‘Uh…’ Rachel hid the crumpled newspaper behind her back, surreptitiously trying to stuff it down the back of the telephone table.
Fortunately Bethany came up beside her mother and distracted her beautifully by asking Rachel when she was planning to get ready for their promised lunch.
‘But I am ready,’ protested Rachel, looking down at her white overshirt, blue boat-necked top and cropped narrow trousers.
Robyn and Bethany looked at each other and rolled their eyes. ‘Oh, no, you’re not!’ they chorused.
Rachel’s strenuous protests fell on deaf ears as they bore her off to plunder the contents of her wardrobe.
‘Hey, I remember this!’ said Robyn, discovering the purple linen halterneck dress with its gauzy see-through jacket pushed to the back of the closet. ‘David bought this for you, didn’t he?’
‘No one wears halternecks any more,’ objected Rachel, eyeing the deep neckline.
‘Are you kidding? The retro look is hot. I saw a designer dress like this in last month’s Vogue,’ said Bethany, sealing her fate.
‘I probably won’t get into it—it always was rather snug…’
If anything she seemed to have lost weight since she had last worn it.
‘This is ridiculous. I’m way overdressed,’ she grumbled, turning away from the sight of the three of them in the mirror, realising with a pang that it might be a very long time before she had her sister and daughter to chivvy her over feminine fripperies.
‘Then we’ll all look ridiculous together—we’re dressed up too,’ pointed out Robyn. ‘But I bet Matthew won’t think so…’ she added smugly.
By the time he arrived Bethany was in a fever of expectation, dashing out to the gate to greet h
im, coltishly graceful in her multi-coloured slip-dress and white lace cardigan.
‘I thought you said there’d be two of them!’ she pouted as the chauffeur began to marshal their bags.
‘Kale assures me that this thing has a boot like the hold of a 747,’ grinned Matt, following her up the path to help with the luggage.
‘Ladies…’ His eyes politely admired Robyn’s classic mint-green ensemble, but lingered on the purple dress with a smouldering pleasure that he made no effort to disguise. This morning his spectacles were narrow rectangles rimmed in silver. He saw her looking at them and adjusted them unnecessarily on his aquiline nose.
‘They’re not new—I have a whole wardrobe of them,’ he said, with a tinge of defensiveness that caused Rachel to hide a smile.
‘Vanity, thy name is man,’ she said, amused by the chink in his armour. ‘Can’t you wear contacts?’
He looked even more self-conscious. ‘Lenses aren’t as convenient when you’re not a full-time wearer, and my short-sightedness is only marginal. I simply prefer glasses.’
‘Because they make you appear like a mild-mannered intellectual rather than the ruthless competitor you really are?’ Something in his expression prompted a leap of intuition. ‘Are they part of that cool image you like to project? Do you use them to help fend off some of those society she-wolves, on the principal that girls don’t make passes at guys who wear glasses…?’
‘Well, the superficial types do tend not to look beyond the face furniture.’ His bland reply neither confirmed nor denied the allegation.
‘Then they must be dim-witted as well as superficial, because—’ She hurriedly cut herself off, but too late for the spark of laughter that lit his eyes.
‘What? You find them sexy?’ He lowered them on his nose to peer at her over the top of them. ‘Do we share a secret fantasy about you seducing a certain seemingly mild-mannered intellectual? Stripping off his spectacles along with his—oof!’ He doubled over the suitcase that Rachel thrust into his stomach.
‘Here, how about flexing a muscle other than your tongue!’
‘Oh, believe me, I am,’ he murmured wickedly, laughing as she flounced away in a flutter of purple.
He managed the heavy suitcase with surprising ease, and Rachel found herself surreptitiously watching the flex of his body as he hefted it over the raised lip of the boot. In cream trousers and a pale jacket over a white shirt with a yellow tie he managed to look both elegant and summery, and she was suddenly glad she had let herself be bullied into wearing something bold. She would need all the help she could get to hold her own against him for the next few hours.
In the bustle of loading there was no chance of taxing him about his press release, but, after making a final check of the empty spare bedrooms and locking up, she managed a brief exchange as they walked back to the limo.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she threatened under her breath.
He had the audacity to look innocent. ‘About?’