Lovers In The Afternoon. Carole Mortimer

      Her blush deepened at the sympathetic ripple of laughter that filled the room; everyone knew of her habit of knocking and walking into things. ‘Of course I heard you, David,’ she answered awkwardly, her gaze guilelessly innocent as she looked at him steadily.

      ‘Then you don’t mind staying for a few minutes after the others have gone back to their offices?’ he took pity on her, knowing very well that she hadn’t been listening to a word he said.

      ‘Er—no, of course not,’ she replaced the papers on the filing cabinet that Gary had caught for her, wondering what she was guilty of now, feeling like the disobedient child that had been asked to stay in after school. It couldn’t be her lack of attention to what was being said that was at fault, she never did that anyway, and David knew it.

      She moved to sit on the edge of his desk as the others filed out to go back to work. ‘Good meeting, David,’ she complimented brightly.

      ‘And how would you know one way or the other?’ he sighed, looking up at her, a tall loose-limbed man with wild blond hair that refused to be tamed despite being kept cut close to his head, the rest of his appearance neat to precision point. He was only twenty-eight, had built his interior designing business up from a two-room, three-man operation to the point where he had a dozen people working for him. And Leonie knew she was lucky to be one of them, that Stevenson Interiors was one of the most successful businesses in its field, and that it was all due to David’s drive and initiative.

      She grimaced. ‘Would it help if I were to say I’m sorry?’ she cajoled.

      ‘You always are,’ David said without rancour. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Thompson Electronics.’

      A frown marred her creamy brow. ‘Has something gone wrong? I thought they were pleased with the work I did for them. I don’t understand——’

      ‘Calm down, Leonie,’ he ordered impatiently at her impassioned outburst. ‘They were pleased, they are pleased, which is why the new President of the company wants you to personally design the decor for his own office suit.’

      ‘He does?’ she gasped.

      ‘Don’t look so surprised,’ David mocked. ‘It was a good piece of work. Even I would never have thought of using that particular shade of pink—indeed any shade of pink, in a group of offices.’

      ‘It was the brown that off-set the femininity of it. You see I had——’

      ‘You don’t have to convince me of anything, Leonie,’ he drawled. ‘Or them either. You just have to get yourself over there at four o’clock this afternoon to discuss the details.’

      She was still relatively new at her job, and tried to make every design she did a work of art, something personal; she was more than pleased to know that someone else had seen and appreciated some of her completed work enough to ask for her personally. It was the first time it had happened.

      ‘Mrs Carlson will be expecting you,’ David continued. ‘She phoned and made the appointment first thing this morning. And she’ll introduce you to the President then.’

      ‘Ronald Reagan?’

      He gave a patiently humouring sigh. ‘Where do you get your sense of humour from?

      She grinned at him. ‘It’s what keeps my world going.’

      David frowned at the underlying seriousness beneath her words. Except for the friendly, and often loony facade she presented to everyone here, he knew little about the real Leonie Grant. Her employee’s file said she had been married but was now separated from her husband, but she never spoke of the marriage or the man she had been married to, her openness often seeming to hide a wealth of pain and disillusionment.

      But it never showed, and Leonie found as much humour in her clumsiness as everyone else did, able to laugh at herself and the things that happened to her.

      His mouth quirked into a smile. ‘I have to admit that when Mrs Carlson said the President would expect you at four o’clock the same thought crossed my mind!’

      ‘Naughty, David,’ she shook her head reprovingly, her eyes glowing deeply green.

      For a moment they shared a smile of mutual humour, and then David shook his head ruefully. ‘Try not to be late for the meeting,’ he advised. ‘From the way Mrs Carlson was acting he sounds pretty awesome.’

      Leonie grimaced. ‘Are you sure you want to send me, I could walk in, trip over a matchstick, and end up sliding across his desk into his lap!’

      ‘He asked for you specifically.’ But David frowned as he mentally envisaged the scene she had just described. ‘I’ll take the risk,’ he said without enthusiasm.

      ‘Sure?’

      ‘No,’ he answered with complete honesty. ‘But short of lying to the man I don’t know what else I can do. Just try not to be late,’ he warned again.

      And she did try, she tried very hard, but it seemed the fates were against her from the start. She caught her tights on the door as she got into her VW, drove around for another ten minutes trying to find somewhere to park so she could buy some new ones, getting back to the car just in time to personally accept her parking ticket from the traffic warden, making a mad dash to find somewhere to change her tights, laddering that pair too in her haste, although it was high enough up her leg not to show. By this time she in no way resembled the coolly smart young woman who had left Stevenson Interiors in plenty of time to reach Thompson Electronics by four o’clock. It was already five to four, and she was hot and sticky from her exertions with the tights, her make-up needing some repair, her hair having lost its glowing bounce in the heat of the day. She was already going to be a few minutes late; taking time to refresh her make-up and brush her hair wasn’t going to make that much difference now.

      It was ten minutes past four when she entered the Thompson building, her slim briefcase in her hand, and except for the fact that she was late, looking like a self-contained young executive. Ten minutes wasn’t so bad, she could blame that on the traffic. She certainly didn’t intend going into the story of the ripped tights as her excuse, or the parking ticket either! It was——

      Oh no, she just didn’t believe this, it couldn’t be happening to her! But she knew that it was as the smooth-running lift made a terrible grinding noise and shuddered to a halt somewhere between the eighth and ninth floors. She was stuck in a lift for the second time that day! And as usual she was alone. She was always alone when the damned things broke down, never had anyone to help calm the panic that she felt. This was a large lift, not like the one at Stevenson Interiors, but she would still rather be on the other side of those steel doors. Oh well, at least the floor was carpeted if she had to spend any amount of time here, so she could be comfortable. But it wasn’t likely that she would be here for long, this was a big and busy building, someone was sure to realise sooner or later that one of the lifts was stuck between floors. And she hoped it was sooner!

      She sank to the floor after pressing the emergency button, knowing from experience that people rarely took notice of that bell. God, what a day it had been, worse than her usual string of mishaps. If she didn’t know better she would think——But no, she wouldn’t even think about him. God, this was a hell of a place to start thinking of the disastrous effect her husband had had on her, his disapproval of almost everything she did making her more nervous, and consequently more klutzy, than ever.

      She determinedly opened her briefcase, going through the fabric book she had brought with her, wondering what sort of colour scheme the President of the company would favour. She had thought of a few ideas, but basically she just wanted to hear what his tastes were.

      She became so engrossed in matching paints and fabrics, the books strewn over the floor, that for some time she managed to forget she was marooned in a lift eight-and-a-half floors up. It was almost five-thirty when she heard the sound of banging from above, a voice that sounded strangely hollow calling down that the lift would be working shortly.

      Leonie stood up, her legs stiff