Читать книгу Mr (Not Quite) Perfect - Jessica Hart - Страница 10

TWO

There was a long silence. Max’s eyes were narrowed. He was definitely thinking about it, Allegra realised jubilantly, and she forced herself not to say any more. If he felt she was pressurising him, he would back away. Softly, softly, catchee monkey.

‘What exactly would be involved?’ he asked cautiously at last, and Allegra kept her eyes downcast so that he wouldn’t see the triumph in them. She didn’t want to spook him now.

‘The idea is for you to complete a series of tasks,’ she began. ‘Sort of like a knightly quest...’ She stopped as his face changed. Oops, looked like she’d lost him already with the knightly quest. Hurriedly, Allegra switched tactics. Practical details, that would appeal to Max.

‘So your first task would be to have cocktails—’

‘I can’t stand those poncy drinks,’ he started grumbling immediately. ‘I don’t know how you women can sit there sucking through straws and fighting your way through umbrellas and cherries.’

‘—with Darcy King,’ Allegra finished talking over the top of him.

A pause. Max sat up straight. ‘What, not...?’

‘Yes, the Darcy King.’

Idiot. She should have mentioned Darcy right at the start. Darcy was every red-blooded male’s fantasy, a lingerie model with a sweet face and a sinful body. Allegra could practically see Max drooling already. If Darcy wouldn’t win him round to the assignment, nothing would.

‘You, Max Warriner, have the chance to go on a series of dates with Darcy King herself. Think about what your mates will say when they hear about that!’

‘Darcy King wouldn’t want to go out with me!’

‘Not if you were wearing that shirt, she wouldn’t, but that’s the whole point,’ said Allegra at her most persuasive. ‘Can we take you—an engineer with no dress sense and rudimentary social skills but with some useful abilities like how to put a flat pack from Ikea together—and turn you into the sophisticated, well-dressed kind of man that Darcy would like to go out with?’

Max looked as if he wasn’t sure how to take that. ‘She must have a boyfriend already, looking like that.’

‘Apparently she finds it hard to find men who can get past what she looks like and be interested in her,’ said Allegra. ‘Ianthe interviewed her a couple of months ago and it turns out she’s just like the rest of us, kissing a lot of toads and still hoping to find her prince.’

On the other side of the sofa, Max didn’t bother to disguise his incredulity. ‘And you think I could be Darcy King’s prince?’

‘Actually, no.’ Hmm, this was tricky. She didn’t want to discourage him, but it wouldn’t be fair to get his hopes up either. ‘I mean, even if you were to fall madly in love, it’s hard to imagine you having a future together. I don’t see Darcy wanting to go off to Shofrar.’

‘True. There’s not a lot of work for lingerie models out there,’ Max agreed. ‘But if we were madly in love, would that matter?’

For one awful moment Allegra thought that he was taking the whole matter seriously, but when she shot him a worried look he didn’t quite have time to conceal the mocking gleam in his blue-grey eyes, and she grinned and shoved him.

‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘It’s just a fun assignment, but Darcy gets to have a good time, and you might learn something about dealing with women. If you want to get Emma back, Max, this could be just the chance you need. Are you really going to turn it down because you don’t want to be seen sucking a cocktail through a straw?’

Max considered her. ‘That would be it? Drinking a cocktail with Darcy King?’

‘Well, obviously we’d need to make a few changes,’ said Allegra airily. ‘Get you a new wardrobe, a new haircut, that kind of thing, but the stylist would help you with that.’

‘Stylist?’

‘You’re really lucky.’ Allegra lowered her voice reverentially. ‘Dickie said he’d style the shoot personally.’

‘Shoot? What shoot? And who the hell is Dickie?’

He really didn’t have a clue, did he? ‘Dickie Roland is only the most famous stylist in London at the moment,’ she said. ‘He’s a superstar! I think his name is actually Georges, but in the fashion world he’s just known as Dickie after his trademark bow tie. He’s worn it ever since he came to London from Paris, and it’s hard to imagine him without one now.’

‘I hope you’re not planning to ask me to wear a bow tie!’

‘No, no, that’s Dickie’s “thing”. He’ll just make you look fabulous.’ Allegra sighed. Max clearly had no idea what an honour it was to be styled by Dickie. ‘But you have to promise to be nice to him. Dickie’s brilliant, but he can be a bit...temperamental.’

Max pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I can’t believe I’m actually discussing being styled!’ he muttered.

‘You’d want to look nice for Darcy, wouldn’t you?’

