One Husband Required!

‘So why the sudden interest in my age?’ she quizzed. ‘Have you decided that I’m due a pay rise as a reward for long service? Or maybe just for being long-suffering?’

Ignoring her question, Ross picked up a pencil and with three swift, hard strokes on a sheet of scrap paper managed to produce an uncanny likeness of a philandering Cabinet Minister who had been in the news all week. ‘It’s disturbing,’ he said, after a minute, ‘to think of you getting on for thirty.’

‘It is very disturbing,’ Ursula agreed equably, ‘when you put it like that. Because I’m not! Now who’s the mathematically challenged one? I happen to be more than two years off thirty! I’m not exactly queuing up for my pension just yet! And, besides,’ she added defensively, because taking a resolute attitude helped diminish the fear of a lonely old age, ‘thirty isn’t very old, not these days.’

‘No. You’re right. It isn’t.’ His voice was thoughtful as he fixed luminous dark eyes on her. ‘And is there a man on the scene?’

Ursula blinked with surprise. What on earth was the matter with Ross today? First inviting her to Katy’s party. And now this. He had never asked her about her love life before. ‘Y-you mean...a boyfriend?’ she asked breathlessly.

Ross gave an odd kind of smile. ‘Do you only go out with boys, then, Ursula?’

If only he knew!

But no one knew, not even her sister, though Ursula suspected that Amber must have guessed her embarrassing secret. That she had reached the grand old age of twenty-seven and had only ever had one serious boyfriend. And even he hadn’t been that serious; not if you judged the relationship in the way everyone else did—in terms of sex. Because—shame of all shames—in a liberal world where experience was everything, Ursula O’Neil remained an out-of-touch virgin.

‘No, there isn’t a boyfriend,’ she told him, hoping she didn’t sound too defensive. ‘I’m quite busy enough with my line-dancing and my French Appreciation lessons. And I read a lot. I don’t need a man to justify my existence, you know!’ She frowned at him suspiciously. ‘And why have you suddenly started taking an interest in my personal life?’

‘No reason,’ said Ross innocently. He absently took a bite from his biscuit and then looked at it in surprise before finishing it, like someone who hadn’t realised how hungry they were before they started eating. He popped the rest of it in his mouth and crunched it.

‘Miss breakfast this morning, by any chance?’ queried Ursula.

‘How did you guess?’

‘The way you practically bit your fingers off? That gave me just a tiny clue!’

He smiled as he licked a stray crumb off his finger with the tip of his tongue. ‘You know, you’re bright, funny and extremely tolerant, Ursula.’ There was a pause as he looked across his desk at her. ‘Do you ever think about changing your job?’

Ursula might have felt insecure about her looks and lack of attraction to the opposite sex, but she was supremely confident about her work, and it didn’t occur to her that Ross might be hinting at her to leave. She assumed an expression of mock shock. ‘You really want me to answer that? On a Monday morning, when you’ve got a headache? What’s up, Ross—worried that I’ll walk out and leave you in the lurch?’

‘I’m serious, Ursula.’

‘Well, so am I.’ She blinked at him, dark, feathery lashes shading her unusually deep blue eyes. Her best feature, or so her mother always used to say. ‘I presume that wasn’t a prelude to “letting me go”, or whatever horrible euphemism it is they use these days when someone wants to sack you! Was it?’

‘Sack you?’ He gave a gritty smile. ‘I can’t imagine the place without you, if you must know.’

Which sounded like a compliment, but left her with a rather disturbing thought. ‘Do you think I’m stuck in a rut, then, Ross?’

‘The question rather implies that other people do,’ he observed. ‘Anyone in particular?’

‘My sister,’ Ursula admitted.

Ross knitted his dark brows together. ‘Amber? The model?’

‘She doesn’t really model very much these days—not since she got herself involved with Finn Fitzgerald—’

‘But she doesn’t approve of you working here?’

Ursula bit her lip, wishing that they’d never started this wretched conversation. Life was so much easier if you just drifted along without asking too many questions along the way. ‘She thinks six years in one place is a long time.’

‘And she’s right,’ he said slowly.

Ursula looked up in alarm. Maybe she had misjudged things. Him. Maybe subconsciously he did want her out.

Ross saw the wide-eyed look of fear on her face and shook his head. ‘Now what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?’

‘Don’t you patronise me!’ she snapped. ‘Or tell a lie!’

