Page 25 of Wanting Mr Black

I smile politely. “Hello, Barbara. It’s good to see you again too.”

Art shifts round the table and kisses her on the cheek. “Afternoon, Mum.”

“Thank you, darling,” she replies. “Shall we take a seat?”

He unfastens the single button of his jacket as we sit. I survey the white china cups, plates, and silver cutlery, perfectly laid out across the pristine white tablecloth. Yes, this is very posh.

“Well, isn’t this lovely?” Barbara enthuses. “What would you like to drink, Sophie? Tea, coffee, or champagne?”

I’ve barely eaten all day because I’ve felt so nervous. One glass of champagne will go straight to my head. I can’t risk getting tipsy. “Tea will be fine, thanks.”

I look round, taking in my surroundings, and a waiter appears with menus for all of us.

“They do all kinds of tea,” says Barbara.

As I glance down, I see she’s right – no fewer thaneighteentypes of tea are listed. It makes the choice of five we offer at the hotel seem rather feeble. I stare at the list, feeling a bit panic-stricken.

Barbara lowers her voice and leans across the table a fraction. “This place prides itself on the variety of tea they offer, but I don’t think you can beat a decent cup of traditional English breakfast.”

That I’m familiar with. I smile. “That sounds wonderful.”

“I’ll have the same,” Art says.

A waiter arrives to take our order. Once he’s left, Barbara interlaces her fingers and looks at me. My nerves are back. I want to make the right impression.

“It’s so lovely to have an opportunity to meet you properly, Sophie. Art tells me you’re a wedding planner at the hotel?”

“Yes, I’ve been there for three years.”

“That must be such a wonderful job. Do you enjoy it?”

“Yes, I do,” I admit. “I love it. It’s really nice, getting to know each couple and planning their special day for them.”

“It sounds lovely,” Barbara says. “I’ve often thought I might have liked doing something like that when I was a young woman.”

We’re interrupted by a couple of waiters arriving with trays. They set down the silver teapots and sugar bowl along with a couple of four-tiered cakes on stands. My stomach rumbles at the tempting sight of dainty finger sandwiches, colourful macarons, and cream scones.

The waiters pour the tea, and we thank them as they leave.

“Where were we?” Barbara says, slicing a scone in half. “Ah, yes. Your job.”

Art slides a cup of tea towards me and smiles. “Sophie’sverygood at her job.”

I blush and pick a cucumber finger sandwich from one of the stands. “It’s because I enjoy what I do. I think if you love doing something, you naturally excel at it, and it’s not a chore.”

“Absolutely.” Barbara smiles as a thought strikes her. “I know my son’s all work, work, work, but I hope he’s a little easier on his staff. Is he a slave driver, Sophie?”

I hesitate.

Art raises his eyebrows and lifts a cup to his lips. “Go on. You can be honest. I won’t be offended.”

I turn the silver fork over in my fingers. “To be honest …” I glance at him.

He’s still watching me carefully, and although he comes across as though he doesn’t care what his staff thinks of him, I don’t believe this for a second. He does care – about the hotel and the staff – which is why he’s trying hard to turn the place around. Just like he did with Dark Desires.

“Although I hate to say it”—I pause again. I’m stringing this out because moments when I have the upper hand with him are few and far between, and I’m savouring it—"and risk inflating his already-large ego, he’s a good boss. I didn’t think so when I first met him. I think we were all nervous. Perhaps Art was too. But he’s firm but fair with the staff. I think the hotel neededsomeone like Art to come in with fresh eyes and a good business sense.”

He gives me a full-on smile, which confirms my thoughts. He very much does care.

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