and saw a figure blackly silhouetted against an arched window on the first floor and she could tell, even from this distance, that it was Ross. She studied him dispassionately, cushioned by the safety net of distance, thinking that the pose he struck highlighted the complexity which lay at the heart of the man. He looked both relaxed and yet alert.
Watching.
Waiting...
Well, there was no way she could possibly dawdle any longer, not without looking a complete idiot. Ursula clutched her handbag even tighter and, tucking Katy’s birthday present under her arm, she crossed the road, went up the steps to the front door and banged loudly on the knocker.
It was opened by Katy herself, looking more grown up than her ten years in short blue denim skirt and a sparkly blue tee shirt, which looked expensive. She was a tall girl for her age, and the platform shoes she wore made her even taller.
Katy had her father’s deep brown eyes and even deeper brown hair—but hers curled into wild corkscrews whereas Ross’s just waved gently against the nape of his neck. Her wiry height she owed entirely to her mother, along with a nose which was a cute, freckled snub and rosebud-pretty lips.
‘Happy birthday, Katy!’ beamed Ursula, and held the present out towards her. ‘I love your tee shirt!’
But Katy seemed more interested in a hug, hurling herself into Ursula’s arms with a fervour which was as surprising as it was touching.
‘Ursula!’ she squeaked. ‘You’re the first here! I’m so glad you came! I made Daddy invite you!’
Ursula willed her face not to react, but there was nothing she could do to stop her heart from plummeting like a dropped stone. So it had been Katy’s idea to invite her, had it? Not her father’s at all... She just hoped that she wasn’t going to stand out from the other guests like a sore thumb.
‘I’m so glad I came, too—and I’m flattered to be invited,’ she told Katy truthfully. ‘I don’t get to go to many birthday parties these days.’
‘Why not?’
Ursula shrugged. ‘Because grown-ups only tend to have parties when they’re twenty-one, or forty—’
‘How boring!’
‘Very boring,’ agreed Ursula gravely. ‘Now open your present and tell me whether you like it,’ she added gently. ‘You can always change it if you don’t.’
Katy needed no second bidding, immediately dropping to her knees and ripping the shiny paper off the carefully wrapped parcel with all the energy of a highly excited child.
Inside was a box of water-colour paints, a small packet of oil-pastel crayons, and a thick block of sketching paper. Katy sat back on her heels and stared at it.
‘Do you like it?’ asked Ursula nervously. ‘I thought you were very good at drawing, just like your daddy—’
‘Oh, I love it!’ said Katy earnestly, looking up at Ursula with shining eyes. ‘I really, really love it!’
Ursula smiled widely. ‘That Christmas card you sent me last year was so good that I’ve kept it—that’s what gave me the idea for the present. I keep meaning to have it framed.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’ Ursula nodded solemnly. ‘You have a real gift for drawing, you know, Katy.’
‘And does Daddy have a gift, too?’
‘Oh, definitely. Your daddy’s the best!’
‘Why, thank you, Ursula,’ came an amused voice, and they both looked up to see Ross at the top of the staircase watching them, making Ursula wonder just how long he had been standing there. ‘How heartening to hear such praise—and this from the woman who usually nags me about my untidiness!’
‘Only because if I didn’t I wouldn’t be able to reach my desk for the mountains of paper in the way!’ she responded crisply, but her heart was beating faster than usual.
It was odd seeing him in the unfamiliar surroundings of his home. Their relationship had evolved in the everyday environment of the office, and even when they had a client lunch in an upmarket restaurant it was strictly business. Transplanted here, with not a work-related product in sight, she felt like a fish out of water!
Feeling slightly flustered, but hoping it didn’t show too much, Ursula scrambled to her feet with as much grace as she could muster. ‘This is an amazing place you’ve got here, Ross!’
Why was he studying her like that—as if they were meeting for the first time? She suddenly felt as uncertain as a teenager as she wondered what he saw. His frumpy assistant? Or a reasonably well-presented young woman?
The silk trousers and top were the pale colour of buttermilk, and Amber had been right—the creamy shade did emphasise the blackness of her hair. The design of the outfit was deceptively simple, fluidly skimming the curvy shape of her body—and the delicate fabric felt unbelievably soft where it clung to her bare skin. And although the outfit was practical, it was also intensely feminine—the kind of clothes she wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing to the office.
Was that why his eyes were out on stalks like that?
‘Hello, Ursula,’ he said softly. ‘Nice outfit’
‘Th-thanks.’ She smiled uncertainly.
‘It’s unbelievable,’ he murmured. ‘You look completely different, dressed like that!’
