6pm
Three quarters of an hour later, Millie heard George’s footsteps coming down the stairs. The whiskey hadn’t impaired her hearing even if it had transformed the mood in the kitchen. Despite the joking and giggling around her, she’d been listening with half an ear to the goings-on upstairs. Doors, footsteps and a ringing mobile phone which George must have answered as he came downstairs and stood in the hallway by the front door.
Was he goingout again?
Millie was a lightweight drinker, and two shots of Jameson had gone to her head and opened the barriers to thoughts she’d been holding back. She missed George; she wanted to see him. If he went out now, God only knew when he might be back. He’d come home very late the last few nights, long after she’d gone to her room. There was no excuse she could find to come out in her nightie and contrive to run into him on the stairs.
With Dutch courage coursing through her veins, she pushed her chair back and stood up. “I’m going to check onour boss.”
Mrs B grabbed Millie’s wrist, holding her for a minute while she raised her eyebrows at Joanie. “Are we agreed, then?”
Joanie shrugged. “I think so. If Millie can keep him under control, I will wait a couple of months, help you find and train my replacement. It suits me better. I can take my time to find the right job.”
Mrs B let go of Millie’s wrist. “Okay, off yougo, dear.”
Just then, Millie had a thought. “Joanie, how about I ask George to write you a good reference and maybe ask around for a good vacancy? He’s well connected.”
Joanie’s eyes widened. “Can you really do that? Yes, please, Millie.”
“I can ask him now.” Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. This was the perfect excuse, and she couldn’t wait to use it. “But I want a favour in return.”
“I am not cooking more toad-in-the-hole.”
Millie giggled. The whisky was really breaking her inhibitions. “I want you to help me to speak good French.”
“Easy. I’ll even help you learn Frenchcooking.”
Millie raced towards the hall, then slowed down to a normal walk. Her heart, if anything, was going even faster, beating nineteen to the dozen. All her senses were projected forward to where George stood by the front door, his hand on thedoorknob.
Her blood pumped a lethal cocktail of nerves, excitement, alcohol and something else.
George stopped when he saw her and nodded a greeting, but his hand was still on the door handle.
Wait,she wanted to say.
He wore a business suit, dark navy blue, with a white shirt and a classic silk tie. A dark leather belt cinched his waistband low overhis hips.
Desire pooled low in her belly and made her heart drift dangerously. Dear God, how could a man be sogorgeous?
“Is your father okay now?” As conversational gambits went, it was rather lame but the best she could manage. That second whiskey had beena mistake.
George merely nodded. He seemed about to go, but then turned back to her. “I hope peace is restored with Joanie.”
“I’m afraid I volunteered your services.” Millie stopped a couple of steps in front of him.
He arched an eyebrow. A perfect eyebrow. The hall lamp caught his eyelashes and threw shadows across his cheekbones.
“My services?” heprompted.
She dragged her mind back. “I said you’d put the word out for a possible job for her, somewhere good.” What had seemed like a great idea in the kitchen now felt like an imposition. “I hope you don’t mind. None of us wanted to lose Joanie and, erm…” She ran out of words, like a seventeen-year-old girl.
Fortunately, he seemed in better command of his senses. “Of course. I am really sorry about my father’s outburst. Should I offer her a pay rise? Wouldshe stay?”
“I think her mind is made up, but she will stay until she can train a replacement.”
“This is your doing, persuading her to stay a bit longer?” his eyes were very warm on her. “Thank you, Millie.” His voice dropped lower. “I am in your debt.”
She didn’t want him in her debt; she wanted him in her arms. She desperately wanted tokiss him.
