you can't spare her a couple of hours, there's no more to be said.'
She hesitated. 'And you definitely won't be there?'
'I'm having dinner with Miss Sinclair.'
She sighed. 'All right, then. I'll come over straight from work.'
'No,' he said. 'We'll collect you.' And as her lips parted in protest he went on, 'Tara insists on it.'
Phoebe had the feeling she'd been totally outmanoeuvred, but there was nothing she could do about it.
I'll pay this one visit, she decided as she retreated to the kitchen, but it will be the first and last. I won't make any more rash promises.
Lynn was agog. 'Who is he?'
'He's that little girl's father,' Phoebe admitted reluctantly. 'I met him when I took her home the other night.'
Lynn nudged her. 'Perhaps he wants to give you a reward.'
Phoebe shook her head. 'It's Tara. She's asked me to have supper with her.'
'And Daddy makes three?'
'No, thank God. He's having dinner with a woman called Hazel Sinclair.'
Lynn looked disappointed. 'That's poor timing.'
'Not from my viewpoint.' Phoebe gave her a faint smile. 'Mr Ashton and I will never be friends.'
'Who mentioned friendship?' asked Lynn.
From then on they were kept too busy for any further discussion, to Phoebe's secret relief.
Dominic Ashton ate his lunch with apparent appreciation and left a generous tip with his bill. Phoebe, her throat tightening, put the money straight into Lynn's jar.
Almost before she knew it, closing time arrived. In the staff cloakroom, Phoebe washed her face and hands then released her hair from its elastic band, combing it into the smooth bob she wore outside working hours. She applied a discreet touch of colour to her mouth, studying herself doubtfully in the mirror.
The door opened and Lynn flew in to collect her coat.
'Your escort awaits,' she announced. 'Nice to see you tarting yourself up for once,' she added approvingly, and fled.
Tarting myself up? Phoebe thought in utter dismay. Oh, God. Not down that path again.
She scooped her hair back, securing it firmly at the nape of her neck again, and scrubbed at her lips with a tissue. Then she put on her coat, picked up her bag and valked sedately out into the cafe.
'Out for the evening, dear?' asked Mrs Preston, who'd arrived to cash up. 'Have a lovely time.'
Phoebe returned her smile with a certain constraint. Dominic Ashton was waiting at the door, Tara bouncing beside him.
She's too pleased to see me, Phoebe thought, aware that her own heart had lifted involuntarily in response to the little girl's beaming smile. These are deep waters I'm getting into.
Tara tucked a hand into hers. 'We're having special shepherd's pie, and marmalade pudding,' she confided.
Phoebe laughed. 'I can hardly wait.'
'And I helped lay the table. We're having candles, just like Daddy.'
'I've got a reservation at the Clair de Lune,' Dominic explained. 'Apparently it's hot on atmosphere. I'll reserve judgement about the food.'
'It has a good reputation,' Phoebe returned stiltedly. She didn't particularly want to hear, she discovered, what arrangements he'd made for a romantic dinner a deux.
But he's divorced, she thought with a mental shrug. He's entitled. I could probably be heading for a candlelit dinner myself, if I didn't freeze off every man who comes near me.
She gave him a swift sideways glance as they went out to the Range Rover. He was wearing tailored charcoal trousers with a matching roll-neck sweater topped by an elegant cashmere jacket. There was no denying his unstudied attraction, she realised with a sudden pang. And swiftly turned her undivided attention to his daughter—where it should have been in the first place, she reminded herself tersely.
Tara chatted happily about school—how many sums she'd got right, the page she'd reached in her reading book—but it was all about lessons, Phoebe noted rather soberly. She didn't mention other children at all.
She was concentrating so hard on what Tara was saying about the hamster who lived in her
She hesitated. 'And you definitely won't be there?'
'I'm having dinner with Miss Sinclair.'
She sighed. 'All right, then. I'll come over straight from work.'
'No,' he said. 'We'll collect you.' And as her lips parted in protest he went on, 'Tara insists on it.'
Phoebe had the feeling she'd been totally outmanoeuvred, but there was nothing she could do about it.
I'll pay this one visit, she decided as she retreated to the kitchen, but it will be the first and last. I won't make any more rash promises.
Lynn was agog. 'Who is he?'
'He's that little girl's father,' Phoebe admitted reluctantly. 'I met him when I took her home the other night.'
Lynn nudged her. 'Perhaps he wants to give you a reward.'
Phoebe shook her head. 'It's Tara. She's asked me to have supper with her.'
'And Daddy makes three?'
'No, thank God. He's having dinner with a woman called Hazel Sinclair.'
Lynn looked disappointed. 'That's poor timing.'
'Not from my viewpoint.' Phoebe gave her a faint smile. 'Mr Ashton and I will never be friends.'
'Who mentioned friendship?' asked Lynn.
From then on they were kept too busy for any further discussion, to Phoebe's secret relief.
Dominic Ashton ate his lunch with apparent appreciation and left a generous tip with his bill. Phoebe, her throat tightening, put the money straight into Lynn's jar.
Almost before she knew it, closing time arrived. In the staff cloakroom, Phoebe washed her face and hands then released her hair from its elastic band, combing it into the smooth bob she wore outside working hours. She applied a discreet touch of colour to her mouth, studying herself doubtfully in the mirror.
The door opened and Lynn flew in to collect her coat.
'Your escort awaits,' she announced. 'Nice to see you tarting yourself up for once,' she added approvingly, and fled.
Tarting myself up? Phoebe thought in utter dismay. Oh, God. Not down that path again.
She scooped her hair back, securing it firmly at the nape of her neck again, and scrubbed at her lips with a tissue. Then she put on her coat, picked up her bag and valked sedately out into the cafe.
'Out for the evening, dear?' asked Mrs Preston, who'd arrived to cash up. 'Have a lovely time.'
Phoebe returned her smile with a certain constraint. Dominic Ashton was waiting at the door, Tara bouncing beside him.
She's too pleased to see me, Phoebe thought, aware that her own heart had lifted involuntarily in response to the little girl's beaming smile. These are deep waters I'm getting into.
Tara tucked a hand into hers. 'We're having special shepherd's pie, and marmalade pudding,' she confided.
Phoebe laughed. 'I can hardly wait.'
'And I helped lay the table. We're having candles, just like Daddy.'
'I've got a reservation at the Clair de Lune,' Dominic explained. 'Apparently it's hot on atmosphere. I'll reserve judgement about the food.'
'It has a good reputation,' Phoebe returned stiltedly. She didn't particularly want to hear, she discovered, what arrangements he'd made for a romantic dinner a deux.
But he's divorced, she thought with a mental shrug. He's entitled. I could probably be heading for a candlelit dinner myself, if I didn't freeze off every man who comes near me.
She gave him a swift sideways glance as they went out to the Range Rover. He was wearing tailored charcoal trousers with a matching roll-neck sweater topped by an elegant cashmere jacket. There was no denying his unstudied attraction, she realised with a sudden pang. And swiftly turned her undivided attention to his daughter—where it should have been in the first place, she reminded herself tersely.
Tara chatted happily about school—how many sums she'd got right, the page she'd reached in her reading book—but it was all about lessons, Phoebe noted rather soberly. She didn't mention other children at all.
She was concentrating so hard on what Tara was saying about the hamster who lived in her
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