‘And how am I telling a lie?’

‘I am not pretty!’

‘Well, that’s purely subjective, and I happen to think you are—exceedingly.’ He saw her blush, and smiled. ‘In fact, if I go so far as to be objective—then I’d describe those enormous eyes as sapphires set in a complexion as dewy and as fresh as creamy-pink roses left out in the rain—’

‘Now you’re letting your copywriting skills run away with you!’ she interrupted drily. ‘Just what are you trying to say to me, Ross? That our working partnership has grown stale? That there’s some hungry new female champing at the bit to replace me, and you do want me to go?’

Ross sighed. ‘No, I don’t want you to go. Right now, all I want is to resist the temptation to make any comments about female logic. Or the lack of it,’ he added in a dark undertone. ‘But I am interested in hearing your sister’s objections to you working for me. Particularly since I’ve met her on very few occasions. She hardly knows me!’ he finished indignantly.

‘Oh,’ she said, with an evasive shrug of her shoulders. ‘You know.’

‘No, Ursula, I don’t.’ He looked at her.

‘She...she...’

‘She...?’ he put in helpfully.

She didn’t dare tell him her sister’s real reason for urging her to leave Sheridan-Blackman. That Amber thought Ursula was being unrealistic. Wasting her life by pining for a man who could never be hers. Except that I’m not pining! Ursula thought defiantly. Or being unrealistic.

Just because she happened to like Ross as a man, and enjoyed working with him—it didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to start ripping his clothes off! ‘She thinks that a change of scene would do me good.’

‘It’s worth thinking about,’ Ross said unexpectedly.

‘It is? Then that does mean—’

‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ he put in impatiently. ‘Other than that it might be an idea to consider any other offers which may come your way.’

Other offers? Ursula stared at him in confusion. ‘But they’re not likely to, are they? Not if I’m not actively seeking employment. I’m a personal assistant, not an account executive, and I’m hardly a prime target for head-hunters!’

‘I guess not,’ he answered tersely. ‘Do you have a lot of work to do, Ursula?’

‘Not particularly.’ She tried to answer lightly, but it wasn’t easy now that he had sown seeds of doubt in her mind. Somehow she had gone from complacency to insecurity in the space of about half an hour. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting swopping idle chit-chat with you.’

‘Then maybe you could pop down to the market and buy me some oranges?’

She didn’t miss a beat—but then she was used to bizarre requests by now. ‘How many?’

‘A dozen.’

‘And these oranges—are they for eating, or looking at?’

‘For looking at. I need inspiration! There’s a new juice campaign coming up—and Oliver’s pitching for the account. So we need to compose the perfect catchphrase which will have people ransacking their supermarkets for Jerry’s Juice. So. Any brilliant ideas?’

Ursula knitted her brows together in concentration. What did she like best about orange juice? ‘Everyone always emphasises how sweet it is...’

‘Yeah. And?’

‘Well, why not do the opposite—emphasise how sharp it is?’

‘Any ideas?’

Ursula shrugged. ‘Oh, the possibilities are endless—sharpens the appetite, that kind of thing. You know! You’re the copywriter, Ross!’

‘Mmm, I am,’ murmured Ross slowly. ‘But maybe you should be, too. You’re in the wrong job, you know, Ursula.’

‘No, I’m in the right job!’ Ursula unlocked the petty-cash tin and took a ten-pound note out. ‘Just because I happen to have a fertile imagination and an active mind doesn’t mean I want to be a copywriter!’

He laughed. ‘So you’ll come to Katy’s party on Saturday?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ she promised airily.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was a click as the connection was made. ‘Hello?’

Ursula paused before saying, ‘Is that you, Amber?’

‘Of course it’s me! Surely you know the sound of my voice by now! I am your sister!’

‘You just sounded... I don’t know...odd.’

Amber gave a heavy sigh which reverberated down the line. ‘Just fed up. Finn’s overworking. Again. How are things with you?’

‘Er, fine.’ Ursula hesitated. ‘Ross has invited me to a party on Saturday.’

‘Gosh. What does his wife say about that?’

Ursula silently counted to ten. She loved her sister very much, but sometimes, honestly... ‘I have no idea,’ she replied frostily. ‘But I should imagine that he checked with her before he asked me. I do wish you wouldn’t make assumptions, Amber. I’m hardly worthy competition, and anyway—I like Jane.’

‘Yeah, sure.’

