Their Engagement is Announced Page 9

  But she could guess at Margaret’s plans for Griffin; if he really were to enter the political arena at this stage of his life he was going to need more than his mother’s help to do it, and being son-in-law of the next possible Prime Minister would be guaranteed to give him that!

  Margaret gave a smile that didn’t reach the hardness of her blue eyes. ‘I’m sure you’re wondering why, when I found you suitable as a wife for Charles, I should be so against your having any involvement with my younger son,’ she continued pleasantly. ‘The truth of the matter is, Dora, that I have someone eminently more suitable for Griffin. I’m sure you’re aware of exactly who Amanda is…?’

  And not only that. Dora had noticed several politicians amongst the numerous guests, and had realised a few minutes ago that Jeffrey Adams himself was one of them. With the Sinclairs’ family interest in politics, the presence of the silver-haired politician wasn’t of particular note. But now Dora had seen his daughter, and realised Margaret’s intentions in that direction, his presence took on a much more ominous quality. For Griffin, that was…

  ‘I can see that you do,’ Margaret continued smoothly, after Dora’s brief glimpse towards the middle-aged politician. ‘Amanda is Jeffrey’s youngest daughter. A late addition to his already grown family and the apple of his eye,’ she added with satisfaction.

  And obviously the woman Margaret found ‘eminently more suitable’ as a wife for Griffin…

  But surely Margaret couldn’t seriously hope to persuade Griffin to take up politics where his father and Charles had left off? The idea was ludicrous. Griffin didn’t give a damn what he said, or to whom he said it, and in politics that just wouldn’t do!

  Did Griffin have any idea of the extent of his mother’s plans for his future? He knew that his mother was looking for a suitable wife for him, so he must know at least some of what she had in mind for him.

  But, knowing Griffin, he believed he was more than capable of handling his mother. And any of her schemes. Although Griffin had seemed quite happy to flirt with the coy Amanda!

  ‘I wish you luck,’ Dora told the other woman quietly. ‘As for me, I have my own plans for the future—and they don’t include any of you!’

  ‘I’m so glad you feel that way, my dear.’ Margaret squeezed her arm. ‘I’m sure it will be better for all of us if you stand by that decision.’

  The woman was dangerous, Dora decided as she walked hurriedly away, not mistaking those last words for anything other than the threat they were. And not even a veiled one, at that.

  Dora had meant what she said; she intended staying away from both Griffin and Margaret.

  They were both dangerous.

  But, as she’d realised earlier, when she’d been filled with jealousy at Griffin’s obvious attraction to the beautiful Amanda, they were dangerous for very different reasons…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘WHAT the hell—? Careful, Izzy!’ Griffin rasped as the ladder she was standing on wobbled precariously.

  Which, in the circumstances, wasn’t surprising!

  The last person she had expected—or wanted—to see was Griffin Sinclair. Besides, the shop was closed, and it clearly said so on the notice on the outside of the door. Yet Griffin never had taken too much notice of little facts like that!

  ‘Come down from there,’ he ordered as he came to stand at the bottom of the ladder. ‘Then you can tell me exactly what you’re supposed to be doing!’ he added.

  Dora bristled indignantly at his daring to tell her what to do, while at the same time realising the derision in his tone in the latter statement.

  She was supposed to be painting the ceiling, but she accepted she had more paint on her than she managed to apply to the ceiling. Her denims and tee shirt were liberally sprinkled with the white paint, and her hair too, she didn’t doubt. Whereas Griffin, also wearing faded denims, and a dark green tee shirt, looked as handsome as ever!

  ‘I believe it is perfectly obvious what I’m doing, Griffin,’ she snapped, deliberately making no effort to descend the ladder. She hadn’t seen or heard from Griffin since the wedding six days ago—and she wished he weren’t here now, either! But perhaps he had come to tell her of his engagement to the beautiful Amanda…?

  Griffin gave her a considering look from mocking green eyes. ‘Hmm,’ he finally murmured thoughtfully. ‘No,’ he added a few seconds later, ‘I really have no idea. Putting white streaks in your hair seems to be the obvious answer, but I would’ve thought you’d be better going to a hair-dresser and having that done professionally. I suppose—’

  ‘Very funny,’ Dora bit out caustically, putting her paint-pot and brush down on top of the ladder before starting her descent; with her luck she would have fallen halfway and ended up with all the paint on her, instead of just most of it!