‘I haven’t said yes yet,’ he warned quickly. ‘What else is involved in this assignment of yours? It’s got to be more than putting on a shirt and slurping a cocktail.’

‘Once you’ve got through the cocktails, the next task is to cook Darcy dinner—and no ordering in a pizza. You have to cook it yourself.’ Darcy was a vegetarian and the meal had to be a romantic one, but Allegra would break that to Max later. For now she just had to get him to agree in principle. There would be time enough to talk him through the pesky details once he’d agreed.

Max grunted. ‘I could probably manage a meal, as long as she’s not expecting anything fancy.’

‘The whole point is to make an effort to cook something Darcy would like,’ said Allegra, smoothing impatience from her voice. It wouldn’t do to put his back up now, just when she had him nibbling at her hook! ‘When you’re having a drink, you’ll have to talk to her and find out what sort of food she prefers, and if she likes fancy, then you’re going to have to cook fancy. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she likes things simple,’ she added hastily as Max’s brows drew together.

‘Okay. So cocktail, cooking...what else?’

Best to take the next bit in a rush. ‘You’d need to do something cultural without looking bored—we’re thinking the theatre, perhaps, or the opening of an art exhibition—and that’s it, really. Then it’s just the ball,’ Allegra finished breezily and put on a bright smile, hoping that Max might have missed the last task.

No such luck. ‘Please tell me you’re thinking about a round thing that you kick around a field!’

‘Not exactly...’

‘Come on, Legs, there’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’

‘All right, it’s a costume ball being held for charity. You’ll have to dress up—and learn to waltz.’

There, it was out, but, as expected, Max had started shaking his head at ‘costume’. ‘No way,’ he said firmly. ‘I don’t mind having a go at the other stuff, but dressing up? And dancing? I’d rather stick pins in my eyes!’

‘Oh, Max, please! We have to have the ball. Darcy’s really looking forward to it, and learning how to dance would be such a great gesture. It would be so...romantic.’

‘What’s romantic about making a tit of yourself on the dance floor?’

‘I’ve always wanted to go to a ball like that. Not just a dinner dance bash but a real ball, with proper ball gowns and waltzing...’ Allegra’s eyes were dreamy at the mere thought of it, and she pressed a hand to the base of her throat as she sighed.

She had grown up in a house full of books, but Flick’s shelves were lined with heavyweight biographies and award-winning literary novels. Flick was dismissive of commercial fiction, and as a child Allegra’s books had been uniformly worthy. It had been a revelation to go and stay with Libby’s family, where the house was full of dog-eared paperbacks with broken spines and yellowing pages.

Best of all, Max’s mother had a collection of Regency romances and Allegra had devoured them every time she went. She loved the ordered world they portrayed with those rakish dukes and spirited governesses. She loved the dashing way the heroes drove their curricles, their curling lips, their codes of honour.

And their tight breeches, of course.

Best of all were the ball scenes, which were charged with sexual tension as the hero and heroine clasped hands and danced, oblivious to anyone but each other.

A wistful sigh leaked out of her. ‘I’d love to waltz,’ she told Max, who was predictably unimpressed. ‘It’s my fantasy to be swept masterfully around a ballroom by a dashing hero, who knows just how to dance me unobtrusively out onto a terrace where it’s dark and warm and the air is sweet with the scent of summer flowers and he’s dancing with me along the terrace but he’s overcome by passion and he presses me up against the balustrade and tells me he loves me madly and can’t live without me and he’s begging me to marry him—’

Running out of breath, she broke off to find Max watching her quizzically.

‘I’m glad you stopped,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if I should throw a glass of water at you to stop you hyperventilating.’

‘You’ve got to admit it would be romantic,’ Allegra insisted.

Max showed no sign of admitting any such thing. He got back to the business in hand.

‘Why not get that boyfriend of yours to take you if you want to go so much? What’s his name? Jerry?’

‘Jeremy.’

‘That’s right. Of course he’s a Jeremy,’ said Max dismissively. ‘I bet he knows how to dance. I only met him once but he struck me as a guy who knows how to do everything.’

Jeremy had been very accomplished, that was for sure, but he was much too serious to go dancing. He was interested in politics and the economy. He could talk about the arts and international relations. He had been well-dressed and charming. Not the most practical guy in the world perhaps, but Allegra couldn’t imagine him ever needing to assemble any flat packs in any case.

‘In fact, why not get him to do your whole assignment?’ Max said and Allegra sighed and tucked her legs more comfortably beneath her.