It was time, Ursula decided firmly, to put an end to Amber’s totally false speculations about what kind of party Ross had invited her to. ‘I do like her,’ she reaffirmed, though more out of duty than conviction. ‘What little I know of her. And anyway—it’s Katy’s birthday party.’

‘Oh.’

‘Why do you say “oh” in that tone of voice?’

‘Oh, nothing. I suppose I imagined that he was whisking you off to some glamorous advertising-related function.’

‘Well, he’s not. And I never go to those, anyway.’

‘So you’ve been invited to a child’s tea party?’

‘It’s an early evening supper, actually.’

‘Wow!’

‘Don’t be mean, Amber.’

‘I’m not. I’m being objective. And protective.’

‘Protective?’

‘Of course. And it’s slightly worrying that this... party...is your social affair of the month!’

‘It isn’t!’

‘Well, what else have you done this month?’

Ursula even found herself cringing as she answered her sister’s question. ‘I went out for a meal with my French Appreciation class last week—’

‘And were there any men there?’

‘Lots!’ said Ursula brightly, as she recalled the portly doorman from the nearby Granchester Hotel who sat next to her in class. He was planning to visit Marseilles for a holiday to trace some of his forebears and had grown hot and sweaty around the collar before asking Ursula if she wanted to accompany him on the trip! She had politely declined.

Then there was that rather nice young sculptor whose pint she always paid for if the class went to the pub afterwards, because he never had any money. True, he was only twenty—but terribly friendly. And very interesting.

‘Eligible men?’ put in Amber sharply.

‘That’s so subjective I can’t possibly answer it!’ responded Ursula smoothly.

‘Well, if everything is so marvellous, then why are you ringing me, Ursula?’

‘Because I don’t know what to wear!’ wailed Ursula.

There was a short silence.

‘Oh, I’m not suggesting borrowing something of yours!’ said Ursula hastily, sensing her sister’s embarrassment. ‘I wouldn’t like to try and squeeze myself into one of your size eight Lycra miniskirts!’

‘I’m a size ten now,’ said Amber, the gloom in her voice suggesting a disaster of national proportions.

‘Oh, that’s terrible, sweetie!’ teased Ursula, though she had to bite back her first comment, which was that she would be in seventh heaven if she were anywhere near that size! She had gained extra weight as a teenager, and never really lost it. ‘But it doesn’t help me to decide what to wear!’

She could have asked Amber how she imagined it must feel when your main criterion for buying any outfit was whether or not it made your bottom look fat and wobbly. But of course she couldn’t do that. If Ursula’s bottom was bigger than she would have liked, then it was nobody’s fault but her own. If you ate too much, you got fat. Cause and effect. Simple. And, while she might occasionally justify her plumpness by calling to mind the grim reality of her growing-up years, nothing altered that simple fact.

‘Wear jeans,’ advised Amber succinctly. “They’re always useful around children.’

‘Jeans! If I wore jeans, they’d be digging out their safari clothes—I look like a hippo in jeans!’

‘Well, I’m not going through a whole list of suggestions just so that you can shoot them down in flames! What do you want to wear?’

Ursula’s voice was unusually hesitant, and shy. ‘Do you think the cream trousers and top you helped me choose would be okay? I haven’t worn them yet.’

‘Perfect!’ said Amber immediately. ‘The colour emphasises how dark your hair is, and brings out the roses in your cheeks. Oh, and clip your hair back at the sides with those mother-of-pearl slides I bought you for your twenty-first.’

‘Okay.’

‘Oh. and Ursula?’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘Be good!’

Amber’s words echoed around Ursula’s ears on Saturday evening, as she stood opposite Ross’s house, trying to summon up enough courage to go up to the front door and knock. Be good, indeed! She didn’t think she’d have a problem sticking to that advice! She doubted whether there would be any men there whom Amber would consider ‘eligible’, and even if there were they wouldn’t spend a moment looking at her.

She swallowed nervously as she gazed up at the house. How she wished she’d had a drink before she had set out!

She hadn’t even bothered asking Ross how many others were going, or who they were. She just prayed frantically that all the women weren’t in the same kind of league as Jane, his wife.

She stared down at her toes poking through the strappy sandals which were the most summery shoes she had—an absolute necessity on a night like this. It was baking hot, even though the sun was getting low in the sky.

