Josephine Cox Sunday Times Bestsellers Collection

Bridget could see the funny side. ‘Ah well now, it’s not that I’m after taking your fancy,’ she joked in return. ‘I really do believe I’ve seen ye somewheres before.’

Offering the hand of friendship, he introduced himself. ‘The name’s Oliver Rogers.’

Bridget shook his hand. ‘An’ how d’you do then, Oliver Rogers.’ Suddenly she was blushing to the roots of her hair. ‘Ah, now I know where I’ve seen ye. That’s it! You used to visit my old place … Gawd Almighty! Sure, that’s more years ago than I care to remember.’

He laughed. ‘You’re right. It must be at least twenty-four years since I climbed the steps to spend an hour or so with one of your girls.’

Bridget nodded. ‘If I remember aright, you always asked for Judy.’

‘That’s right, I did.’ He seemed embarrassed. ‘But only because she was the nearest to you I could get … same red hair and that wonderful bubbly nature. It was always you I wanted, Bridget. You were the loveliest of them all, but you were always just out of reach.’

Like a young schoolgirl on her first date, Bridget protested, ‘Away with you! Why would you want me, when you could have the pick of my girls?’

He gazed at her for a moment, before answering softly, ‘We can’t help who we fall in love with, can we?’

For the first time in her life, Bridget was lost for words. When she did speak, her voice was alive with anger. ‘Soft talk, is it? I expect you’ve found out that I’ve made it good and you want a slice of it. Well, aren’t you the cunning blighter, eh? In love with me, you say? Hmh! I know what you’re after, so I do.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘I’m far too canny to fall for all that nonsense, so ye’d best be on yer way, before ye see a side to me you wouldn’t like! Go on, be off with you! I’ve no wish to renew our acquaintance. What’s more, I can’t be wasting the day talking to the likes o’ you. I’m a busy woman, so I am.’

With that she turned on her heel and went smartly down the path, muttering to herself and cursing. ‘Bloody maniac! Coming up behind me like that. Does he think I were born yesterday? Sure, I’ve worked hard to get where I am today. I started with nothing and fought my way up. Now I’ve got a good life and a healthy bank-balance, I’m not about to share it with some crafty, grasping old bugger!’

She stole a glance behind. Looking very sorry for himself, the man was standing right where she left him. ‘Be Jaysus! I’ve a good mind to go back and smack him one, so I have.’ She clenched her fist and thrust it into her pocket. ‘Just let him try it again, that’s all.’

‘Bridget!’ His voice followed her. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. Come back … let’s talk.’

‘Sod off!’

‘Please, Bridget! I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.’

‘Ye heathen! You’d best be gone, or ye will be sorry!’

‘Don’t go … BRIDGET!’

Ignoring his plea, Bridget climbed into her beloved Hillman Minx. Losing no time in case he might follow her, she shut the door and turned on the engine.

‘Bloody cheek!’ Stamping her foot on the clutch, she slammed the car into gear. Lurching forward, it jerked into a spasm and for a moment she almost lost control. ‘Come on, come on!’ She kicked on the accelerator and it took off at a crazy pace, throwing her back in the seat.

Oliver Rogers was right behind. When the car shot forward, with the wheels skidding and squealing, the hail of dust and muck thrown up from the hoggin-path covered him in a thick cloud. ‘You’re still a damned lunatic!’ he yelled. But Bridget was already out of earshot.

He brushed himself down. ‘That’s my girl,’ he chuckled. ‘You might think I’m after your money, but nothing could be further from the truth.’

Walking the few steps to the large, sleek Humber, he climbed in and watched as Bridget’s car skidded and danced all the way down the road. ‘You’re a bit older, with a few more wrinkles and greying hair,’ he nodded approvingly, ‘but you’re still the same lively little devil you always were.’

Slipping into gear he manoeuvred the vehicle onto the road. ‘You’re a right handful,’ he laughed. ‘That’s what I like most about you. And that’s why I mean to have you before we’re both too old to enjoy what’s left.’

Driving like one demented through the streets of Liverpool, Bridget had pedestrians leaping out of the way. ‘Don’t you swear at me!’ she had snapped at an angry young couple who had the misfortune to step out in front of her, and now she didn’t see the old dear who ran back to the pavement in fear for her life. ‘Sorry, love, but ye should have the good sense to look where you’re going!’ Bridget tutted as the old woman waved her stick at her. ‘Hmh! From the way she scooted up onto the pavement, she doesn’t need that stick at all.’

