didn't pry, but let her know that they were there for her at any time and in any place, Astra stating she was taking them out that evening. No man was worth staying in for on a Saturday night.
In actuality, Yancie would have preferred to stay home. She felt a need to be by herself, but Astra was right; she ought to be going out and setting about putting Thomson out of her head. But, how could she?
After her speedy exit from the bathroom she had hurriedly donned some clothes, attended to her light make-up and her hair. A hasty look out of the window had shown that, while weather conditions could have been better, they weren't as bad as they had been. Yancie had opted to wait for Thomson down in the hotel lounge.
She hadn't had to wait very long. But when she had been feeling all shy at the thought of seeing him again after their heated lovemaking it had been at once obvious from his cool expression that he was regretting what had happened.
'I'll drive,' he'd said, his tone even, but a hint of iron there that said, Don't argue.
Suit yourself, she'd fumed, hating him that he could put her on this emotional treadmill. There she had been, sitting there weaving cosy dreams where Thomson, when he joined her, he might suggest they met outside of work so that they might get to know each other a little better. But, forget it! He was physically attracted to her; she knew that much. But did he have to make it so painfully obvious that that was all it was-physical? That his emotions were not otherwise affected? That, in fact, he didn't want to know her any better?
So why couldn't she stop thinking about the wretched man? It was for certain he wasn't wasting any time thinking about her.
In that, however, Yancie found she was wrong. It was around five, late that day, when she was drumming into her head how she was going to go out with Fennia and Astra that night, and how they were going to have a whale of a time, when the phone rang.
Fennia was in the bath, Astra was in her study; Yancie picked the phone up and said, `Hello.'
'Thomson Wakefield,' he announced, and at the thought that he was ringing to ask for a date her mouth went dry. But, date? Forget it! `I need a driver,' he went on, seemingly recognising her voice from that one word. `Can you pick me up at seven?'
I'm afraid Yancie's out; she has a heavy date tonight, but I'll tell her you rang when I see her in the morning. She so nearly said it, but she loved the brute. `No problem,' she answered, managing to keep her tone even. `Where am I driving to? I mean, do I need to look up a route?'
'I'm attending a recital not far away; I'll give you directions when I see you.'
'Right,' she said-and hung up.
You're pathetic, Yancie, pathetic, she told herself, knowing that what she should have told him was, Drive yourself, and while you're at it you can have my resignation. Had not her emotions been involved, she would not have hesitated to do so. In fact the old Yancie would never have put up with so much. But this love she had for him had crept up on her and, while the old Yancie was still in there somewhere, love had, for the moment, debilitated her.
Fortunately there was more than one bathroom in the flat; Yancie went and showered and washed her hair and was dressed in a black trouser suit with a white silk shirt when she went to seek out her cousins. They were in the kitchen having a cup of tea.
' Er-I'll have to cancel tonight,' she opened.
'You've had a better offer?' Fennia asked.
'My boss rang-I've got to work,' Yancie explained.
'That's your new uniform, is it?' Astra grinned, knowing full well who her boss was.
Yancie had to laugh; so did Fennia. Yancie left the apartment. She was smiling again as it only then dawned on her that, for all Thomson had instructed her to return the Jaguar to the firm's garage, he must know that she hadn't done so yet. Just as he must know that she'd had no intention of doing so until Monday morning.
As she'd known they would, her insides started to play up as soon as she pulled up on his drive. She left the car and went to ring the doorbell of his home. She sent stern instructions to her facial muscles. Stay impassive. It might well be the housekeeper who answered the door, but it could equally well be Thomson, or even her ladyship, his mother!
The door opened and, looking splendid in dinner suit, crisp white shirt and bow-tie, Thomson stood there-and her heart fluttered crazily to see him.
He seemed a little taken aback to see her, she thought, but as his glance travelled over her, taking in her silk shirt, her long length of leg in her expensive trouser suit, Yancie realised that he was only taken aback because he had expected her to be dressed in the same fashion as when he had last seen her.
'My uniforms are at the cleaners,' she lied. Her mother was right; her uniform was drab.
'Shall we get on?' he ignored her lie-but very nearly poleaxed Yancie when he added, `I have to collect my date, first.'
Yancie turned abruptly about so he shouldn't see her expression. She felt sick at heart, sick to her stomach, and was never more glad of her pride. Because it was pride, and pride alone, that got her through the next few minutes, and saved her from either crumpling there and then, or telling him he could drive himself, that she'd had it with him.
Yancie felt even sicker when his date turned out to be an elegant, sophisticated woman of about thirty or so. While she was not beautiful in the accepted sense, she had a certain charm Yancie could see some men might care for. Clearly Thomson Wakefield was one of them.
'It's very good of you to give up your Saturday evening to drive us,' she addressed Yancie from the rear, to Yancie's mind sitting much too close to Thomson.
Charm or condescension? `Mr Wakefield caught me when I'd got nothing on,' Yancie replied, adding, `Madam,' for the sheer hell of it. And, ignoring the cold look in Thomson's eyes as their eyes clashed in the rear-view mirror, she started to grow angry with the pair of them. How dared this Julia-whatever-her name-was patronise her? How dared Thomson-? Suddenly she was furious with him. He of the `Go, Yancie. While I can still let you' that morning when, naked, she'd stood in the circle of his arms. He had known about-and had probably looked forward tohis date with Julia that night!
Following his directions, Yancie turned into the drive of a large manor house. There were many other smart cars parked in the drive. At first it pleased Yancie when she saw at once that she wouldn't be able to park in front of the house, that position already taken. It was a cold night; it wouldn't hurt Julia to walk a bit, to Yancie's way of thinking. Though when she had a sudden and unwanted vision of the woman hanging onto Thomson's arm as they walked up the drive Yancie decided to drive on and for a few seconds double park at the front door.
She stopped the car and heard Thomson's date voice the opinion that the recital and following supper would probably end at about eleven. He got out and went round to the passenger door to open it for her jealously gave a vicious nip, and as far as Yancie was concerned the woman could break a leg before she'd get out and open the door for her. Having closed the passenger door, Thomson came to the driver's door, but whatever it was he had to say Yancie wasn't interested. She was off, away down the drive.
An hour later she'd cooled down sufficiently to go back again. That in itself had been a tussle. For her money, Thomson and his date could walk home. But they wouldn't, of course. There would always be someone around to give them a lift-and what would she have achieved, apart from losing her job? Nothing, except that she had given Thomson the idea that she had been upset about something. Bubbles to that!
Yancie found a parking spot and went for a stroll around. It was a bitterly cold night, so it wasn't much of a stroll. She did, however, notice, on walking by a Rolls-Royce, that there was a chauffeur's peaked cap on the front seat.
She had already decided that she wasn't going to go back to the car and sit there freezing to death until the function was over. That clinched it. She'd go where all good chauffeurs went on a bitterly cold night.
In actual fact, she found there were only three of them when she made it to the kitchen. Mick, Jerry and her, all the other guests-teetotallers or license-riskers, obviously-opting to drive themselves.
'You must be starved,' the housekeeper said, after a while, when Yancie had explained who she was. `I'll just get this food sent up, and then you can have your supper.'
It wasn't a bad life, being a driver, Yancie reckoned, having dined on venison pie, duchesse potatoes, and a cranberry and red cabbage mix. Afterwards, as they sat at a table in a corner and Jerry got out a pack of cards, Yancie found there were still some considerable gaps in her education.
They had been playing cards for about an hour when Mick volunteered, `You're all right, Yancie. I thought you
