The Husband Assignment. Helen Bianchin

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СКАЧАТЬ awake staring into the darkness as she fought to dismiss Raoul Lanier’s disturbing image.

      The in-house phone buzzed, and Stephanie automatically reached for it, depressed the button and endeavored to tame the frustrated edge to her voice. ‘Yes. What is it, Isabel?’

      It wasn’t shaping up to be a good day. That little Irish gremlin, Murphy, had danced a jig on her turf from the moment she woke. Water from the shower ran cold from the hot tap, necessitating a call to a plumber. Emma wanted porridge instead of cereal, then requested egg with toast cut into soldiers, only to take two mouthfuls and refuse to eat anymore. Depositing her daughter at day care resulted in an unprecedented tantrum, and she tore a nail wrestling the punctured tire from her boot at the tire mart en route to work.

      ‘I have a delivery for you out front.’

      ‘Whatever it is, take care of it.’

      ‘Flowers with a card addressed to you?’

      Flowers? No one sent her flowers, except on special occasions. And today wasn’t one of them. ‘Okay, I’m on my way to reception.’

      Roses. Tight buds in cream, peach and pale apricot. Two, no three dozen. Long-stemmed, encased in cellophane, with a subtle delicate perfume.

      ‘Stephanie Sommers? Please sign the delivery slip for this envelope.’

      Who would send her such an expensive gift? Even as the query formed in her mind, her mouth tightened at the possible answer.

      He wouldn’t…would he?

      ‘They’re beautiful,’ Isabel breathed with envy as Stephanie detached an accompanying envelope and plucked out the card.

      “A small token to atone for last night. R.”

      Each word seemed to leap out in stark reminder, and she wanted to shove Raoul Lanier’s token into the nearest wastepaper bin. Atone? Twenty dozen roses wouldn’t atone for the studied arrogance of the man.

      ‘Shall I fetch a vase?’

      Stephanie drew a shallow breath, then released it. ‘Yes.’ She handed the large cellophane sheaf to her secretary. ‘Place these on the front desk.’

      ‘You don’t want them in your office?’

      ‘They’ll make me sneeze.’ A slight fabrication, but she didn’t want to be constantly reminded of the man who’d gifted them. ‘Take messages on any of my calls for the rest of the afternoon, unless they’re urgent, or from Emma’s day care center.’

      She stepped back into her office, closed the door, then crossed to her desk, picked up the letter opener and slit the envelope.

      Quite what she expected to find, she wasn’t sure. Certainly it had to be relatively important to warrant special delivery.

      Stephanie extracted the slim piece of paper, saw that it was a check, made out to her and signed by Raoul Lanier for an amount that covered the cost of dinner the previous evening. To endorse it, just in case she might be in doubt, there was a hotel business card attached with his name written on the reverse side.

      How dare he? The dinner was a legitimate business expense. Raoul Lanier had chosen to make it personal.

      Well, she knew just what to do with his check. Her fingers moved automatically, and seconds later the torn pieces fluttered into the wastepaper bin.

      Stephanie sank into her chair and turned on the screen on her computer. Work. She had plenty of it. All she had to do was immerse herself in the electronic checking of pertinent details to dispense the omnipotent Frenchman from her mind.

      Except it didn’t quite work out that way. His image intruded, disrupting her focus, minimizing her concentration.

      It was something of an endurance feat that she completed the day’s schedule without mishap, and she closed down the computer as Isabel entered with a sheaf of messages. Three of which she returned, two were put to one side for the morning, and one she discarded.

      Raoul Lanier could whistle Dixie, she decided vengefully as she slid papers into her briefcase and caught up her bag.

      Her gaze skimmed the office in a cursory check before leaving for the evening. She caught sight of the special delivery envelope that had contained Raoul Lanier’s check, and she reached for it, flipped it idly between her fingers, then on impulse she bent down and caught up the torn check she’d consigned to the wastepaper bin.

      Stephanie took an envelope from her stationery drawer, placed the torn check into it, dampened the seal, then wrote Raoul Lanier in bold black ink, followed by the name of his hotel.

      The Sheraton wasn’t that far out of her way, and a wry smile teased her lips as she anticipated his expression when he opened the envelope.

      Tit for tat wasn’t an enviable modus operandi, but she was darned if she’d allow him to have the upper hand.

      It was a simple matter to drive up to the main hotel entrance and hand the addressed envelope to the concierge. Difficult to hide a vaguely exultant smile as she eased the car onto the main road.

      Traffic was heavy, consequently it took at least three light changes to pass through each main intersection as she headed for the day care center.

      Emma looked slightly flushed, and her eyes held a brightness that foreshadowed an increased temperature. ‘I’ll see how she fares through the night,’ Stephanie declared quietly to the attendant nursing sister. ‘I may keep her home tomorrow.’

      ‘Give me a call in the morning.’

      An hour later she’d bathed and changed Emma, encouraged her to eat a little dinner, only to have her throw up soon after. Something that occurred with regularity throughout the night.

      By morning they were both tired and wan, and at eight Stephanie made a series of calls that gained a doctor’s appointment, the office to relay she’d be working from home and to divert any phone calls to her message bank and finally, the day care center.

      ‘Sick,’ Emma said in a forlorn voice, and Stephanie leaned down to brush her lips across her daughter’s forehead.

      ‘I know, sweetheart. We’ll go see the doctor soon, and get some medicine to make you better.’

      Washing. Loads of it. She took the second completed load out and pushed it into the drier, then systematically filled the washing machine and set it going again.

      A gastro virus, the doctor pronounced, and prescribed treatment and care. Stephanie called into the pharmacy, collected a few essentials from the nearby supermarket, then she drove home and settled Emma comfortably on the sofa with one of her favorite videos slotted into the VCR.

      A sophisticated laptop linked her to the office, and she noted the calls logged in on her message bank, then settled down to work.

      Emma slept for an hour, had some chicken broth, a dry piece of toast, then snuggled down in the makeshift bed Stephanie set up on the couch.

      By evening Emma was much improved, and she slept through the night without mishap. Even so, Stephanie decided to keep her home another day as a precaution.

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