But never in circumstances like this, she surmised as, disappointingly, he turned away and headed off towards the bathroom. And somehow she wasn’t surprised when he returned a short while later, fully dressed, right down to his cashmere coat and shiny handmade shoes, which he must have retrieved from the fireside.
‘I’m going up to the main house to use the phone,’ he announced. ‘They’re bound to have some sort of signal there. I’ll need to speak to my pilot about getting us out of here, and also about making sure there’s a connecting flight to take you on to London. With a bit of luck, you should be back before too long.’
Flora looked at him hopefully. ‘Shall I get dressed and come with you?’
‘No.’
The curtness of the word echoed around the room as he picked up his watch from the nightstand and slid it onto his wrist. ‘Why don’t you stay here?’ he suggested, his gaze encompassing the rumpled bed-linen. ‘Tidy up a little maybe, hmm?’
It was probably the most insulting thing he could have said in the circumstances, and not just because he was reinforcing stereotypical roles and putting her in a subservient position, and sounding just like her boss again.
He seemed to be forgetting the fact that they were lovers.Hadbeen lovers, she corrected herself as she forced herself to confront the bitter truth.
He doesn’t want anyone to know what we’ve been doing, she recognised painfully.I’m obviously supposed to remove any sign that two people might have spent the night here having mad, passionate sex.
Perhaps he was worried about the sensibilities of the Laird’s young niece she thought, but without any real conviction. And perhaps he was doing her a favour by reminding her of the huge divide between them, lest she have the temerity to forget that she was nothing but a humble secretary and he was the powerful boss…
That was all they were.
All they were ever intended to be.
‘Sure,’ she said, with an easy smile, as if she didn’t really care, one way or another, and she turned away before he could see the prick of tears in her eyes. ‘I’ll see if I can find a pair of rubber gloves.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
THERE WERE GOLDENcrackers and sparkling tinsel and age-old carols playing on the tinny radio. The King had just finished his speech and a succulent turkey was glistening on the table, just waiting to be carved, and since Amy’s fiancé was a surgeon, Flora didn’t doubt for a moment that he would make a brilliant job of it.
Sitting back in her chair, she tried to appreciate the cosy scene which lay before her, thinking it was about as Christmassy as anyone could ask for. Who cared that the tiny tree in the corner was about a tenth of the size of the one which had dominated the snowy lodge in Scotland, or that the windows of the Ealing flat badly needed replacing and the wind was whistling in through the odd crack? Amy and Brett had organised absolutely everything and when she’d arrived back from Scotland, she hadn’t had to lift a finger.
So why wasn’t she feeling a bit more gratitude?
Why was she feeling soweird?
Because she was missing Vito like mad, despite all her best intentions to put him out of her mind?
How stupid was that?
Their departure from Scotland had gone as smoothly as clockwork. Refusing to get into a sulk about her boss’s chauvinistic allocation of chores, Flora had cleaned the lodge so that it sparkled. She’d even gone out and picked some sprigs of holly to display in a brass bowl on the kitchen table—and the last thing she’d heard was that the Laird’s niece and her children were en route, in time for the big day. At least that wassomethingto cheer her heart. She had even taken a big bite out of the stale mince pie from the plate in front of the fireplace, to make it look as if Santa had made good his promise to come down the chimney.
A helicopter had been dispatched to take her and Vito to the airport and there they had parted company—the billionaire leaving on his private jet to Gstaad, while Flora had taken a scheduled flight to Heathrow. She had lifted her face to his—more in hope than in expectation—but there had been no longed-for kiss, only a brief touch of his leather-gloved hand to her cheek and a murmured entreaty to take care of herself.
‘I’m sure you’ll get on with your new boss,’ he had added, and for a moment she had blinked at him in surprise, suspicious about what he meant by that. Surely he wasn’t suggesting that she was one of those secretaries who put out foreveryoneshe worked for? Refusing to allow herself to fall down the neurotic rabbit hole of worrying about other people’s expectations, Flora had managed to produce a cool and non-committal smile in response.
‘Oh, I’m sure I will,’ she had agreed airily.
He had given her a brief nod and walked away and she had quickly turned her back, refusing to watch him leave for fear she might reveal her ridiculous sense of sadness.
Flora didn’t know who had arranged her journey back to London, only that she had been upgraded to the front of the plane. But the flight was too short to make the most of the freebies on offer and for some reason her stomach had lurched when the stewardess offered her champagne. Even the bright Christmassy lights of the capital had failed to lift her flagging spirits and neither had the brass band playing lustily outside Ealing Broadway station, as she had stuffed a crumpled note into their collection tin.
And now she was mechanically working her way through a turkey dinner she would rather have avoided but didn’t dare refuse, for fear it would arouse her sister’s suspicion. Heaven only knew but Amy was being suspicious enough already and she hadn’t eased up on her interrogation.
‘So, you’re telling me you spent the nightalonein some remote lodge place with the hot billionaire?’
‘There’s no need to make it sound like that,’ said Flora crossly, sawing her way through a Brussels sprout.
‘Like what?’ questioned Amy, all faux innocence. ‘You can’t blame me for being interested when you came back looking like…’
Flora put her fork down as her sister’s words tailed off. ‘Looking likewhat?’
