Sophie Weston - The Latin Affair

‘Now what?’ said Nicky aloud.

She had no idea of the answer.

IN THE morning, of course, things looked different. They always did, thought Nicky. There was a job to do, her brother to meet for lunch, the last sunshine of autumn to savour. The small things, as always, would carry her through.

‘I will survive,’ Nicky told her mirror.

The gorgeous reflection stared back, only partially convinced.

Why on earth do I look like this? she thought. Andrew was right when he said she was a fraud. Even in her sober business suit she looked the original party blonde. What was more, she always had. Nicky winced at the thought.

Of course, there had been changes over the years. When she was sixteen her skin had been golden with a Caribbean tan; her untamed hair used to be a sun-streaked lion’s mane. These days she was city-pale and her daffodil hair shone. But, in spite of her best efforts, it was never quite immaculate. Soft tendrils always escaped to lie enticingly against her long neck. Add to that a kissable mouth and wide, longlashed blue-grey eyes and it was not surprising that men looked at her and thought they had found their dream babe. Nicky bared her teeth at her reflection.

‘Some babe,’ she said bitterly.

She was still brooding when she got to work.

‘Hey, what did I do?’ said Martin de Vries in mock alarm.

Nicky jumped, conscience stricken. Martin was the boss of Springdown Kitchens and she was late for work. Now she’d compounded her sins by glaring at him. She shook her head ruefully.

‘Nothing. It’s just one of those Monday mornings, that’s all.’

Martin nodded briskly. ‘That’s a relief. I need to get off to the exhibition hall soon.’ But he hesitated. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

Damn, thought Nicky. Martin was an old friend of the family. Of course he could see right through the last twenty years to the six-year-old with scabby knees and pigtails. It gave him an unfair advantage.

She summoned up a bright smile. ‘I’m fine.’

Martin knew how to interpret that. He had daughters of his own. He nodded. ‘Boyfriend trouble,’ he diagnosed.

Nicky winced theatrically. ‘You sound like my mother.’

‘No, I don’t. I sound like a caring employer.’

‘My next job is going to be with a hard-hearted tycoon who doesn’t know a thing about his employees. And cares less,’ Nicky muttered.

Martin ignored that. ‘What’s happened, Nick? Did he do something unforgivable, like want to marry you?’

Nicky smacked her conscience back in its box and glared at him for real.

‘That’s my business. Get down to the Lifestyle Fair and sell some kitchens,’ she retorted.

Martin was torn. He was fond of Nicky. On the other hand he ran a vulnerable small business and the fair was the showcase of the year.

‘As long as it isn’t a crisis,’ he said, patently anxious to be reassured.

Nicky gave a small huff of fury. But then genuine affection took over.

‘No crisis,’ she said more gently. ‘Just something that’s been building up a long time. All under control.’

‘OK,’ said Martin, relieved. He went

Squaring up to the work on her desk, Nicky found that he had left her plenty to do. It was a relief. It took her mind off the uncomfortable truths Andrew had exposed last night.

Besides, she knew that what she was doing was worthwhile. Martin was an inspired salesman, whereas Nicky liked practical organisation. She had her head down over the specifications of a small hotel kitchen when a cup appeared in front of her.

‘Coffee,’ said Caroline Leith, Martin’s newest and most sophisticated assistant. ‘You’re going to need it.’

Nicky looked up. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Martin refused to take any phone calls before he left.’

Nicky’s heart sank. That meant clients who would already be annoyed when she called them back.

‘Who?’

Caroline consulted her notebook. ‘Two from Mr Tremain’s secretary. One from Weber Hotels. Three from Mrs Van Linden. All of them only wanted to talk to Martin.’ She grinned. ‘Mrs Van Linden positively refused to talk to you under any circumstances. What happened? You told her what you thought of her horrible kitchen? Or she’s seen how you look?’

Nicky raised her eyes to heaven. ‘What’s wrong with how I look?’ she said dangerously.

‘Nothing as long as you aren’t a trophy wife worried about the competition.’

Nicky frowned. Caroline chuckled, unabashed.

‘What do you expect, with a figure like yours?’ she said frankly. ‘It may be unfashionable to have all those curves but it sure as hell presses all the right male buttons.’

Nicky tensed. That was more or less exactly what Andrew had said last night. To say nothing of a man called Steve under a Caribbean moon… But the phone rang and broke that particular unwelcome train of thought.

Caroline answered it, listened, then put her hand over the receiver. ‘SOS. Sally’s in trouble. Sounds like she’s going to cry.’

Nicky frowned blackly. Sally was the ideal receptionist, unfailingly sunny even with the most difficult clients. Anyone who reduced her to tears needed to be put in their place without delay. She held out an imperative hand.

‘It’s Tremain,’ Caroline warned.

It gave Nicky pause for a moment. ‘Who?’

‘Tremain. Martin knows him personally. From the yacht club.’

Nicky scanned her memory. Nothing. She said so. ‘But he’s not going to bully Sally.’

‘Kid-gloves time,’ advised Caroline, surrendering the phone.

Nicky knew the warning tone was justified. She squared her shoulders and tried to remember the bit in her management course about dealing with difficult clients.

‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting—’ she began, uncharacteristically soothing.

‘Then don’t.’ It was impatient and very male. At once she knew why Sally had not been able to calm him down. Mr Tremain did not want to be calmed down. Mr Tremain wanted blood.

And, true to form, it made Nicky want to fight right back. She curbed her combative instinct but it was a close-run thing.

‘How can I—’

He did not let her finish. ‘Where’s de Vries?’

‘—help you?’ Sweet reason was not paying off. Well, then, she would give him a taste of her real reaction to a man who interrupted her twice. ‘What can I do for you?’ she finished, the frost showing.

Caroline did not go. Instead she propped herself up against a drawer of files and waited, prepared to be amused.

Mr Tremain was not impressed by Nicky’s chilly formality. ‘You can get me de Vries,’ he said grimly. ‘Now.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not poss—’

‘Now.’

Nicky could feel her fuse shortening. Caroline grinned. Nicky frowned her down and raised her voice. ‘If you would just let me finish—’

‘I haven’t got time to waste talking to lieutenants.’ Even allowing for the distortion of the telephone, the dismissive tone was an insult. Nicky’s fuse suddenly became very short indeed. And her frost dissolved into simple temper.

‘Then try listening,’ she flashed. ‘Martin de Vries is not here. I can ask him to call you when he gets back or you can talk to me now. Your choice. Frankly I don’t care which—but make up your mind. I haven’t got time to waste either.’

Across the office, Caroline raised her eyebrows. Oh, hell, thought Nicky, remembering the management course too late.

But at least her outburst seemed to give Tremain pause.

He said slowly, ‘Work closely with de Vries, do you?’

Nicky was all dignity. ‘Of course.’

‘So you’re fully briefed on everything that’s gone wrong with the blasted kitchen he sold me?’