City Cinderella. Catherine George

haggard, the bloodshot eyes dark-ringed, but with a smile of greeting so different from the hostility of the day before it did serious damage to her resolutions.

      ‘Good morning, Emily Warner. Good of you to come.’

      ‘I’m always here on Mondays.’ She handed him the paper.

      ‘Thank you just the same. But be of good cheer,’ he said, leaning in the doorway. ‘No need to change sheets and force pills down my throat. I’ve performed both duties myself, already.’

      ‘Well done.’ She took off her jacket and put it on the chest. ‘How do you feel?’

      ‘Not wonderful. But better than yesterday.’

      Which was obvious from the interest he was taking in her appearance.

      ‘Back to bed now,’ she said briskly. ‘Read the paper while I tidy up.’

      ‘Forget that. I need conversation. Come and talk to me for a while—’ Lucas broke off to cough, and Emily gestured towards his bedroom.

      ‘Please go back to bed.’ She went ahead of him to stack the pillows and turn down the newly changed covers. ‘You should have waited for me to do this,’ she said severely. ‘Because you don’t feel so marvellous now, do you?’

      ‘No,’ he admitted, and slid into bed with a groan of relief.

      ‘Have you had anything to eat today?’

      ‘I drank some milk.’

      ‘Better than nothing, I suppose,’ said Emily, and smiled her approval.

      ‘Cute dimple,’ he commented.

      ‘What would you like to eat?’ she asked, ignoring him. ‘Eggs in some form would be best. Something light to start you off.’

      ‘At the moment I feel too feeble to lift a fork. Later, maybe. When I’ve got over my exertions.’ He eyed her irritably. ‘For the moment just sit down and talk to me, woman.’

      Objecting hotly to this form of address, Emily stood her ground for a moment, then sat down on the chair beside the bed. ‘Oh, very well. What shall I talk about?’

      ‘You.’

      She grimaced. ‘Boring subject.’

      ‘I disagree.’ He slid further down in the bed. ‘Tell me what you did before the domestic engineering.’

      ‘I worked in a commercial retail agency—I told you it was boring.’

      ‘Emily, that sexy voice of yours could recite the phone book without boring me.’ He threw up a hand at her scowl. ‘Sorry, sorry. Go on. Tell me why you switched careers.’

      She shrugged. ‘I lived for a while with a man who worked in the same agency. When we broke up I moved out and packed in my job.’

      Lucas lay watching her, his shadowed eyes alert with interest. ‘Non-amicable parting, obviously. When was this?’

      ‘Fairly recently. Now, how about that breakfast?’

      His mouth twisted. ‘I’m a bit wary of eating. It’s bloody mortifying to keep dashing away to throw up.’

      She nodded sympathetically. ‘My mother got a leaflet about flu when I was ill. It said one must try to eat if possible. So will you try?’

      ‘On one condition—that you keep me company while I do.’

      ‘If you insist.’

      ‘Not at all. I’m asking you nicely!’

      Emily laughed and went off to the kitchen. When she returned to the bedroom with a laden tray she found Lucas waiting with barely concealed impatience, the daily paper unopened beside him. ‘Sorry I was so long,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’m used to cleaning your kitchen, but not cooking in it.’

      ‘Which you shouldn’t be doing at all,’ he said irritably.

      ‘Of course I should.’ She laid a clean towel across his chest. ‘Better use this now you’ve made the effort to change your bed.’ She handed him a fork and a plate of scrambled eggs on toast, then feeling a little awkward sat down again. ‘Salt, pepper?’ she asked. ‘I seasoned the eggs a bit, but you might want more.’

      ‘They’re perfect,’ he said, tasting them. ‘Now, entertain me while I eat. I can tell you’re not a Londoner. Where do you come from?’

      ‘Chastlecombe, in Gloucestershire.’

      ‘Snap—same county,’ he informed her with a grin. ‘We’re both country bumpkins, then.’

      Anything less like a country bumpkin than Lucas Tennent was hard to imagine. Even lying in bed, haggard and feverish. ‘Speak for yourself,’ she said pertly, then bit her lip.

      ‘What now?’ he demanded.

      ‘I keep forgetting.’

      ‘Forgetting what?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, right. Me boss, you slave.’

      Emily glared at him. ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that!’

      ‘I should bloody well hope not,’ he said forcibly, and eyed his empty plate in surprise. ‘That was good. Thank you.’

      Emily took his plate to the kitchen, then returned shortly afterwards with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Lucas, then resumed her place in the chair. ‘You look a little better now,’ she said with approval.

      ‘I feel it.’ He drank with relish, then settled back against his pillows. ‘So tell me more, Emily. What course are you doing?’

      She winced. ‘I lied about that.’

      ‘Did you now?’ he said, eyeing her flushed face with amusement. ‘So what exactly are you doing on that laptop of yours? Hacking into state secrets?’

      ‘Nothing so exciting. I’m trying my hand at a novel. I make a sort of rough draft of the next bit in my head while I’m cleaning, then get it down on my laptop later. But if I hadn’t been stupid enough to lie to you when you caught me,’ she added bluntly, ‘I wouldn’t be telling you this. No one else knows, not even my family.’

      ‘My lips are sealed,’ he assured her, hand on heart. ‘But why the secrecy?’

      Her chin jutted. ‘I experienced a pretty humiliating form of rejection recently. If—or more likely when—the manuscript’s rejected, too, I’d rather no one knew about it.’