Maggie Cox - A Convenient Marriage

‘I’d like to take you to dinner.’ How long had that little thought been going round in his head? Javier wiped his palms down the thighs of his expensive Savile Row suit. He concentrated for a few seconds on her name badge. ‘Can I call you in a few days, Sabrina? Right now I have some important business to take care of.’

‘Dinner?’ For a crazy moment she wondered if she’d heard him right. Good-looking strangers didn’t usually just walk in off the street and ask her for a date. Her shoulders stiffened slightly with suspicion.

‘Yes, dinner. What do you think?’

‘Not a good idea.’ Picking up her pen, she scanned the loose papers on her desk for something that needed her attention—anything that would distract her from the quiet scrutiny of those disturbing dark eyes. ‘I don’t date people I don’t know, Mr D’Alessandro.’

‘Ahh.’ His smile was fleeting yet uncomfortably knowing. ‘You’re not a risk-taker, then, Sabrina?’

She thought about the business; about the fact that her bank manager thought she wasn’t a good risk. Now this handsome stranger in front of her seemed to be implying she was lacking in courage too. It was suddenly all too much. ‘All right, Mr D’Alessandro, I will accept your invitation to dinner…whenever that may be. Thank you.’ She scribbled something indecipherable on a piece of paper and hoped he didn’t notice that her hand was trembling slightly. ‘Get yourself a date!’ Ellie had called out to her only a short while ago. Well, it looked as if she’d got herself one…whether she’d planned for it or not.

HE DIDN’T call and she shouldn’t have been either surprised or disappointed but perversely Sabrina was both. Ever since she’d set eyes on the handsome and intriguing Javier D’Alessandro, she’d been oddly unsettled and discontented. Which wasn’t like her at all. Sighing heavily, she gave her make-up one final check in the bathroom mirror, flicked off the light and returned to the living-room to collect her suit jacket and raincoat. The force of the rain outside was rattling the window-panes and a helpless wave of despondency washed over her. Yesterday, she, Robbie and Jill had been practically fighting over customers, they were so few. The day had dragged endlessly on, and when six o’clock came Sabrina had actually been glad to put on her coat and head for home. In fifteen years of running East-West Travel she had rarely been so eager to leave the office. Maybe Ellie was right? Maybe she should call it a day as far as the business was concerned. Concentrate on other things instead. Like finding a potential ‘Mr Right’ and perhaps having a child of her own before it really was too late. She really loved her sister’s kids and she probably wouldn’t make the worst job of raising her own. Would she?

‘Sabrina Kendricks, where is your head?’ Amazed at the winding and not entirely welcome path her thoughts had taken her down, she donned her jacket and coat, retrieved her prized umbrella that she’d bought from an exclusive Knightsbridge store in the sales, then slammed the flat door behind her with enough force to rattle every window in the whole house.

‘Call for you, Sabrina! And I’ve left your coffee on the side; don’t let it go cold, will you?’

Waving the receiver at her, Jill waited patiently as Sabrina made her way into the cramped little room that served as general ‘all-purpose’ filing cabinet and was also a repository for foreign exchange, petty cash and stationery. They also kept a small fridge for milk and juice, and the most essential item of all—the kettle.

‘Thanks, Jill.’ Not many people called her on what she thought of as her private line. Just a handful of people had the number, namely her parents and Ellie and an old schoolfriend who she kept in touch with from time to time.

Spying her coffee, she lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip before speaking. ‘Sabrina Kendricks.’

‘Miss Kendricks, this is Javier D’Alessandro.’

She couldn’t prevent the breathy little gasp that came out of her mouth. She’d forgotten that she’d given him this number as well as her home one. Carefully, she placed the mug back on the cluttered pine shelf that was crammed with box files, fearful she would spill it because her hand was shaking.

‘Mr D’Alessandro…what can I do for you?’

‘A short break in Tenerife perhaps? Los Christianos maybe. In one of your charming little hotels that guarantee rest and relaxation and salve to the spirit…’

Oh, my. He could read the Oxford English Dictionary out loud and it would sound sexy.

‘Really? So you changed your mind about a holiday, then?’ Perversely, Sabrina didn’t want to talk to him about holidays. She chewed at her fingernail, grimacing at the flaked pearl nail-polish that she’d been too tired to replace last night; another uncharacteristic decision.

‘I make a jest with you, Miss Kendricks…Sabrina. I don’t want a holiday. I asked you out to dinner, remember?’

‘Three weeks ago,’ she blurted unthinkingly, then cursed herself for perhaps revealing too much. Now he would think she’d been counting the days.

‘I am sorry it has been so long. There were things—family concerns—that I needed to take care of.’

‘I understand.’ Was he married? Going through a divorce? Did he have kids? A thousand questions backed up in her brain—after all, she knew nothing about this man except that he was too gorgeous for words with black eyes that made her think of things she hadn’t considered in a very long time. And young. Don’t forget that, Sabrina. He probably wasn’t even thirty, and here she was, fast approaching thirty-eight. The whole thing was ridiculous. Best keep her mind on work and not let herself be so foolishly disappointed.

‘Would this evening be too short notice?’ Javier was suggesting. ‘If you give me your address I could pick you up at, say, eight o’clock if that is convenient?’

Sabrina swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a good idea for us to meet, Mr D’Alessandro; I—’

‘Javier. Please call me Javier.’

‘All right…Javier, I don’t want you to feel obliged to ask me to dinner just because it seemed like a good idea three weeks ago. I understand how things can change.’

‘Then you are a very tolerant woman, Sabrina, but I seriously would like to take you out to dinner and I do not understand this “feeling obliged” you talk about. My only motivation is to see you again. I sense that we may have more in common than you think.’

She heard the faint thread of humour in his voice and let out a long, slow breath. ‘All right, then. You’ve talked me into it.’ As if I needed to be persuaded. Sabrina allowed herself a grin and told him she would prefer to meet him outside the designated restaurant. Once she got the details, he bid her a slightly formal goodbye and told her he was looking forward to their meeting. As Sabrina replaced the receiver on its rest, she went mentally through the contents of her wardrobe and—apart from that disastrous burgundy suit—tried to remember the last time she had bought herself something really nice to wear. The sort of ‘something’ that would be suitable to wear to a very elegant restaurant in Knightsbridge with a man who would make Hollywood stars look plain.

‘I wish you weren’t going out tonight, Uncle Javier. I wish you were staying in with me and Rosie.’ Angelina glanced up from the television screen as her uncle came into the room, her dark eyes noting how handsome he looked in his suit and tie, his black hair gleaming beneath the soft lamps that lit the room. The slender blonde in her faded jeans and pink sweatshirt, sitting on the luxuriously thick rug beside the child, also marked his entrance with appreciative china-blue eyes.