Mendez's Mistress

Rachel’s smile was thin. ‘Daisy’s biased,’ she said, wondering why she felt this need to deny her success. For heaven’s sake, she was proud of her achievement. Two successful titles and her agent panting for her next manuscript—it was a would-be writer’s dream.

He shrugged then, and, turning away from the bar, he walked to the windows that overlooked the garden at the back of the house. ‘Nice view,’ he commented, taking in the smooth stretch of lawn, the small summer-house that Steve’s father had built when Daisy was a baby. ‘Have you lived here long?’

Rachel’s lips tightened. ‘Didn’t Steve tell you?’

He swung round then, hands resting low on his hips, dark eyes frankly curious. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘Steve didn’t tell me a lot about you. Should he have done? Am I treading on someone’s toes here?’

Rachel immediately felt dreadful. ‘No,’ she said unhappily. ‘Sorry. Don’t take any notice of me. I was just being bitchy.’

Joe arched his dark brows. ‘That still doesn’t answer my question: what is Steve supposed to have told me?’

‘Oh…’ Rachel wished she’d never started this. ‘It’s just, well, this house used to belong to Steve’s parents. They gave it to us when we got married, and…and after the divorce…’ She shrugged. ‘They wanted us—Daisy and me—to stay here.’

‘Ah.’ He seemed to understand. ‘They didn’t approve of the divorce?’

‘Something like that.’ In actual fact, Steve’s parents had been outraged when the son they’d always worshipped had proved to be less than godlike.

Joe looked thoughtful. ‘And were you wondering if your ex-husband had sent me here?’ he asked after a moment.

It had crossed her mind, but Rachel chose not to admit it. ‘I’m just wondering why you came here, Mr Mendez,’ she said steadily. Then, as the coffee finished filtering, ‘Black or with milk?’

‘Black,’ he said, as she’d guessed he would. ‘And call me Joe, please. Mr Mendez sounds like my father.’

Rachel poured the coffee without answering him. But she was thinking that perhaps she had made a mistake, after all. Perhaps this man wasn’t Steve’s boss. Perhaps his father was.

The coffee smelt delicious and Rachel, who tended to survive on caffeine during the day, pushed a mug towards Joe Mendez and then lifted her own mug to her lips. It was hot, but so refreshing that she took a generous swallow before looking at him again. ‘Shall we go back into the sitting room?’

He shrugged as if it was of little importance to him, but taking his cue from her, he followed her across the hall and into the other room. He waited until she’d seated herself in a tapestry-covered armchair before resuming his seat on the sofa, sampling his own coffee with apparent enjoyment.

‘This is good,’ he said, glancing round the room as he spoke. Then, his eyes finding hers again, ‘I hope I’m not wasting too much of your time.’

Rachel gave a wry smile. ‘My work’s not that important,’ she assured him. She grimaced. ‘Actually, I could do with the break.’

‘Not going well?’

He sounded genuinely interested and she decided to take his words at face value. ‘You could say that,’ she admitted. ‘Since—well, since Daisy’s been invited to Florida, there’s been a lot to do.’

Joe regarded her intently. ‘You don’t want her to go?’ he asked shrewdly, and Rachel couldn’t prevent the faint trace of colour that entered her cheeks at his words.

‘Oh, no. I mean, yes, I want her to go. She hasn’t seen her father for almost a year, and it’s important for them to keep in touch. It’s just…’

‘A big step for her to take on her own?’ he suggested gently, and she was amazed at his perspicacity.

It suddenly seemed as if she’d misjudged him, and with a rueful shrug she said, ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘I’ve never even crossed the Atlantic myself.’

Joe grimaced. ‘It’s not that big a deal. We Americans speak the same language, at least. Even if we don’t always understand one another.’

Rachel smiled. ‘Are you an American? I thought I detected—I don’t know—a faint accent, but I could be—’

‘My parents were born in Venezuela,’ he interrupted her easily. ‘But I’ve lived in the States all my life. My parents moved to Miami before I was born, and I guess I consider myself an American first and a Venezuelan second.’