  ‘I realise this is a stupid question—’

  ‘Then don’t ask it,’ she advised dryly, rubbing her sticky hands down her already paint-daubed denims. ‘I would shake hands with you, but—’

  ‘Shake hands, be damned!’ He grasped her upper arms and pulled her towards him, kissing her hard on the mouth before releasing her again. ‘After all, you were almost my sister-in-law,’ he told her challengingly at the point where she would have protested, her face bright red with indignation.

  Almost his sister-in-law did not give him the right to kiss her whenever he chose to do so! And she sincerely hoped, after that, that he wasn’t even thinking about becoming engaged to someone else! ‘As you can see, I’m busy, Griffin,’ she told him pointedly.

  He glanced up at the ceiling she’d been working on, and Dora’s eyes reluctantly followed the direction of that mocking gaze. God, what a mess! Not only had she dripped most of the paint on herself, but the little she had managed to apply to the ceiling had dried in streaks, making it look dirtier than the original cream paint she had been trying to cover up!

  ‘As I can see,’ he murmured, the laughter clearly audible in his voice.

  Dora glared at him. ‘I suppose you could do better?’ she scorned—as far as she was aware, painting wasn’t his forte, either!

  His mouth twisted. ‘I doubt I could do any worse,’ he told her honestly. ‘I’m just curious as to why you’re doing it all? Surely finances aren’t so bad that—’

  ‘Finances have nothing to do with this,’ she assured him sharply. ‘Besides the shop premises themselves, my father left me quite comfortably off. No,’ she continued firmly, having no intention of discussing her financial situation with Griffin, ‘I was let down at the last minute by the shop-fitters. But, as the closure had been announced in all the local newspapers, and in the shop itself for several weeks, I decided to have a go at doing it myself.’ The hot colour came back into her cheeks as she recalled the frustrating week she had just had.

  The shopfitters she had hired to do this job hadn’t let her know they wouldn’t be able to do it until they had telephoned her at home on Sunday evening. And at such short notice she’d found it impossible to find a replacement; all of the other firms had told her the same thing; it was spring, their busy time, and they couldn’t fit her job in for a number of weeks, if not months.

  And so she had cleared the shop herself, carrying boxes and boxes of books out to the storeroom at the back of the shop. Once she had finally cleared it, and all the moveable furniture, she’d realised just how badly in need of repainting the shop actually was. Her father had been content with the cream and brown, but for what she had in mind it wouldn’t do at all. White and green paint was her colour scheme, with pine furnishings.

  And so she’d been out and bought the paint she would need, and had embarked on doing the job herself.

  The one thing she’d learnt was that it was nowhere near as easy as it looked. Her respect for professional decorators had certainly gone up in the last few days!

  ‘Need any help?’

  She needed a lot of help—but not from Griffin! ‘Thank you for the offer, but—’

  ‘When
, exactly, are you supposed to be re-opening?’ Griffin cut in mildly.

  Dora sighed heavily—trust Griffin to go straight for the jugular! ‘I’ll be fine, Griffin. With a little more practice I—’

  ‘When, Izzy?’ he prompted again. ‘Because I’m pretty sure that no amount of ‘‘practice’’ on your part is going to make ‘‘perfect’’ in your case where painting is concerned!’

  Two wings of colour burnt angrily in her cheeks. ‘You really are the most insulting—’

  ‘We’ve already covered that part of my personality,’ Griffin dismissed derisively. ‘Several times. Now tell me when, Izzy?’

  ‘Ten days’ time,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘And I’m sure that if I carry on working—’

  ‘Twenty-four hours a day for the next ten days—and it would still look a mess, Izzy,’ he told her ruefully. ‘I certainly couldn’t do any worse!’

  Her hands clenched frustratedly at her sides. It had been a terrible week, and she was doing the best that she could in the circumstances. She was going to hit him in a minute if he carried on tormenting her in this way—and she’d never been a violent person. She hadn’t been a lot of things until she’d met Griffin Sinclair!