Ross lived in Hampstead, which was miles on the underground from Ursula’s little flat in Clapham Common. It had been far too hot on the train, but not much better once she’d got off and begun to walk up the hill.

The air had a strange, almost suspended sense of stillness about it, with no breeze existing to lift it away. It had made her feel hot and bothered. Still did.

Ursula surreptitiously wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and the little hairs on the back of her neck prickled up, her senses on full alert, as if suddenly aware of someone watching her. She narrowed her eyes as she allowed herself a closer look at the imposing, late-Victorian house.

Someone was!

She glanced up and saw a figure blackly silhouetted against an arched window on the first floor and she could tell, even from this distance, that it was Ross. She studied him dispassionately, cushioned by the safety net of distance, thinking that the pose he struck highlighted the complexity which lay at the heart of the man. He looked both relaxed and yet alert.

Watching.

Waiting...

Well, there was no way she could possibly dawdle any longer, not without looking a complete idiot. Ursula clutched her handbag even tighter and, tucking Katy’s birthday present under her arm, she crossed the road, went up the steps to the front door and banged loudly on the knocker.

It was opened by Katy herself, looking more grown up than her ten years in short blue denim skirt and a sparkly blue tee shirt, which looked expensive. She was a tall girl for her age, and the platform shoes she wore made her even taller.

Katy had her father’s deep brown eyes and even deeper brown hair—but hers curled into wild corkscrews whereas Ross’s just waved gently against the nape of his neck. Her wiry height she owed entirely to her mother, along with a nose which was a cute, freckled snub and rosebud-pretty lips.

‘Happy birthday, Katy!’ beamed Ursula, and held the present out towards her. ‘I love your tee shirt!’

But Katy seemed more interested in a hug, hurling herself into Ursula’s arms with a fervour which was as surprising as it was touching.

‘Ursula!’ she squeaked. ‘You’re the first here! I’m so glad you came! I made Daddy invite you!’

Ursula willed her face not to react, but there was nothing she could do to stop her heart from plummeting like a dropped stone. So it had been Katy’s idea to invite her, had it? Not her father’s at all... She just hoped that she wasn’t going to stand out from the other guests like a sore thumb.

‘I’m so glad I came, too—and I’m flattered to be invited,’ she told Katy truthfully. ‘I don’t get to go to many birthday parties these days.’

‘Why not?’

Ursula shrugged. ‘Because grown-ups only tend to have parties when they’re twenty-one, or forty—’

‘How boring!’

‘Very boring,’ agreed Ursula gravely. ‘Now open your present and tell me whether you like it,’ she added gently. ‘You can always change it if you don’t.’

Katy needed no second bidding, immediately dropping to her knees and ripping the shiny paper off the carefully wrapped parcel with all the energy of a highly excited child.

Inside was a box of water-colour paints, a small packet of oil-pastel crayons, and a thick block of sketching paper. Katy sat back on her heels and stared at it.

‘Do you like it?’ asked Ursula nervously. ‘I thought you were very good at drawing, just like your daddy—’

‘Oh, I love it!’ said Katy earnestly, looking up at Ursula with shining eyes. ‘I really, really love it!’

Ursula smiled widely. ‘That Christmas card you sent me last year was so good that I’ve kept it—that’s what gave me the idea for the present. I keep meaning to have it framed.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously.’ Ursula nodded solemnly. ‘You have a real gift for drawing, you know, Katy.’

‘And does Daddy have a gift, too?’

‘Oh, definitely. Your daddy’s the best!’

‘Why, thank you, Ursula,’ came an amused voice, and they both looked up to see Ross at the top of the staircase watching them, making Ursula wonder just how long he had been standing there. ‘How heartening to hear such praise—and this from the woman who usually nags me about my untidiness!’

‘Only because if I didn’t I wouldn’t be able to reach my desk for the mountains of paper in the way!’ she responded crisply, but her heart was beating faster than usual.

It was odd seeing him in the unfamiliar surroundings of his home. Their relationship had evolved in the everyday environment of the office, and even when they had a client lunch in an upmarket restaurant it was strictly business. Transplanted here, with not a work-related product in sight, she felt like a fish out of water!

Feeling slightly flustered, but hoping it didn’t show too much, Ursula scrambled to her feet with as much grace as she could muster. ‘This is an amazing place you’ve got here, Ross!’

Why was he studying her like that—as if they were meeting for the first time? She suddenly felt as uncertain as a teenager as she wondered what he saw. His frumpy assistant? Or a reasonably well-presented young woman?

