Perfect Partner. Carole Mortimer

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      ‘Don’t tie me down to times,’ her mother said in a harassed voice. ‘You know how I hate someone standing over me with a watch. Your father used to do it all the time.’

      ‘Let’s leave Daddy out of this, shall we?’ Juliet said tightly.

      ‘If you like,’ her mother accepted lightly. ‘Have either of your young men proposed to you yet?’

      ‘No, and I don’t want them to either.’

      ‘There’s no chance of your making me a grandmother, then?’

      ‘I don’t have to get married for that,’ Juliet taunted.

      ‘You’d certainly better! Juliet—–’

      ‘I’m only teasing you, Mother,’ she said dryly.

      ‘Well, don’t tease about things like that. Your father would have been shocked to hear you talking like that.’

      ‘Considering Daddy’s been dead for seven years, and you’ve had two other husbands since then, I’m surprised you can still remember how my father would have reacted to anything!’ Juliet drew in a controlling breath after her outburst. ‘I’m sorry, Mother, that was uncalled for.’ She bit her lip.

      ‘Yes, it was,’ her mother agreed with quiet dignity.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated abruptly.

      ‘You’ve said that.’

      ‘I—I’ll see you next Friday, then?’

      ‘Some time in the evening,’ her mother confirmed distantly before ringing off.

      Oh dear, she had done it again! She and her mother always argued, no matter how much she tried to hold back her resentment for her mother’s other two marriages. Jim had been first, five years her mother’s junior, and they had divorced after only two years of marriage. The break-up had come as no surprise to Juliet, the passes Jim made at her behind her mother’s back showing her the marriage was not a success. Then had come Robert, eight years younger than her mother this time, although she had somehow managed to outlive him. Juliet lived in trepidation of being presented with a third stepfather, maybe even her contemporary in age this time!

      The call from her mother had upset her, and now she somehow had to get into the mood for her evening out with Jake Matthews. Her work had gone to pot today, both her typing and her writing. She would have to make an early start tomorrow to make up for it, otherwise she would be getting behind her deadline, which wouldn’t please Michael.

      Dinner, Jake Matthews had said. But where? She had no idea how to dress for the evening, although like most sensible women she had the versatile ‘little black dress’ that was suitable for most occasions. She decided to play safe and wear that; its style was demure enough until you saw the low back, its length just below her knees.

      She had a long soak in the bath first, enjoying a relaxing read. She loved to read, but her daily schedule was such that she rarely got to indulge in this pleasure. Today seemed to be an unexpected holiday for her, so she became involved in one of the paperbacks she had been promising herself she would read for ages.

      She became so involved in the new Sidney Sheldon novel that she almost forgot to get ready for Jake Matthews’ arrival at eight-thirty. She was reasonably pleased with her appearance, looking coolly attractive, her auburn hair newly washed and gleaming, her make-up light, her manner composed.

      Jake arrived promptly at eight-thirty, his gaze appreciative as she opened the door to him. He was very dark and distinguished in a black evening suit and snowy white shirt, looking rakishly attractive.

      ‘Come in,’ she invited huskily.

      ‘Thanks.’ He closed the door behind him. ‘I really didn’t dream you, did I?’ He shook his head almost dazedly.

      ‘My mother would say no,’ she told him lightly. ‘She says I was a very difficult birth.’ The steadiness of his direct gaze unnerved her. ‘I—We both almost died.’ Heavens, he had to stop looking at her like that! She could feel the hot colour flooding her cheeks.

      ‘Thank God you didn’t,’ he groaned, pulling her effortlessly into his arms and gazing down at her for several timeless seconds. ‘It’s those eyes,’ he spoke almost to himself. ‘I’ve never seen eyes that colour before.’

      Juliet licked her lips nervously, unable to break his gaze. ‘I—My father had eyes the same colour.’

      Jake shook his head. ‘Not just that colour. Maybe a deep dark brown, but never the same colour. You’re unique!’

      ‘Of course I’m not,’ she dismissed lightly, moving away from him. ‘Shall we be on our way?’ It was too confined here alone with him in her flat, too intimate, especially as he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her.

      ‘I’ve booked a table in a quiet little restaurant I know,’ he held up her evening jacket for her. ‘I thought we could talk.’

      What about? As far as she knew they had nothing in common except their love of books, and that was perhaps a subject they should stear clear of—she wouldn’t like them to get thrown out of this ‘quiet little restaurant’ for causing a scene. She couldn’t agree with his opinions, or the way he put those opinions across to the public, and she wouldn’t even pretend to do so.

      But she needn’t have worried, they seemed to talk about every thing else but books, both of them staying off the subject, whether consciously or unconsciously.

      Jake was an entertaining companion, and had lots of amusing stories that he related to her. Juliet couldn’t ever remember laughing so much in one evening, Ben and Stephen never made her laugh like this.

      But they didn’t keep staring at her either, something Jake did all the time. There were plenty of beautiful women in the room, Jake’s idea of a quiet little restaurant was vastly different from her own, but he seemed not to notice any of them, keeping his attention exclusively on her.

      She began to relax as she drank the delicious wine he had ordered with their meal, although he remained unmoved by it, even the large brandy he had after their meal not seeming to affect him. When she mentioned it he gave a husky laugh.

      ‘I have so many business lunches and dinners that I’m afraid I’m not as susceptible to alcohol as I used to be. Besides, I haven’t really drunk as much as you think I have, my wine glass was never empty when it was refilled.’

      No, it hadn’t been, now she came to think about it. Every time her own glass was refilled Jake’s was only topped up. ‘You’ve made me drunk,’ she accused indignantly.

      ‘No, I haven’t,’ he smiled, his eyes deeply blue. ‘Maybe a little happy, but not drunk. Melanie told me you don’t relax enough, so I—–’

      ‘Got me drunk,’ she insisted.

      ‘No,’ Jake laughed. ‘You’re fine, really. And maybe you like me a little better now, hmm?’

      ‘And maybe I don’t,’ she said crossly. ‘You’re going to look pretty stupid if I collapse halfway out of the restaurant.’

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