  ‘It was nice of you to call in, Griffin,’ she told him with dismissive politeness. ‘But I’m sure I must be keeping you from something—or someone,’ she added tartly, thinking specifically of Amanda Adams. ‘So, if you’ll excuse me—’

  ‘Izzy, will you just, for once in your life, stop being so damned independent?’ He reached for her arm again. ‘Accept an offer of help for exactly what it is. Even from me,’ he added dryly.

  He had made no comment, Dora noticed, on her remark about ‘someone’… But she was sure Margaret wouldn’t give up so easily. And Amanda herself hadn’t seemed averse to the matchmaking…

  She turned away. ‘You’re too busy—’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ he agreed ruefully. ‘And I’m not saying I could come and help you during the day. But my evenings are free—and I’m quite happy to offer them to you for the next ten days!’

  What about Amanda Adams…?

  ‘Have you moved back to the house with your mother yet?’ Dora asked pointedly; Margaret had made it more than obvious she would be most unhappy if Griffin spent all his spare time helping her.

  He grinned. ‘Why do you think I’m offering to come here and help you? Even painting is preferable to my mother’s company! She’s driving me nuts, Izzy; it’s getting so desperate I’ve even thought seriously about offering to marry Amanda just for a quiet life. Except it wouldn’t be,’ he added grimly. ‘Can you imagine it, with the two of them?’

  Dora looked at him blankly for several seconds, and then she began to laugh. It was the first time she had even smiled during this last week. And inwardly she could acknowledge that one of the main reasons she had been so miserable was because she’d realised at the wedding that she was still attracted to Griffin, that she had actually been jealous of the attention he had shown Amanda Adams. The relief of hearing him making a joke about that situation was almost too much for her.

  ‘I needed that,’ she told him ruefully when the laughter finally stopped.

  ‘I know,’ he conceded gently. ‘Do you have the makings of coffee somewhere in here?’ He looked around at the chaos, at the dustsheets over the bigger pieces of furniture that Dora simply hadn’t been able to move, not even an inch!

  ‘It’s a little soon for you to be expecting a coffee-break, Griffin,’ she mocked dryly.

  ‘It isn’t for me,’ he chided. ‘You look as if you could do with a break. I’ll make you a coffee: strong, hot and sweet. And while you’re drinking it I’ll see what I can salvage from the—um—’

  ‘From the mess,’ Dora finished for him ruefully, also looking about them. Not only had she got paint on herself, but it seemed to have splashed on to every other surface it could possibly reach, too. ‘Mmm, coffee sounds a wonderful idea, Griffin,’ she conceded wryly. ‘But I’ll make it; you salvage.’

  Five minutes later two mugs of coffee were made, and Griffin returned from his ‘salvaging’.

  ‘Wrong paint, wrong brush,’ he sighed, holding up the offending items. ‘Either you were misinformed, or you didn’t ask, and, knowing your independent nature—as I most assuredly do—’

  ‘I’ll go back tomorrow and get the right things,’ she cut in firmly, knowing all too well what he was going to say about her independence.

  But she had to be that way. There was no one else to ask for advice, not even her father now. Although she knew her father would never have agreed to the changes she was making!

  ‘We’ll go back tomorrow,’ Griffin corrected pointedly. ‘I like to know what I’m going to be working with!’

  ‘Very well,’ she conceded stiffly. ‘But I thought you said you were working during the day?’

  ‘Not on a Saturday.’ He shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘We’ll make an early start tomorrow. It shouldn’t take too long,’ he looked about him thoughtfully. ‘Now, have you eaten this evening?’ He turned piercing green eyes on her.

  She nodded.

  ‘Such as?’ he prompted dryly.

  ‘Such as toast,’ she answered defensively. ‘About five-thirty. And I couldn’t possibly—’

  ‘—go out to eat looking like that,’ he finished ruefully. ‘No, I agree with you.’ He smiled, having deliberately misunderstood her. ‘We’ll go back to your house, so that you can wash and change first, and then—’

  ‘Griffin, even a wash and change of clothes isn’t going to make me presentable enough to go out to eat in a restaurant.’ She pointedly touched the stickiness of her hair. ‘Besides, I’m not hungry,’ she told him stubbornly.

