Wife By Approval. Lee Wilkinson

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      ‘Oh, Gwen won’t mind,’ he said easily.

      If she was living with him she wouldn’t be too happy if he brought a woman home he didn’t even know. Decidedly, she began, ‘I’m quite sure your girlfriend would—’

      ‘Oh, Gwen’s not my girlfriend. She’s my housekeeper. A very upright woman,’ he added solemnly. ‘A pillar of the church and so forth.’

      Feeling as though she was on a roller coaster and with the disturbing impression that he was enjoying teasing her, Tina frowned.

      ‘Is that a problem?’ he asked, straight faced. ‘Do you have anything against religious women?’

      ‘Of course not,’ she began. Then, seeing the wicked gleam in his eye, she stopped speaking and gritted her teeth.

      ‘In that case it’s all settled,’ he announced calmly and let in the clutch.

      He had managed it so smoothly that they had pulled out of the car park and joined the evening stream of traffic that flowed down Lansdale Road before she could gather her wits enough to assess the situation.

      Though she was very attracted to him and wanted to be with him, the voice of caution warned that to meekly go off with a man she knew nothing about was reckless in the extreme.

      Just because he was well-dressed and well-spoken and had a big expensive car, it didn’t necessarily mean that he was trustworthy.

      As her mother would have phrased it, he might have designs on her.

      Though why should he?

      She was tall and slim with good skin and neatish features, but she was nothing to write home about, certainly not the sort to drive men wild.

      And a man with his looks and charisma wouldn’t be short of lady friends. In fact, with so much going for him he wouldn’t need to lift a finger to have eager females queuing up.

      But, apart from that, there was something about him, she felt, a kind of basic integrity that was oddly reassuring. And this might well be her one and only chance to get to know him. If she insisted on being dropped off at a hotel, in all probability she would never see him again.

      The thought was like a hand squeezing her heart.

      It didn’t seem possible for a quiet, self-contained woman like herself to feel so strongly about a man she had only just met and didn’t know.

      Yet she did.

      Throwing caution to the wind, she asked, ‘Where do you live?’

      His build-up of tension relaxing, he smiled. ‘I’ve a house in Pemberley Square, close to St James’s Park.’

      ‘Oh…’A far cry from Mather Street and the Fairbourn Hotel.

      ‘As we’ll be spending the night…’ He paused. ‘I was about to say together…but, as that might be misconstrued, I’ll say under the same roof, I think we should introduce ourselves, don’t you? My name’s Richard Anders.’

      ‘Mine’s Tina Dunbar.’

      ‘Tina?’ He sounded surprised.

      ‘Short for Valentina,’ she explained reluctantly.

      He gave her a sideways glance and, his voice casual, asked, ‘Is Valentina a family name?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Born on February the fourteenth?’

      She nodded. ‘That’s right. Though these days Valentine is used for either sex, unfortunately my mother preferred to stick with the feminine form.’

      ‘Unfortunately?’

      ‘Valentina is a bit of a mouthful.’

      ‘I like it.’

      ‘Oh…’ She felt a little warm glow.

      As they headed for the West End, the wipers rhythmically swishing, the wet, almost deserted pavements reflecting back the brightly lit shop windows, he said, ‘So you’re with Cartel Wines…What do you do, Valentina…?’

      Very conscious of him, of the handsome, clear-cut profile, the closeness of his muscular thigh to hers, the faint male scent of his cologne, she tried to drag her mind away from the man himself and focus on the question.

      ‘Are you a buyer?’

      ‘No. I’m responsible for public relations and sales promotions.’ Then, with a sinking feeling, ‘Or, rather, I was.’

      ‘You’re leaving?’

      ‘I’ve no choice. I learnt this afternoon that Matterhorn, the group who have taken over Cartel’s, have their own promotional team coming in next week, which makes me redundant.’

      ‘So you won’t be going back?’ he pursued.

      ‘No. I’ve cleared my desk.’

      ‘Have you been working for Cartel Wines long?’

      ‘Ever since I left college,’ she answered without thinking.

      He gave her a quick sideways smile. ‘As you look about sixteen…’

      Wishing fruitlessly that she looked her usual cool, composed self, she said quickly, ‘I’m twenty-three,’ and was aware that she had sounded indignant.

      ‘That old!’

      Now he was laughing at her openly. But it was in a nice way, a way that invited her to join in.

      With a smile, she said, ‘I suppose in a few more years being told I look about sixteen will seem like a compliment.’

      Then, keen to remove the spotlight from herself and wondering what he’d been doing at Cartel Wines, she changed the subject by remarking, ‘You’re not employed by Cartel?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I didn’t think so. But I wouldn’t have put you down as a visitor. Or certainly not an ordinary one.’

      ‘Is that a complaint or a compliment?’

      ‘A comment. Ordinary visitors use the front car park and the main entrance and always leave before the staff.’

      ‘Well, as I did none of those things, I plead guilty to being out of the ordinary…’

      It occurred to her that she still didn’t know why he’d been at Cartel Wines, but, before she could pursue the matter, he remarked, ‘Incidentally, I caught sight of you earlier in the day…’

      So he’d recognised her.

      ‘Yes, I’d slipped out to buy some lunch.’

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