The Determined Husband

Apparently interpreting her anxious expression, Martin said, ‘It doesn’t look as if they’re going to get back.’

‘No.’ The monosyllable sounded forlorn, when she’d meant it to sound matter-of-fact.

‘In that case, I’ll be happy to see you home.’

Knowing he and his sister shared an apartment on Fifth Avenue, she refused hastily. ‘Thank you, but there’s really no need for you to go out of your way.’

As though she hadn’t spoken, he asked, ‘Where do you live?’

She told him, adding firmly, ‘I can easily get a taxi.’

‘I won’t hear of it. A promise is a promise. And you’ve been neglected enough for one night.’

Not by him, she hadn’t. Though she was a mere employee and he the host of a party thrown solely for business reasons, Martin had contrived to put her interests before business.

Whereas Keir…

Though she immediately snapped off the disloyal thought, a faint feeling of resentment was born.

A hand beneath her elbow, Martin queried, ‘Have you a wrap?’

She shook her head.

‘Then, let’s go.’

When she had been handed into his silver-grey, chauffeur-driven limousine, Martin climbed in beside her and asked, ‘Have you discovered New York by night?’

‘Not really.’ She had spent most evenings sitting in her room, waiting in case Keir might call.

‘Then you must see Times Square and the lights on Broadway.’

Sliding aside the glass panel, Martin gave the chauffeur her address, adding, ‘Drive down Broadway, will you, Carlson?’

To Sera, he explained, ‘Broadway follows an old Indian trail, so it’s the one street that mars Midtown Manhattan’s perfect grid system…’

During the journey he pointed out things of interest and talked easily, entertainingly, about the New York scene and the current musicals.

‘I take it you haven’t been to a Broadway production yet?’ he queried.

‘No, but I’m certainly hoping to. Is it difficult to get tickets?’

‘That depends on what you’d like to see.’

She named one of the latest shows, and was totally disconcerted when he said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Oh, but I—I didn’t mean—’

Leaning over, he put a finger to her lips. ‘I know you didn’t. But it will be my pleasure.’

When they reached the Brownstone on Quarles Street, Martin got out with her.

A quick glance at the top floor showed that Keir’s window was still dark. So he wasn’t home yet.

Remembering Cheryl’s obvious interest in him, Sera felt slightly uneasy. She had discovered almost at once that, where men were concerned, the redhead was unashamedly predatory…

She became aware that Martin was standing waiting and held out her hand, saying formally, ‘Thank you for everything. You’ve been more than kind.’

He took her hand and tucked it under his arm. ‘I’ll see you up.’

‘But I live on the top floor and there’s no lift.’

‘Do I look that decrepit?’ he asked quizzically.

‘Of course not, but there really isn’t any need.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

He accompanied her up the steps and, when she’d let herself in, followed her across the brown-linoleum-covered hall and up the five flights of stairs, where traces of the evening’s cooking smells—greens, onions, garlic, pastrami—still lingered on the hot, stale air.

Turning to glance at him, she saw his nose wrinkle. ‘How on earth do you manage in a place like this?’ he asked with distaste.

‘It’s not really so bad,’ she defended the Brownstone. ‘In fact, I’m quite enjoying living here.’

She refrained from adding that, when Keir was with her, it was as close to heaven as she was every likely to get.

‘Didn’t personnel give you any help?’ Martin questioned.

‘Yes. They went to a great deal of trouble.’

‘It doesn’t look like it to me. I’ll have to see if they can’t come up with something better.’

‘Prices in New York are high,’ she pointed out quietly. ‘I couldn’t afford anything better.’

For a moment he looked angry and she realized that, when he’d set his mind on something, he wasn’t used to being thwarted.

Then he shrugged and suggested with a smile, ‘In that case, you’ll have to try asking Cheryl for an increase in salary.’

When they reached her door, Sera thanked him again. ‘I really am very grateful for everything.’

His pale blue eyes on her face, he suggested, ‘In that case, there’s something you can do for me.’

Watching her freeze, he told her crisply, ‘No, it’s not what you’re thinking. When I do take you to bed, the last thing I’ll be looking for is gratitude, believe me.’

‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered, feeling foolish. ‘What is it you want me to do?’

‘Tomorrow I’m having lunch with Ralph Kessler and his wife. It’s part social and part business. Cheryl, who usually joins me on these occasions, is tied up.

‘I need someone with me who’s intelligent enough to cope with the business side if they both want to talk business, and pleasant enough to carry off the social side if Mrs Kessler just wants to talk. In other words, I’d like you to act as my hostess.’