Promoted: to Wife and Mother

after themselves in lots of ways, in others they need just as much attention now as when they were toddlers.’

He looked around the kitchen. ‘So here we are! I’m hoping I’ve done the right thing, but it’s always difficult to be certain. The girls are moaning about having to leave their friends in London and everything’s a mess…It’ll take us all a little time to settle down, I think.’

‘And the last thing you need is me burdening you with my problems,’ said Perdita guiltily. ‘It sounds as if you’ve got more than enough of your own.’

‘That doesn’t make yours any less important,’ said Ed, thinking how surprisingly easy it was to talk to Perdita. He didn’t usually tell virtual strangers about Sue. She had been so effervescent and lively on the course that he would never have been able to imagine talking to her like this then, but she seemed oddly right sitting at his kitchen table now. She was no less vivid but her dark brown eyes were warm and sympathetic, and looking into them Ed felt the tight feeling in his chest loosen for the first time in years.

He made himself look away. ‘My own mother died a couple of years ago, so I know what it’s like,’ he said gruffly.

A silence fell. It wasn’t that uncomfortable at first but, as it lengthened, it began to tighten and tighten until it seemed to stretch and twang and, the longer it went on, the more impossible it seemed to break it.

Perdita was drinking her wine with a kind of desperation. Her father would have been appalled to know that she might as well have been drinking pop for all she could taste. She was too aware of Ed across the table from her, of the planes of his face, the angle of his jaw, the line of his mouth…Her blood thrummed and her mouth was so dry, she had to moisten her lips. Was it just her, or was there a dangerous charge in the atmosphere?

She made herself look around the kitchen as if fascinated by its design, but her gaze kept drifting back to Ed and, every time it did, their eyes would catch and snare and the air evaporated from the room, leaving her with a rushing in her ears and a scary sensation pulsing beneath her skin.

Perdita fought to get a grip. This wouldn’t do. This was Edward Merrick. Her boss, remember?

‘More wine?’ he said, lifting the bottle, and his voice seemed to jar in the silence.

‘No…thanks…’ For heaven’s sake! She was blushing and stammering as she drained her glass, squirming with embarrassment in case Ed somehow guessed the physical attraction-oh, why be mealy mouthed? Perdita asked herself impatiently-the sheer lust that had her in its grip. ‘I should probably be getting back,’ she said, horrified to hear the words come out as a croak.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ Pushing back her chair, she got abruptly to her feet. ‘My mother will be expecting me.’

It wasn’t true, but Ed wasn’t to know that and Perdita was suddenly desperate to get away before she made a complete fool of herself. Perhaps she could blame it on the wine, she thought wildly. If it were as good as Ed said, there was no knowing what effect it might be having.

Ed escorted her to the door. ‘Did you want to leave those numbers?’

‘Numbers?’

‘In case we need to get hold of you about your mother,’ he prompted. ‘I’ve got your work number, of course, but presumably your mobile would be better.’

‘Oh…yes…of course.’ Feeling foolish, Perdita dug in her pocket for the business card she had brought with her. ‘I’ve written my personal numbers on the back.’

He took it from her. Was it her imagination, or was he being just as careful as she was to make sure that their fingers didn’t touch? ‘I’ll put it up in kitchen and make sure the kids know about it.’

‘Thanks.’ There was a pause. Empty-handed now, Perdita lifted her arms from her sides and then let them drop again uselessly. ‘Well…thanks.’

‘Thank you for the wine.’

Another moment of awkwardness, then Ed forced a smile. ‘I’ll see you at work, then,’ he said, horribly conscious of the constraint in the atmosphere. ‘I’ve got tomorrow and the weekend to sort things out here, then I’m starting full-time on Monday.’

Work. Yes, remember that, Perdita told herself sternly. That place where he was Chief Executive and she was Operations Manager and there was no time for mooning around over grieving widowers with three children to look after.

‘Of course,’ she said brightly.

‘We’ll need to set up a meeting then.’

‘Right,’ she said. This was terrible. It was obvious that he couldn’t wait for her to go any more than she could wait to be gone, but somehow neither of them seemed to be able to make it happen. ‘Well, I’d better go,’ she said, turning determinedly for the door. ‘Bye.’

Her dignified exit was spoiled when she tripped over the step as she left, but by then Perdita was feeling so awkward she was beyond embarrassment. Maybe it was the wine, she thought as she made her way back to her mother’s house on legs that didn’t seem to be working properly.

Definitely the wine, Perdita decided that weekend. By Monday she had herself well under control and had put the entire silly incident down to a mixture of tiredness and Cabernet Sauvignon, and if she had the odd, shameful frisson whenever she thought about seeing Ed again, she put it down to erratic air-conditioning.

A meeting of all the staff was called for the Monday afternoon so that Ed could address the entire company. He was an engaging speaker, and it was clear that he had made a good impression on everyone from the board members to the cleaners who were included in the meeting. Only Perdita left feeling distinctly aggrieved.

She had assumed that when Ed had talked about setting up a meeting he had meant on Monday, but she had just been part of a crowd, never a feeling that she liked. Perhaps he would try and see her on Tuesday?

But Tuesday came and went, as did Wednesday, and Perdita began to get cross. Didn’t he care about Operations?

In the end, it was Friday before Perdita’s secretary came into her office, bursting with news, and told her that Ed wanted to see her as soon as convenient. ‘Shall I tell his PA you can go now?’

‘No!’ said Perdita instinctively, with just a hint of panic. Having sulked because he didn’t appear to want to see her, she was abruptly flustered at the prospect.

Typical! She had dressed so carefully the last four days in the expectation that she would have a meeting with him, and now, just when she had given up expecting the summons, he had sprung it on her the day she was wearing her old-fashioned hound’s-tooth suit instead of her fabulous cherry-pink jacket with the shawl collar and the flattering cut. She had been so determined to make a good impression.

For professional reasons, of course.

‘You haven’t got any meetings until twelve o’clock,’ Valerie pointed out.

‘Well, no…but I want to get this budget done first,’ said Perdita, with a very fair assumption of casualness.

Why should she jump up and run along to his office the moment Ed snapped his fingers, after all? He had waited this long to see her. Let him wait a bit longer. The last thing she wanted was to look too keen. ‘Ask his PA if she can fit me in some time this afternoon.’

It was all very well not wanting to appear keen, but Perdita hadn’t reckoned with the fact that she would then waste the rest of morning feeling ridiculously nervous at the prospect of seeing Ed again. She did her best to concentrate on her budget-and it did need to be done-but the columns of figures kept wavering in front of her eyes and she would find her mind drifting back to his kitchen and how it had felt to sit opposite him, how he had smiled, how the air had leaked out of her lungs whenever she looked into his eyes or thought about his mouth.

And now she was going to see him again. Perdita’s heart slowed to an uncomfortable thud, which was stupid. She was forty, much too old to be getting into a tizzy about a man. This wasn’t some date. She was meeting her boss this afternoon, that was all. Anyone would think that she was excited, which clearly she wasn’t.

One, because she didn’t believe in mixing personal and professional relationships, and this one was clearly only ever going to be professional anyway.

Two, because he had three children and she was never, ever going to get involved with a single father again.

And three, because she wasn’t particularly attracted to him anyway. He was just a not particularly good- looking, middle-aged man, as she had told Millie. He wasn’t even her type. That strange surge of desire she had felt