Stand-In Mistress

Stand-In Mistress
Lee Wilkinson

Lee Wilkinson

STAND-IN MISTRESS

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘AND the installation work could be carried out without delay?’

‘Yes, certainly.’ Cool and efficient-looking in a charcoal-grey suit, her slim, nylon-clad legs neatly crossed, Joanne was quietly confident.

There was a brief pause while the burly managing director of Liam Peters thought it over.

‘Well, if your company can give me the kind of service you’ve just outlined, Miss Winslow, I believe we can do business,’ he said pleasantly.

‘I’m sure we can,’ she promised.

Elbows resting on the arms of his chair, hands steepled, he stared at her across the desk.

Smooth sable hair framed an oval face with good features—dark blue eyes, widely spaced, a generous mouth, a straight nose, and a determined chin.

Not exactly beautiful, he decided, but an interesting face, full of character.

‘In that case I’ll expect your team of technicians to be here first thing Monday morning to talk to me.’

‘They will be,’ she assured him, and smiled.

That smile made him revise his previous opinion.

Rising to his feet, he accompanied her to the door of the outer office and they shook hands cordially.

Barely restraining the impulse to jump for joy and shout ‘Yippee!’ she made her way sedately out of the newly completed office block and into Fulham Road.

She was immediately engulfed by the golden brightness of an early-September afternoon and the ceaseless roar and bustle of London’s traffic.

After months of worry, as the economy declined and the company her brother had built up began to founder, things seemed to be looking up.

For over five years Steve had struggled to make Optima Business Services successful, but the recession had meant less work and put a severe strain on the company’s slender financial resources.

The first really tricky patch had been weathered by mortgaging their house. But the second squall, coming fast on the heels of the first, had threatened to sink them.

Then, just that morning, Steve had been promised a substantial injection of cash by MBL Finance, an international investment company who specialised in helping small businesses.

Now, heaven be praised, she had as good as secured what promised to be a lucrative contract to set up a large new communications network.

About to head in the direction of the nearest tube station, Joanne glanced at her watch. She was surprised to find it was twenty minutes to five. At this time on a Friday there was no point in going back to their Kensington offices.

She was less than ten minutes’ walk away from where they lived, so she might as well go home and start preparing a meal for when the rest of the family got in. Turning, she headed for Carlisle Street, and the house she shared with her brother, Steve, her sister, Milly, and Milly’s husband, Duncan.

Milly would no doubt be home by now, packing. The young couple were moving to Scotland, where Duncan, a newly qualified doctor, had recently been offered a position at a practice in his home town of Edinburgh.

A furnished flat above the surgery went with the post, and the journey by overnight sleeper meant they would be in Edinburgh by seven-thirty tomorrow morning, which would allow them plenty of time to get settled in over the weekend.

What had made the offer even more acceptable was that one of the receptionists had recently left, and Milly had been given the chance to take over her job.

Even so, she had seemed edgy and unsettled, less than enthusiastic about moving so far north, and her obvious reluctance had caused some trouble between herself and Duncan.

When she protested, with some passion, that she liked the secretarial job she had now and didn’t want to leave, Duncan had pointed out quietly that before she married him he’d made it quite plain that he planned to return to Scotland.

Unable to deny this, she had resorted to tears, and, when they did no good, ragged outbursts of temper. But to Joanne’s immense relief, Duncan, as steady and level-headed as Milly was wild and wilful, had largely ignored her tantrums.

When Joanne reached Carlisle Street, which was quiet and tree-shaded, lined by old and elegant town houses with porticoed entrances, she walked down it with her usual feeling of nostalgia.

Number twenty-three had belonged to her parents. A happy family home, its front room had been used as an office, with a gold-lettered sign in the window that read: ‘John and Jane Winslow. Solicitors.’

Then five years ago the pair had died together in a train crash in Mexico, while on a second honeymoon.

Milly, the youngest of the family, had been only thirteen at the time. Instead of returning to university for the autumn term, Joanne had joined her brother’s business venture so she could be on hand to look after both of them.

Steve had protested that at twenty-two he was old enough to look after himself, but had been only too pleased to have the running of the house taken off his hands.

Joanne climbed the steps, put her key in the lock, and let herself in. She had expected to hear pop music blaring, but the house was still and silent. It seemed Milly wasn’t home after all.

When she’d changed from her business suit into trousers and a top, she made her way down to the pleasant, airy kitchen.

Having plugged in the kettle for a cup of tea, and opened up the stove, she began to prepare the evening meal. Lisa, Steve’s secretary, and now his fiancée, was coming home with him tonight, so they could make it a family celebration.