‘It wouldn’t be much of a transformation story,’ she said. ‘Besides, I haven’t seen him for a while. He wasn’t really my boyfriend.’

She had tried to be upset when Jeremy stopped calling, but honestly, it had been a relief not to have to try quite so hard for a while. Jeremy’s conversation might be impressive but it was light on humour and, in spite of growing up with Flick Fielding as a mother, the sad truth was that Allegra’s interests veered more towards celebrity gossip and shoes than political intrigue. Flick would be appalled if she had guessed, and Allegra did her best not to disappoint her mother, but sometimes it was hard to keep up.

‘We only went out a couple of times,’ she said. ‘Jeremy was just...someone Flick introduced me to.’

That would be right, thought Max. Allegra’s mother liked to keep her daughter toeing the line and would soon veto any unsuitable boyfriends. Tricky Flicky, as she was known by those unfortunate enough to have been subjected to one of her gruelling interviews, was a media heavyweight, famous as much for her style as for her incisive questioning. Much as they might squirm under the lash of her tongue and steely-eyed gaze, politicians lobbied to be interviewed by Flick Fielding. Flick had gravitas, they all agreed that.

Whereas Allegra...Allegra was warm and funny and creative and kind, but gravitas? No.

Max had never understood why Flick, with all her brains, didn’t just accept that rather than trying to force Allegra into her own mould.

‘So, you’re not heartbroken?’ he asked Allegra cautiously. Because he had learnt that with women you never could tell.

‘No.’ Allegra blew out a long sigh and pushed her hair away from her face. ‘Jeremy was just the latest in a long line of men who turned out not to be The One after all. I had such high hopes when I first met him too.’

‘You know, you might get on better if you stopped letting your mother choose your boyfriends.’ Max kept his voice carefully neutral but Allegra bridled anyway.

‘She doesn’t choose them!’

‘Come on, when have you ever gone out with someone your mother wouldn’t approve of?’

‘I happen to like men who are attractive and intelligent and witty and successful,’ Allegra said defensively. ‘Of course she approves of them.’

‘Maybe I should have said that you should try going out with someone because you like him, not because you think your mother will.’

‘I did like Jeremy.’ Clearly ruffled, Allegra wriggled her shoulders. ‘Anyway, that’s all beside the point. Jeremy’s not around and you are, and Max, you’re perfect for my assignment! There’s so much scope for you to improve.’

‘Thanks a lot!’

‘You know what I mean. You could get so much out of it too. You should be leaping at the chance to learn how to give a woman what she really wants! You’re going to Shofrar in a couple of months and the piece won’t be out until after you leave, but if you play your cards right you could win Emma back and take her with you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

Was it? Max thought about Emma. She’d been so easy to be with. They’d been comfortable together, and it would be good to have that back again. Of course he wanted her back...but he wanted her the way she had been before she lost her head and started wanting more of everything: more excitement, more passion, more attention, more effort. Max thought the whole idea was to find someone you didn’t have to make an effort for, but apparently he was wrong about that.

He missed Emma, though, and he missed the warm feeling of knowing that you’d found the woman you wanted to settle down with. He would never find anyone better than Emma. She was perfect for him.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course I do.’

‘Well, then,’ said Allegra, satisfied. ‘I bet if Emma gets wind of the fact that you’re going out with Darcy she’ll be jealous.’

‘I wouldn’t really be going out with her,’ Max pointed out.

‘Emma won’t know that, will she? She’ll be back in no time, you’ll see.’

‘I don’t know.’ Max pulled down his mouth. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it, and in the meantime I really don’t want to dress up and learn to dance just on the off chance that she does. I can’t imagine Emma caring about whether I can waltz or not.’

‘You couldn’t imagine her being carried away by passion either,’ Allegra pointed out.

‘No, but—’

It was at that point that Allegra gave up on arguments and threw pride to the winds. Grabbing his hand, she held it between her own.

‘Oh, please, Max! Please, please, please, please, please! Please say you’ll do it! This is my big chance to impress Stella. If I don’t find someone to take part in this assignment, I won’t get another one. I’ll be a failure!’ she said extravagantly. ‘My career will be over before it’s begun and how will I tell Flick?’

She leant beseechingly towards him and Max found himself snared in the big eyes. Funny how he had never noticed before how beautiful they were, or how green, the lovely dark mossy green of a secret wood...

Secret wood? Max gave himself a mental slap. God, he’d be spouting poetry next!

