Valentine Vendetta

‘I eat simple food. Anyway, I can’t help it,’ he said, realizing that it was true. ‘Suddenly I feel flippant!’

‘What is the matter with you lately?’ demanded Maddy. ‘From being the personification of I-Want-To-Be-Alone, you start throwing your house open on every available opportunity!’

‘A small birthday dinner for my mother,’ he corrected modestly. ‘Hardly takes me into the league of big-time entertaining!’

‘What about this famous Valentine Ball? The one that made all the papers and which my friends all read about! This from a man who shuns personal publicity! And I notice that neither of your two beloved sisters were invited!’

‘Do you and Merry invite me to every social function which you have?’ he asked reasonably.

‘No! Because we got fed up with you persistently refusing to come! So what has happened to turn you from hermit to socialite overnight?’

‘It isn’t as simple as that—’

‘I’ll bet it isn’t!’ said Maddy. ‘It must be a woman!’

‘You couldn’t be more wrong.’

‘I’ll bet it is!’

‘Maddy—’ he said warningly. ‘What did you ring up about?’

‘I want to know do we dress Mum up before we leave? Or should she pack her diamanté in her suitcase? What do we tell her?’

‘Tell her that I’m cooking dinner for her.’

‘And are you? Really?’

‘Yeah. I am,’ he said, suddenly smiling as he put the phone down.

Standing in the doorway, Fran cleared her throat to let him know she was there. She had removed the heavy donkey-brown jacket and redone her hair so that not a strand stood out from the gleaming topknot. Sam thought she looked as though she was about to take dictation.

‘You’re cooking dinner?’ she asked. ‘Not me?’

Sam stirred the tea and turned round. She’d obviously heard his conversation. He frowned, thinking that she looked sort of right standing in the doorway, for all that her outfit made her look so prim. It had something to do with the pink cheeks, the bright eyes. Curves in all the right places. Oh, he was going to enjoy taking her to bed….

‘It would certainly make the birthday a surprise if I could,’ he admitted, trying to calm down his lust.

‘Can you cook?’

‘Not so’s you’d notice. But I presume you can?’

‘Big presumption to make, Sam! You should have checked first. Some party-planners can’t make a phone call without delegating the task of dialling the number to someone else! It isn’t part of the job description, you know!’

He ignored all that. ‘But you can?’

‘Actually, yes, I can.’

‘Then you could tell me how to cook the meal—’

‘And make the birthday cake, organise breakfast kedgeree, set the table and organise the flowers? Perhaps you could provide me with some brightly-coloured balls and I can juggle at the same time!’

‘I can’t see you’d find that a problem,’ he murmured, watching her breasts move as she waved her arms around like that.

‘Flattery won’t work, Sam.’ Fran glanced down at her watch. ‘But I presume you’ve bought most of the ingredients?’ She gave him a questioning look.

‘Ah!’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Now who is making assumptions? Maybe we’d better skip the tea and go shopping.’

‘I’ve got a better idea—let’s drink the tea and then go shopping!’