‘Whereas you look exactly the same!’ she shot back, wondering what on earth they were supposed to do now. And why was Katy just standing there, serenely watching the two of them? Why wasn’t she interrupting, the way children were supposed to do?
At work, Ursula could bury her feelings in a flurry of activity, but here there was nothing to buffer her from the impact of Ross as a man, rather than an employer. Was he oblivious to the fact that he was a highly desirable man?
‘Where’s Jane?’ asked Ursula quickly.
‘Mummy’s going to be la
te,’ said Katy, in a sulky voice. ‘Again!’
‘Jane’s been tied up at work, unfortunately,’ said Ross, his voice as smooth as a pebble.
‘Not literally, I hope!’ joked Ursula, but her feeble joke didn’t even raise a smile and left her wondering why she had bothered making it, until she realised that her fingertips were now trembling with nerves.
‘She’s doing the costumes for the new Connection tour,’ Katy informed her, sliding a shy hand into Ursula’s.
Ursula’s eyes were like saucers. ‘The Connection? Wow! Their last album was brilliant! I’m impressed.’
‘Well, don’t be! They’re all self-obsessed substance abusers!’
‘Katy!’ exclaimed Ross, looking shocked.
‘Well, you were the one who said it, Daddy!’
‘Not in front of you, I didn’t,’ he told her grimly.
The ringing of the front doorbell sounded like salvation, and Katy beamed with delight when she discovered five of her school friends standing on the doorstep.
‘We all came in Mum’s station wagon!’ exclaimed one. ‘Polly’s bought you the soundtrack from Musketeers!’
‘Thanks for spoiling the surprise!’ grimaced Polly.
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter—I’m far too old for surprises,’ said Katy airily. ‘Come on, shall we go next door and play it?’
‘Great!’
‘And Sally’s bought you the Musketeers! video!’
‘Great!’
Squealing with excitement, the girls ran off, and Ursula was left alone in the hall with Ross in a space which was probably almost as large as the office they shared, but which now seemed claustraphobically confined.
‘They seem nice girls,’ she commented, hoping that she didn’t look as awkward as she felt. ‘Katy’s friends.’
‘Yes.’
She saw the brief but unmistakable glance he sent at his watch. ‘Can I do anything to help, Ross?’
He seemed to switch on a smile with an effort. ‘Sure. You can come into the sitting room and have a drink with me.’
She shook her head. ‘I meant, do you want me to cut the crusts off the sandwiches—or ice funny faces on cupcakes?’
‘I know what you meant, and, no, I don’t. But thanks, anyway.’ He smiled more as though he meant it this time. ‘Children’s parties have changed since our day. I’m afraid that your prediction of no jelly and ice cream is completely accurate! I suggested it to Katy and she did a convincing impression of someone about to throw up! And then informed me that they’d like to ring out for pizza!’ He sighed dramatically. ‘Kids’ parties ain’t what they were in our day!’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Ursula, without thinking. ‘I never had a birthday party when I was growing up.’
He looked quite shocked. ‘What—never?’
‘Never!’ Ursula’s mouth twitched. ‘You think that’s such a terrible thing?’
‘It’s certainly rather unusual. Why not?’
‘Oh, you don’t want to know.’
‘Don’t tell me what I don’t want, or what I do want! You can’t clam up on me here, Ursula—we aren’t at work now.’
‘No.’ Because if they had been they wouldn’t be talking this way. Softly. Intimately. With Ross’s possessions all around only adding to this unwelcome familiarity...
‘So why no parties?’
Ursula gave him a wry look. ‘You are a very persistent man!’
‘I need to be.’ He studied her carefully. ‘Because you never seem to want to talk about your childhood.’
‘Well, come to that—neither do you!’ she retorted. ‘I thought we were there to work—not have in-depth therapy sessions!’
‘Tough, was it?’ he queried softly.
‘Parts of it,’ she hedged, because she didn’t want him thinking she felt sorry for herself. ‘My mother was a widow—and her whole life was spent juggling jobs in order to provide for me and Amber. She was worn out most of the time, and every single penny counted, so a birthday party would have been right out of the question. But Mum sometimes used to make a cake and stick a few candles in it, and the three of us would finish the lot!’ There was a long pause. ‘The last time she made a cake, Amber was about Katy’s age.’
‘And then?’
She stared at him. ‘You want to hear the whole thing?’
‘Don’t you want to tell me?’
Ursula hesitated. ‘When we were in our teens my mother got sick,’ she said baldly. ‘She was ill for a long time. She died last year.’
‘And you cared for her, I guess?’
She looked at him in surprise, then nodded. ‘Yep. Nursed her at home until just before the end.’
‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘That explains a lot.’