As she slowed down a little, Bridget grinned to herself. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting she only carries it about to whack folks on the head,’ she said aloud, and was still laughing as she pulled up outside an imposing office. Situated on a wide quiet street just a brisk walk from the city centre, it boasted her name above the entrance:

The Bridget Business Agency

Climbing out of her car, Bridget stood for a moment as she always did, filled with pride and a sense of accomplishment to see what she had achieved.

The Bridget Business Agency. Even now, after so many years, she could hardly believe that this imposing building was really hers, paid for lock, stock and barrel. ‘You’ve done well, Bridget my girl,’ she told herself. It was a far cry from that little house in Viaduct Street, with its poky rooms and second-hand furniture.

At one time, these offices had been two shops; one a man’s tailor’s and the other an ironmonger’s; the upper floors provided spacious living accommodation.

Having outgrown her previous offices, and wanting to stay fairly central, Bridget bought the two shops and gutted them. She redesigned the building and filled it with the most expensive furniture, creating the air of discretion and professionalism that her clients preferred.

She had eight attractive young women working for her, and nowadays, the business was of a more respectable and lucrative nature. Most of the work was done over the telephone and through appointments, with the majority of clients being genuine businessmen needing escorts; though of course there was always the occasional gentleman who wanted a little more than that. After thoroughly vetting them, Bridget did occasionally turn a blind eye.

But that was the exception rather than the rule for she had built up an admirable reputation in Liverpool and protected her standing like a tiger protecting her cubs.

Making her way upstairs, Bridget burst into reception in her usual robust manner. ‘Top o’ the morning, Amy, me darling.’ She strode across the room. ‘You’re looking pretty, I must say. Off out, are you?’

Middle-aged and still single, Amy had taken the place of Tillie Salter as Bridget’s right-hand helper. With her baby-face and sad eyes that made a body want to hug her, she never over-dressed or went out of her way to show herself off; in fact, quite the contrary.

At home, she would wear anything and everything as long as it felt comfortable. But while at work she was always smart and trim, with her hair tied back and her white shirt stiff and starched. But not this Saturday morning, for she had her hair washed and loose, and curled up at the ends, and she wore a soft blue blouse with a little daisy brooch on the lapel.

‘Will ye look at you!’ Bridget loved to tease her. ‘Don’t deny it – you’ve got a date, so ye have.’

‘No, I haven’t!’

‘Why else would ye be done up all pretty, with yer eyes shining and a smile on yer little face?’

Amy blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘You’re imagining things, like you always do. I’m not going on a date.’

‘Hey now!’ Bridget wagged a finger. ‘You might be in charge when I’m not here, but I’m the boss and I’m allowed to think and say what I like. So don’t you forget it, young madam!’

In charge of the offices, Amy had been with her for a good while now. She was an excellent organiser and had a flair for figures – which had never been Bridget’s strong point.

Amy explained, ‘I thought I might go to the pictures this afternoon, that’s all. It’s a Norman Wisdom film.’

Bridget glanced at the clock. ‘In that case, you’d best make tracks or you’ll miss the matinée,’ she told her. ‘I should never have asked you to come in on a Saturday. It was unfair of me, so it was.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Amy assured her. ‘I didn’t know myself about the film until I got out of bed this morning. When the postman told me that he was going to see it, I just thought it would make a nice treat for me too.’

Bridget chuckled. ‘So, it was the postman put the sparkle in yer eye, was it?’

‘No, it was not.’

‘Ah, don’t gimme that now. I’ve seen your postie and he’s a fine body of a man, so he is.’ She made a smiley face. ‘It’s him that’s taking you to the pictures, is it?’

Pretending to tidy some papers, Amy looked away. ‘He’s not taking me,’ she protested, ‘though it’s likely we could bump into each other …’

When Bridget opened her mouth to speak, Amy cautioned her, ‘Don’t leap to conclusions, because there’s nothing going on, and that’s an end to it.’

‘Sure, I wasn’t about to say anything at all.’

‘Yes, you were. I saw it in your face.’