The silk trousers and top were the pale colour of buttermilk, and Amber had been right—the creamy shade did emphasise the blackness of her hair. The design of the outfit was deceptively simple, fluidly skimming the curvy shape of her body—and the delicate fabric felt unbelievably soft where it clung to her bare skin. And although the outfit was practical, it was also intensely feminine—the kind of clothes she wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing to the office.

Was that why his eyes were out on stalks like that?

‘Hello, Ursula,’ he said softly. ‘Nice outfit’

‘Th-thanks.’ She smiled uncertainly.

‘It’s unbelievable,’ he murmured. ‘You look completely different, dressed like that!’

‘Whereas you look exactly the same!’ she shot back, wondering what on earth they were supposed to do now. And why was Katy just standing there, serenely watching the two of them? Why wasn’t she interrupting, the way children were supposed to do?

At work, Ursula could bury her feelings in a flurry of activity, but here there was nothing to buffer her from the impact of Ross as a man, rather than an employer. Was he oblivious to the fact that he was a highly desirable man?

‘Where’s Jane?’ asked Ursula quickly.

‘Mummy’s going to be late,’ said Katy, in a sulky voice. ‘Again!’

‘Jane’s been tied up at work, unfortunately,’ said Ross, his voice as smooth as a pebble.

‘Not literally, I hope!’ joked Ursula, but her feeble joke didn’t even raise a smile and left her wondering why she had bothered making it, until she realised that her fingertips were now trembling with nerves.

‘She’s doing the costumes for the new Connection tour,’ Katy informed her, sliding a shy hand into Ursula’s.

Ursula’s eyes were like saucers. ‘The Connection? Wow! Their last album was brilliant! I’m impressed.’

‘Well, don’t be! They’re all self-obsessed substance abusers!’

‘Katy!’ exclaimed Ross, looking shocked.

‘Well, you were the one who said it, Daddy!’

‘Not in front of you, I didn’t,’ he told her grimly.

The ringing of the front doorbell sounded like salvation, and Katy beamed with delight when she discovered five of her school friends standing on the doorstep.

‘We all came in Mum’s station wagon!’ exclaimed one. ‘Polly’s bought you the soundtrack from Musketeers!’

‘Thanks for spoiling the surprise!’ grimaced Polly.

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter—I’m far too old for surprises,’ said Katy airily. ‘Come on, shall we go next door and play it?’

‘Great!’

‘And Sally’s bought you the Musketeers! video!’

‘Great!’

Squealing with excitement, the girls ran off, and Ursula was left alone in the hall with Ross in a space which was probably almost as large as the office they shared, but which now seemed claustraphobically confined.

‘They seem nice girls,’ she commented, hoping that she didn’t look as awkward as she felt. ‘Katy’s friends.’

‘Yes.’

She saw the brief but unmistakable glance he sent at his watch. ‘Can I do anything to help, Ross?’

He seemed to switch on a smile with an effort. ‘Sure. You can come into the sitting room and have a drink with me.’

She shook her head. ‘I meant, do you want me to cut the crusts off the sandwiches—or ice funny faces on cupcakes?’

‘I know what you meant, and, no, I don’t. But thanks, anyway.’ He smiled more as though he meant it this time. ‘Children’s parties have changed since our day. I’m afraid that your prediction of no jelly and ice cream is completely accurate! I suggested it to Katy and she did a convincing impression of someone about to throw up! And then informed me that they’d like to ring out for pizza!’ He sighed dramatically. ‘Kids’ parties ain’t what they were in our day!’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Ursula, without thinking. ‘I never had a birthday party when I was growing up.’

He looked quite shocked. ‘What—never?’

‘Never!’ Ursula’s mouth twitched. ‘You think that’s such a terrible thing?’

‘It’s certainly rather unusual. Why not?’

‘Oh, you don’t want to know.’

‘Don’t tell me what I don’t want, or what I do want! You can’t clam up on me here, Ursula—we aren’t at work now.’

‘No.’ Because if they had been they wouldn’t be talking this way. Softly. Intimately. With Ross’s possessions all around only adding to this unwelcome familiarity...

‘So why no parties?’

Ursula gave him a wry look. ‘You are a very persistent man!’

‘I need to be.’ He studied her carefully. ‘Because you never seem to want to talk about your childhood.’