‘Oh?’ Her fingers moved up to check the mother-of-pearl slide which clipped back a great handful of black hair. ‘Like what?’
‘Your kindness. Your maturity. Other things, too, but you’re right—’ he gave her a gentle smile ‘—this isn’t a therapy session. Let’s go and have that drink now. You look like you could use it.’
‘That sounds good.’ But she hadn’t found his questions invasive at all. It had been almost a relief to tell him. Sometimes you locked away the bad, sad bits of your life so that they festered, like a sore.
She followed him from the hall into one of the reception rooms, where leaded windows gave the room an old-fashioned look which was enhanced by the blaze of colour from the garden beyond. The style of the room remained as simple as the large hallway they had just left—with polished floorboards strewn with rugs, and carefully chosen, non-matching pieces of furniture which gave the room a very modern appearance.
There was an already opened bottle of champagne on ice, and Ross gestured towards it. ‘Like the best boy scout, I came prepared. How about some of this?’
Ursula wasn’t really the kind of person who drank chilled champagne before the sun had even gone down, but she certainly wasn’t going to ask him for a glass of beer!
‘I’d love some,’ she said.
He poured them both a flute and handed her one, and Ursula took it over to the open French doors, to have a better look at the garden. It was large enough to require both passion and dedication to have it looking as good as that, she decided.
‘So who does the gardening?’ she asked him. ‘You or Jane?’
‘Oh, Jane hates gardening,’ he told her, with an odd kind of laugh. ‘She likes cut flowers bought from expensive florists and wrapped in pretty paper! She has an aversion to mud and bugs!’
‘And what about you?’ she quizzed curiously. ‘Do you have an aversion to mud and bugs?’
He smiled. ‘On the contrary—I like the feel of the soil on my hands. There’s something very satisfying about planting something in the ground and watching it take root and grow. No, my excuse for employing someone else to do the garden is that any free time I have, I prefer to spend with my daughter.’
He had moved slightly closer to her, and Ursula could detect the faintest trace of aftershave—a combination of musk and lemon which somehow seemed more heady out here in the open air than it ever did in the office. He must have been in the shower shortly before she arrived, since his hair was still very slightly damp.
Ursula shivered, in spite of the sun still beating fiercely down on their heads. She began to long for someone else to arrive, almost as much as she hoped that no one would.
She took a hurried mouthful of champagne. ‘So is anyone else coming to the party?’
‘You mean more children?’
‘I meant more adults.’
‘Just Jane,’ he told her. ‘And whoever she decides to invite at the last moment—which leaves the field wide open.’
She ignored the caustic tone in his voice. ‘No grandparents?’
‘No. Like you, my parents are both dead. And Jane’s are divorced—she doesn’t see her father, and her mother lives in Australia.’
‘No godparents?’ She saw the tightening o
f his features. ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to pry.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s okay. It’s natural enough to ask. We’ve never actually had Katy christened. Jane has a horror of organised religion.’ He took a sip of champagne. ‘You obviously disapprove.’
‘My opinion doesn’t matter,’ she told him frankly, then smiled and raised her glass. ‘But I’m honoured—to be the only other adult invited!’
There was a pause. ‘And what if I told you that I had lured you here under false pretences?’
Ursula felt her heart bashing against her ribcage as wild fantasies sprang into rampant life. ‘In what way?’ she croaked.
‘Just that Jane sometimes gets carried away with work, forgets about the time, that sort of thing—’
Ursula suddenly understood. ‘And you needed someone you could rely on, to pick bits of pepperoni up off the floor?’ Someone, moreover, who would not read too much into the invitation—because Ursula was certain that there must have been tens of women who would have been delighted to step into Jane’s shoes for an evening and mastermind a children’s party...
‘Someone with the organisational skills to co-ordinate a game of musical statues, actually.’
Ursula hid a smile. ‘I think you’ll find that ten-year-old girls will find musical statues too “babyish”.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Yes, I do.’
Ross had gone quite pale. ‘Then what do you suggest we do with them for the next three hours? I didn’t bother hiring an entertainer!’
Ursula smiled. ‘Don’t panic! Right now they’re listening to a CD, and at that age they have the capacity to listen to it over and over again—for hours on end! Then they’ll probably want to watch the video while they eat their pizza. They’ll want us adults as far away as possible—they’re quite easy to please, really.’
‘You aren’t a secret mother by any chance?’ he teased. ‘With a brood of children hidden away at home?’
‘No.’ It was an image which stubbornly refused to be credible, but not because she couldn’t imagine herself as a mother. Simply that she had terrible difficulty conjuring up the idea of anyone as the father... ‘But I brought up my sister when our mother became too ill.’
One Husband Required! Page 3
