The Marriage Miracle

‘Oh, please. We’d been married nearly a year before we managed the blessing and reception. At this rate we’ll be love’s pensioners before we get around to a honeymoon.’

‘You should make some time for yourselves, Fran.’

‘Just kidding. But it’s a bad time to go away. Besides, why waste this lovely weather when we have the perfect excuse to escape to the sun in January?’ She dropped a kiss on her sleeping babe’s brow. ‘And this little one will be more manageable by then, too.’

‘It’s going to be a family honeymoon?’

‘Absolutely. But we’re staying in a house belonging to someone Guy knows. It has a full complement of staff, apparently, and I’ve been assured that I shall not be called upon to change as much as a single nappy.’

‘The best of all possible worlds, then. It sounds bliss.’

‘It will be, but I wish—’

‘You’ve got everything you could ever wish for, Fran,’ Matty intervened, before her cousin could voice her guilt at leaving her behind. ‘And for once I’ll be able to get on with some work without having to put up with a constant stream of interruptions.’ As if to mock her, her doorbell rang. ‘Now what?’

She lifted the entryphone. ‘Yes?’

‘Meals on Wheels, ma’am. Since you wouldn’t come to lunch with me, I’ve brought lunch to you.’

Fran’s eyes widened. ‘Is that Sebastian Wolseley?’ she whispered.

‘It must be,’ Matty replied, with remarkable composure considering her insides had clenched into a nervous fist at the sound of his voice. ‘He’s the only man I’ve turned down lunch with today.’

‘You did what?’

‘Treat them mean, keep them keen,’ she said, with a fair attempt at a laugh. Not that she imagined Fran was fooled for a minute by her apparent carelessness.

She shouldn’t care, but it was a long time since she’d thought about a man—thought about a man in connection with herself, that was—for more than five minutes. She’d wasted a lot more than five minutes on Sebastian Wolseley, which suggested that she did. Care.

‘It seems to be working,’ her cousin replied, apparently amused. ‘Is leaving him standing on the doorstep part of the plan?’

She was tempted. She’d said she was busy and he’d taken no notice. That was bad, wasn’t it? He hadn’t listened to what she was saying and that showed a lack of respect…or something.

The warmth spreading upwards towards her cheeks suggested that respect was the last thing she wanted from him.

That his unwillingness to take no for an answer was much more appealing.

Dangerous, but appealing, and she buzzed him in. Then, as Fran headed for the French windows, Matty said, ‘Excuse me, just where do you think you’re going?’

‘You think I’m going to hang around and play gooseberry?’ Fran asked, as Sebastian appeared from the hall and joined them. Then she gracefully extended a hand, accepting a kiss on her cheek, and said, ‘Hello, Sebastian. How’re you settling into the flat? Is there anything you need?’

‘Everything’s fine, thank you, Francesca. I’m very grateful to you. Even the most comfortable hotel loses its charm after a week.’ He looked at the baby in her arms. ‘This is Toby’s sister, I take it?’ He held out a finger for the baby to clutch.

Matty watched as Fran said, ‘Say hello, Stephanie.’ The baby blew a bubble and earned herself a full-throttle smile. ‘Say goodbye, Stephanie.’ Then, ‘Guy will give you call later in the week to organise supper one evening soon.’

‘I look forward to it.’

‘And if you change your mind about tomorrow, Matty, give me a call,’ she said, before stepping out in the garden, leaving her alone with Sebastian.

‘Tomorrow?’ he asked, finally dragging his gaze from the lovely Madonna-like image of mother and child and turning to look directly at Matty.

She shrugged, reminding herself that it wasn’t at all attractive to begrudge a baby one of his smiles. ‘Fran suggested a day at the coast. I told her I was too busy. She listened.’

‘I listened. You said you were planning a sandwich.’ He offered her the kind of brown recycled paper carrier bag used by expensive organic bakers. ‘I thought I’d save you the trouble of making it.’

She had two alternatives: keep looking at him, or take the carrier and look inside that. She took the carrier. And kept on looking at him.

‘Is it my imagination,’ she asked, after a silence that stretched seconds too long, ‘or are sandwiches heavier than they used to be?’

‘Not noticeably. But since I had no idea what you’d prefer—you might, for instance, be a vegetarian, or allergic to shellfish, or hate cheese—I thought I’d better bring a selection.’

‘That was thoughtful.’

‘I’m a thoughtful man. Ask anyone.’

She peeked into the carrier, because continuing to stare at him was not smart. It would give him the wrong idea—or possibly the right one; whichever it was, it wouldn’t be good. Besides, looking at him was making her feel dizzy…

‘I seem to be spoilt for choice,’ she said, taking her time over her selection. Gathering her composure, the strength to dismiss him. The feelings he provoked in her pathetic body were too powerful to be ignored, laughed away. She had to protect herself. Send him away. Now.

She stared in the bag. There were more sandwiches than one person could eat in a week—even supposing that person ever wanted to eat again—but for some reason she couldn’t read the labels clearly, so she picked out the first one that came to hand. She blinked and saw that it was smoked salmon with cream cheese on dark rye bread. The man had taste; she’d give him that.

‘For future reference, Sebastian,’ she said, as she placed it on the workbench beside her. ‘In the unlikely event that you should ever be tempted to do this again. I’m not a vegetarian, I love shellfish, and I believe cheese to be the food of the gods.’ Then, handing the carrier back to him, she dug deep for a smile and said, ‘Thank you. Thoughtful indeed. I shall enjoy it later. When I’ve finished work.’

Then she quickly turned back to her drawing board in what she hoped he would understand was a gesture of dismissal. Brushed away a spot of something wet that landed on her drawing board. Waited for him to walk out of her life.

When he didn’t take the hint—she hadn’t really expected him to; if she were honest hadn’t really wanted him to—she tried just a bit harder with, ‘Can you find your own way out?’

CHAPTER THREE

SEBASTIAN shook his head. Not because finding his way out of her apartment was beyond him, but in total admiration of her insouciance.

Having been turned down for lunch, he’d gone out on a limb in his attempt to charm her but she still wasn’t having any of it.

‘You are a class act, Matty Lang.’

She had the grace to smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me. It wasn’t a compliment.’

Except, of course, it was and they both knew it. He admired that kind of cool. Her ability to remain completely unimpressed by humility from a man not given to such gestures. Or maybe she recognised the truth: that he wasn’t used to taking no for an answer.

‘You won’t object if I call a cab before you kick me out?’ he asked, raising the stakes a little as he took out his cellphone.

‘You came by cab?’

‘No. Why? Do you have something against them?’

She pulled her lips tight against her teeth, as if trying very hard not to smile, trying very hard not change her mind and ask him to stay.