‘And will you stay with her till the plane leaves?’
‘Yes, I thought I would. I couldn’t let her go off alone.’
‘Yes, of course. I’m not complaining. I’m just trying to work out the weekend. I was originally going to suggest we drive up to Francesco’s Folly on Saturday and stay the night but that’s not very practical when you probably won’t be back from the airport till after four. I’ll go visit Mum instead on Saturday whilst you’re busy. Then I’ll take you out somewhere special for dinner that night. If you want to go, of course,’ he added, adhering to her rule that he asked her first. ‘Then, if you like, you could stay the night here and we could head north first thing Sunday morning for the day. What do you say to that?’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ she agreed whilst privately worrying that it sounded like she was becoming more like a girlfriend than a mistress. Dinner out somewhere special. Sleeping over afterwards—not that that was new—and then all day Sunday together. Still, as long as they kept their relationship secret then she supposed it didn’t matter how much time they spent together. It was important to Vivienne, keeping their sexual relationship a secret. She didn’t want people to think she was a fool, jumping from the frying pan into the fire. After all, Jack was never going to marry her. He’d made that clear up front. Still, if she didn’t do something silly like fall in love—again—then there was no reason to worry that she might get burnt by him.
‘Good,’ Jack said in a satisfied tone. ‘Now, I think it’s time for seconds...’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘IT’S NOT LIKE you to visit on a Saturday,’ Jack’s mother said over lunch the following Saturday. He’d rung her the previous night, saying he’d drop in around noon, and she’d told him to stay for lunch.
Jack forked one of the baby beets into his mouth before answering. God, but he did love salads, though he hated making them himself; hated cooking all round. He wondered briefly if Vivienne was a good cook. He imagined she would be. She was good at most things, that girl. Maybe he would ask her to cook him a meal one night, though not in that antiseptic kitchen of hers. Damn, but he wished he could find out why she was so clinical when it came to her own flat’s décor.
‘Couldn’t make it tomorrow,’ he explained. ‘I’m driving up to Francesco’s Folly to see the place again.’ He’d told her all about the place during his previous night’s phone call. As had become her habit lately, his mother wasn’t as surprised as he thought she’d be. In fact, she seemed suspiciously pleased, though that could have been because he’d said she and Jim could go there for romantic weekends once it was finished.
‘You’ll have to take me up there one day soon,’ she suggested.
‘I’d rather not till it’s refurbished. Actually, I’m not going alone tomorrow. I’m taking up the designer I’ve hired to do the interior decorating. She’s a girl who’s worked for me often, doing my show homes and villas.’
‘What’s she like, this designer you’ve hired?’
‘What do you mean?’
Eleanor did her best to adopt an ingenuous expression. She knew from past experience that Jack didn’t like her questioning him about the women in his life. Something told her—some feminine instinct, or possibly motherly instinct—that this girl might be different. ‘Well...er...is she young? Old? Plain? Pretty? The usual questions.’
‘I’m not sure how old Vivienne is. Late twenties, I guess. And I’d call her attractive rather than pretty. She does have lovely green eyes, though. And a great figure.’
Aha! So he’d noticed her eyes and her figure. And what a nice name: Vivienne. Classy.
‘Single?’
‘Yep. Though she was engaged till recently. To some fortune hunter who dumped her for Courtney Ellison. Frank Ellison’s daughter, you know? The mining magnate.’
‘Yes, I know who you mean. How awful for her, Jack. She must be devastated.’
‘She’s better off without the likes of him.’
Was that jealousy she heard? Or just dislike? Jack detested men who cheated, and he had a strong sense of responsibility and integrity. He would make some girl a wonderful husband. One day.
‘Does Vivienne think that?’ she asked quietly.
Jack frowned into his plate. Did she finally? One might have thought so when she was panting beneath him. Or when she lay naked in his arms, satiated from another of their nightly sexathons. But, to be brutally honest, Jack still wasn’t sure if Vivienne’s wildly wanton act in bed wasn’t just that. An act. Not that he thought she was faking her orgasms. Hell, no. No one pretended that noisily.