  ‘Of course you are,’ he dismissed crisply, looking at her critically. ‘You’re thinner than ever, Izzy,’ he finally reproved.

  The loose fit of her clothes these last few weeks had told her that. But she wasn’t used to being on her own yet, and cooking for one seemed such a waste of time and effort. Consequently she seemed to have subsisted mainly on toast and chocolate bars these last six weeks.

  With the occasional glass of champagne—at Charlotte and Stuart’s wedding—thrown in!

  ‘Nonsense,’ she dismissed brightly. ‘You aren’t very complimentary, Griffin.’ Although, in the circumstances, her paint-daubed appearance included, that wasn’t surprising! But just once she would like him to think she looked—

  ‘Izzy, you’re beautiful—even covered in paint. I’ve always thought so. So don’t fish.’ He tapped her playfully on the nose.

  Beautiful. That was what she had wanted him to think of her. But now that he had said it—

  ‘And I haven’t eaten yet,’ he continued firmly. ‘In fact I called in here on my way ho—back from the studio.’ He grimaced at the mention of the house he wouldn’t call home. ‘The least you can do is keep me company.’

  Dora raised auburn brows. ‘And why should I want to do that?’

  ‘It’s best to keep the workers happy, Izzy.’ He held out her jacket for her to put on. ‘Especially the ones that are working for nothing!’

  Dora took the jacket from him rather than put paint on that too. ‘It won’t be for nothing, Griffin,’ she assured him determinedly, her gaze steady on his challenging one. ‘The fitters I had hired were charging me a huge fee; I have no intention of letting you help me without—’

  ‘Forget it, Izzy,’ he rasped, turning her firmly in the direction of the door. ‘You don’t pay friends when they offer to help.’

  He wasn’t a ‘friend’. She wasn’t sure what he was. But they certainly didn’t have that easy-flowing familiarity with each other that existed between friends. And that tenuous family link he’d claimed earlier was exactly that—tenuous! No, whatever it was she felt towards Griffin, it wasn’t friendship…

  ‘Take me out to dinner, Izzy,’ Griffin put in before she could make any further objections. ‘And we’ll discuss my terms of empl
oyment!’

  Dora couldn’t say she particularly liked the sound of that, but she was quite happy to take him out to dinner. It would do for a start, anyway.

  ‘Chinese okay?’ she suggested lightly as she began to lock up. ‘There’s one quite near the house, and I can usually get a table at short notice.’ Not that she’d been there for some time. Sometimes as a treat, when they’d been feeling tired after a hard day in the shop, she and her father would go and have a meal there together.

  But she didn’t seem to have been anywhere since her father had died. Except for the wedding, of course. She really would have to pick herself up once the shop was sorted out as she wanted it, and get out and about more.

  ‘Fine.’ Griffin followed her outside. ‘We may as well take both cars and leave them at the house; I’m assuming we can walk to the restaurant?’

  ‘We certainly can.’ She nodded. After all that smell of paint, it was nice to be outside in the fresh air—even with the annoying and pushy Griffin for company!

  She was glad of the separate cars on the way to her home. She hadn’t felt able to draw a relaxed breath since Griffin’s unexpected arrival. And strangely she felt much more confident about the decoration of the shop now that Griffin was going to lend her a hand…

  Dora frowned at her own thoughts. Was it really sensible to let Griffin help her? With Griffin so determined, she wasn’t going to have a lot of choice, she realised. And she had no doubt that he would do a much better job of it than she ever could—even with ‘practice’!

  But it would mean spending hours in his company… And she wasn’t sure—

  She looked up with a frown as the Jaguar, Griffin at the wheel, swept past her and took the lead. Typical of Griffin; he didn’t like to take second place. Even, it seemed, when it came to driving the short distance back to her house.

  But that wasn’t what had made her frown. As Griffin had overtaken her in the Jaguar she’d realised, for the first time, that when he’d called to take her to the wedding last week he’d known how to find her home. She hadn’t thought about it at the time—going to the wedding at all had been distressing enough!—but now it seemed slightly curious to her that Griffin had known where she lived without having to ask…