Play boy

AT FIVE minutes to six that evening, Irene barrelled into the foyer of Fullbuster House with her hair and scarf flying and a variety of shopping bags hanging from her arms.

She looked around breathlessly for the penthouse buzzer and was intercepted by the commissionaire. She gave him her name and told him who she needed to see. He looked doubtful for a moment but led her to the penthouse lift—he had the grace to look apologetic when her name was received in the affirmative and the lift doors opened on cue.

‘Thirty-fifth floor is what you need, ma’am. Have a good evening!’

Irene pressed thirty-five and prepared to part company with her stomach— she didn’t like lifts, but this one turned out to be painless. And on the thirty-fifth floor it opened directly into Murad Fullbuster’s penthouse.

It wasn’t Murad who greeted her, however, it was a man of about forty who said pleasantly, ‘Miss Josephine, I believe? I’m Murad’s domestic co-ordinator, Jake Frost. I’m afraid he’s running a few minutes late. Would you care to come through to the lounge and may I get you a drink? Oh—I’ll take the shopping bags.’

‘Thank you, thank you.’ She also divested herself of her jacket and scarf. ‘And just a soft drink would be nice—shopping can be exhausting and thirst- making.’

‘It would appear you’ve done quite a bit of it,’ Jake remarked as he relieved her of the carrier bags.

‘It’s not for me,’ Irene assured him. ‘I mean, it is, but I’ll be giving it all back. It’s not as if I’m ruinously spendthrift or anything like that.’ Her eyes twinkled suddenly behind her glasses. ‘Oh, dear. Does it really matter what

people think of me?’

Jake Frost took a moment to take a more personal, less professional look at the new interpreter. He’d been told about her and not thought much one way or the other about it. Now he decided she was charming even if she was not at all the kind of woman Murad Fullbuster usually…

But what am I thinking? he wondered. This is business.

All the same it was with a genuine smile that he said, ‘I think it would be a shame not to enjoy it just a little bit, even if you are giving them all back.’

A few minutes later, Irene had a tall, frosted glass in her hand as she admired the view from Murad Fullbuster’s penthouse. It was a beautiful view over the river and the city in the last of the daylight as lights started to twinkle on and she identified some of the landmarks.

The lounge behind her was spacious and absolutely eye-catching. The carpet was sea green, the couches were covered in apricot cut velvet with poppy-red cushions and the occasional tables were enamelled black.

A magnificent Chinese cabinet in black-and-gold lacquer dominated one wall and on another a marvellous, almost full-length abstract painting took pride of place and brought a bouquet of beautiful, swirling colours to the room.

‘Hello, Irene,’ a voice said behind her, and she turned to see Murad Fullbuster stroll into the lounge.

He’d obviously just showered, his hair was still damp, and he was now wearing jeans and a sweater. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink.

‘Do sit down,’ he invited.

Jake came in as she took a seat. ‘I’ve rung ahead to say you might be a little late, Murad. I’ve put the wine in a cooler bag for you—’ he indicated the bag on the bar ‘—and here are the flowers.’ He picked up a bunch and laid them back again. ‘So I’ll get going, if you don’t mind.’

‘Sure. Cheers!’ Murad Fullbuster saluted his domestic co-ordinator and sat down opposite Irene. ‘Well, how did you get on this afternoon?’

‘Fine,’ Irene said. ‘I think. But look, Mr Fullbuster, if you’re running late again maybe we could find some other time for this?’

‘No, it doesn’t matter if I’m a bit late, there is no other time, and I’m determined to enjoy this drink.’

Irene shrugged. ‘I just wouldn’t like to make you late for your date.’

He looked amused. ‘My date, as you put it with a certain amount of disapproval, Miss Josephine, is with my grandmother. She’s in a nursing home at the moment so the wine and the flowers are to cheer her up.’

‘Oh.’ Irene took her glasses off and polished them. Had she sounded disapproving and if so why? Had the subconscious impression been growing in her that Murad Fullbuster was something of a playboy? Helped along no doubt by the wine and the flowers, those good looks and that impressive physique and the fact that he wasn’t married. Along with, of course, that unexplained little trill of wariness she’d experienced at the interview this morning.

But assuming she’d misread that, wasn’t all the rest of it akin to judging a book by its cover?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said and smiled suddenly at him, ‘if I sounded disapproving.

I, well, it seems one of my impressions of you is that you could be a bit of a playboy but I don’t really have any concrete evidence so I shall discard it.’

For a long moment he was speechless.

Irene glanced at her watch. ‘Should we begin the briefing?’ she suggested, her eyes a serious hazel behind her repositioned glasses, but with her lips still quirking.

Murad Fullbuster recovered himself. ‘Thank you,’ he said gravely, ‘for being prepared to revise your opinions. Naturally, I don’t see myself as a playboy, although our definitions could vary—’ he grimaced ‘—but perhaps it’s not a good idea to go into that. And—’ a lightning look of wicked amusement flew Irene’s way ‘—to be honest, disapproval of any kind doesn’t often come my way

so I’ll look upon it as a salutary experience. OK, on to the briefing.’