Rachel nodded. Almost involuntarily, she was relaxing, and it was only when the phone rang that she realised she still didn’t really know why he’d come here.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, getting up and going out into the hall to use the extension there. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

He nodded, but she was aware of him getting to his feet and she made a point of closing the door behind her. Then, hurrying to the phone, she lifted the receiver. ‘Yes?’

‘Rachel?’ It was her mother-in-law, and immediately she thought of Daisy.

‘Yes. Is something wrong? Daisy’s with you, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, she’s here.’ Evelyn Carlyle spoke affectionately. ‘We’ve just been discussing her trip to Florida. Are you sure you’re all right with this, Rachel? I mean, Steve has no right—’

‘I’m fine with it,’ said Rachel quickly, aware of other ears that might be listening behind the sitting room door. ‘Is that why you rang, Lynnie?’

‘No, no,’ Evelyn was swift to reassure her. ‘As a matter of fact, I was a little worried about you, dear. Madge Freeman tells me you’ve had a visitor this morning. She was on her way into town and she saw a strange man at your door, and I just wondered if you were all right.’

Trust Madge Freeman, thought Rachel drily, aware that the elderly lady who lived opposite missed little that went on in the Close. ‘I’m okay,’ she said now, playing for time. ‘How have you had a conversation with Mrs Freeman? Surely she didn’t ring you just to tell you I’d had a visitor?’

‘Well, no…’ Evelyn sounded a little put out. ‘Daisy and I bumped into her at the supermarket.’ She paused and then continued determinedly, ‘So who was it, dear? I told Madge it was probably just one of those double-glazing salesmen.’

Rachel didn’t think Joe Mendez would have appreciated being thought of as a double-glazing salesman, but she was curiously loath to discuss her visitor with her mother-in-law.

Which was silly, she told herself, but aware that her conversation might be audible to her visitor, she said, ‘It’s Mr Mendez. Ask Daisy. She’ll tell you all about him.’

‘Mendez?’ Evelyn evidently recognised the name. ‘Isn’t that the company Steve works for?’

Rachel sighed. ‘It is.’

Evelyn made a sound of impatience. ‘So why is he visiting you? Nothing’s happened to Steve, has it?’

‘Not as far as I’m aware,’ said Rachel drily, wondering why her mother-in-law would imagine that she might be informed in such circumstances. ‘No, I think he’s just come to reassure me that he’ll look after Daisy on the flight to Florida.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sure Daisy’s told you all about it.’

‘Well, she’s said something,’ replied her mother-in-law grudgingly. ‘And that’s the only reason he came?’

Rachel blew out a breath. ‘I think so.’ She knew a moment’s irritation. ‘That is, I’m sure so. But I’ve got to go, Lynnie. He’ll be wondering why I’m taking so long.’

‘He’s still there?’ Evelyn sounded shocked now, and Rachel felt almost guilty for having to admit that he was. ‘But it must be over an hour since Madge saw him ringing your bell.’

And your point is? mouthed Rachel silently, copying one of Daisy’s favourite expressions. But all she said was, ‘I made coffee.’ She managed a light laugh. ‘And mine’s probably cold by now.’

‘Hmm.’ Evelyn sniffed. ‘Well, you’d better get back to your visitor, then, hadn’t you? Ring me when he’s gone, just so I know you’re okay, right?’

Rachel shook her head. Yeah, right, she thought, but with a casual, ‘Speak to you later,’ she put down the receiver.

CHAPTER TWO (#uf4826211-b0fa-5136-9b0b-d5cc8ec7abee)

W HEN she re-entered the sitting room, Rachel found it was deserted. The empty mug sitting on the glass-topped coffee table in front of the hearth was the only proof she hadn’t imagined her disturbing visitor. Except for Madge Freeman, of course. And that surprisingly testy call from her mother-in-law.