‘My pleasure. I just came to warn you that you’ll never have him. I won’t have him and neither will you. I’ll see to it.’
‘How?’ Francesca asked coldly. Wrong question. Georgina obviously hadn’t worked that one out yet. She delivered one last venomous look and turned on her heel. Not a backward glance. Francesca heard the front door slam and sagged in relief.
Then she hit the phone.
She’d expected to be furious with Jack, running to the viper blonde and blabbing things that were none of her business or anyone else’s for that matter, but she wasn’t. As he stammered out an explanation she could only sigh with resignation. He had been concerned about her, hadn’t been able to bear her disappointment at losing the job, had just gone to see Georgina on the off chance that he could persuade her not to jettison the job because Francesca and Angelo had once had a fling years back. How was he to know that the engagement had already been called off? He had known halfway through the conversation that it had been a bad idea but by then it had been too difficult to back down and leave.
Francesca listened, letting him talk, until there was nothing left to say. She didn’t see how she could tell him what had happened between her and Angelo. It just seemed too complicated and not very relevant anyway.
The reality was that they no longer had the job, for whatever reasons. It would have been nice, a juicy little add-on to their portfolio, but that, as they said, was life.
She wasn’t angry with Jack.
She was, however, angry with Angelo. She had a few hours of restless sleep, during which her anger had time to grow, and by nine the following morning she was in no fit state to placidly start preparing desserts for the Hamiltons’ supper party the following evening.
Along with the now redundant menus for the wedding that would never take place was his business card.
Francesca stuck on her most formal suit, a grey skirt with a snappy grey jacket, white shirt underneath, high heels that would elevate her almost to his height, and headed for the City.
She had left behind an uncomplaining Jack to cover her temporary absence. He was still smarting from his misjudged act of charity on her behalf and was only too happy to do what she wanted. He hadn’t asked where she was going or why it was so important, nor did he quiz her on her flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes.
There never seemed to be a quiet time in the City, at least not during working hours, and today was no different. She took a taxi to his office.
What she had expected was precisely what she found. A tall smoked glass building housing branches of various financial institutions. Inside, the foyer was brightly lit. The broad marbled expanse would have been daunting had it not been for the clever interspersing of giant plants that looked as though they belonged in a jungle rather than in the bowels of a building in the centre of London.
Getting past reception was no problem. She gave Georgina’s name, just in case Angelo had decided to ditch her after his ego-boosting coup at her expense. He might no longer be engaged to the blonde but he would never risk having her create a scene on his turf.
What a surprise, she fulminated on the way up in the lift, when he was confronted by a six-foot brunette instead of his ex-fiancée.
His business covered three floors of the impressive building and the directors’ offices were on the top floor. The lift disgorged her into the hushed atmosphere of a library. People were busy with purpose—the purpose of making vast sums of money.
His secretary met her at the doors of the lift and said, with sweeping understatement, ‘You’re not Miss Thompson.’
‘I need to see Angelo and I’m afraid I borrowed Miss Thompson’s name to get up here.’ His secretary had the sort of face that looked as though it responded well to honesty. ‘I’m Francesca Hayley and I am…was…’ Was the broken engagement public knowledge?
‘The caterer. May I ask what your business here is, Miss Hayley?’
‘Of a personal nature.’
There was a few seconds of silence, then the woman nodded. ‘He has half an hour before his next meeting…I suppose I could let you see him…’