Judith Bowen - Lydia Lane

“You go join Amber at the table, okay?” he said, touching her shoulder lightly. He looked apologetic but she supposed he’d actually done her a favor by letting her know how things stood. “This is her big event. I’ll bring in the chicken.”

DESSERT WAS Rocky Road ice cream. A premium brand, Lydia noted, but then she hadn’t thought for a moment that Sam was a penny-pincher or that his domestic problems were a result of being reluctant to spend money.

Lydia learned quite a lot during the meal, without prying at all. Amber, she was relieved to see, took to her immediately, maybe because Lydia had complimented her warmly on her salad.

The girl had had a series of nannies since her mother left, then there’d been an exclusive day care for a while followed by up-and-down relationships with a series of housekeepers. Sam Pereira had tried everything in his attempts to do the best for his daughter and run his household smoothly at the same time.

Everything except Domestica. Her services didn’t come cheap, but she didn’t think Sam would object to the expense. He seemed desperate.

As for the salad, it was quite good. Kind of mushy, but tasty—the way leftover coleslaw tasted. Lydia had caught Sam’s eye once or twice as Amber rattled on, telling her about school and what Santa brought her for Christmas, and had been hard-pressed to keep a straight face. He’d been worried that she wouldn’t get along with his child! Surely the only objections he could have now would be to the price, possibly, and the service she could provide. She crossed her fingers under the table; she needed this job.

Toward the end of the meal Sam casually asked Lydia what she had planned for New Year’s Eve and Lydia reminded him that she was going to one of her best friends’ weddings. At the news, Amber stared at her so raptly that Lydia almost felt embarrassed.

“Oh, I wish I could see a bride. I’ve never been to a wedding.” She glanced at her father.

“Never?”

Amber shook her head and Sam looked uncomfortable. “Never. My best friend has, Tania, her cousin got married and she got to go….” The girl’s voice trailed off and Lydia felt a pang of sympathy.

“Excuse me.” Sam cleared his throat and left the table. He carried the empty ice cream dishes into the kitchen, where he piled them on top of a stack of soiled dishes already in the sink. Lydia followed him with some glasses and cutlery. She wondered how one small girl could dirty so many dishes making salad-out-of-a-bag and refrigerator dinner rolls.

“Coffee?”

“Do I dare?”

“Of course you do,” he said with a grin. “I make excellent coffee. It’s one of my prime domestic skills. Trust me.” He reached into a cupboard for mugs. “So, your best friend’s wedding, huh?”

“One of my best friends. Charlotte. The other best friend, Zoey Phillips, is getting married in February.”

Lydia was sorry the conversation had veered to weddings. She went back to the dining room for the dish containing the remaining coleslaw and the chicken bucket, which had been plunked down in its cardboard container in the center of the table. Even though she was technically a guest, there was no ceremony here….

“And you’ve never been married?” he continued, when she returned.

“No.” He knew that, didn’t he? Why had he asked?

“Not even close?”

Why did he look so interested? It was annoying. Lydia shrugged. No way was she telling this man about the almost-proposal from the unemployed musician!

Sam poured coffee beans into a grinder. “Poor kid. No weddings! What kind of single parent am I? I’m afraid I just don’t get all this girl stuff. Maybe I ought to start haunting churches on Saturdays instead of taking her skating. At least she’d get to see a few brides and limos.”

“It’s her age, don’t you think? Girls like weddings, especially little girls. They see it as a fashion event, like dressing up Barbie dolls, not a marriage between two people who want to make a life together.”

Sam laughed softly. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Hey, sometimes even grown-up girls see it as a fashion event, not a marriage,” he said. Lydia wondered at the faint note of bitterness in his voice. It had been four years—was he still in love with Candace Downing? Or was he thinking of the tangled affairs of some of his clients?

Lydia returned to the dining room, where Amber was still sitting quietly at the table, apparently day-dreaming. Lydia felt sorry for her. She’d be delighted to take her to Charlotte’s wedding. Of course, she didn’t dare mention the possibility until she’d talked to Charlotte or, at least, Zoey. Charlotte’s marriage to her first love, Liam Connery, the man she’d rediscovered on her trip to Prince Edward Island this fall, was anything but formal. It was City Hall in the afternoon and a party at the King William afterward. A New Year’s-cum-wedding party. One more small guest wouldn’t matter….

“I wish you could meet my friend Tania,” Amber said, her brown eyes meeting Lydia’s seriously. “She’s been to a real wedding and she knows how to make chili and everything!”

“Oh?” Making chili was quite an accomplishment for a child Amber’s age. “Good for her.”

“Her mom showed her how.” Amber looked rather pensive for a few seconds. Lydia had a fleeting glimpse of the fashionable Candace in the kitchen with her daughter. “My nana helps me cook sometimes, but she won’t let me turn the oven on by myself,” the girl said. She brightened. “Dad does, though. Dad lets me do everything.”

“Is Tania the friend you’re going skiing with next weekend?”

“Boarding!” Amber scoffed, looking cheerful again. “Nobody skis, that’s for sissies—”

“Like me,” her father said, coming into the room with two steaming mugs topped with whipped milk foam. When Lydia had seen the coffee grinder, she knew he was serious about making a decent cup of coffee. Nice to see he wasn’t entirely helpless. “I ski. I’ll bet Lydia does, right?”

She nodded. “Not as much as I’d like to. But two or three times a winter.”

“Bo-o-oring,” Amber said with an impish grin.

“You used to box, too, as I recall,” Lydia said, taking her mug from him. “You still do?”

“Box? You mean my dad used to be a boxer like that creepy old Larry Mozzarella—”

“Amber!”

“He is, Dad! Mom said. He’s a creepy old, broken-down boxer—”

“Upstairs, young lady,” Sam ordered. When it seemed Amber might ignore him, he added, “Now.”

His daughter went to the door, red-faced. “How long?”

Sam glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes. Then you can come down and we’ll see how polite you can be.” He shook his head when the child left. “Sorry about that.”

Lydia followed Sam back to the family room, carrying her mug of coffee and cleared her throat softly. “Larry Mozzarella?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Actually it’s Massullo, but the girls, she and Tania, always call him that. Larry doesn’t mind. He’s a client.” He was silent for a full minute, frowning. “I just wish my ex-wife would keep her opinions to herself. Amber’s never made fun of Larry before. I don’t like that—”

“She knows him?”

“I’ve known Larry for a long time and, yeah, Amber’s met him.”

“It’s my fault, I guess. I didn’t know your boxing career was a secret.”

“No secret.” He bent to poke the fire. “And some career! To answer your question, yeah, I still put on the gloves from time to time. These days, it’s mainly to take a beating from the young guys—like Steve and I used to be.”

She stared at him, shocked.

He gave her a crooked grin. “Keeps a guy humble.” He set his cup on the mantel and threw another log on the fire. Sparks and bursts of flame, blue and orange, shot up the chimney and a small puff of smoke wafted into the room. Having the chimneys cleaned was high on any agenda for this place. If she got the job.