‘I know you don’t think much of Glitz,’ Allegra was babbling on, ‘but this is my career! What else am I going to do if I’m a failure as a journalist?’

‘You could illustrate those children’s books the way you always said you were going to.’ He and his family shouldn’t have been surprised when Allegra announced that she was going to follow Flick into journalism, but none of them had ever had her down as a writer. Max always thought of her drawing—quick, vivid sketches that brought a face or an animal to life in a few simple lines.

She drew back, thrown by his suggestion. ‘I can’t make a living as an illustrator.’

What she meant was: Flick wouldn’t be pleased. Flick wanted a daughter who would follow in her footsteps, a daughter who would be a journalist on television or for some respected newspaper. Flick had no time for Allegra’s ‘little drawings’. Max thought it was a shame.

‘It’s just a few hours of your time, Max.’ Allegra reverted to the problem in hand.

Would it cost him that much to help her? Max found himself thinking. She was so longing to be a success, and she deserved a break. She’d been a good friend to Libby—and to him, he acknowledged. Allegra tried so hard to be ruthless and driven like her formidable mother, but she just couldn’t quite manage it. She liked to pretend that she was tough, but she was a sucker for every sob story that came along. Allegra would never admit it, but she was hampered by warmth and kindness and humour from ever pleasing Flick.

‘And if I say no, I suppose you’ll refuse to pretend to be my fiancée when I meet Bob Laskovski?’

Allegra looked momentarily disconcerted and Max had to stop himself rolling his eyes. It had obviously never crossed her mind that she could do more than beg him to help her. She had such a transparent expression. He could read the agonizing in her green eyes, practically hear her wondering how she could possibly threaten to go back on her promise when she’d given her word.

If he had any decency, he’d put her out of her misery and tell her that he’d do her stupid assignment, but it was fun to see how far she would go for a success she could lay at Flick Fielding’s feet—and frankly, Max considered, if he was going to make an idiot of himself, he deserved some amusement in return.

‘Er, yes...yes, that’s right,’ said Allegra after a moment and put up her chin in a futile attempt to look ruthless. ‘A favour for a favour. If you don’t help me with this, you can forget about me pretending to be your fiancée!’

‘But you promised,’ Max protested, scowling to disguise his amusement as Allegra squirmed. She was big on keeping her promises. ‘If you don’t come with me to that dinner, I won’t get the job in Shofrar and you know how much that means to me.’

‘This assignment means a lot to me,’ Allegra pointed out, but she didn’t look very comfortable about it. ‘That’s the deal: take it or leave it.’

‘That’s blackmail!’ said Max.

‘And your point is...?’ she countered bravely.

It was all Max could do not to grin. He heaved a disgruntled sigh instead. ‘Oh, all right. If you’re going to be like that, I don’t have much choice, do I? I’ll take part in your precious assignment—but you’d better not have been joking about Darcy King!’

One moment he was pretending to glower at Allegra, the next his arms were full of her. Beaming, she launched herself at him, pushing him back down onto the sofa cushions as she hugged him. ‘Oh, I love you, Max! Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ she babbled, blizzarding kisses over his face. ‘You won’t regret it, I promise you. I’m going to change your life, and it’s going to be perfect!’

* * *

Allegra ran from the lift as fast as she could on her polka dot slingbacks. The shoes were a fun twist to the rest of her look, a demure tweed two-piece with a short skirt and three-quarter length sleeves that channelled her inner executive-cum-fashion diva, and Allegra had been pleased when she left home. She projected confidence and style, as befitted a girl on the verge of her big break.

Until her tights laddered, that was.

If only she hadn’t stopped to say hello to Mrs Gosling, but how could she run past when her elderly neighbour’s face lit up at the prospect of someone to talk to? Mrs Gosling spent most of her days walking her dog, an excitable mutt called, for reasons Allegra had never understood, Derek, and that morning she had been all tangled up in the lead while Derek literally ran rings round her.

Late as she was, Allegra had had to stop and disentangle Mrs Gosling and hear about Derek’s latest antics. Allegra had a friend whose small daughter Molly loved to be told how naughty Derek was, and Allegra had taken to writing out each story, exaggerating for effect, and illustrating them with little sketches of Derek’s mischievous face. Molly adored them.

‘You should put them into a book,’ Libby had said. ‘The Glorious Adventures of Derek the Dog. Mrs G would love it.’

But Allegra had shrugged the idea aside. ‘They’re just for Molly really.’

