The Marriage Miracle. Liz Fielding

botanical drawings. Foxed, and a bit tattered at the edges, the only thing in their favour, as far as he could see, was that they were out of copyright by a century or two.

      But what did he know?

      The second drawer offered a series of brightly coloured nursery rhyme characters.

      As he continued through the drawers he realised that he was doing no more than going through the motions.

      He could look at a set of books and have a pretty fair idea of whether they belonged to a company on the way up or on the way out. Coronet Cards had been doing little more than ticking over for the last three years. If he’d been asked for an unbiased opinion, he’d have suggested either finding a buyer—a company who might be prepared to take over the company in order to add the Coronet trademark to their list—or winding it up before it began to make serious losses.

      Since, for the moment, neither of those options was open to him, he had no choice but to try and turn it around. But it hadn’t taken more than one morning in the office to realise that he needed help.

      And, once again, it was Matty Lang’s face that swam into view.

      ‘Are you okay?’

      Matty looked up from her second attempt at the beach scene. Fran was standing in the open doorway, her baby on her shoulder, her forehead wrinkled in a look of concern.

      ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Or I would be if I could remember what a beach looked like.’

      ‘We could open up the sandbox,’ she offered. ‘I’m sure Toby would be more than willing to refresh your memory.’

      ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on that one. Where is he?’

      ‘Baking with Connie. Brownies, I think.’

      ‘Thanks for the warning.’

      ‘Her cooking has improved a lot,’ Fran chided, but with a grin.

      ‘So why are you hiding out down here, interrupting me?’

      The grin widened into laughter. ‘Okay, I can take a hint. But don’t work too hard.’

      ‘Work?’ With a broad gesture, Matty took in her drawing board and computer bench. ‘You call this work? I sit here in the warm and dry, turning out pretty pictures for a living. What’s so hard about that?’

      ‘Even doing the things we love can get hard if we don’t have a break, Matty.’ Then, ‘Why don’t we all go down to the coast tomorrow so that you can refresh your memory?’

      No…

      ‘I thought you said it was going to rain tomorrow.’

      ‘That was when I was trying to get you outside today. You look a bit pale. You did so much to make the blessing special for us. I can’t help feeling that you overdid it.’

      ‘What tosh. You should be away somewhere on a honeymoon, Mrs Dymoke, indulging in love’s young dream with the gorgeous Guy instead of worrying about me.’

      ‘Oh, please. We’d been married nearly a year before we managed the blessing and reception. At this rate we’ll be love’s pensioners before we get around to a honeymoon.’

      ‘You should make some time for yourselves, Fran.’

      ‘Just kidding. But it’s a bad time to go away. Besides, why waste this lovely weather when we have the perfect excuse to escape to the sun in January?’ She dropped a kiss on her sleeping babe’s brow. ‘And this little one will be more manageable by then, too.’

      ‘It’s going to be a family honeymoon?’

      ‘Absolutely. But we’re staying in a house belonging to someone Guy knows. It has a full complement of staff, apparently, and I’ve been assured that I shall not be called upon to change as much as a single nappy.’

      ‘The best of all possible worlds, then. It sounds bliss.’

      ‘It will be, but I wish—’

      ‘You’ve got everything you could ever wish for, Fran,’ Matty intervened, before her cousin could voice her guilt at leaving her behind. ‘And for once I’ll be able to get on with some work without having to put up with a constant stream of interruptions.’ As if to mock her, her doorbell rang. ‘Now what?’

      She lifted the entryphone. ‘Yes?’

      ‘Meals on Wheels, ma’am. Since you wouldn’t come to lunch with me, I’ve brought lunch to you.’

      Fran’s eyes widened. ‘Is that Sebastian Wolseley?’ she whispered.

      ‘It must be,’ Matty replied, with remarkable composure considering her insides had clenched into a nervous fist at the sound of his voice. ‘He’s the only man I’ve turned down lunch with today.’

      ‘You did what?’

      ‘Treat them mean, keep them keen,’ she said, with a fair attempt at a laugh. Not that she imagined Fran was fooled for a minute by her apparent carelessness.

      She shouldn’t care, but it was a long time since she’d thought about a man—thought about a man in connection with herself, that was—for more than five minutes. She’d wasted a lot more than five minutes on Sebastian Wolseley, which suggested that she did. Care.

      ‘It seems to be working,’ her cousin replied, apparently amused. ‘Is leaving him standing on the doorstep part of the plan?’

      She was tempted. She’d said she was busy and he’d taken no notice. That was bad, wasn’t it? He hadn’t listened to what she was saying and that showed a lack of respect…or something.

      The warmth spreading upwards towards her cheeks suggested that respect was the last thing she wanted from him.

      That his unwillingness to take no for an answer was much more appealing.

      Dangerous, but appealing, and she buzzed him in. Then, as Fran headed for the French windows, Matty said, ‘Excuse me, just where do you think you’re going?’

      ‘You think I’m going to hang around and play gooseberry?’ Fran asked, as Sebastian appeared from the hall and joined them. Then she gracefully extended a hand, accepting a kiss on her cheek, and said, ‘Hello, Sebastian. How’re you settling into the flat? Is there anything you need?’

      ‘Everything’s fine, thank you, Francesca. I’m very grateful to you. Even the most comfortable hotel loses its charm after a week.’ He looked at the baby in her arms. ‘This is Toby’s sister, I take it?’ He held out a finger for the baby to clutch.

      Matty watched as Fran said, ‘Say hello, Stephanie.’ The baby blew a bubble and earned herself a full-throttle smile. ‘Say goodbye, Stephanie.’ Then, ‘Guy will give you call later in the week to organise supper one evening soon.’

      ‘I look forward to it.’

      ‘And if you change your mind about tomorrow, Matty, give me a call,’ she said, before stepping out in the garden, leaving her alone with Sebastian.

      ‘Tomorrow?’ he asked, finally dragging his gaze from the lovely Madonna-like image of mother and child and turning to look directly at Matty.

      She shrugged, reminding herself that it wasn’t at all attractive to begrudge a baby one of his smiles. ‘Fran suggested a day at the coast. I told her I was too busy. She listened.’

      ‘I listened. You said you were planning a sandwich.’ He offered her the kind of brown recycled paper carrier bag used by expensive organic bakers. ‘I thought I’d save you the trouble of making it.’

      She had two alternatives: keep looking at him, or take the carrier and look inside that. She took the carrier. And kept on looking at him.

      ‘Is it my imagination,’ she asked, after a silence that stretched seconds too long, ‘or are sandwiches heavier than they used to be?’