‘Romillie,’ Naylor acknowledged, and shook her hand too, but did not, she thought, seem overly impressed, because he turned from her and straight away asked her mother if she was enjoying the exhibits, and if she had far to come or lived in London.
And while Eleanor explained briefly where they lived, and that they had journeyed up by car, Romillie realised she must have gained the wrong impression when she had thought Naylor Cardell had been standing stock still when he had seen her. If he had, he must have seen all he wanted to, because he was not looking at her now—and in fact had barely given her another glance.
She felt slightly miffed for no reason, because she was sure she did not want the next chairman of Tritel Incorporated to be interested in her—which clearly he was not. So, after first checking that her mother appeared to be all right and in no way anxious, Romillie moved a step or two away to look at a different painting.
From the corner of her eye she saw her mother and Lewis Selby move on. She had thought Naylor Cardell had moved on with them. But—wrong—he was all at once there in front of her.
Romillie looked up and observed that he had short dark blondish hair and quite striking blue eyes—eyes that were looking no more interested now than they had. And—more—were definitely unfriendly. Abruptly, she glanced from him to see that her mother, although now out of earshot, was otherwise chatting happily to Lewis.
Romillie flicked her glance back to Naylor Cardell. She had a feeling she did not like him. Had a feeling he did not like her. Fine. She did not have to like him—if he was standing there waiting for her to say something he’d have a long wait.
But he wasn’t waiting. His tone curt, ‘You know that Lewis has asked your mother out?’ he gritted.
Romillie was so taken aback she wasn’t sure that her jaw did not drop. She took another glance to where her mother and Lewis appeared to be getting on famously.
‘He told you?’ she questioned sharply, not at all sure how she felt about that, but her protective instincts on the upsurge.
‘We’re friends as well as colleagues,’ Naylor Cardell stated. ‘Lewis Selby is a fine man,’ he went curtly. ‘I admire him tremendously.’
Romillie did not care to be spoken to curtly. Who the blazes did he think he was? ‘You’re suggesting I should join his fan club?’ she asked acidly.
Naylor’s eyes narrowed at her impudence—Romillie had a feeling that he was more used to women falling at his feet than giving him a load of lip. He swallowed down his ire, however, to inform her, ‘Lewis is an honourable man. I can guarantee that should Eleanor take up his invitation she will come to no harm.’
Romillie had had enough of this before it started. He had known her mother for five minutes—she had spent this last five years trying to help her through what had been a very dreadful time for her.
‘I’ll bear that in mind!’ she retorted, and went to walk away—the nerve of the man!
‘Hear me out.’ Naylor insisted.
Romillie could think of not one single, solitary reason why she should. But, glancing at her mother again, she saw her laugh at something Lewis had just said. And just then she was struck by the change in her mother since that day she had first invited Lewis Selby in for a cup of tea. She seemed, in fact, from that day onwards, to have made great strides in surfacing from the despair that had held her in its grip for so long, and moving on towards regaining her full confidence. So maybe, just maybe, she owed this man—who clearly held Lewis Selby in high regard—some small hearing.
‘So?’ she invited.
‘So I’ll tell you,’ Naylor Cardell took up, without waiting for her to change her mind, ‘because it’s for certain that Lewis won’t. He went through one horrendous divorce a couple of years ago, where he was too much of a gentleman to fight back. She, the ex, did everything she could to destroy him. She almost succeeded.’
That had such a familiar ring to it—had not her own father tried to undermine her mother at every turn, done everything he could to make her crumple?
‘She hated it like hell when he proved too much of a man for her,’ Naylor went on. ‘But that doesn’t mean he didn’t suffer just the same.’
Romillie could feel herself warming to Lewis Selby. Oh, the poor man. If…She checked the thought. She mustn’t go soft here. Her mother was still her prime consideration.
‘So?’ she tossed at him, chin jutting.
Naylor Cardell’s eyes glinted steel. ‘So,’ he said heavily, ‘from the little Lewis has told me of your mother—and I swear to you he has not broken any confidences,’ he added, when she started to bridle, ‘I’d say that both your mother and Lewis could do with a break.’
‘A break for what?’ Romillie questioned hostilely, as ever her mother’s guardian.
‘A break to get to know each other, wouldn’t you say?’
Romillie was not sure that she would. She looked into those striking blue eyes and could feel herself giving in while not sure what she was giving in to. Time to toughen up! ‘Who elected you cupid?’ she challenged curtly—and discovered that he didn’t like being spoken to that way either.
‘Look here, Fairfax,’ he rapped. ‘It’s an initial dinner that’s in the offing, not a trip to see the vicar. And if you could forget to be thoroughly selfish for two minutes, and after all your mother does for you do something for her for a change, it might improve your disposition.’
Romillie’s jaw did drop. That was so unfair! How dared he? She felt like hitting him. But she was used to dampening down her feelings, and so swallowed down the urge to hit him or to tell him just how wrong he had got it. No way was she going to tell him anything of how downcast her mother had been.
So, she stared up at him. Then suddenly she smiled, the phoney smile she had up to then reserved for Jeff Davidson, and with no intention whatsoever of doing anything Naylor Cardell might suggest, ‘What would you like me to do?’ she invited sweetly.
Whether he saw straight through her or not, Romillie had no idea, but Naylor Cardell seemed to be giving the matter every consideration before, after several moments, he suggested, ‘Why not urge Eleanor to take up his dinner invitation? To accept—’
‘She won’t.’ Romillie cut him off. Oh, my, he wasn’t used to being interrupted. That was plain as she weathered the exasperated look he sent her.
‘Lewis tells me there’s a chance if you go too,’ he grated.
Oh, help us, this Naylor Cardell really did dislike her, didn’t he? She should worry! ‘My mother would never agree to that,’ Romillie told him forthrightly. But then, out of positively nowhere—though perhaps since he had been trying to back her into a corner where she, it seemed, was selfish and uncaring—Romillie thought it about time she challenged him for a change. ‘My mother wouldn’t agree to that,’ she reiterated, but added, bringing out her phoney smile again, and looking up at him all wide-eyed and innocent, ‘But she might agree if we went out in a foursome.’
Naylor Cardell stared at her as if he just could not believe his hearing. As if his normal powers of rapid comprehension had just deserted him.
‘Foursome?’ he queried slowly. ‘We?’ he questioned, scandalised.
Suddenly Romillie was having a lovely time. It was all right, wasn’t it, when he was doing the challenging, he urging she persuade her mother to accept Lewis’s invitation, but different again when that challenge was bounced back at him. ‘It’s time to put your money where your mouth is,’ she told him. And just had to release a light laugh that bubbled up and would not stay down when she added, ‘Be brave, Cardell—you’ve been elected.’
He stared down into her wide brown eyes, looked down at her laughing lovely mouth, and appeared to be very much taken aback—even