But that morning she had only listened with half an ear as she sorted out the lead and bent to greet Derek, who jumped at her in ecstasy.

That was the end of the tights.

Oh, God, she was so late! Red-faced and panting, Allegra practically fell through the doors into Glitz’s super hip offices. The editorial department sprawled over the top floor of a converted warehouse. Most days the buzz hit Allegra the moment she got out of the lift. She loved the gloss of the office, the smell of new clothes and expensive perfumes, the stark décor contrasting with the colourful scatter of accessories and shoes displayed like works of art. She loved the frantic thrum in the air, the way it was punctuated with dramatic cries and screams of excitement.

Except when Stella was present, of course, in which case everyone was very quiet unless asked to speak.

It was ominously silent when Allegra collapsed against the reception desk, a funkily curved piece of steel, and held her hand against her side.

‘The editorial meeting’s just started,’ Lulu, the receptionist, lowered her voice and eyed Allegra with sympathy. ‘You know Stella hates it when anyone is late. You’d better pretend you fell under a bus or something.’

‘I might as well if I don’t get in there and get my assignment,’ groaned Allegra, forcing herself upright.

Smoothing down her hair, she took a deep breath and headed towards the conference room, only to be called back by Lulu’s frantic whisper.

‘You can’t go in like that!’ She pointed at Allegra’s legs. ‘Tights!’

Allegra clutched her head. She’d forgotten her tights for a moment. She’d soon learnt to keep a spare pair in her bag, but changing them would take precious seconds.

‘What’s worse?’ she asked Lulu desperately. ‘Being late or laddered tights?’ Lulu’s astounded expression was answer enough. Clearly, Allegra shouldn’t have needed to ask. ‘You’re right, I’d better change...’

It was Allegra’s second mistake of the day. Dashing into the loos, she found Hermione, one of the marketing interns, sobbing her heart out in a cubicle, and by the time Allegra had coaxed her out and listened to her tale of woe, she was not only horribly late but had acquired two mascara smudges on the pale cashmere jumper tucked so stylishly into her skirt.

That was what you got for dispensing comforting hugs, thought Allegra bitterly as she stripped off her tights, but she was in such a hurry to get the new ones on that she managed to stick a finger through them.

‘Oh, sod it!’ At least this time the ladder was hidden under her skirt. Bundling the first pair into the bin, Allegra swiped at her hair. She looked completely manic, but there was nothing she could do about it now. If she didn’t get into that editorial meeting, she’d lose out on the assignment. Ianthe Burrows was probably already putting forward an alternative.

‘Sorry,’ she mouthed generally, sliding into the conference room at last and every head swivelled to stare at her, with her flushed cheeks and tousled hair. There was a resounding silence. Stella didn’t say anything but her gaze rested for a crushing few seconds on the smudges before dropping to Allegra’s knees as she stood frozen just inside the room.

Against her will, Allegra found herself following her editor’s gaze to where the ladder had snaked out from under her skirt. Horrified, she watched it unravel over her knee and head down her leg. She could practically hear the unzipping sound.

Why was there never a black hole around when you needed to jump into one?

‘Editorial meetings start at ten,’ said Stella, and Allegra cringed at the lack of inflexion in her voice.

‘Yes, I know...I—’ She broke off. She couldn’t explain about Derek and Mrs Gosling and Hermione. Stella wouldn’t care and Allegra would sound like an idiot. Even more of an idiot. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said instead.

A fractional incline of Stella’s head served as her dismissal. The conversation returned to the latest couture debut, and Allegra slunk into a chair at the back. Pulling out notebook, pen, iPad and PDA, she willed the burning colour in her face to fade.

Fortunately, she didn’t appear to have missed too much and as the discussion warmed up into articles about how to give a rock’n’roll twist to the latest looks, and the pros and cons of being friends-with-benefits, she kept her head down and let her racing pulse slow. Mindlessly doodling Derek winding Mrs Gosling up in his lead, she listened to the arguments for and against sleeping with a friend. It wasn’t something she would do herself. She’d be afraid that it would spoil the friendship. Because how could it possibly be the same afterwards?

What would it have been like if Max had kissed her all those years ago? Allegra was aware of an odd jolt of heat at the thought. It had to be the thrill of the forbidden, because Max was practically her brother.

Eeuww, the very idea was disturbing at a whole load of levels! But there had been something hot and dangerous in the air that night, something that risked changing everything, and they’d both known it. Perhaps that was why they had pulled back before they did something they would both have regretted.

Because if they’d kissed, they wouldn’t have stopped at a kiss, and then it really would have been awkward. It wasn’t even as if Max was her type, Allegra thought, even as she began an absent sketch of how he had looked lying on the sofa the night before. And she certainly wasn’t his. Emma was neat and dainty and blonde, a sweet little pixie, while Allegra was leggy and chaotic.

No, it was much better that they’d stayed just friends, without any jiggery-pokery, as Ianthe liked to refer to sex. They would never have been able to share the house, like now, if they’d slept together, and she wouldn’t have felt comfortable asking him to take part in the assignment.

Thank God they hadn’t actually kissed.

Or done anything else.

Pursing her lips, Allegra studied her drawing. It looked like Max, but the mouth wasn’t quite right... She made a slight adjustment to his upper lip and his face sprang to life so abruptly that her heart jumped a little: steady eyes, stubborn jaw, a quiet, cool mouth. She hadn’t realised how well she had memorised the angles of his cheek, the way his hair grew. She had made him look...quite attractive.

Her mouth dried and all at once she was remembering how she had hugged him in her excitement the night before. She hadn’t thought about it. He was Max, and he’d just agreed to take part in something Allegra knew he was going to hate. Hugging him was the obvious thing to do.

But when her arms were around his neck and her lips pressed to his cheek, she had suddenly become aware of how solid he was, how male. How familiar and yet how abruptly strange. The prickle of stubble on his jaw had pressed into her cheek and she’d breathed in the clean masculine smell of him and something had twisted hard and hot in her belly.

Something that had felt alarmingly like lust. Which of course it couldn’t have been because, hey, this was Max.

Beside her, Georgie, one of the few journalists who was as junior as Allegra, leant over and raised her eyebrows appreciatively. ‘Your guy?’ she mouthed.

Allegra shook her head, unaccountably flustered. ‘Just a friend.’

‘Right.’ Georgie’s smile was eloquent with disbelief.

Quickly Allegra sketched in Max’s shirt, including every stripe, and the collar that was buttoned too high, and Georgie’s smile faded.

‘Oh.’

Quite, thought Allegra. She should do less thinking about Max’s mouth and more remembering his absolutely appalling taste in shirts.

‘Allegra!’

The deputy editor’s voice made Allegra jerk her eyes to the front, where Stella was looking sphinx-like and Marisa, her deputy, harried. ‘Could we have a moment of your attention?’

Allegra fought the impulse to say, Yes, miss. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Making Mr Perfect...did you get anywhere with that?’

Clearly expecting the answer to be no, their eyes were already moving down the list, on to the next idea. This was her moment.

‘Actually, yes, I did,’ Allegra said and a ripple of surprise ran round the room.

‘You found someone to take part?’ Stella’s expression was as inscrutable as ever but Allegra told herself that the very slight life of her editor’s immaculate brows was a good sign.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Who is he?’ That was Marisa.

‘The brother of a friend of mine. Max.’ Why did just saying his name suddenly make her feel warm?

‘What does he look like?’ asked Marisa practically. ‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that he’s a hunk?’

Allegra glanced down at her sketch of Max on the sofa: solid, steady-eyed. Ordinary. Nothing special. Her eyes rested on his mouth for a moment and there it came again without warning, a quick, disturbing spike of her pulse. She looked away.

‘I wouldn’t say that he was a hunk, exactly,’ she said cautiously, ‘but I think he’ll brush up well.’

‘Sounds promising. What’s he like?’

‘He’s a civil engineer,’ said Allegra, as if that explained everything. ‘He’s pretty conventional, plays rugby and doesn’t have a clue about style.’ She lifted her shoulders, wondering how else to describe him. ‘He’s just a bloke, really.’

‘No girlfriend in the wings? We don’t want anyone making a fuss about him spending time with Darcy.’

Allegra shook her head. ‘He’s just been dumped by his fiancée and he’s going to work abroad soon so he’s not interested in meeting anyone else at the moment. He’s perfect,’ she said.

‘And he knows exactly what’s involved?’ Marisa insisted. ‘He’s happy to go ahead?’

Happy might be stretching it, thought Allegra, remembering uneasily how she had had to blackmail Max, but this was no time for quibbling. Her big chance was this close, and she was ready to seize it.

‘Absolutely,’ she said.

Marisa glanced at Stella, who nodded. ‘In that case, you’d better get on to Darcy King and set up the first date straight away.’